#Our Protector When We Needed It {Elain and Feyre}

[acourtofthought]

SUPER LONG POST ON ELAIN'S BUILD UP AND JOURNEY IN A COURT OF SILVER FLAMES

29:50 - "because this is where I wanted it go it allowed me to plant things for her journey and even Elain's journey early on"

30:48 - "I always try to keep one eye on the horizon when I'm writing just to make sure in the book I'm working on, I can set up for things later on. So there's lot of little secrets in SF that set up for later.” (from SJMs Live Talks LA with Eva Chen)

I think it's impressive how SJM can tell a story inside a story. So many people note Elain's absence in SF, how she barely has any setup for a book. But if you're paying attention, all the hints for her future book including the growth she's already had and that which she still needs to overcome has been spelled out for us:

True hell, because that was Elain lying on the stone floor with the red-haired, one-eyed Fae male hovering over her

The very first page of SF features both Elain and Lucien and Nesta struggling with the memory of it. They are the very first characters mentioned in Nesta's book. It sets up that a large part of Nesta's story is learning to make a life for herself outside of being Elain's protector and learning to let go of Elain so they both have the space to grow as individuals.

Elain, too, had revealed no indication of her seer’s abilities since then.

Powers having gone dormant or unexplored, definitely something to explore in Elain's book.

Even their gods-damned father had a portrait on the wall along one side of the grand staircase: him and Elain, smiling and happy, as they’d been before the world went to shit. Sitting on a stone bench amid bushes bursting with pink and blue hydrangea. The formal gardens of their first home, that lovely manor near the sea.

Not really plot related but were we ever told their old manor house in the human lands was near the sea? I just find it interesting that Elain's portrait led to Nesta remembering how happy Elain had been with her father in the formal gardens of their old home by the sea and that's very similar to what Lucien said in ACOWAR, “Take her to the sea. Take her to some garden. But get her out of this house for an hour or two.” it's almost like he was able to glimpse a time when Elain was happy prior to being made.

she had only what she’d taken from the Cauldron, rather than letting it deign to gift her with power, as it had with Elain.

I imagine SJM will further explore exactly why Elain was chosen to be gifted with powers.

Where the hell was Elain?

A common refrain in SF. Elain isn't around as much as the other characters but SJM is sure to draw our attention to that fact. She wants you to note her absence.

Elain had walked in halfway through. She’d been toiling in the estate gardens since dawn, and had been solemn as Rhys filled her in. Feyre had been unable to say a word. But Elain’s gaze remained steady as she listened to Rhys.

Two things. One, dawn is pretty early and there are a few mentions of Elain alongside dawn and dusk (setting sun). It may be nothing but when SJM tagged Elain under Blodeuwedd, the picture featured a Barred Owl, which are Crepuscular. A term used to describe animals that are active at dawn and dusk which would be a point in favor of the theory that Elain is an owl shifter. And two, we have our first mention of Elain remaining calm where characters might usually expect her to break down.

Feyre had simply said that the human world would be more than enough of a prison for someone like Nesta. Someone like Feyre, too. And Elain. The human world was behind them. They could never return. Even though all three of them were war heroes, each in their own right, the humans wouldn’t care.

SJM made sure to note that none of the sisters would be welcome in the human lands, regardless of the parts they played in the war.

Elain, who would not eat, or speak, or do anything at all. Elain, who had somehow become the adjusted one.

She had nowhere to go. Elain, mourn as she might for the life she would have had with Graysen, had found a place, a role here. Tending to the gardens of Feyre’s veritable palace on the river, helping other residents of Velaris restore their own destroyed gardens—she had purpose, and joy, and friends: those two half-wraiths who worked in Rhysand’s household. But those things had always come easily to her sister. Had always made Elain special. Had made Nesta fight like hell to keep Elain safe at all costs.

I think the above lines are important because a lot of E/riels hold fast to them as proof of Elain being happy in the Night Court. But just because Elain has made a life for herself, it's what we'd expect from her. Nesta notes that sort of thing had always come easily to Elain so it doesn't matter where she currently is, she'd always make the best of it that she could. But we'll see later that it's not as simple as all that, not to mention that "mourn as she might for the life she would have had with Graysen" is very in life with Azriel still having a few longing glances at Mor. They might be getting over their past but they're not completely there yet meaning they can't truly be in love.

Thesan, Nesta recalled, was a master of healing—Feyre bore his power in her veins. Had offered to use it to heal Elain from her stupor after being turned High Fae.

This line stood out to me because we're told Thesan was willing to try and heal Elain but he never did. Why? If they were so worried about Elain not eating or drinking, why didn't they bring him in? It might be nothing but it does make me wonder if it's an additional hint that Elain has healing powers which I've previously done a theory on and that she was able to heal herself (especially once her Mate came around which is when she began showing major improvements. Lucien's presence seems to have kickstarted the powers she has. Another hint at her having healing powers is the possibility that she was the one who helped heal Cassian after his confrontation with the King. Feyre wonders if Nesta healed him which we know wasn't the case but Elain was the one who rushed to his side immediately after stabbing Hybern.

She’d found a smutty novel she’d already read and loved in one of the trunks Elain had packed.

Not a hint so much as a reminder of how Elain pays attention to her loved ones, remembering to pack one of Nesta's favorite books. A book Nesta would have read during the time she sat by Elain's bedside. Elain may have been withdrawn but she seemed to still observe.

Elain was in the private library. Her sister’s delicate scent of jasmine and honey lingered in the red-stoned hall like a promise of spring, a sparkling river that she followed to the open doors of the chamber.

A promise of Spring. The first hint of Elain ending up in the Spring Court. Also honey is associated with Spring and while Jasmine is found in the NC, it was also found in the Spring Court and is associated with the Goddess Aphrodite (the Goddess of Love and Beauty).

Elain stood at the wall of windows, clad in a lilac gown whose close-fitting bodice showed how well her sister had filled out since those initial days in the Night Court. Her sister turned toward her, glowing with health.

Reference to Elain being bright, light, etc.

Elain’s smile was as bright as the setting sun beyond the windows.

Another reference to Elain's brightness. She also came to visit Nesta at "dusk" (see above).

Elain had been the ghost then, too thin, with her thoughts turned inward. Elain had only needed time to adjust.

Again, Nesta is still under the impression that Elain is fine, completely healed.

When human, Elain had easily been the prettiest of the three of them, and when she’d been turned High Fae, that beauty had been amplified. Nesta couldn’t put her finger on what changes had been wrought beyond the pointed ears, but Elain had gone from lovely to devastatingly beautiful. Elain never seemed to realize it. It was always that way between them: Elain, sweet and oblivious, and Nesta, the snarling wolf at her side, poised to shred anyone who threatened her. Elain is pleasant to look at, her mother had once mused but she has no ambition. She does not dream beyond her garden and pretty clothes. She will be an asset on the marriage market for us one day, if that beauty holds

This is truly how a lot of the characters view Elain, basically a beautiful but dumb Barbie. With no ambition, no awareness. Her mother proclaimed as much when Elain was only 11 years old. Nesta ended up defying what her mother wanted for her and I imagine Elain will prove her wrong as well.

Elain, surprisingly, held her ground.

More growth for Elain, she's beginning to stand up for herself and doesn't back down when things get difficult.

Elain squared her shoulders again, just as Nesta added, “It’s not like you and Graysen didn’t act on your feelings.” It was a low blow, but Nesta didn’t care. She knew Elain had given her maidenhead to Graysen a month before they’d been turned Fae. Elain had been glowing the next morning. Elain cocked her head. Didn’t dissolve into the crying mess she usually became when Graysen came up.

“I still wanted to come,” Elain went on with that focused calm, the quiet steel building in her voice. “I wanted to see you, to explain.”

Silver lined Elain’s eyes, but her voice remained steady, sure. “There was nothing that could have been done to save him, Nesta.”

More growth and proof that she's begun moving on from Graysen. That she no longer pines for him. It also shows how mature and aware Elain actually is. She's able to reason through the pain of losing her father and place the blame where it's deserved.

Elain stiffened, but refused to balk from whatever she beheld in Nesta’s gaze. “You think I’m to blame for his death?” Challenge filled each word. Challenge—from Elain, of all people.

Even more growth. And this continues throughout SF, everyone expressing surprise over Elain standing up for herself.

“What happened.” When Rhys spoke like that, it was more of a command than a question. Elain waved a hand in dismissal before flinging open the veranda doors and striding into the open air.

Even Nesta struggled to not bow to Rhys's command so there's a chance that if he really used his "dominance" here, Elain easily ignored it which is saying something.

Elain spoke from the doorway, having appeared so silently that they all twisted toward her, “Using me.” Nesta shot to her feet. “No. Elain remained in the doorway, her face pale but her expression harder than Nesta had ever seen it. “You do not decide what I can and cannot do, Nesta.”

Elain said, “Then I will find it. I might require some time to … reacquaint myself with my powers, but I could start today.” “Absolutely not,” Nesta spat, fingers curling at her sides. “Absolutely not.” “Why?” Elain demanded. “Shall I tend to my little garden forever?” When Nesta flinched, Elain said, “You can’t have it both ways. You cannot resent my decision to lead a small, quiet life while also refusing to let me do anything greater.”

Elain cut in sharply, “I am not a child to be fought over.”

“I do,” Elain said coldly. “And I remember Feyre rescuing me.”

Elain’s eyes brightened with pain. Something imploded in Nesta’s chest at that expression. She opened her mouth, as if it could somehow be undone. But Elain said, “I went into the Cauldron, too, you know. And it captured me. And yet somehow all you think of is what my trauma did to you.”

But Elain turned on her heel. “Find me when you wish to begin.” The doors shut behind her.

Not only is Elain volunteering to do something that even Nesta is afraid of but she refused to back down when Nesta argued against it. Seriously, what more does she need to do to prove she's ready for her own book? Nesta started at rock bottom for hers so why are readers expecting Elain to be further along in her journey to be FMC material?

Nesta said to Feyre, “Did you tell Elain?” Before Feyre could reply, Azriel said, “What about Mor?”

Of course, Elain's journey will involve a love interest and E/riels believe it will be Az. But where they claim love, SF proves Az is still hung up on Mor no matter what obsession he's got with Elain.

“Elain was the only one who guessed. She caught me vomiting two mornings in a row.” She nodded toward Azriel. “I think she’s got you beat for secret-keeping.”

I do not think this hint indicates she's up to anything shady or suspicious. I think it has more to do with the possibility of her being a shifter but whichever theory you prefer, the line obviously creates intrigue.

"Elain showed some teeth.". "I wasn't expecting that." Or what she's said about her lingering trauma. How many times had I focused solely on my terror during Elain's suffering?

More shock over Elain being bold and proof that Elain, no matter how it appears, is still processing her own traumas.

While I might never run to Elain first with problems or for advice, we had a peaceful, amicable understanding. I found her to be a pleasant companion. I wondered if she'd resent that judgment. I certainly would.

Evidence that Elain doesn't really belong with the IC or the NC. Her sisters care for her but she's somewhat of an afterthought in terms of having a close relationship.

I wonder if everyone has spent so long assuming Elain is sweet and innocent that she felt she had to be that way or else she'd disappoint you all."" With time and safety perhaps we'll see a different side of her emerge ".

"You think Elain is boring?" "I think she's kind, and I'll take kindness over nastiness any day. But I also think we haven't seen all she has to offer"

Pretty obvious, but again, even more build up that Elain is about to really grow into herself, that she's not as two dimensional as they thought.

"Elain had come into the house, her right palm bleeding from several gashes thanks to a stubborn rosebush that had pierced her gloves. I didn't dare mention that if she had been wearing the enchanted gloves Lucien had gotten her last Solstice, nothing would have pierced them at all. "

It's been quite a while since Feyre made that comment about Az and Elain being mates. In that time, her focus has entirely shifted to Elain and Lucien getting to know one another and it's kind of a big deal that Feyre addressed Elain and her Mate in her bonus chapter. Of course there's no romantic buildup for Elucien in SF but where was the romantic buildup for Nessian in ACOFAS? SJM has kept Elain and Lucien apart so when it's time for their book, they can grow together and that time is overdue.

"Let's focus on helping one sister before we start on the other"

It's not a stretch to say that now that Nesta's book is done, Elain is ready for hers.

But Elain had confirmed it for everyone: both sisters still possessed their Cauldron-gifted powers. Whether they were as powerful as before, he had no idea.

We were given the majority of Nesta's powers in her book but Elain's still need to be explored in hers.

And though he understood that Elain had spoken true, claiming the trauma of that memory,

Cassian acknowledging that Elain is entitled to her trauma which others have not always remembered and yet another reminder that Elain is still dealing with everything that happened to her. Just because she's out and about doesn't mean she's completely healed.

Elain would faint to hear such thoughts. And to hear that Nesta had already had two males in her bed not once but twice, and had enjoyed every second of it.

The entire narrative surrounding Elain is her sisters not fully understanding her. There's a good chance that even though Elain isn't an over-sharer when it comes to her sexuality or others, she may be extremely open minded when it comes to experiences with her partner and the above is another one of the examples where Elain will most likely prove her sisters assessment of her as incorrect. My guess is she'll perform in Springs Great Rite which is fairly voyeuristic.

Elain had always wanted to visit the continent to study the tulips and other famed flowers, but her imagination had stretched no further. Feyre had talked once about the glorious art in the continent’s museums and private estates. But that was all the western edge of it. Beyond that, the continent was vast. And to the south, another continent sprawled. Would she have gone?

Who is possibly located to the South? Koschei. A place where SJM made sure to remind us (through Cassian) that Lucien has been to.

Elain had already departed with Feyre, claiming she had to be up with the dawn to tend to an elderly faerie’s garden. Cassian didn’t exactly know why he suspected this wasn’t true. There had been some tightness in Elain’s face as she’d said it.

Remember those other mentions of Elain being up at dawn? Or another possibility is she left the dinner table when Feyre did because Az was at that particular one. In the bonus chapter, we find out she knows he's been avoiding the dinners because of her so she may have not wanted to feel uncomfortable.

Azriel stiffened, an outright sign of temper from him as he said quietly, “There is an innate darkness to the Dread Trove that Elain should not be exposed to.”

Big red flag for E/riel. After all the growth Elain has shown so far, what do readers honestly think she'd have to say about Azriel’s comment?

“Including Elain, who is more than capable of defending herself against the darkness of the Trove, if she chooses to. Don’t underestimate her.”

Amren, a 15,000 year old creature, is telling us that Elain IS ready to handle something dangerous.

Elain could make her own choices. And had chosen to thoroughly shut the door on Nesta. Even as she fully embraced Feyre and her world. Nesta’s chest tightened, but she refused to think of it, acknowledge it. Elain was like a dog, loyal to whatever master kept her fed and in comfort.

The above excerpt is important because we know for a fact that Nesta's perception of Elain is skewed by the emotions Nesta is feeling about herself. Anti Elain's like to focus on the "Elain was like a dog, loyal to whoever kept her in comfort" but not only is that wrong (which Cassian acknowledges) but I think the "even as she fully embraced Feyre and her world" is wrong too. Elain is trying to fit into the NC and Feyre's world, she's trying to make the best of her situation, but all the little hints in SF add up to the fact that Elain doesn't really belong there, that she hadn't "fully embraced" anything about the NC so much as she's trying to be fine with it.

What would Elain think, to see Nesta here with a friend? The thought bubbled up from nowhere. As if in opening her mind, it had rushed toward her. Would Elain be pleased, or would she feel the need to warn Gwyn about Nesta’s true self?

Nesta did so, focusing on the breaths and not Elain. I acknowledge this thought about my sister, and I am letting it go.

She was on her seventh breath when her sister appeared again. And yet somehow all you think of is what my trauma did to you. Had Elain been right? Feyre had admitted she was guilty of it, too, but—Feyre hadn’t known Elain as Nesta did. Or, it hadn’t been that way before. Before Elain had chosen Feyre.

This entire scene is about Nesta struggling with her history with Elain, beginning the process of letting go so she can live a life as something other than Elain's protector. Which is a big deal for both sisters.

And do not forget that Nesta herself—and Elain, with whatever powers she has. All three sisters blessed by fate and gifted with powers to match your own.

Not just her "seer" powers which they know about but "whatever powers she has, meaning she could have something more. And powers to match Rhys? That's a pretty big statement for a simple Seer.

Elain would love this place.

But Elain … The Spring Court had been made for someone like her. Too bad her sister refused to see her. Nesta would have told Elain to visit this place. And too bad the lord who ruled these lands was a piece of shit.

We have repeatedly heard how important the Spring Court is because of its location and how a weakened court could lead to some major concerns. We also know Tamlin isn't getting better. So the many mentions of Elain and Spring are pretty heavy (possible) foreshadowing for what's to come.

Azriel offered her a small smile that Elain quickly looked away from. Cassian tucked away his puzzlement.

This part makes me curious because why would Elain look away from Az? In the bonus chapter he said they shared looks but her looking away from him is the opposite of that.

“Another young heiress was at the ball, and she positively hated me. She was several years older, and I’d never done anything to provoke her hatred, but I think …” “She was jealous of your beauty,” Amren said, an amused smile on her red lips. Elain blushed. “Perhaps.”It was definitely that. Even though Elain would have been barely thirteen at the time.

Nesta was wrong, Cassian realized, to think Elain as loyal and loving as a dog. Elain saw every single thing Nesta had done, and understood why.

Elain nodded, folding her hands in her lap. “So I’m very pleased to hear of this Valkyrie business. I’m happy that Nesta finds interest in something again.

Not so much hinting at anything but it does add to the picture of who Elain is. She's not obsessed with her own looks and Nesta was wrong in thinking Elain was loyal like a dog, the she's actually very observant and sees the heart of who someone is. It also shows that Elain is happy that Nesta has found something that might make her happy.

"so you and Elain are the only options.” “Elain doesn’t go near him,” Feyre said.

Further evidence that the characters in the NC make decisions for Elain without her being around to voice her opposition.

“Not enough,” Nesta said, setting the bear back onto the stone mantel. She was going to vomit. She plucked another figurine from the mantel: a rose carved from a dark sort of wood. She held it in her palm, its solid weight surprising, and traced a finger over one of the petals. “He made this one for Elain.

She pocketed the carved rose

She clenched the wooden rose in her pocket.

Her gaze shifted to the carved wooden rose she’d placed upon the mantel, half-hidden in the shadows beside a figurine of a supple-bodied female, her upraised arms clasping a full moon between them. Some sort of primal goddess—perhaps even the Mother herself. Nesta hadn’t let herself dwell on why she’d felt the need to set the rose there. Why she hadn’t just thrown it in a drawer.

To me, there is so much symbolism going on in the above. Nesta could have taken any of the figures her father made but took the one that represented Elain. Not to mention the figure itself had a "surprising weight" which makes me think of Elain herself. They had thought she was a bit shallow for so long yet she keeps surprising them. Later, she takes the carving and, without knowing why, places it next to a Goddess figure. I also think the phrase "half hidden in the shadows" is important because I think as long as she engages in something with Az, she'll never fully step into who she's meant to be.

Both sisters wore black. Both walked behind Rhys and Feyre, a silent indicator that they were a part of the royal family. Elain in black was ridiculous. Yes, she was beautiful, but the color of her long-sleeved, modest gown leeched the brightness from her face. It wore her, rather than the other way around. And he knew the cruelty of the Hewn City troubled her. But she hadn’t hesitated to come. When Feyre had offered to let her remain home, Elain had squared her shoulders and declared that she was a part of this court—and would do whatever was needed. So Elain had let her golden-brown hair down tonight, and pinned it back with twin combs of pearl. He’d never once in the two years he’d known her found Elain to be plain, but wearing black, no matter how much she claimed to be part of this court … It sucked the life from her. Nesta in Night Court black threatened to bring him to his knees.

Elain is trying. She's trying to prove that she wants to help, that she can do what Nesta can do, that she can be part of the court like her sisters are. Because that is who Elain is, she tries to grow where she's planted. But it's extremely evident that no matter what she's telling herself and others, she's not thriving. There is something not clicking and that's going to be the point of her story. Breaking free of what she feels she needs to do and discovering where she's meant to be, who she's meant to be.

“You came,” Elain said behind her, and Nesta started, not having heard her sister approach. She scanned Elain from head to toe, wondering if she’d been taking lessons in stealth either from Azriel or the two half-wraiths she called friends. Gone was the ill-suited black dress from the ball, replaced by a gown of amethyst velvet, her hair half-up and curling down to her waist. She glowed with good health. Except …

It's very obvious when you see this and the last scene back to back. Away from a place that embodies half of what the NC represents, Elain is again glowing. And no, that doesn't mean she can just avoid the Hewn City and still belong to the IC, the IC members have certain traits that do match with what you'd find in the Hewn City. They can be cruel and vicious when they need to be but that's not how Elain has been written. Not to mention, in SF Elain is always wearing a shade of purple and I don't think that's coincidental. Purple is considered a color of royalty (which could end up being for one of a few reasons: there are hints of Elain becoming High Lady of Spring, she is mated to Lucien who is showing the markers of becoming a High Lord or there is evidence to support him being High King and, lavender which is a shade of purple is the color of Silba (Goddess of Healing and Gentle Deaths).

And Nesta wondering if she's been taking lessons in stealth does not mean she's actually taking lessons in stealth. It's an SJM sleight of hand, letting us know this is something to pay attention to but she's not giving us the full story (my money is still on her being an owl shifter as owls fly silently which is know as the stealthy hunting hypothesis).

“Oh, fuck you,” Nesta snapped, and then choked. Elain blinked. Nesta blinked back, horror lurching through her. And then Elain burst out laughing. Howling, half-sobbing laughs that sent her bending over at the waist, gasping for breath. Nesta just stared, torn between questions and wanting to throw herself into the icy Sidra. “I— I’m so sorry—” Elain held up a hand, wiping her eyes with the other. “You’ve never said such a thing to me!” She laughed again. “I think that’s a good sign, isn’t it?”

This is a huge moment between Elain and Nesta. It shows that Elain has never wanted to be coddled and Nesta can move forward with treating Elain like the grown woman she is.

Nesta met the shadowsinger’s stare and he gave her a nod. Then his gaze shifted to Elain, and though it was utterly neutral, something charged went through it. Between them. Elain’s breath caught slightly, and she gave him a shallow nod of greeting before brushing past, leading Nesta into the room.

Elain, the wretch, had taken the seat between Feyre and Varian, about as far from Lucien as she could get.

Nesta is aware of Azriel having some kind of feelings for Elain but note how she doesn't indicate her feelings on it. However she does think that Elain is a "wretch" for sitting far away from her Mate. This is huge for the future of Elain's journey because Nesta has had some major issues with Lucien (not for any good reason, just because she felt she should have a say who who was allowed near Elain). And Elain has always seemed very aware of that. With Nesta finally backing down and almost accepting him, it clears the way for Elain to deal with Lucien without her sisters watching her every move.

Cassian’s heart strained at the pain etching deep into Lucien’s face as he tried to hide his disappointment and longing. Elain only shrank further into herself, no trace of that newfound boldness to be seen.

E/riels love using this as proof that Elucien won't happen but I disagree. There has been so much in SF that while Elain is growing, she still hasn't found the place where she'll thrive. And as long as she's running from that fact, she'll continue running from a Mate who sees more than she's comfortable with anyone seeing right now. To me, beginning to find her place in the world comes first and getting to know Lucien will follow.

I'm not really getting into the whole Az POV Chapter because it's been done a million times over. Az and Elain want to kiss but I don't feel their interest is healthy or for the right reasons. I think the rose necklace is representative of Elain, that it looks ordinary (the characters think Elain is 2 dimensional) until held to the light (when she finally makes her way to Spring or Day and opens herself up to her Mate who is basically the Sun personified) it's true depth will become visible (Elain will finally show everyone who she is and what she's capable of). Rhys is completely anti E/riel and coming from a best friend, that should tell you something. Not to mention Elain returns Az's gift which shows growth from when she refused to return Graysens after his rejection.

She had a vague sense of Cassian and Mor and Azriel nearby, of Feyre and Rhys and Lucien, of Elain and Varian and Helion.

Elain standing near her mate's (unknown) father is definitely one of those things that make you go hmmmm.

Nesta held love in her own heart as she pulled the small, carved rose from her pocket and set it upon the gravestone. A permanent marker of the beauty and good he’d tried to bring into the world.

She found Feyre and Elain waiting halfway down the hill, Nyx now dozing peacefully in Elain’s arms. Her sisters beamed, beckoning her to join. And Nesta smiled back, her steps light as she hurried down the hill to meet them.

The above is on the last page of the book.

Elain was mentioned on the first page of SF and the last page. Not to mention that rose carving makes an appearance once again.

The rose carving made for Elain, a character who is often linked to roses (a rose bloom in a mud field, a rose necklace, roses on her dresser drawer), was brought back from the Human Lands, placed on Nesta's mantle next to a figure of a Goddess then in the final scene, Nesta parts with the carving claiming it's a marker of the beauty and good her father brought into the world.

I get that fans of Gwyn and Az are hoping or feel they will have the next book. And maybe they will, it's really a 50/50 shot because SJM put a lot in SF for their characters as well.

But the argument that Elain wasn't in SF or she's not ready for her own book drives me a bit crazy.

Elain didn't even need to be on page because every character in the IC found it necessary to bring Elain into their thoughts and conversations. She's shown growth in standing up for herself and asking not to be treated like a child, she's showing that she's ready to take on something that is considered dangerous, and she chose herself over Azriel when returning his gift rather than pining as she did Graysen. We've already got possible plotlines including specific locations and possible powers outside of her being a Seer. We've also got reasons for her to finally want to distance herself from the IC, what with Azriel’s rejection (definitely a reason she might want to move out of Rhys and Feyre's considering they conduct court business there) and everyone deciding what she can or can't do.

The girl is ready for her book and she had a MASSIVE amount of hints and buildup placed throughout Nesta's (her sister's) story. If that's not enough to convince people Elain is ready to be a FMC, then I have no idea how they think she'll have more page time in a Gwynriel book. Because the sisters journeys, while also including their love interest and found family's, are greatly driven by their relationships with one another and how after their growth, they'll come together in a less broken way. Not to mention we don't need another book full of people wondering where Elain is, that she doesn't quite belong in the NC and being surprised that she's standing up for herself. I honestly think SJM got the point across in SF.

We saw a lot of healing between Nesta and Feyre but until Elain has her book, the three sisters cannot fully embrace the new relationships they've formed with one another.

#pro elain archeron #elain archeron #elain acosf #pro elucien #elucien

[legends-and-savages]

Tag Dump

#Sunshine Surrounded by Darkness {Visage} #c;; Elain Archeron #h;; Elain Archeron #Elain things #v; Tending a Garden {Pre-Series} #v; Hoping For a Dream {ACOTAR} #v; In Love and Still Kind {ACOMAF} #v; Granted a Gift for Kindness {ACOWAR} #v; Building Gardens for the World {ACOFAS} #v; What My Trauma Did to You {ACOSF} #The Three of Us Against the World {The Archeron Sisters} #Our Protector When We Needed It {Elain and Feyre} #Not Sure I Can Love You {Elain and Lucien} #The One That Got Away {Elain and Graysen} #Shadows Need Some Light {Elriel} #Flowers Woven in Her Hair {Wardrobe}

[midnight-peonyrose]

Hate for Elain Archeron must STOP.

Before this day ends I just wanted the hate for Elain to stop. You hate Elain and deem her as boring because she bakes, tend her gardens, and basically hate her for being herself and minding her own business. Well guess what? It just means you hate yourself too.  At some point of our lives we are Elain, we mind our own business, try to live a peaceful life doing what we love in a God forsaken world and yet some people who do not understand us still hate us, see us as plain and boring and full of shit when we haven’t done anything wrong. Well people just find something to hate because they are hateful. Elain might not be a protector like Feyre or a warrior like Nesta but her strength is different. She lives a cottage core life, one that is peaceful even though she went through the same hell as her sisters but she never sneered or blamed others, she wakes up each day and still be kind, That’s a different kind of strength that is so hard to have. We are all weak at some point, be traumatized and hurt at some point, you may be like nesta and shut people out and that’s okay because that’s how you protect yourself after all the hurt and she still managed to get out of that pit and we love that. We got inspired by that. Feyre got abused and hurt and beaten and died but she got out, though the nightmares still lingers but she found herself a reason to live and love and laugh and that’s another strength too just like nesta. And elain got hell too but she still wake up and showed light and kindness to others. Do you know how hard it is to be hurt and still be kind to others? I think it’s the hardest thing to do because it’s easier to be an asshole than be perpetually kind. Will you tell yourself you do not deserve goodness when you chose hope when your whole world are in shambles? What would you feel when the world hated and harass you for choosing the one you love to do? People look at her and think that Lucien or Azriel do not deserve her because she’s boring and plain and just everything about her is just not good enough. Even says because she cannot bear Azriel’s children. Well people in the back listen up. Just because you can’t have children it doesn’t mean you don’t belong to the one you love and loves you too. There are a lot of people in this overpopulated world who cannot have children yet stayed with each other because they LOVE each other. Having a child is not a requirement to be together, but love. Same sex cannot have children but they still fought for their relationship, why? Because they love each other, they adopt children. Same with opposite sex, even if they cannot have children they fought for their love and stayed and hold on to each other because of love, they adopt or sometimes don’t adopt. And this kind of love actually brought something great and wonderful too, just like our mama Sarah Janet Maas who herself is adopted. Being able to have a child is not the problem here but the mindset. Misogyny and Sexism. Will you still think you are worthy of your partner’s love when you found yourself unable to bear children?  Please just because you deem her as unworthy it doesn’t mean she deserves to be paired with abusers and rapists. No one deserves that.  Do you remember when everything went hell after acofas and people be shipping Cass and Emerie and then before the release, the fandom was divided anti nesta and nesta supporters, after the book what happened? Em is best friends with Nesta and they did not went into each others throat because of a guy. We finally understood nesta we aren’t divided anymore. Now we are again with gwyn and az and basically everything about elain. I believe in SJM, she is a feminist and taught us a lot of things in her books. Instead of wanting them head to head why don’t we think that they’d be friends like Em and Nes. The world is too cruel to have two amazing woman who are both unique in their own ways fighting over Azriel. ( Well all of us Azriel stans are obviously married to him at this point now. Who wouldn’t want to marry our prettiest batboy? ) We have years to wait for acotar5 and it’s already have been planned by our amazing author. Sit back and block the stans that you don’t like. We may theorize and be good at it oh well who could blame us when SJM exercises our reading comprehension, critical thinking, analyzation, word analogy, and creative thinking. But not to the extent of wanting a fictional character to die who doesn’t did anything wrong. It’s like saying you deserve to die because you got traumatized and still chose kindness over hate.  Elain is introvert. At some point we are all unable to express ourselves, be just on the corner and observe, give wisdom when needed, stood up for something right when no one ever did. Did we deserve hate for being introvert? No. Elain was misunderstood, all of us have been misunderstood. DO we deserve the hate? No. Elain is feminine, loves flowers and dresses and pinks well you may not have liked the same but it doesn’t mean boring, it doesn’t mean we have to hate her because we do not like what she likes. We are not a high lady like feyre or a warrior like nesta. We are elain who represents us in reality. She helps in the kitchen, to serve her family. She helps her neighbors, gardens and all em mundane stuff. Do we deserve hate, harassments, and death threats because we do mundane stuff? No we do not. And lastly, just because elain is white it doesn’t mean you have to hate her. That’s racism over there. I am a south eastern Asian and i don’t see anything wrong with elain being white. Nesta is white too, and mor, and feyre, and gwyn. Do they deserve hate because of their colour? Does people deserve hate for being beautiful? No, honey they dont. I don’t see the hate rhys is getting for being beautiful that it hurts. I don’t see hate on Az for being beautiful. If elain was a guy, will you finally love her, make her mysterious for being quiet or be excited to see what she’s yet to unravel about herself?  Everything is easier when you’re a guy isn’t it? But love, whatever kind of woman you are, may you be a Nesta, or a Feyre or an Elain. You don’t deserve the hate so let’s not give it to her or them. At some point we are the characters that we read in the book. We don’t deserve the hate, it hurts to be hated, no one deserves that pain to be bullied. So please stop. * Plays The Man by Taylor Swift *

#elain archeron #feyre archeron #nesta #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acosf #sarah j maas #femenism #stopmisogyny #stopsexism #elain #feyre #women

[flowerflamestars]

Destined and Dreamt

PART ONE  PART TWO  PART THREE  PART FOUR  PART FIVE  PART SIX  PART SEVEN

Nesta Archeron wasn’t sleeping.   Wrapped in a quilted silk robe, she paced the length of her bedroom, once, twice, before giving into the urge to throw back the curtains from her windows. It was the darkest part of the night. Thick clouds had long shrouded the stars, the only light the reflection back from the fire burning in the grate across the room.

But still, it felt a little easier to breathe.

Her life had felt like cage for a long, long time. Like any other creature of clipped wings, when Nesta slept, she dreamt of the sky.

There were so many places she hadn’t seen and longed for: the impossible high mountain gardens in the Sky kingdom, the sharp gold eyed fairies of Hesperia;, that Blooming Country, under their lavender sky. The horrible beauty over the Wall, wilder and more dangerous than the fae of the continent she worked with. Fifteen thousand year old trade routes that crossed between the sacred spaces of the Great Desert, books written by the hands of gods in the Weeping City.

The mountain peaks in her dreams, so vast their summits turned the very wind to song.

Tonight, however, it was the nightmares that kept her awake.

Some were nearly as old as she was: Feyre devoured by magic, Elain with cold metallic eyes, Nesta alone- Nesta a monster, without her sisters.

Newer, were what was haunting her now: humans turning on them. Elain in chains, Nesta made ready for a pyre, the horror Lucien would unleash trying to get to Elain before the sheer number of mortals brought him down.

It should have been a comfort- if everything went to hell, they were going to burn too.

But hell was coming for them in worse, different ways. It wouldn’t be their neighbors condemning them- if Feyre got her wish, took that gamble on all their lives, it might be the Queens to whom their tiny human world was personal property who ordered all their deaths for consorting with faeries.

Or Hybern, bringing their brutality to bleed all of Prythian dry.

In the very back of her mind, Nesta heard again, soft and fathoms deep, the voice that had responded to Elain’s charm. We’re called Illyrians, born hearing the song of the wind.

Behind her eyes, the mountains sang the icy air to shape. Not words, but feelings that bubbled up beneath her breastbone and completed a longing so desperate tears ached in Nesta’s throat.

She had nightmares, and then nightmares.

Nesta had bargained and cheated, lied and bought her freedom. She might not have been able to save her baby sister- a failure she could never, ever take back- but Nesta would be damned if she failed their vassals too. Failed Elain or Lucien, besides.

The cold wind in her mind was a wilder thing than the chill of this snowy night, she could almost feel it if she tried. Ice and power and freedom, the air twisting around her like an embrace.

There had to be a way to keep them safe.

Beauty would not distract her. It was the oldest human story, wasn’t it? The innocent maiden and the wicked faery. The lost kingdom and it’s chosen heir, a quest, a sacrifice.  Destiny. The trick at the end- the pure of heart is worthy, but faeries always lie.

This wasn’t a tale and Nesta couldn’t freefall through the very sky into the arms of her true love.

She’d find those mountains someday, climb them until Nesta touched the clouds herself. Cross the dangerous, fathomless enchantment of an ocean to follow the path of her families old compacts in blood. Her mothers homeland, the faery smith who’d bound gold on steel for the first Archeron Lord, maybe even Lucien’s lost and savage Autumn.

She would live, and she would see it all.

Nesta just had to find a safe route through a war first, and nothing- no one- was going to stop her. 

— Lucien was a liar. It was possible it was in his blood- learned over the cradle, crooned by his mother the deceptions that would keep him safe.   He’d let himself believe the lie he could survive Beron intact in youthful fury. Shed his colors and lied through centuries of brittle, false Spring Court charm. He would lie now- lie and burn and bleed if it meant he could protect the Acheron sisters from what was coming.   Sleep had never arrived.

When Elain finally gave into the overwhelming exhaustion of magic and conflict a few hours before dawn, he’s stayed still. Felt the soft sigh against his shoulder as her eyes tipped shut, halfway through the litany of what he knew of the Day Court, the exchange for a cheekily retold explanation of the ties between the Archerons and the north’s fell High Lord.   “We’re not his subjects,” Elain had all but growled, face pressed to his arm. That several hours into that tangled space between them, curled together on her floor, she’d cajoled him out of his coat and most of the asinine human layers Lucien wore these days, was not something Lucien would let himself dwell on.   How infinitely pale she was in comparison, the smooth curve of a freckled cheek pillowed on his bicep.   “The original oath ensures it,” Elain went on, “Prythian’s courts don’t allow humans to belong to them in legal truth, but for us it’s a protection. Not under Rhysand’s rule, but we can enter the protected city- carry things from it on our ships to countries who don’t know it exists.”   Adamant to his gold, but that wasn’t right either- aspen, ash to his birch bark maple, the trees that cut paths through Autumns heart.   “Velaris,” Lucien crooned back at her glee, the syllables smoke in his throat.   “The City of Starlight,” Elain’s laugh had no sound, the amusement a twist in her voice as it swept over his bare skin.   In an urge he’d been turning over and ignoring for the better part of an hour, Lucien risked reaching out to brush the curls from her face where they’d fallen into bright, half-lidded eyes.   “Wherever a High Lord is,” Lucien found himself saying, as the silence stretched a beat too long, as he looked into those dark, dark eyes, “is their court. Rhysand has more power than any of them- wherever he is, Night lives.”   His hand was still in her hair when sleep took Elain.   The trust of it- asleep against him, like Lucien wasn’t High Fae, magical and monstrous as they came- froze him in place.   It was a longer while than he’d ever admit before he carried Elain the scant step to her bed, left her wrapped in warm down- the temptation to stay so huge- and insane- that Lucien started walking and hadn’t stopped until he was here; deep in the snowy woods.   Dawn was only now cresting through the clouds, the light silvered pink and slow to reach him.   It was too damned much.   His mother- not just alive, or miraculously unhurt as he only hoped and dreamt of- but apparently seizing her own fate with a surety Lucien hadn’t known existed in his entire lifetime. His mother’s freedom.  They’d both be safe, at least as much as was possible, from Beron and Lucien’s brother’s wrath. For the first time in his life.  How had she broken a bond of blood? Stolen a High Lords crown?And why, after untold centuries of it’s wildness trapped in Beron’s hands, would it accept being wielded by one human girl? And what- he was truly afraid of the answer- what waited in the Day Court for them?   Lucien had only one guess, and it made it hard to breathe.   While he was already damned and ceding oxygen, Lucien let himself think of Elain. A Court’s crown should have had an effect- magic, in it’s truest, oldest aspect, shone on the skin of mortals- but Elain remained herself.   An utterly human, utterly feminine beauty. Bottomless clever eyes and a vicious, brilliant mind only countered by that kind unforgetting heart- everything in the world Lucien wished to hold.   It wasn’t fair, but he blamed Feyre.   He’d had it locked away. Bound in so much red ribbon behind his ribs to call enchantment down- and then Feyre in her pointed frustration had spent an entire day making asides about how ridiculous it was, how unnecessary it was, for Lucien to marry her sister.   While he’d been braced for the condemnation, for Nesta to brush away Feyre’s fears in that cool way of hers, that wasn’t his first impulse. Like a madness- like the High fae that he was- Lucien wanted to get in a fight.   This was where he belonged. In pace with Nesta, forever at Elain’s side.   He wanted to tear apart anyone who’d try to take that away. His home, his family, his-   Love was not a word Lucien allowed himself to think. It hadn’t lived in his vocabulary for enough centuries it had been easy to bury. Passing fondness of course existed, friendship- though his last lover had in fact been killed by Feyre’s hand, in these very snowy woods.   Andras hadn’t even been allowed to die wearing his own face.   There was nothing Lucien wouldn’t do to keep the eldest Archeron sisters alive.   He’d forgiven Feyre- been as close to her as he had anyone in decades, a friend- but Feyre had protectors too powerful and numerous to name now.   Before the sunlight reached the forest shadows Lucien’s body had melted through the snowdrift, burned so hot he was settled in summer warm soil instead of mud. A few red plumes of leaves had tried to unfurled out of their time on the oak behind him, scattered down at his displeasure between racing thoughts.   He’d never burned Elain. Lucien wasn’t actually sure it was physically possible for him- and that thought, at least, was a balm.   Lucien needed to bury it all.   Needed the lying diplomats face he’d perfected, the utter and complete act he, Elain, and Nesta pulled off in concert- Lucien needed the lie. Not to escape what he was feeling- it wasn’t possible, and he didn’t want to lose all the insane hope and fear he carried- but to face this day as the clever fox he’d been and find a path through.

  If Rhysand planned on endangering them, he had another thing coming, Nightmare Lord or no. — Elain woke up alone.   It shouldn’t have been a surprise- much less an imposition that filled her with the sort of blinding frustration a less keen observer associated only with her elder sister- Elain was the maiden daughter of Lord.   Not just a Lord, so far as the gentry were concerned, but Flatha, scion of a distant crown across the ocean, given their noble lands in totality from the personal property of the Council of Queens, their dangerous wayward relations contained within their own tiny kingdoms. Six centuries ago, Elain would have been gormflaith;  a princess named for the blue of her blood, just for being born Archeron.   For her purity.   The reality was, of course, that her father was an absent, worthless wastrel at best and Elain very clearly remembered falling asleep in Lucien’s arms.   Brown skin warm on her face, the air around them sparking- with Lucien’s laugh it ignited, a hundred little shining flecks to mix with the deep sound.   In the darkest part of the night, it had seemed like a whole other world. Effortless magic everywhere, that she looked on with such enormous fondness it was impossible to hide, a wreath of flower and bone- where exactly in the Autumn Court had the bone of a dragon come from?- tucked in her hair and humming with a power that lit along Elain’s muscles like adrenaline, easy as breathing.   Tumbling into Lucien’s embrace to bask in the predator-intent, faery savage way he watched her face.   His hand in her hair. Gentle, so impossibly gentle as curls rasped over knife callouses, the gesture completely separate from the wickedness in his molten eyes.   Waking up alone, under no less than three layers.   Elain bit the inside of her cheek and rolled over, kicking off suffocating blankets two and three as she went. The one left tucked around her with the precision of rolled pastry was rabbit fur- warm, soft, and usually housed across the room on a divan near exclusively used by Nesta.   The perfect repose of a noble heiress- but most women of Elain’s outsize standing were not hiding a house full of dangerous faeries. Did not turn every bit of glittering charm and very real companionship on their fake- but not quite- fiancé to get them out of their eminently fashionable great coat, all the way down to a silken tunic that left perfect, near obscenely sculpted arms bare, only for fire to paint the air with happiness. The average daughter of Flatha weren't able to summon the crown of Court of Prythian out of thin air, or possess a High Fae sister, and a triplicate strand of pearls that lived on her wrist to hide a scar whose sensitivity felt like- felt like-   Elain rolled back over and groaned.   There were a thousand things to do. Nesta needed to know that Sorcha had passed them off impossible power, offered refuge that could reshape their plans. Lucien needed to sign off their shipping manifests, go to port and glamour smuggled faerie cargo.   Their farms needed the roads cleared, the staff accounted for in the blizzard, extra supplies taken to the orphanage to begin the winter holiday celebrations. A ball to finish planning, ash wood to burn and hide, Feyre’s arrival to stage so that she could move freely at home.   Elain was busy. But instead of moving she was staring out the diamond paned window that showed her pink sky and blinding white snow; thinking about Lucien’s hands. She wanted to hold those hands and let their matching rings clank together. Let him feel the pulse in her wrist and see how pleasure arced over her skin from that silvered mark.   She wanted Lucien at her side for everything. — Back in fighting form, at least on the surface, Lucien was more intrigued than alarmed when halfway back home he ran into Feyre, coming out of the woods.   It was that old friendship- Feyre the huntress, Feyre the human unafraid of magic tempered spring green groves, Feyre newly changed and desperate to be outside- that kept him from the immediate warning sign.   She was alone, for one thing.   Smiled that cocky, antagonistic smile he hadn’t seen since she was a human. “Vanserra,” She called, and Lucien heard cauldron damned Rhysand in the syllables.   It was not like when Nesta called him by his surname.   Because being pricks to each other was the friendly foundation for them, Lucien squashed his shoulder into hers in reply, the snow liberally sprinkled in her hair sliding over his still bare arms. “Where’s your crown, little Fey? Thought Night Court fashion had rubbed off on you.”   With a half smiling snarl, Feyre used both hands to send him careening, before hiding them away in the deep pockets of a gigantic leather coat he could smell Illyrian blood on. Hair in a simple braid, she was leagues closer to the woman he’d known.   “Rhys is dramatic,” She said, unbearably fondly.   Rhysand was setting her up as an equal, and the ruler of the most populous court in Prythian, but Lucien was not going to be the person to tell her that.   “Dramatic,” Lucien repeated with a grimace, melting the snow in his path. He didn’t miss that Feyre watched impossibly fast motion- ice to slush to water, soaking deep into the soil at his behest- with rapt attention. “What are you doing out here?”   He was going to make a joke about her hunting pheasant with unfair fey advantage, perhaps extol the virtues of the terrifying, wonderful woman Nesta had employed as a cook and really grind in the fact of his life here, when Feyre blinked. 

And then again.   High Fae tells were dangerous, subtle things. Control was a mark of age, and power, with the rush of instincts that ran thick in their blood with adulthood. High Lords were volatile, courtiers deadly.   Feyre, for all her obvious immortal grace and power, still feigned like the nineteen year old mortal she was in many ways.   And lied like one.   “Practicing,” Feyre recited, face normal and eyelashes fluttering. Untruth changed the entire tone of her voice. For someone who looked so damn much like Nesta, sounded so much like Elain, the lack of ease felt bizarre. “Rhys is training me, but I can’t control all the courts power yet.”   The woods led to both the main road out to the farms and the local village, in the other direction, apple orchards and the shattered Spring Court border. Lucien decided to play along.   “No more accidental fires?” He teased.   Feyre laughed, almost genuine. “Autumn is easy,” She insisted, which told Lucien enough to know that whatever drop of Beron she possessed, its depths had not been reached. “Darkness is obvious, but I’m still finding out what came from who.”   Before he could reply, Feyre twisted, fluid as a Dawn Court assassin, to pose before Lucien. “Spar with me?”   He’d fought her as a human. Fought Tamlin for the chance for her to learn to master her new body, retrain in old skills. Even if Feyre had been fighting with Illyrian’s every day for the last year, Lucien had three centuries and an impossibly savage upbringing on his side- there was no danger.   But still, his pulse said look closer.   “You should know,” Lucien teased, mirroring her wide stance, “I did already fight the ceremonial duel with Nesta for Elain’s hand.”   Feyre stopped mid motion darting forward lightening fast to laugh. “Nesta held a sword?”   Something utterly indignant, blood red and fey, twisted in Lucien’s chest. He caught the hand that had been about to slap into him and sent Feyre flying back, her knees hitting the snow bank his melted path had created. “Hand to hand? No weapons or magic?”   Feyre grinned, shoulders aligning. “Just one round, fight me for real.”   Lucien didn’t immediately realize what a mistake it was. — Elain’s first sign something was off was Nesta’s pale face, crashing through her bedroom door.   It was early enough- the house empty enough- that much like much like Elain pulling Lucien into her bedroom the night before, Nesta looked like herself. Ink already visible on both hands, her wine colored dress without the sleeves laced on, carrying both books and letters balanced under one arm, the Archeron seal clutched golden in the other- this was the real Nesta.   Who tossed herself down on a chaise, catlike, to glare at Elain.   Not at Elain- not really, no true malice could live between the eldest Archerons- at the world. “Feyre didn’t sleep in her room last night.”   The fur blanket tucked around Elain’s shoulders slid to the floor as she turned, taking the comforting smell of Lucien’s hair with it. “Did she stay with Rhysand?”   She’d thought, not yet. Feyre might speak to him like a lover, invade the High Lords space in that half casual way Elain assumed faeries would take very seriously, but they didn’t seem there yet. There was a restraint, hunger in those ancient purple eyes.   Starvation.   Nesta sighed, began to shuffle the books she’d set down into a perfectly straight pile. “No, she took one of the guest rooms. It wasn’t even made up.” It wasn’t even- Feyre had come home, crossed the continent back to the land of their childhoods, and pointedly slept in a room without fresh linen? Or candles, or water brought in?   Elain joined Nesta on the chaise, silk magic warm beneath her.   Feyre’s rooms were exactly where they had been when they were children. The eastern wing, where she could see the sunrise over the gardens from her bedroom. Before the house had been plundered straight to the ground to pay debt- the very beams and rooftiles sold- the room next to it had been a tiny childrens library, just for her.

They’d rebuild it three times the size with more windows than walls. Elain had spent an obscene amount on fine glass, Nesta filled it with supplies from four countries- a studio, for their sister who’d always wanted to make beautiful things.   Elain swallowed the hurt, shared a look with Nesta that said all that needed to be said.   With it went the thoughts she kept thinking seeing Feyre’s face, both utterly young and preternaturally frozen, beautiful. Mortal freckles but no smile lines left. That same unrestrained laugh, but their mother’s blue eyes looked at Rhysand for answers. She was back, she was alive, she was- “Why do you think she came home?”   Nesta handed her the largest envelope.   It contained not one letter, or map, but more than a half dozen missives on blue paper, written by equally many hands. Elain dumped them on the cushions between them and began to read.   Humans in business with faeries had unique tactics to stay ahead. For one thing, compacts bound to bloodline meant most of the immortals didn’t care to know their business partners, after all, by their standard, they’d be dead soon.   But mortals stuck together. Many of their ancestors had been the same once, royal blooded and wild with nothing to loose. Explorers, who’d gone looking for whole new lands to gift their children, bereft of a crowns direct privilege.   Their descendants learned care in the cradle, and the power of passing knowledge.   Blue paper for the secret city’s Court, incendiary powder ink for High Fae information, moon silk ribbons, for Sangravah, the weaving capital of the world.   Elain compared the words, reiterating the same thing again and again, before meeting Nesta’s blazing eyes. “The Night Court has been invaded?”   Of course it had come from a dozen people; merchants made money in conflict. Human worlds changed, when those conflicts were fae. The danger was near suicidal for mortals in magical wars- but those rare survivors ended up rich beyond promise.   “No one knows who it was.” Nesta said lowly, frustrated, “They infilitrated the civilian population, took something, and burnt half the city to the ground once it was found.”   A valuable something, if they needed that much chaos to dissuade pursuit. What did Sangravah have? The best rugs and tapestries in the world. The only port where Dawn Court silk could be bought. Libraries and temples, pink light and poetry.   “Isn’t Sangravah a stone city?”   Nesta’s pale bitten lips said yes without the words. Elain swore.   For something to do with her hands she tipped the book pile closer and read down the spines: Alchemic Fire: A Compendium, Mother’s Moon: The Priestess Orders, and White Stone, Silver Blood, The Complete History of Northern Conquest. That Nesta hadn’t slept wasn’t a question Elain needed to ask, anymore than she knew that she’d find colored coded annotations if she started reading along. Completely illegal tomes, of course, Nesta’s favourite import.   She tried not to picture centuries old stone made molten, leveled to the ground. The heat, the chaos- the magic it would take for that kind of destruction.   “Hybern?” Elain asked, her own doubt clear.   The shake of Nesta’s head knocked loose her hasty updo, wooden pins catching in the freed waves of her dark hair. Recognizing the sheen and sharp points, Elain tried and failed to sympathize with the storm Rhysand had coming.   Nesta was walking around with ash wood in her hair.   “Hybern,” Nesta repeated with equal dubiousness, “Or Night Court rebels, or another Court or the Queen’s Council. Rhysand has more enemies than the thrice damned Plague Lord.” A High Lord who had specialized in bloodline curses- a single faery who’d brought the continent to it’s knees, a thousand years before. Elain wondered if they were of any relation. The male Feyre called Rhys and laughed with seemed to have an equal notoriety with his own people.   And possibly worse power running in his veins.   “Prythian,” Elain began carefully, “Might be even less stable than we know.”   Whispering despite the warding, echoed adrenaline making her awake, awake, awake, Elain managed in a steady voice to tell Nesta about Sorcha. Crowns and the Autumn Lords crimes, asylum waiting in the most foreign of places. — Feyre cheated immediately.   Lucien, who’d once had nightmares about that exact look of mischief on a human face, like a Suriel waiting in the dark, knew it was coming.   So when the youngest Archeron sister rolled out of the snowbank he’d neatly tossed her into with a laugh, Lucien was able to smartly dodge the ice that came railing toward him. Not sharp, but a barrage like giant hail that cracked against tree trunks, sent snow flying.   Feyre had never actually seen how fast Lucien could move.   And he wasn’t trying terribly hard now. If she’d been training with Illyrians all along, she’d be used to superior ungodly strength, but not the speed of High Fae. Even if she hadn’t been given the opportunity, Lucien thought Feyre would have sought it- Nesta’s infuriated face that those were Illyrians, childhood legends made real was evidence enough.   Rather than reengage, half a kind thought to the looming oak behind Feyre had the tree shaking every bit of wet snow off its drooping branches.   The weight of the snow knocked her back down with a groan. “You talk to trees now?”   Lucien straightened from the trunk he’d been leaning against and tried not to sound full of the vague insult he felt, “I always talked to trees.”   Feyre didn’t bother to get back up, shaking the slush from the hugely oversized shoulders of her coat. Narrow eyed, she tilted her head in question. It was still bizarre to see Feyre so- the mix of her human mannerisms and the instincts of a faery body muddled, indistinct. It was even more confusing now that he knew her sisters. When Nesta had the same posture, with her utterly similar and painfully different face, it was all fae- aggression, focus, the shape of a hunt.   Feyre looked baffled. And angry? “How’d you learn that from Spring?”   He waited a beat too long for the quicksilver teasing smile, for the punchline. It was long enough for the temperature to drop several degrees, for her brow to furrow completely. Lucien swore. “You’re joking.”   Incised, Feyre tossed an impressively articulate fireball at him, straight autumnal gold. “Of course I’m not joking. Spring controls plants.” Spring controlled plants. Gods and immortal honey.   “What,” Lucien growled, pausing to dodge Feyre’s barrage of fire, “In the Crones darkest mercies is Rhysand teaching you?”   It was an obvious mistake to snarl Rhysand’s name like that in her hearing. Like he hated the bastard- which in some ways he did. The High Lord, even if it had been Feyre’s idea as Lucien feared, had brought death and danger to the Archeron’s doorstep.   Was, after a sole year of what was clearly painfully basic training, touting her as the greatest magical force in Prythian.   Feyre’s eyes visibly flashed and Lucien braced himself.   But what he was met with was a wall of fire. Not warding, not bloodmagic, not sunfire, but only Autumn’s burning grace.   He could have parted it like a curtain. Eaten it up with hotter flames, pulled back until it belonged to him. It was exactly the sort of magical pageantry Beron insisted upon- no one raised in the Forest House wanted to be the weaker end of that pull.   Disallowed, Lucien’s thoughts still managed to flicker to the crown that fit his head. Day’s gold and Autumn bone, a missing piece, a-   Lucien stepped into the fire.   He could tell she was angry just from its depth, roil. Like stepping into the titanic baths of a Winter chalet, like the Summer court sea; Lucien had forgotten how good it felt. Living heat coiled up his arms, caressed his face.   Swore he could taste just a hint of bonfire on the back of his tongue. The ritual kind that burned and burned under a full moon, hawthorne and rowan, violets and rose. It was, he thought, painfully near the scent of Elain’s rage, protection that littered the air like embers.   Lucien was only aware he’d closed his eyes when it all went away. The world was blinding white, and Feyre was talking so fast her words bled together.   -“why the hell would you do that,” She was saying, “Do you think I actually want to hurt you? Shit, shit shit.” Lucien tried not to smirk, but the action was ruined by his recoil when Feyre grabbed his bare arm with both hands. Not that it stopped her- she kept swearing right up to the moment she actually managed to trace up his arm, staring at his unblemished skin with giant eyes.   Friendly, afraid, and awed; but still Feyre’s touch crawled over his skin with wrongness.   It had a name, a very specific reason, but Lucien wasn’t about to use the word, even in the privacy of his own mind.   Finally he snarled, discomfiture actually real enough for Feyre to drop his arm in sheepish apology. Clearly, some fae things she had learned.   “I don’t understand,” She said, “What just happened? Are you okay?”   It had been easy, Under the Mountain, to forget the savior of Prythian was a teenage girl. “Of course I’m fine. You didn’t hurt me, Feyre.”   Forcefully, Lucien made himself remember that he’d once wanted to be her teacher. Trapped under Tamlin’s rule, less than a shadow of himself, he’d wanted to make sure the world leveling power in her veins didn’t destroy her. Now, he wondered what in Cauldron’s name Feyre had been doing for the last year.   And wished, wished, he’d thought to take a real shirt with him leaving Elain’s rooms.   Feyre was still staring at him in that half hollowed out way that spoke of something like human shock. Lucien made himself smile through the grimace. 

“Fey, you know who I am now? My history?”   Feyre nodded, pulse visible in her throat. “Heir to the Autumn Court.”   He didn’t let himself blink, but it was a near thing. The North still called him heir? How that must burn in Beron’s gut, infuriate Eris.   It wasn’t the right time to explain his banishment, the price on his head. Much less grin over it. “Could you drown Rhysand in darkness?”   Caught between the human impossibility of Lucien’s utter lack of injury and what she had been taught was a fearsome faery weapon, it was a long moment in the frozen morning before Feyre smiled again.   “He’d like to see me try,” She drawled, giving much more information that Lucien really wanted but- “You’re flame retardant? “   Lucien laughed, but the warning bells hadn’t stopped. There was no one in their history who’d ever had the power Feyre did. Some things were universal to High Fae; instinct and strength, winnowing and healing, longevity and vengeance. But even a faery child born whose parents had mixed two court bloodlines, or grandparents, or great grandparents- it could happen for generations down, still the result would be the same. A favoring of one, maybe two Court’s vital skills.   There were theories about how it worked. That the solar courts had more malleable, airy skill, but the elementals blood was more physically shaping.   Lucien himself was not a good example.   He’d taken the name Vanserra the second he could for a reason- he’d favored completely Sorcha’s skills from the cradle. There had always been talk along with it- Lucien who burned a little too bright, whose very name was light like his mothers.   Remarks about his deeper skin, the shape of his mouth, and the height he grew into- so unlike his siblings.   The last Vanserra heir. It was the savagery that saved him long enough to grow; had the Lady of Autumn’s whole family not been slaughtered? The male heirs had disappeared centuries before, the loss of all the rest to Hybern was a tragedy that bore the mark of Beron’s fingerprints.   Of course Lucien would be unloved- hated. So different than Beron, than his brothers- yet still the most powerful son of all. A walking reminder of crimes and bloodshed, it made a very Autumn sort of sense.   Lucien was a very Autumn-blessed faery.   But that didn’t mean he didn’t receive a basic education on other courts before his banishment. He was not fire retardant- like calls to like. Too much an Autumn blaze to ever feel anything but it’s embrace; but sunfire would burn him. A ward twinged with Summer’s roaring heat could wound.   He wasn’t the child of every Court like her- but he knew the difference.   Lucien kept right on smiling, despite the peaked horror. How could she be ready for war?   “Not inflammable,” He drawled right back, laid on an eye-roll whose familiarity brightened her smile, “Just Autumn born.”   Liquid fast, Feyre reached out to tug on a long red tied braid in his hair, “I would have never guessed.”   Could she smell Elain on the ribbon?   Not letting the thought show, Lucien swatted at her playfully. He loved her- not like he loved Nesta, but affection all the same. Her youth scared him. “So fires so easy,” He asked, “Are you getting all the elements now?”   Feyre started walking again, meandering toward the house as she talked. Fire and water, darkness and wind. Was it actually possible a drop of each court wasn’t enough to obtain their more esoteric skills?   Or had she simply not learnt to access them?   “-the hardened wind shielding is dead useful, not sure if it’s Day or Summer. The same with the light show, but I don’t know what it does”-   “Light show?” Lucien interrupted.   Feyre raised her eyebrows. “Sometimes when fire won’t come I get light instead, this kind of glow?”   Summer Court light was weapon, she’d have known if she conjured it accidentally. But if it went along with flame-   Lucien summoned a ball of flame. He didn’t need to hold it over his hand like a showman, but it would be better for his point. “Is all your fire red?”   Feyre only made a face in response.   He started slow, relying on the old adage that instinct would catch up once possibilities were realized. Red to orange, orange to gold, gold to peach and pink. Pink to the burning, seething white he carried around in his chest, the natural color of Lucien’s flames.   Delight and determination shaped Feyre’s face, before she mimicked it perfectly.   The white of the snowing, pristine world before had nothing, nothing, on the gleam and glow. It was identical. But, but- Lucien realized, flames gutting out, it wasn’t fire.   Pure magic, the rise of the sun that fed the world. Feyre couldn’t tell what the light did, because she hadn’t let it loose on darkness. It was cleansing, hungry as his own flames. Daylight.   Enchantment had always been Lucien’s specialty.   Now that he let himself think it, the prospect that he’d never questioned was insane. His mother was a creature of blood and the Bone Forest- her spells were binding, clever. Had he ever seen her break one?   Had her flames ever eaten magic, destruction tempering in a whole new shape?   The fire of High Fae is not always, simply, fire.

@breath-of-sindragosa

@flxwer-petals

@ladyvanserra

@illyrianinterrasen

@missanniewhimsy

@tntwme

@ourbooksuniverse

@pitterpatterpot

@thestarwhowishes

@abillionlittlepieces

@my-fan-side

@the-eightofswords

@wonderland–memories

@ourbooksuniverse

@cohen-theeleven

 @donnarosemary

#I'm back!! #I know I promised a Cassian bookend but it got too long #his pov is coming!! #with angst! #and rage! #unadulterated need to fall down at Nesta Archeron's feet #Feyre is having trouble #adjusting to a world were her first faery friend #and big sister #are VISCERALLY IN LOVE #But will they admit it? #soon ish #will Rhysand have a good day soon? #LESS SOON ISH #Lucien is so pissed on Nesta's behalf #Elain I talked him out of his cravat Archeron #Next up: queens! revelations! Cassian forgetting personal space exists #Azriel is so very tired #acomaf au #nessian #elucien #feysand #elain archeron #lucien vanserra #nesta archeron #cassian #azriel #rhysand #feyre archeron

[azrielsiphons]

Shadows and Darkness: One and the Same (ch. 14)

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This fic is meant to be read in connection with my Azriel-centric prequel stories. I would highly suggest reading those first to get the full reading experience of this fic.

Enjoy! Like and reblog and do all the things! This is a long one (7.5k words), so feedback is especially appreciated. 

Everyone stared in horror as Lena’s wings slumped behind her, the stark white of the brand harsh against the dark membranes.

For on each of Lena’s wings, stained as a brand, was a single word that told more of her terrible history they would never truly understand.

TRAITOR.

When Lena woke up, Elain was leaned over her face, peering down at her uncomfortably close. Lena’s eyes widened.

“Can I help you?”

“Shadows and darkness, one and the same.”

Lena fought the urge to roll her eyes. “Yes, we’ve covered that.”

“They call you traitor, but they don’t know how you cried.”

“You know I’ve yet to meet a seer that didn’t annoy the hell out of me, and I was really hoping you would break that trend. That’s what I get for being hopeful.”

“You knew she was a seer?” Nesta’s voice was like a snake striking sure and true. Lena looked over Elain’s shoulder at the eldest Archeron sister with a wry gaze.

“I had a hunch. And apparently I missed the big reveal. Sorry about that.”

Elain finally moved away as Lena sat up, wincing at the tug on her wings. With a start, she magicked them away with a flare of darkness. Her eyes glanced at everyone spread about the room, watching her with sympathetic eyes.

“No need for pity,” she muttered, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. A heartbeat later Azriel was at her side, his hand touching hers lightly.

“Are you alright?” he asked softly.

Lena had trouble meeting his eyes, a part of her itching to push his hair away from his face and another part of wanting to jerk her blood stained hands away from him.

“I’m fine,” she said. “And I’m sorry for… well, all of it, really.” She glanced up at Feyre and Nesta, both watching her uneasily. “And you two? You’re okay?”

Feyre nodded. “We’re fine. Shaken, but… fine. Thank you for coming for us, for… flying in.”

Lena grimaced, looking down at her hands. She was surprised to see that the blood had been magicked off of her, but she could still feel it. It would take more than one bath to get that awful feeling off of her skin. A feeling she knew all too well. And that wasn’t even accounting for her inner turmoil.

She looked to Rhys next, who was trying and failing to hide his exhaustion.

“I’m sorry you had to see that.”

He swallowed hard, opening his mouth to say something in return, only to shake his head and close it, looking down at the ground. Feyre moved closer to his side.

The others began to shift uncomfortably, save for Azriel, as constant and steady as ever at her side. Realization set in Lena’s stomach like a stone.

“You showed them all?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. Rhys hesitated, but nodded. “Then you all know what I really am. What I’m capable of,” Lena muttered. “Perfect.”

“Why are your wings branded?”

“Cassian,” Mor hissed, smacking his arm. He didn’t even flinch.

“No one was going to ask and we’re all wondering,” he said bluntly, his eyes flashing with rage. “Who did that to you? Tell me so we can go rip their throat out.”

“You’ll do no such thing,” Lena said firmly, unable to meet anyone’s eyes.

“Was it an Illyrian?” Cassian pressed. “If they’re still alive it won’t be for long.”

“The people who did this to me had every right,” Lena seethed, her darkness culminating at the edges of the room. A tremor ran through the group.

“What?” Azriel asked.

At the sound of his voice, Lena turned to look at him and her heart practically broke in two.

He was going to be devastated when she told him... if she told him...

She looked away from his eyes with a sharp inhale. “I deserved these brands,” she repeated smoothly.

“Lena,” Mor said calmly, taking a step closer to her cousin. “You were taken, from us. You didn’t betray us of your own accord. You aren’t a traitor.”

“These brands have nothing to do with the Night Court,” Lena snapped. “I was — I am — a traitor... somewhere else.” She paused, her normally bright violet eyes dimming as she stared into empty space in front of her. “To a people I grew to love. I could have stopped the branding but I chose not to because I deserved it. I deserved much worse.” Those last words were almost inaudible, but Azriel caught them, sorrow coursing through his blood in response to his mate.

Before anyone else could speak, Lena stood to leave, her gait saying loud and clear for everyone to drop the matter altogether. Just as she was about to step out the door though, Elain’s small voice cut through the silence.

“You loved him.”

Lena came to a halt, her hand tensed on the doorknob, darkness creeping up her wrists.

“You loved him,” Elain repeated. “The peaceful prince. The one with golden eyes.”

Lena turned slowly, her eyes welling with tears and utter devastation written all over her face. She could feel Azriel staring at her - the others as well, but she could feel Azriel’s intense gaze. She swallowed hard, straightening her back as well as she could.

“Yes,” she said, her voice cracking. “Yes, I did.”

“And you killed him. Your prince.” Lena flinched. Elain only cocked her head to the side, her brow furrowed as she continued, “you killed him in his dreams. And then… and then the wrathful protector scarred your wings.”

Lena’s hands shook at her sides. “No,” she said softly. “No, Elain. He scarred my soul.”

And as Lena turned and left the townhouse in a flurry of darkness, they all could see as the weight of centuries of shame bore down upon her shoulders.

~~~~~

Lena immediately went to her old room in the House of Wind. She couldn’t stand another second of Rhys looking at her like she was a stranger, Cassian’s wrath, Elain’s stares, Nesta’s silent questions, or Feyre and Mor’s sympathy.

Then of course there was Azriel... her sweet Azriel who she knew she was treating terribly and yet didn’t know how to be better without revealing that part of her she had tried to bury so long ago.

A terrible, selfish part of her whispered, you’re mates with the Spymaster, the one whose shadows keep all of his secrets... there’s plenty he isn’t telling you after all...

Shutup, Lena hissed to that side of her she loathed, shucking off her disgusting leathers that still wreaked of Raven blood and heading towards the washroom. I love Azriel, I can tell him anything... there shouldn’t be secrets between us.

And yet she knew, she knew that she couldn’t tell him yet. Not about her peaceful prince, those golden eyes she hadn’t thought of in years, the sting of shame sitting in her bones as she thought of a past she thought would remain far behind her.

That was her burden to bear. She had never told a soul what she had done. And the time would come when she would have to, and that time was likely soon.

But she would hold the pain inside for just a little while longer.

The bath looked inviting, but Lena knew she couldn’t stay still if she wanted to keep the memories at bay. So she stepped into the standing shower she had custom made centuries ago, turning the water on as hot as it would go and then magicking it even hotter.

She wanted to scald.

“It’s as if the Mother dropped you right into our lives for a reason.”

“You took him away from me!”

“You’ve changed all of our lives.”

“Traitor!”

Lena’s hands curled into fists against the tile where she leaned as the water pounded over her back. Foolish of her to think the sound of their voices would fade over time. She could hear them now just as well as she had over 400 years ago.

She would never forget.

~~~~~

Azriel came around the corner silently, his wings tucked in tight and his shadows nowhere to be seen. Lena was standing still as a stone beneath the streams of water, steam billowing throughout the entire washroom. Her hands clenched and unclenched against the tile walls as if she were fighting not to punch the wall and scream.

Silently, he shucked off his leathers, stepping in behind her and wrapping his arms around her shivering waist. She had known he was there the whole time and yet still jumped the moment their skin touched.

She turned in his arms immediately, soaked black hair sticking to her neck as she reached up and grasped his shoulders hard enough to hurt.

“Please,” she whispered, running her hands down his torso. He couldn’t tell if she was crying as the water poured down her face. “Make me forget.”

He wanted to ask her what Elain had meant before — about Lena loving a peaceful prince. He wanted to beg her to tell him the whole story, to let him all the way in for once.

But he didn’t do any of that.

Instead, he hoisted her into his arms, pressed her against the tile, and made love to her long and hard until she was whispering his name and crying out against him, forgetting her pain for those precious few minutes.

And as he whispered his love to her as they both came down from their highs, she clutched him tighter than ever before, utterly silent.

~~~~~~

“Do you want to go back to my place?” Azriel asked minutes later, trailing his hands down Lena’s arms as she finished pulling on a night shirt. He paused when she flinched.

Lena flinched at his touch.

“I need to be alone.” Her voice was barely above a whisper.

Azriel took a deep breath, begging her in his mind to just look at him. She didn’t.

“We can’t go on like this,” he said evenly. Still she kept her back to him. “All of your secrets. I thought you said you told us everything and now there is all of this with your wings, some prince and protector you won’t tell us about, and Elain said that you… that you loved someone else.” Lena was utterly silent and he wanted to scream at her to just look at him, to say something, to lose her shit, to cry, to scream, to something. He had never seen her so... withdrawn. “I love you, Lena. But this isn’t right. I won’t keep letting you push me away.”

“Then don’t make me,” Lena turned and snapped.

He saw the regret on her face the moment the words were out. But there was no taking them back. Anyone else would have lashed out, but not Azriel. Even in his anger, he was cool, icy, collected. Utterly calm. At least on the surface.

“Fine,” he said simply, his only tell a flare of his shadows. “Goodbye, Lena.”

“Az wait—”

He flew off the balcony seconds later, his shadows reaching out for her uselessly as he disappeared into the night.

Lena cursed, reaching to her nightstand and throwing her hairbrush at the wall hard enough that the marble cracked. She heard a few servants scurrying away in the hall from where they had been eavesdropping.

She sank to her knees, utter silence consuming her.

“You’ve changed all of our lives.”

“You’ll pay for what you’ve done.”

“I loved him first!”

“Traitor!”

Traitor. Traitor. Traitor.

The memories were like knives in her head. She tried to push them away, but the onslaught was brutal, all consuming.

As the first tear fell to the floor beneath her, she opened the floodgates to one of her greatest shames.

~~~~~

460 years ago

Lena felt old. It didn’t matter that she was just over half a century in years, she felt as though she had lived lifetimes.

Considering she had lived many different lives every time she was put to sleep by the King and that bitch Amarantha, she might as well have.

And yet despite how the time passed, it never got any easier.

The killing. The torture. The maiming. The manipulation. The exploitation.

She hoped she would get used to it. And also prayed she never would.

And she would continue to do it all. For however long she had to until she found a way out. To protect her family, to protect her mate, she would do it.

The thought of Azriel sent a tear through her chest, making her actually double over in pain, bracing herself against the tree beside her as she made her way through another damn snow covered forest.

She forced herself to remember his smile, his laugh. The way he would rough house with Cassian, the way he used to tilt her chin up to kiss her softly, the way he would roll his eyes when Rhys was being particularly arrogant, the way he would reluctantly pass the bottle of wine to Mor at dinner.

She made herself remember because remembering kept her fighting. Because she was fighting for his life.

Even if it meant taking others’ in the process.

Did that make her horrible? A monster? Absolutely. And she would continue to be that monster to protect those she loved.

Which was why she was trekking her way through a forest in Vallahan headed into the capital. There was a winnowing barrier with a five mile radius and if she were to fly in, she would surely be spotted. Which meant walking. In the snow. For five miles.

Lena rolled her eyes, straightening her shoulders as she continued her trek. She should stumble upon some guards within the next few minutes. She reluctantly magicked herself out of her leathers and cloak into an ankle length blue gown. Next were her eyes, which she turned from violet to a piercing green. Her hair she faded to a dark brown, which wasn’t much of a difference, but wouldn’t give any lingering suspicion to her true heritage if anyone started asking questions.

Always a new role, a new mask to wear. This time she was to be the daughter of a wealthy merchant, seeking refuge at Vallahan’s castle after her father was attacked by bandits. The King of Hybern wanted her to make friends with the Vallahan royalty, namely their young crown prince, Danias.

She was to get inside Danias’s head, fill him with plans and ideas that suited the King’s agenda, then kill the King and Queen so that he would take the throne.

And while Lena could get into the prince’s head easily enough, it was impossible for someone of even her power to get into the minds of hundreds, if not well over a thousand people within those castle walls and keep them from looking too closely.

So she was to play the part. Get in, pretend to be a hopeless weak female, woo the prince and get into his mind, then kill his parents and run away screaming after she pit the murder on some other hopeless bastard.

It wouldn’t be the worst thing she had done. But it would be the most time consuming.  

It was good timing that Lena glamoured her appearance when she did, for three minutes later she happened upon two guards, whose blades were up and at the ready the moment they saw her.

“Who are you?” one of them asked brusquely.

Lena shrieked, holding her hands up by her head and pretending to shiver helplessly.

“M-My name is Arila,” she stuttered out, making her lip tremble. “I’ve been walking for days, my father was...” she let a few tears slip for good measure, “he was killed by bandits on the road. I’ve nowhere else to go, please.”

The other guard lowered his blade slowly. “Who was your father?”

“Odo, the merchant.”

The real Odo the merchant and his sequestered daughter had been killed by one of Hybern’s other spies weeks ago when Lena had still been in her dream state.

“Shit,” the guard cursed, sheathing his sword in one smooth motion and taking off his coat. He stepped forward, wrapping it around Lena’s shoulders, which she accepted with just the right amount of gratitude. “We should take her to the palace.”

“She’s an orphan,” the other guard complained.

“She’s Odo’s daughter. The King will want to see her, trust me. Come with me.”

Lena smiled, looking up from beneath her lashes as the guard led her out of the treeline and towards the palace. Years ago, she might have felt a thrill of pride in the way his cheeks flushed and he quickly looked away, but all she could feel in that moment was utter self-loathing.

~~~~~

“I had always heard rumors of Odo’s daughter,” the King of Vallahan said from his throne, rubbing his beard in thought. “Everyone said he kept you hidden away. But I have to admit you do look like him.”

Really? Lena thought. Because this was just a guess.

The King was just over 100 years old, and the rumor was that he kept the beard to look older since he had such a baby face.

At his side, the Queen sat observing Lena with a small smile. Her strawberry-blonde hair was so long Lena felt sure it went past her waist, though it lay in a tight braid.

“What exactly happened, dear?” the Queen asked softly.

Lena took a deep, shaking breath, blinking back forced tears. “My father had stopped on the side of the road to help an overturned wagon. But then the bandits were everywhere, he told me to run and... and the last thing I saw was his blood in the snow and I...”

The throne room went awkwardly silent as Lena laid on the tears thick.

“Odo was a noble male, an upstanding Vallahan citizen,” the King boomed. Lena wiped away her tears and looked up at him, nodding fiercely. “You are free to remain here, working in the palace in whatever capacity you would like.”

Lena gasped, clasping her hands together. “Thank you, my King and Queen. From the bottom of my heart, thank you.”

“Jareth,” the Queen called out, turning to one of the King’s personal guards. “Escort Arila to one of the spare workers’ rooms. And ask one of my handmaids to help her wash up and be fitted for some new clothes.”

The guard bowed deeply at the waist before walking up to Lena and extending his arm for her to walk ahead of him.

The moment the throne room doors shut behind them, Lena loosed a breath.

“Come along then,” Jareth said, giving Lena a small smile as he led her towards a set of stairs.

As they walked, Lena carefully observed the guard. He was clearly trusted if the Queen knew him by name and had asked him not only to escort her but also reach out to one of her handmaids.

His hair was a light brown color, pushed back in a swoop over his head. Lena had a feeling he would be getting a haircut soon, as it was close to impeding his vision.

The armor he wore was a joke compared to the Illyrian armor Lena had grown up around, but she supposed it got the job done. She saw a few dents and scratches in the metal that said he trained hard.

“Jareth,” a new voice called out suddenly.

Lena and Jareth both turned at the same time to see another male running to meet them on the stairs.

Lena knew a great many beautiful people in her life, a perk of being half-Illyrian and cousins with the Morrigan. But she had never seen a male quite like the one before her.

His jawline was sharp, framed by his curly dark hair hovering just over his shoulders. Freckles dotted the entirety of his face, standing out like little constellations on his brown skin. His eyelashes were sinfully long and Lena wanted to throttle him for it.

But what struck her were his eyes. Pure gold.

Lena was no stranger to beautiful eyes, she and Rhys had violet ones after all. But she had never seen gold eyes.

And his smile was dazzling. Utterly unrestrained. Lena felt like she was staring into the sun, which was odd considering she was night made manifest.

“Danias,” Jareth said with a small bow.

Lena hoped neither of the males saw her eyes widen. So this was the crown prince.

Of course he’s beautiful, she thought to herself bitterly. Everybody is always beautiful.

“Oh stop that,” Danias said with a wave of his hand. Jareth only laughed. “I  missed you in the throne room by a second. My mother said that Odo’s daughter was going to be a new member of our little castle family here.” He turned to Lena then and his smile only got wider.

Fucking hell, Lena thought.

“That must be you,” Danias said. “I’m sorry for your loss, but it’s a pleasure to meet you.” He took Lena’s hand gently in his own, bowing to kiss it. Lena didn’t have to force herself to look flustered.

Stop acting like a teenager, Lena scolded herself.

“The pleasure is all mine, Prince Danias,” Lena stuttered out, managing a curtsy and wanting to vomit. She didn’t curtsy. She was the damn Daughter of the Night Court.

Not anymore, you’re not.

“Please, just Danias. I see Jareth is showing you to your new rooms?” Jareth nodded at his prince’s glance. “I’ll join you then.”

The trio began walking and any thought that Lena had that there would be awkward silence soon fell away as Danias chattered excitedly.

He told Lena how his mother was likely thrilled there was a female in the castle, as it tended to be dominated by males. He asked if she was trained in any combat to which she lied and said no, and he said he and Jareth would rectify that situation (as if).

The list went on and on and minutes later the two males finally let Lena into her new rooms. They were nice, nothing like what she had had at the Night Court, but infinitely better than her stone room back in Hybern. She made a show of being utterly in awe of her new surroundings.

“It’s beautiful,” she whispered.

“Easy to please,” Danias murmured, shooting her another grin. “I’ll have to remember that.”

Lena looked over her shoulder, cocking a dark eyebrow. “I wouldn’t go that far, Prince.”

Jareth let out a bark of laughter while Danias’s eyes only lit up with excitement.

Lena was reminded so much of Rhys and Cassian in that moment she wanted nothing more than to ball up in a corner and cry. But she was on a mission. A mission to protect them and she would damn well do it.

“I think I’m going to like you, Arila,” Danias said with a wink before clapping Jareth on the shoulder and striding off with his hands in his pockets, whistling all the while.

Jareth chuckled as he watched after Danias wistfully.

Ahhhh, Lena thought to herself. The prince has an admirer. Because of course it’s complicated.

“You like him,” Lena observed. Jareth whirled, his eyes wide. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell.”

Jareth laughed. “You’ve been here for five minutes and you think you know our dynamic?”

“I can guess.”

Jareth crossed his arms, cocking his head to the side. “Humor me.”

“You’ve known each other since you were children,” Lena said, crossing her own arms. She needed these males to trust her, to become her friends. Which meant letting them know they were equals. “Grew up together, trained together, got all of your typical teenage urges together. You didn’t even realize you were in love until it was too late to turn back.” Jareth’s face paled significantly. “You were together for... a year? Maybe more? And then one of you decided it was too dangerous considering Danias will need a queen one day with Vallahan’s backwards traditions. So you called it quits. Now your friends, but... also more.” She paused. “Was I close?”

Jareth cleared his throat. “Alarmingly so. There are plenty of rumors, but none of them true. Please don’t add to the fold.”

“Of course.”

Jareth looked like he wanted to say more, but he only gave a soft smile and shut the door behind him.

Lena let out a breath once she was alone, letting the smallest bit of her darkness spark from her fingertips, enough to go undetected. This was going to be a long, painful mission.

~~~~~

Every day, Lena found herself cursing Danias and Jareth for being so Cauldron damned nice.

Of course they’re nice, she thought to herself as they sat together over breakfast. Of course I would be sent to destroy the lives of nice people with good hearts.

Most of those she had killed for the King up to that point had been awful people. Not that all of them deserved to die, but still terrible people, which made living with her deeds a bit easier.

But killing a benevolent King and Queen who saw an orphan and took her into their home? Twisting the mind of a Prince who did everything he could to make her laugh and taking him away from the guard who loved him?

That was much, much worse.

Not that she had any luck getting into Danias’s mind considering the King’s information had been wildly incorrect.

Danias’s mental shields were impenetrable. Well, Lena could penetrate them easily if she wanted his mind to turn to mush, which she certainly didn’t.

But since she couldn’t get into Danias’s head for the King of Hybern’s plans the easy way, she had to make a new plan.

Which meant tracking down the next in line for the throne after Danias. Fortunately for Lena and unfortunately for Vallahan, Danias’s cousin Razen was an imbecile. She could break into his mind in seconds and meld it how she wished.

If Lena were smart, she would have done just that and then killed Danias and his parents outright.

But she wasn’t smart, not in that moment. Because while she knew that getting attached was the worst thing she could possibly do, she couldn’t help it.

Danias and Jareth reminded her so much of Rhys, Cassian, and Azriel it hurt. And even though she knew she would have to wreck their lives and fulfill the King’s mission, she couldn’t tear herself away.

So she stayed. She stayed, prolonging the mission for as long as she could. The King of Hybern believed that she was still weaseling her way into the Prince’s heart with no other options. And she kept it that way.

Not that he was necessarily mistaken.

Danias was enchanting. He was charismatic, passionate, open minded, and kind to everyone he met. He cared about his people and his family more than himself, and never missed an opportunity to encourage someone in their dreams.

Jareth was like a tidal wave. Every word he spoke was intentional and thought out. He believed in protecting not only Vallahan royalty, but all those who needed protecting. He could spend hours talking about hard hitting issues only to turn around and make a horrible joke about one of his fellow guards going to the toilet.

The two were so lovely it hurt. And they adored Lena.

No, they adored Arila. Lena was a stranger to them.

And yet the more time they spent together as the weeks and months passed, the more Lena found herself acting more like... herself. She could feel the old Lena deep inside her begging to come out.

But that Lena had to remain locked away. Because that Lena was selfish, and would run back to the Night Court the moment she was able to.

So she kept her bottled up. Lena became Arila, the kind, borderline ditzy orphan girl so grateful to the Vallahan royals for taking her in. She let Danias and Jareth “train” her, and pretended to be useless with a sword and out of breath after only minutes of sparring.

It made her sick to her stomach. And yet when Jareth and Danias told her how great she was doing, handed her a canteen, and then encouraged her to try again... she felt whole.

Love. She was feeling what it meant to love and be loved again.

Decades of being alone, of no one to truly care if she lived or died. And these two males were giving her the greatest gift they could offer her: love.

And she loved them fiercely. She hated herself for it, but the feelings were there all the same.

“You’ve changed all of our lives,” Danias would always say when he was in a particularly sentimental mood, kissing Lena’s hand before walking away, hands in his pockets, whistling some happy tune he had made up.

The first time Jareth kissed her she ran to her room and vomited.

She had kissed someone that wasn’t her mate. She kissed someone that wasn’t Azriel while Azriel was out there thinking she was dead.

Jareth came after her and held back her hair, apologizing profusely. She shook her head, standing to her feet and rinsing out her mouth before turning back to him.

Kissing him was wrong. And yet she needed it. He needed it.

Danias kissed her for the first time in the library. She pushed him away, telling him she couldn’t, that Jareth...

But he only laughed and said he knew. And Jareth knew.

It didn’t make any sense, but neither did that entire Cauldron forsaken mission. And Lena knew it would all be over soon at her hands, so why not.

So she kissed Danias. And then she kissed Jareth. And after much encouragement from her, the two males got back together, embracing their feelings for each other once again.

They loved each other. Each in their own strange way. And while Jareth and Danias knew that Lena was always holding back, that she could never quite give her heart freely and had a great many secrets... that was okay with them.

It didn’t have to make sense in the grand scheme of life. It just had to make sense in their hearts.

And Lena loathed her heart for loving them. It wasn’t a free, easy love like what she knew. Jareth and Danias felt it easily, but for Lena it was a hard love.

But she was too selfish to get on with the mission. She wanted her months without fear. With genuine smiles and laughter before she was sent back to that dream world that would destroy her soul a little bit more when she came out of it.

It was months after her arrival, as she lay next to Danias in the quiet of the night that the King of Hybern finally had enough.

He broke into her mind so quickly she almost fell out of the bed.

“Arila?” Danias called out sleepily, oblivious to the way Lena was clutching her temples.

“I’m fine,” Lena gritted out, laying her hand on Danias’s arm. “Go back to sleep.”

He shot her one of his signature smiles, made all the more adorable by his sleepiness before rolling back over and instantly falling back into his dreams.

Lena stumbled out of the bed and into the washroom, the King’s presence in her mind like pure fire.

When she looked up into the mirror, she didn’t see her reflection, but a livid King of Hybern.

“I am done playing your games, pet,” the King seethed. “I know that your prince has impressive shields and that you’ve been playing your damsel in distress part for longer than necessary.”

Shit, shit, shit. He must’ve sent some of his spies to check up on me. How did I not notice? Lena scolded herself.

“Now you are going to kill that pretty prince and his parents right now, and you are going to let his idiot cousin take the throne, and then you are coming right back to me, my little pet.” The King’s smile was horrific. “That, or your Shadowsinger dies. Tonight.”

Dread settled deep inside Lena’s bones. The King must have seen it on her face or felt it in her mind as he laughed darkly.

“Oh yes. Right now your mate is in one of those horrible Illyrian camps with your brother and the other bastard. I could be there in two seconds and wipe them from the face of the earth. And I will, if you don’t complete the task you were given.”

Lena swallowed, trying and failing to calm her trembling hands and racing heart.

Please, she sent up a prayer to the Mother, please keep them safe.

“Now go,” the King snapped.

A second later he was gone, and Lena was left staring at her own miserable reflection in the mirror. She cried out as she fell to her knees, biting her knuckles to stifle her sobs so that Danias wouldn’t hear her.

What have I done?

She couldn’t wait any longer. If she waited any longer she would try to find a loophole, which meant the magic connecting her and Azriel would kill him instantly in response to her going against the King’s wishes.

Lena summoned her darkness, tears still falling rapidly as she turned that darkness into a blade made of pure night.

Danias was softly snoring as she crawled back into the bed next to him. His breath hitched and he let out a content sigh, wiggling back against her as she molded her body behind his.

“I’m sorry,” Lena whispered, her voice almost unrecognizable as it cracked and stuttered.

“For what?” Danias murmured sleepily.

The drag of her blade across his throat was a sound she would never forget.

Danias tried to gasp, only to choke on his own blood. He rolled onto his back, his body convulsing as he desperately clutched at his neck as if to pull the severed skin back together.

His frantic golden eyes met Lena’s, her glamour falling away as she sobbed. She could see every bit of the confusion, the betrayal.

“I’m so sorry,” she choked out, wanting nothing more than to turn that blade on her own throat. But she couldn’t. She couldn’t.

Danias tried to say something. Lena thought it might have been Jareth’s name, but she couldn’t be sure.

It took 27 seconds for Danias to fall unconscious. 14 seconds later his heart stopped beating. 2 more seconds for the light to fully leave his beautiful golden eyes.

Lena began to reach out and touch his freckles, those constellations that had reminded her of home, only to snap her hand back.

She didn’t deserve to touch him.

She was in a daze as she stood to her feet, bloodied blade in her hand as she walked out of the room. She magicked her nightgown away, replacing it with leathers and her cloak.

And just like that, the love she had been so selfish for was gone. The cloak was back, the weapon of Hybern had returned.

Lena was thankful no servants were milling about as she stalked down the hall, blood dripping from her blade onto the marble at her feet. She would have hated to kill them too.

She burst into the King and Queen’s chambers, flinging a knife made of daknress in between each of their eyes as they bolted upright. They died immediately and Lena cursed herself for not giving Danias the same courtesy.

Maybe a sick part of her subconscious wanted him to see that it was her killing him and for him to hate her as he died.

Lena stalked two levels down, hiding in the darkness as two servants snuck into a closet to be together, giggling wildly. Fools.

She made it to the cousin’s chambers, the new heir to the throne of Vallahan. He didn’t even wake as she walked right up to his bed, breaking into his mind and filling it with all the King’s wishes of teaming with Hybern, new trade routes, disdain for the humans, and so on. When it was done, she turned and left.

She heard a scream as she stepped out of the castle. Someone must have walked by and seen either Danias’s chamber doors open or his parents. Likely that couple she had seen sneaking around.

Lena chose not to speed up her pace as she made for the treeline. She couldn’t winnow or fly for the next five miles, so she had to walk.

She managed to keep her tears at bay for about a quarter of a mile.

Until she heard Jareth’s roar echo across the sky.

~~~~~

Lena was practically crawling the last mile as she made her way outside of the castle’s wards. Her throat was raw from vomiting and dry heaving, her chest heavy from sobbing. She had bit her lip hard enough to bleed, and the saltiness of her tears was stinging it.

But she welcomed every ounce of the pain. It wasn’t nearly enough.

She was so distraught that she didn’t even hear Jareth riding up behind her on his horse until he was right on top of her.

She turned only to be met with his boot in her face, her body flying backwards into the snow.

She spat blood, coughing as she tried to bring herself to her feet.

Jareth jumped down from his horse, stalking with all the anger of a wrathful god upon the cloaked stranger as four more of his guards came riding up as well.

He kicked her in the face once again. She didn’t fight it.

“You killed him!” Jareth screaming, tears streaming down his face, eyes bloodshot. “You took him away from me!”

He went down on a knee, grabbing the collar of Lena’s cloak and rearing back, punching her in the face as hard as he could.

“Fight back!” he screamed. Another punch.

It was the third punch that sent the hood of the cloak falling away. At the very least, Lena managed to put her glamour back on.

Jareth jerked away, falling backwards. The other guards cursed. Lena could only cough up more blood, rolling onto her side as they stared at her in shock. Jareth was shaking, mouthing words but making no sounds.

“No,” he finally said audibly. “No, no. You didn’t.”

“I did,” Lena choked out, wheezing. “I killed him. And the King and Queen. I put a knife between their eyes and I slit his throat.”

“Stop it!” Jareth screamed, scrambling to his feet. “No! You loved him!”

Yes, I did, Lena’s heart whispered.

“No, I didn’t,” she said.

Jareth punched her again. “I hate you!” he bellowed. He tossed her back to the ground, turning to the other guards, who could only stare in disbelief. His shoulders and chest heaved with every breath. Lena heard him unsheathe his sword. “She’ll pay for this. For killing our King and Queen, for killing our—”

His voice broke off. Lena heard the other guards murmuring their own sentiments as she turned on her stomach, crawling to the stump a few feet away and trying to haul herself to her feet.

“She will die for this!” Jareth repeated, goading his men. “We will avenge those we swore to protect. Her death will be painful, and long.”

The other guards began to cheer only to stop, staring behind Jareth in shock. As Jareth turned though, he stumbled backwards at the sight of Lena standing on her feet and spreading her wings wide.

“Impossible,” Jareth breathed. “You’re... you’re a merchant’s daughter.”

Just fly away, Lena told herself. Fly away, go back to Hybern, the mission is done.

But she couldn’t make herself do it.

“I’m no merchant’s daughter,” she hissed in her most terrible voice, hoping and praying that Jareth and his men would just run away. She couldn’t kill him too, she just... couldn’t.

Jareth’s face contorted in pain, then rage.

“You bitch,” he seethed. He had a knife in his hand a second later.

Lena saw it coming. She could have stopped it easier than breathing. But instead, she found herself staying still, letting it hit her in the shoulder.

She fell to her knees yet again. Jareth and his guards swarmed her, pushing her to the ground, kicking and punching her, pulling and slicing at her wings.

She hoped they killed her. But she knew she would stop it before they did. If only to save her family from the King’s wrath if she died.

Jareth gave the order to stretch her wings out. She finally screamed when they nailed the edges to the ground.

One of the guards started a fire, handing Jareth his largest blade. When the metal was glowing bright red, he pressed it against her wing, carving through the membrane.

Lena wasn’t sure she had ever felt such pain before. Her screams were unnatural and she felt sure that even another world could hear her cry.

She knew the word they were carving — branding into her wings.

TRAITOR.

She deserved it. They should have branded it onto her forehead.

“I loved him!” Jareth shouted over her screams, digging the blade deeper into her wing, almost done with the second brand. “I loved him and you took him away from me. Traitor. Traitor.”

It was only when Jareth reached around her to slit her throat the way she had slit Danias’s that Lena reared her head back and slammed it into his nose. She misted the nails holding her wings in place, pulling herself weakly to her feet.

Even in her broken state, she was able to break into the minds of the other guards and send them sprawling to the ground.

Her breath came shallowly as Jareth stared at her from the ground, eyes wide and blood pouring from his nose.

“What are you?” he asked as she magicked away her wings, still fully aware of the pain, the blood dripping down her beloved wings. She wondered if she would be able to fly after this.

“Don’t you know?” she wheezed, letting the last bit of her darkness gather around her as she prepared to winnow. “I’m a traitor.”

The next thing Lena saw was the stone walls of her chambers back in Hybern before she fainted.

~~~~~

Present

Lena woke up with the sunrise, still laying on the floor where she had cried through the night over the souls she had loved in Vallahan all those years ago.

Her throat felt raw from crying, her eyes terribly dry. One look in the mirror had her wincing, magicking the red away from her waterline.

The last she had heard out of Vallahan was that Danias’s cousin had been murdered in an uprising led by Jareth. Jareth had then been elected King by the people.

All that she had done to fulfill the King of Hybern’s wishes — and Vallahan still came out victorious.

She had gone back there on missions, of course. But never to the capital. She hadn’t seen Jareth ever since that day.

Traitor.

She had no doubt he was a good ruler. He ruled as Danias would have: justly, with compassion for all. She wondered if the King of Hybern had tried to ally with him yet.

She wondered what Jareth would say. The King could spin his plans and hopes many different ways. She had no doubt that he could win over even Jareth with his talk of unity.

Lena could only hope that Jareth would see through it.

An idea shot through her like an arrow. A stupid, terrible idea.

It won’t work, Lena told herself as she pulled on her leathers, the silence of the room pressing down on her. 

But it might, another part of her said. And isn’t that enough?

Even though everyone had seen her wings, Lena still couldn’t quite bring herself to fly from the House of Wind to the townhouse. She stepped from her balcony, letting herself fall through the air before winnowing inside. 

Cassian cursed, jumping as she appeared out of darkness next to him. 

“I think I have an idea,” Lena said without preamble. She met Azriel’s eyes briefly before looking back to Feyre and Rhys. “I’ll need you to trust me though.”

Rhys inhaled deeply. “How exactly am I supposed to trust you when you won’t even tell us where those brands on your wings came from? Lena, we’re in the middle of a war and quite frankly I’m sick of having to worry about you on top of everything else.”

Lena couldn’t help but flinch as the tension in the room skyrocketed immediately. 

“The brands came from—” she cringed, taking a deep breath. “The brands came from Jareth of Vallahan.”

Mor gasped. “The King?”

Lena shook her head. “This was before he was King. He was my... friend. As was Danias, the crown prince.”

“You killed him,” Rhys said, understanding dawning on him. “The prince and his parents. They were murdered, I remember. We even sent Azriel to make sure that—”

Rhys went silent as he looked over at Azriel, who was staring at Lena with utter devastation written on his face. She kept her eyes averted to the ground.

“Yes, I killed them,” Lena whispered. “They welcomed me into their home, treated me as family, and I killed them. I loved Danias. And Jareth. In our strange way, we all loved each other. But then the King of Hybern said that if I didn’t kill them, he would... well, you know what he said he would do.”

Azriel stood to his feet, walking to the window, his body unnaturally still. 

“And Jareth branded your wings as revenge,” Cassian said evenly. 

Lena nodded. “He did. I let him. And now,” Lena turned to face Rhys and Feyre, her shoulders straight and chin high, “I want to beg him to join our forces.”

#acotar #acomaf #acowar #azriel fanfiction #sad oats #OOOOOOOOOOOOO #WHAT'S GONNA HAPPEN NEXT #WHO KNOWS #i mean i know #BUT WHO KNOWS #IT COULD BE ANYTHING #any predictions??? drop in my asks it literally makes me so happy #also if you're still reading the tags here's a spoiler for the next chapter #Azriel goes OFF #my boy SNAPS #and with DAMN GOOD REASON #so that's that #let me know what yall think ily all #k bye now

[getalittlecountry]

Shape of You (4)

okay happy ACOWAR release day. Here’s the next chapter. I can’t wait to share more. But for now we will have to read the book and see where our amazing author has taken our favorite bat =)

Chapter 4

If Elain hadn’t squealed the moment she saw me time would’ve stood still. Because the moment I saw him standing there, with that stupid grin on his face, I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t think or feel or do anything but stare at the monster who had taken so much away from me. But then my middle sister broke the tension, she broke through the panic and grabbed me tightly, pulling me away from the boy who haunted my dreams.

It took me a full heartbeat to make it to the bottom of the stairs. When I did my middle sister came running towards me, oblivious to the fact that at this very moment I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t think past the evil bastard smiling that disgusting smile at me.

But then it all faded when Elain wrapped her arms around me. She hugged me tightly as Cassian let go of my hand. His eyes were on Tomas, who was smiling at me. No he was smirking, as if he knew exactly what his presence was doing to me. As if he was remembering that night long ago when he had hurt me beyond repair.

Elain let me go and I stepped backwards, but thankfully Cassian grabbed my waist before I could stumble over my own feet and fall down. He was a steady force behind me, his hands warm against my skin.

“Nesta!” Elain was smiling at me, I realized only seconds had passed since Tomas had walked in. I looked at my sister and tried to focus on her. She looked so good, so happy and healthy it killed me to know I hadn’t been home in six months.

“Hey E,” there were tears in my eyes as I looked at her. She was so grown up, they both were. Then again we all had to grow up before we were ready. Since our father had never been there for us.

Cassian stayed close to me, his body stiff, his eyes on Tomas. Tomas watched us, and for whatever reason it didn’t affect me while Cassian was there. It wasn’t that same air crushing moment as when he appeared.

“I’m so glad you’re here Nes, and you brought your new boyfriend. Feyre and I have been so excited to meet him. Gosh he’s so handsome.”

Leave it to Elain to break all the tension in the room. Cassian gave her his most charming smile, reaching an arm around me and offering her his hand, “I’m Cassian. You must be Elain, I’ve heard so much about you. About you both, Nesta really does love her sisters.”

She took to him fast. She shook his hand and her eyes were wide as she felt the muscle behind his shake. He stepped around me, I gave him a nod letting him know it was okay, and then offered her his arm. They walked into the dining room together and I followed close behind. I wouldn’t be left alone with Tomas. I refused to be left alone with him.

Cassian pulled Elain’s chair out for her and then he came around and pulled mine out before taking the seat to my right. I nodded at Rhys, who was watching us the same way he had been when we arrived. Everyone seemed to be watching us as if we were the most interesting entertainment they had ever had.

“So,” Mor clapped her hands as everyone served themselves, “how did Nesta meet someone as sweet and good-looking as you?”

Cassian didn’t even take a moment to breathe. He launched into the story we had decided on during our first meeting. His smile never faltered, his hands moving with every word.

"I was working and it was raining outside. I was at the door fixing the books and the doors opens and this guy comes in. He shakes his head like a dog and gets water everywhere. I turned around to yell at him.”

I paused and let out a breath. Of course we would start this before the food was even on our plates. Cassian smiled, I decided it would be better for him to tell the rest of the story, then I could clean up whatever he let slip out.

Cassian laughed, and grabbed my hand. He laced his fingers through mine on the table, "she said 'you know the books don't want to get wet either you big brute.' And I couldn't even find a response. Because when I looked own at this tiny girl with these big gray blue eyes yelling at me, I just thought she was the most beautiful girl I had ever met."

I rolled my eyes. He was laying it in thick, "long story short he started stalking me. He figured out my schedule and waited in the cafe when I got to work and when I was done. He wouldn't leave me alone until I went on a date with him."

Cassian kissed my cheek, his lips brushed against the corner of mine. His hand grabbed mine from under the table, "and you finally gave in. Look at us now. I'm meeting the infamous Acheron sisters I've heard so much about."

He was good. Feyre and Elain were sold. Rhys was smiling and Mor had tears in her eyes. Tomas was glaring, like he thought he still had some sort of hold on me. I leaned into Cassian, trying to get away from his glare.

"You two are adorable. Finishing each other's sentences," Mor touched Azriel's arm, "they're perfect for each other."

Feyre sighed, "anyone who can stand more than five minutes enduring her anger is a hero in my books. I can't believe you've made it three months Cassian. You are a true man, my friend."

Cassian’s hand was still warm as the attention finally got away from us. Everyone started to share new among each other. I listened and nodded, trying as hard as I could to stop my eyes from wandering back to Tomas. I could feel him watching, I could feel his eyes burning a hole through me.

His eyes were glued to our hands. For the first time since I had gotten myself into this mess, I was glad I had brought Cassian along. I felt better, stronger, more sure of myself beside him than I would’ve if I had shown up here alone. It was nice to lean on someone else, to know that if I needed him Cassian would be there for me.

It didn’t hurt that he owned a kick boxing gym either. The boys were suddenly very interested in learning all about said training. Rhys seemed very interested in the business side, whereas Mor asked all about what Cassian did to keep in such good shape. Tomas’s face was pale as he talked about fighting and how easy it was for him to take someone new down.

Conversation flowed for a good half hour before there was a lull in voices and Cassian leaned back in his chair.

“He’s the one,” his breath was hot on my ear as he whispered the words, “he’s the one who hurt you.”

I shivered, but nodded slightly. Cassian put his arm around the back of my chair. His muscles on display as his shirt pulled in all the right places. I leaned into him and let out a breath as Tomas cleared his throat. Cassian’s hand fell on my shoulder and I reached up to lace my fingers through his without even thinking twice about it.

“Nesta how’s the city treating you?”

“Good,” I nodded, Cassian squeezing my hand gently. I realized sitting there how horrible I truly was for letting him believe we weren’t actually friends. Because here he was, being the best fake boyfriend slash protector I could ever have.

“Really good actually. She’s been writing everyday since we met. I can’t get her to stop and pay attention to me. I told her when she said you wanted us to come this weekend there would be no working. She works too hard and I just want my girlfriend to spend time with me instead of all her fictional friends.”

Feyre laughed, “she’s always telling a story. She was always the best at putting us to sleep with her tales. But she stopped for a while. I’m glad she’s found that again.”

Cassian kissed my cheek, taking me by surprise. I tried not to look shocked at his cute little gesture, “yeah well. I think it’s because I’m the perfect muse.”

I blushed as Tomas tried another dig, “well she’s always been full of surprises. Right Nesta?”

The entire table was silent for a moment. I could feel the tension, he was baiting me. He wanted me to fall apart, to remember the horrible things he had done to me. He was trying so hard, and I realized it killed him that I wouldn’t fall for his stupid games. I was stronger with Cassian beside me.

"I'm sorry why are you here?" Cassian asked as I bit my lip hard trying not to cry.

"I was invited."

"I know I'm new but if you upset my girlfriend again I'll kick you out myself." He practically growled the words at him. Tomas looked surprised, his face went pale. He shut his mouth and looked away from me, it seemed Tomas had finally met a bully bigger than himself.

"I have an announcement," Feyre interrupted the fight that was about to happen. She tapped her fork against her glass as we all turned our attention towards my sister, the host of our lovely weekend. She clapped her hands and Rhys smiled. He nodded his head slightly.

We all waited for her to go on. She had the biggest smile on her face and suddenly I felt my body go stiff. I found Cassian's hand and laced our fingers together. I wasn't sure I'd be able to handle whatever she was about to say alone.

"So um. We decided we didn't want a big ceremony so we um. Rhys and I got married last weekend," she held out her hand, a beautiful diamond band now sat beside her engagement ring, "so we wanted everyone here to celebrate with us. So this is more than just a weekend getaway. It’s our wedding reception. With all our closet friends.”

The air rushed out of my lungs for the second time this evening. I squeezed Cassian's hand and glared at my sister, "you got married. Without any of us there?"

"It was a spur of the moment decision, Nesta. Elain wasn't there either. I'm sorry, we just. Felt so much pressure that it needed to happen his way. You've been there for it all, the most important moments."

Tears filled my eyes, "but not the most important day. We always promised each other," I pushed away from the table, "it doesn't matter. Congratulations. Excuse me."

I pulled my hand out of Cassian's and left the dining room. I wouldn't let them see me cry. I wouldn't break down in front of them. I let out a breath as I made it back up the stairs and into the bedroom before I broke down. I fell down on my bed and tried to stop the hurt, the pain that coursed through my entire body. Between Feyre’s announcement and Tomas trying to hurt me, I was exhausted.

I didn’t even change out of my clothes and into pajamas. I pulled the covers up and tried to ignore the chaos in my head. I should’ve been happy for her, I shouldn’t have gotten upset. But she had promised me, she had told me I would be there when they finally got married. They had been engaged for so long now I just, I felt like she didn’t care.

She didn’t care that I left. She had Rhys and for her that was all that mattered.

After a few minutes the bedroom door opened and Cassian came in. He was quiet as he made his blanket bed on the floor beside me. I heard him shuffle around and change. I heard him take his shirt off and I opened my eyes to find he hadn’t put another one on. I watched as he walked into the bathroom and brushed his teeth. Then he came back out and turned off the light.

Once he was settled he reached up towards the bed. His fingers brushed over mine, my hand hanging down towards the floor. He let out a slow breath, “are you okay?”

I let out a sob, “I’ve been better, thanks for asking.”

Cassian’s voice was muffled by the pillow, “after you walked out Feyre felt terrible. She was so excited for you and Elain to know. She just, she really wanted you to be happy, Nesta.”

I nodded, fighting off tears, “she just grew up so fast. I wasn’t there for her when we were little and we always promised each other, well she promised we would all be there for her biggest moment. When she married the right one and I wanted to be there. But it’s like she didn’t care.”

Cassian’s fingers ran over the palm of my hand in a steady rhythm. It started to heal the ache inside my chest. The ache that had formed when I realized my sisters didn’t need me anymore. Which meant no one truly needed me, because I was alone. I had always been alone, but this was different. This was final. Feyre had Rhys and Elain was happy here with her friends.

I had no one and nothing to show for this life.

Cassian’s deep voice hit me as I tried to push off the panic that flooded my body, “she’ll always be your little sister, Nesta. Which means she will always need you.”

I let out a sound, something between a laugh and a sigh, “you’re far too nice to me Cassian.”

“I told you I’d know when it would finally stick.”

He kept his hand holding mine as I closed my eyes. I was too tired to read into his words or find the strength to ask him what that meant. So instead I held his hand in mine, letting his thumb rub circles over my palm until I fell into the beautiful numbness of sleep.

#nesta #nesta x cassian #cassian #nessian #acotar #acomaf #acotar fanfiction #acomaf fanfiction #AU fanfiction #shape of you

[ravenfire2908]

The Mortal Darkness

Feysand Role switch-ish AU: The Mortal Darkness

Feyre: The High Lady of Prythian, lady of the seven courts, protector of Prythian

Rhysand: Mortal

Tamlin: Lord working for Hybern, (In love with Feyre (obvi!))

Amarantha: Lady of the Spring Court, (Loves Tamlin and does everything for him)

Summary:

Prythian is ruled by a lord or lady that answers to the High Lady of Prythian Feyre Cursebreaker. For many millenniums Prythian has worked like that, but it changed with the flick of a finger as a new ruler steps into the peace. Self-crowned King Tamlin has since the crowning of the High Lady been in love with the powerful creature. He does everything to get her hand and rule Prythian with her at his side.

With the help of the Lady of the Spring Court, Amaratha, Tamlin learns that the High Lady has a love for mortal, in protection and kindness. So he sets a plan to kidnap a mortal to trade her hand for their life.

But their choice of mortal was poor as the mortal chosen just happened to be her mate.

Chapter 1: A meeting most foul

Feyre Cursebreaker smiled softly into the crystal pool in the center of the round chamber, the white moonstone room was dimly lit with low blue light. The crystal pool shaped as the sun held the beautiful image of a mortal city beyond the magic wall.

The image was of a city that enjoyed the warm breezes of summer, while many worked in wheat fields and some stood in markets selling wares, some sitting among sheep. Feyre smiled wildly at the image of small mortals spending their precious time trying to make their life great, though many already had good and lovely lives there was more they wanted. Some would find greed in the mortal heart, but Feyre only found curiosity.

Something about the mortals made her stomach flutter with joy, but also sorrow.

The pool zoomed in on a poor hunter trying in vain to find dinner for himself. With a small wave of her hand, a rabbit zoomed into the picture. She looked away as the mortal shot the rabbit, but she saw the hope in his eyes spread.

“High Lady?” Feyre waved her hand and the image vanished, leaving only a milky white pool of nothingness. Feyre turned in white robes to her war general. Cassian bowed his head, not anything more. The High Lady’s court was based on friendship and loyalty over force and power. “The quests have arrived.”

Feyre nodded and went with her general to meet their guests. Cassian had been a small abandoned Illyrian that trained almost to death only to get approved by the Camp lord. He didn’t. But that had been a sour mistake on the Camp lord’s part, Feyre had visited the camp that evening and witnessed Cassian’s power and determination just to prove himself.

She had asked Cassian to work in her guard, which turned greater than anything. Cassian proved himself of the title he had earned. Not only as general, but also as a friend.

The two stepped through the white stone palace in silence. Feyre’s flower tattooed hands played with the hem of her long open sleeves. “Do you think Tamlin is here for more than just trade? He almost started a war between the courts last time.”

Cassian smirked at the ancient memory. About five hundred years ago, Tamlin had almost thrown Prythian into a war, having him back was. . . sketchy. “I don’t know, Tamlin is. . . Tamlin, I won’t be surprised if he hasn’t changed.”

“Not helping.” He winked at her.

The two entered the moonstone throne room, Tamlin stood with two of his guards, Attors, waiting for the High Lady. Feyre Cursebreaker was the High Lady of Prythian, though she didn’t personally control the seven courts, she had a hand in their conflicts and overall protection. Feyre stepped quietly up to her dark blue throne, she bowed her head as a greeting to Tamlin before settling in her throne.

She spotted the shadows of Azriel, her spymaster, in the back of the throne room. Azriel was once a lonely Illyrian trying to escape his past, when Feyre found him almost dying in the mountains while he cried into the shadows, she had given him a chance. He too earned his place in her court.

“High Lady,” Tamlin bowed, and though it was no threat, Cassian moved slightly closer to the throne from the emerald green door they had entered from. “It is an honor to see you again.”

“I wish I could say the same, Tamlin.” Feyre was not kind in her words as she usually was, Tamlin had almost brought a war to her country and she had not forgotten what Prythian lost. “You are interested in trade, are you not?”

Tamlin flinched at her tone, “Indeed, High Lady.” Tamlin pulled a letter from his creamy coat and held it out for her. A wind picked up the folded paper and floated it over to Feyre’s hand.

She read the letter quietly, scanning the page once, twice, before looking back at Tamlin with an unconvinced look. “Your letter from the King of Hybern says you are interested in fish and wheat trade.” The fae in the room knew what she was talking about, there was no way the King of Hybern was only interested in trade of fish and wheat.

“That is what my king asked for.” The Attor guards behind him shifted, their horrific features scanning the bright lights for signs of something.

“I will speak with the courts about your trades, Tamlin. You will have your answer in a few days.” She hadn’t wanted for Tamlin to stay within her walls, her palace on top of the mountain separating the solar courts and the seasonal courts was a beautiful place that she would not have dark creatures like Tamlin within.

“I will have a room prepared for you and your-” Feyre scanned the Attors, “your sentinels.” Tamlin nodded his head in silent relief. “A guard will guide you to your room.” With that the High Lady walked past Tamlin, not bothering to throw him a second glance. Her long white robes decorated with elements of all the courts dragged behind her.

One that did not know the High Lady could easily assume her weak in a dress like hers, but the dress was designed for battles as well as formal events. The skirt could be taken off the dress and under she always had a warrior skirt or pants under. Once she’d been sceptical about the dress, but when the tailor told her of all the secrets she’d made into the dress. Still she prefered pants.

“Keep an eye on Tamlin and his sentinels. Report if anything suspicious happens.” Feyre told Azriel that had snuck out with her through the sapphire blue door that lead to another part of the castle. Azriel nodded. “Also, go check how Mor is doing, I haven’t heard a word from her in a few days.”

Feyre absolutely loved the slight blush Azriel had before he vanished into shadows again.

***

Feyre sat at a long oak table with her court. Feyre sat at the head of the table, Cassian, Azriel, and Mor at her left. Nesta, Elain, and Amren at her right. Nesta, the Queen of Illyrians, and her oldest sister sat closest. Elain, the flower maiden of the seasonal courts, also her sister sat next to Amren the Firedrake.

One could easily call her court strange, with powerful and loyal faces. Other courts in Prytian was ruled with smaller lords with a lot of power and not loyalty to their court.

“You are still thinking of Tamlin?” Nesta asked after swallowing a chicken piece.

“Why would she not? Tamlin have caused trouble in the courts before, he might as well do it again.” Mor commented as she waved her fork around like it was a mighty weapon.

Amren wiped a drop of blood from her cup and sucked on her finger for a second, “Tamlin is a fool and I do not think that will change. However as we have learned from our mistakes from the war, we need to expect that he have done the same.” She said with a dark look in her quicksilver eyes.

“Amren is right, we need to expect the worst from Tamlin. Change or not, we cannot trust him.” Cassian said.

“Can I get that on paper?” Amren asked with a smug, feline, smirk. It was clear that the Firedrake liked to be right.

“No.” Cassian said proudly, raising his chin.

The table filled with laughter.

***

Tamlin walked the length of his given room. The two Attors watched Tamlin walk the length of the room, their own room was just the next room. Though the room was beautiful and could be seen as the most comfortable room in the world, the three knew it was a prison. They knew the High Lady did not trust them. The windows were thin, too thin for them to get out of. There were no other doors than the entrees to the room and the bathroom door.

“The King will expect results this time, Tamlin.” One of the Attors said.

“I am aware.” Tamlin growled, “I am not planning to rage war on Prythian, you know your place is to watch my back, not comment how I negotiate with the High Lady.”

Tamlin may have been a fool, but he knew of the High Lady’s shadowsinger, the spymaster. He was a good one as well, because of the spymaster they had lost the war.

The Attors caught on and smiled wickedly, “Of course, but the war wasn’t the King’s plan. Try not to raise another.”

***

Rhysand took his last bite of the rabbit stew he’d made a few days ago. The rabbit he’d shot had come out of nowhere, maybe it was luck or maybe the gods were kind to him. Violet eyes scanned the poorly lit cottage that that hid from the warm summer of the mortal lands. And though he wanted to move to place with more warmth, he just couldn’t afford it.

Winter was still dragging on him, with less to hunt there was less money to earn. And though he almost had enough to maybe buy a better place, he knew better. His little cottage would hold another few winters before he would hopefully leave to the continent.

Everything just seemed better there, and he could start over. Rhysand had been poor since the day his parents died during a cold winter storm when he was twelve. His family’s farming and tailoring money went out the window as a twelve year old tried to pick up his parent’s work. But Rhysand wasn’t talented in sewing, he was decent in farming but it wasn’t enough so as the years went on he was forced to sell his father’s lands to pay back his father’s debt. A debt Rhysand hadn’t even been aware of.

If this is well recived I will make it into a fanficion on Fanfiction.net and upload a note whenever I update. I haven’t really written a multichapter fanfiction in a while and this idea has also been on my head... so yeah...

#this is actually a test fic #I will continue if it is well resived #acotar #a court of thorns and roses #acotar fanfiction #acotar au #feysand #feyre cursebreaker #rhysand #tamlin #Amarantha #Azriel #Morrigan #cassian #amren #nesta archeron #elain archeron #feyre archeron #feyre x rhysand #the mortal darkness fanfic

[sparkleywonderful]

The Darkness Reveals

A/N:  By popular demand, part 3 of   The Darkness Calls    The Darkness Answers   I’m not sure if there will be a part 4, I never planned parts two or three.

There was a part of him that always loved the night. The world went quiet. He had time to remember, to evaluate and then to plan. This was how he survived. In the solace of the darkness, he could always see patterns that no one else could. This was the time he used to get one step ahead, to survive one more day. Sometimes he wondered why he bothered.

How could Prythian’s Savior love Prythian‘s Nightmare? Mates he could understand. The most powerful High Lord in history mated to a mortal remade by the combined powers of seven high lords. Their powers alone would mark them as equals.

It had only happened a handful of times in his life, where he could not work out the intent or the answer to his musing. This was one of those times.

It was not in his nature to trust. He was loyal, so damn loyal, but for some reason no one was ever as loyal to him, not loyal as he was to them. That’s not true, Feyre was different. She had given Amarantha her name and possibly her sisters’ wellbeing for him. She was loyal.

Mates. He had a mate. If his memory served him, Elain was the quiet one that loved to garden. He had an equal and deep down he wanted to know how she would be his equal. He wondered if she was as loyal as he was, as loyal as her sister.

His mind went full circle again. How could she love such a monster? This is Amarantha’s whore. This is the monster that silenced twenty-four winter court younglings, thought it a joke to leave a head on winged statues. She trusted that monster more than she trusted them. Deep down he knew it was because he had failed her, they had failed her. She was right, he chose being loyal to Tamlin over her, but it was not a choice he made consciously. After all they went through the happily ever after was supposed to be the easy part, but he was quickly learning there was a reason why children’s tales ended when the villain is dead. There may be no such thing as happily ever after, not after the trials, not after life cruelly changes you.

That little nagging voice in the back of his mind, the one that had been quiet for days, it’s normally the villain that locks the maiden up.

It was Tamlin who sat on the sidelines awhile Rhysand and himself took care of Feyre under that cauldron damned mountain. It was Tamlin who ignored who she was until grief left her a skeleton, while Rhysand would return her with a little more life. It was Tamlin who locked her up, Rhysand rescued her. It was Tamlin who traded sold their souls and his court for an unrequited love, while Rhys crawled, fucking crawled for her.

There was no decision to make, no additional musing was needed, his path was clear.

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t sleep.”

He stood there, not sure what to say next. She looked at him, waiting and the words just fell out of his mouth.

“I’m sorry. I am sorry for not seeing it sooner. I tried to be there for you, I’m sorry for always choosing him over you. I didn’t realize I was doing it. I tried, I really tried to talk him out of bargaining with Hybern. He’s just been my person for over a century and when you came it was the piece of the puzzle we were missing. We were happy and I just wanted to have that back. I didn’t know how to help either one of you. I failed. But now I am realizing that I can’t help Tamlin. The bitch broke all of us. I’m sorry.”

His friend looked at him. Was she even his friend anymore? In a voice just above a whisper, “I know.”

There was no judgement in her voice. None.

“I missed you, I really thought I needed you home, I thought we could get our happily ever after when you came home.”

They stood there, looking at each other. Two of the most loyal people, not sure where to go next.

“I did love him and there will always be a part of me that loves him. I’m just not that person anymore. Before I died I needed everything Tamlin had to offer me. I needed a protector. When she snapped my neck, I changed. It has taken me months to work through feeling guilty for leaving.”

He could feel the tears streaming down his face, “I did too. He whipped me. When he whipped me, he did not spare me an ounce of empathy. He whipped me with all the anger he felt. I know there is a part of me that will never forget the pain he inflicted. When you died, I felt helpless. Another person I loved died, while I stood there and did nothing. While he stood and did nothing. Then he starved you of life, of purpose. Every cauldron damn time I tried to help you, it was like I was back in that throne room being whipped. But instead of the Attor holding me down, it was Ianthe.”

She looked at him. He could tell she was making a decision, she was determining if she could trust him. He hoped that she would. He knew he did not deserve her trust, but he still hoped.

“I killed him.”

“You killed the Attor?!”

“Don’t look so surprised. As a human I ensnared the Suriel, killed a few Naga and trapped the Myddengard worm. Plus survived Amarantha.”

“Please tell me it was painful.”

“Excruciatingly.”

He chuckled, “Good. Tomorrow the same time? I need to back fill you on all the happenings of the Spring Court.”

#Lucien #Feyre #acomaf #SparkleyWonderful

[acourtofthought]

Apropos of nothing, it's just something I was ruminating on because as much as I rag on Az, I do think he has a soft heart underneath it all that wants to help people and that makes me all mushy for him. I know people want to make the scene where Az rescues Elain purely romantic (and sure it CAN be read as such) but after reading ACOSF and piecing together the timeline, Az is practically fresh out of Sangravah, he saw the absolute horrors inflicted on the priestesses and what was done to Gwyn so like... OF COURSE he's gonna wanna haul ass out to save Elain? I don't think for a second has nothing to do with the possessive mate thing like so many of them want it to be (re: the argument az didn't jump to save gwyn from the rite like he jumped to save elain from hybern) Like why would he NOT volunteer to rescue her immediately after seeing those nightmares first hand?? He would have done the exact same thing for Mor or literally any of the women in the IC because that's the kind of guy that he is (also might I add that he didn't lose control in the Hybern camp and go feral and kill everyone like he did at Sangravah, when, as spymaster, he absolutely should have taken some hostages 👁️)

Wow, you bring up such a good point and something I never considered!

Feyre's birthday is the longest night of the year (so December 21st).

Her wedding ceremony was 2 weeks later, around January 4 and Rhys called in their bargain for the first time which takes us to January 11.

One month later he called in the bargain again which takes us to say, February 11.

One week after that she escapes to the NC for good (February 18) where she sleeps through at least one night.

Rhys flew Feyre to the HOW for the first time where we get confirmation Sangravah was attacked three days prior so we'll say he rescued Gwyn on about February 16.

ACOWAR starts in June however a few weeks pass while Feyre remains and until Az / Cassian save Feyre as she's being dragged across the ice by her hair wrapped in bands of fire.

Estimates have ACOWAR ending August which is when Az and Feyre rescue Elain.

6 months have passed since he walked in on Gwyn's assault.

2 months have passed since he witnessed Feyre being drug by her hair, bound and gagged.

We get our first hints of Azriel's savior complex in ACOMAF:

Azriel just shook his head. “I’ll go. The Prison sentries know me—what I am.” I wondered if the shadowsinger was usually the first to throw himself into danger.

We get proof of Azriel's need for heroics later in the series, to be the protector:

toward Mor and Azriel—“to monitor me.” So this was where Azriel had gone—right to the loft. To no doubt spare Mor from enduring Amren Duty alone. But Amren’s tone … cranky, yes, but perhaps a bit of a front, too. To banish that too-fragile gleam in Cassian’s eyes. “We’re not monitoring you,” Mor said, tapping her foot on the carpet. “We’re monitoring the Book.” (Mor was monitoring the Book yet Az insisted on joining her)

“Call off your dog,” Amren said with that lethal tone. Because the shadow in the corner behind Amren … that was Azriel. The obsidian hilt of Truth-Teller in his scarred hand. He’d moved without my realizing it—though I had no doubt the others had likely been aware.

The argument with Rhys this morning had been swift and brutal: Azriel insisted he could fly—fight with the legions, as they’d planned. Rhys refused. Cassian refused. Azriel threatened to slip into shadow and fight anyway. Rhys merely said that if he so much as tried, he’d chain Azriel to a tree. And Azriel … It was only when Mor had entered the tent and begged him—begged him with tears in her eyes—that he relented. Agreed to be eyes and ears and nothing else.

Not that he's does these things for fame or glory, I think he does them because it's the only way he feels worthy. Like it's his penance to pay in order to remain part of his family.

We know he wasn't there to save Mor or stop the way his mother was treated. He wasn't there to stop what happened to the priestesses in time. And he was nearly too late to save Feyre, the last two things being very recent.

So here we have this other female who he sees is in need of saving and he's sitting there watching Nesta and Cassian debate her fate and it's really not that surprising, knowing what we know of Az, that he jumped in to volunteer, despite the danger. Danger has never once mattered to Az.

In the right circumstances, a male coming to rescue the female could be romantic, but in this instance and when you look at the entire picture and who Az is as a character (not to mention the evidence that he's still not over Mor at that time), his rescue of Elain is anything but.

To me, he doesn't look at Elain as wanting to save her because it's her. He wants to save her for a chance to find some sort of redemption because of all the other females he was unable to save in time and I think that has played a small part in why he eventually gravitates toward her. Because she represents his personal triumph, the time he wasn't too late. And as with everything in the E/riel setup, it always seems to be more about him and his issues than Elain as an individual.

Thanks for bringing up such a great point!

#anti e/riel

[acourtofthought]

Az and Cassian are brothers and friends. They will always spend time together (even more than they do with Rhys) which means their significant others will also be spending time with them as well.

I understand that Nesta loves Elain. But regardless of the progress they will have in their relationship, the way we've viewed our siblings in the past usually sticks with us on some level.

I personally do not see Nesta and Elain constantly spending time with one another as a healthy thing. Cassian said it himself, Nesta was a completely different person when she finally stepped out from the role as "sister" to Elain and found her friends. I think she will always struggle with not feeling the need to shield her. That means if Nessian is always around E/riel, Nesta will never fully be the new version of herself that isn't always tied into her past role of "protector of Elain".

As much as Rhys loves his brothers, the times we see them "hanging out" usually consists of their yearly snowball fight and holidays so I don't think the same issue would exist between Feyre and Nesta. Not to mention Nesta has never felt the need to treat her the way she has Elain.

While I do see a healthy relationship that exists between all three sisters in the future, I think the dynamic that would suit them best would be if Elain wasn't a constant presence in her sisters lives. That gives her the opportunity to be seen as someone important in her own right without the shadow of her sisters protection (something that would always be difficult to completely shake) hanging over her. And I think Nesta deserves a life where she's not constantly trying to fight the habit of protecting Elain.

#anti elr*el #anti e*riel #anti e/riel #nesta acotar