#day 4 courtiers

[areyoudreaminof]

Hover Corte

@elucienweekofficial Day 4: Courtiers

On her own self-imposed exile, Elain finds herself in the human lands to offer help to the Band of Exiles and try to make some progress with her estranged mate. Lucien, meanwhile, can’t quite find his footing with Elain. With the clock ticking, can they finally come to an understanding?

Tags: Post-Canon, Canon Compliant, The Waltz Fic, 8.3k words

Read on Ao3

-------------------------------------------

Elain

“Let’s try it one more time, I’ll count us off. Ready?” Elain asked as Jurian straightened himself and exhaled. 

“Ready.”

“One, two, three, and- “ Elain began to hum the simple tune as she stepped to the side. She could feel Jurian’s heavy hand begin to clam up at her waist, “Now back, and left, good make a box.” She directed as Jurian carefully led her through the steps. It was a painfully slow pace, but Elain was proud of the progress Jurian had been making. “Wonderful, now let’s finish with a twirl?” Elain asked as she began to back up, Jurian flourished her hands as Elain began to rotate her feet.

“Stir the pot now! Keep your shoulders back!” At the last moment, Jurian’s clammy fingers lost their grip as Elain spun clumsily around.

“Sorry.” he mumbled as he wiped his hands along his tunic.

“Oh, don’t worry about it.” Elain laughed, “All the ladies will be wearing gloves and it will be so hot in the ballroom, you’ll be more worried about your armpits than your hands. I think that’s enough for today though,” she said pointed to the piano, “I’ll have you run through it with Vassa a few times tonight while I play along. But I think you’ve gotten the hang of it.” 

“I’d better have. I won’t be doing this again.” Jurian said as he slunk down onto the sofa. 

“You probably won’t, but it is a good skill to have,” Elain countered, “and you’ve been doing so well. Just one night, one ball, then you should be back to normal.”

Jurian nodded, tipping his head back, “I never thought those fancy dances would wear someone out so much. The thinking you must do, it’s ridiculous.” He blew a stray lock of hair back, while Elain sat down next to him.

Her new friends had found themselves in a more precarious situation since Elain arrived. Something was brewing, and the human lands would soon become collateral.  In a final act of desperation, Jurian and Vassa were to formally present themselves to society and ask for financial backing and political loyalty, at a very frivolous and unnecessary ball that would be taking place the next night. As Fae, Lucien was not welcome, and Elain less so; Graysen made sure to tell everyone in her former circle what she was now. Even if she had wanted to go, she knew she’d be killed on the spot. So, she had taken it upon herself to coach Jurian on the intricacies of society, including the waltz.

“I suppose you don’t have any requests for dinner tonight. I’m running out of ideas,” Elain huffed as she swapped her heeled dancing shoes for her worn down slippers.

“Chicken and potatoes?”

“No, we had two nights ago.”

“What about some apple pie then?"

"Your teeth will rot out of your head if you keep on with the sweets. Besides, I don't have enough apples for that right now.” Elain said, slouched down against the back of the sofa.

She stared at the soft blue of her linen dress clashing with the loud pink of the velvet couch. It was really such a hideous combination; she thought as she drew lines on the velvet. Turning her head, she tapped Jurian on the shoulder.

“You’ve worked hard on the dancing, I’m really proud of you.” She said earnestly. They had been practicing the waltz for nearly a week and had poured over countless lists of names of nobility and wealthy in the human lands. Jurian hadn’t been joking about the ridiculous amount of thinking that had to be done.

Jurian smiled back at her, flinging his arm around her shoulders, “It helps I have such a good instructor. Much better than the red heads, I think.” Elain snorted, “We brunettes have to stick together.” He teased.

“My hair is actually dark blonde, just how long was your eye a ring again? Are you sure it’s not blind?” she shot back as they both erupted into laughter.

Elain felt some relief wash over her. Despite the rocky start, she found herself laughing more frequently these days. Jurian had become her daytime friend and companion, since Vassa took to the skies and Lucien was off doing whatever he did in the Spring Court. Sometimes she went days without seeing Lucien and she wasn’t sure if relief was how she felt about it anymore.

Elain couldn’t have come to the manor at a more awkward time. Frustrated and lonely at the Night Court, she left the River House three months ago without saying goodbye, just a vague note on the dining room table. Her sisters had moved on without her, adjusting to their fae lives with a confidence she never could master. Then, that brief flirtation with Azriel was squashed as quickly as it began, if there was truly anything at all. Now, when she thought of him, any lingering affection had been replaced with souring pity and annoyance. Elain had nothing to lose by leaving, she figured. She assumed she’d be turned away at the door since Lucien could barely tolerate her, if his awkward and slimy guilt and discomfort slinking down towards her through the bond at solstice had been any indication, but there was no avoiding it anymore. In the middle of the night, she had shown up at the door of the manor house with a handwritten book of visions she’d been having the past year about the lake and Koschei. Three pairs of surprised eyes stared back at her as she held out her notebook to them and by some miracle, let her in.

The first two weeks were torture, as Elain and Lucien seemed to go out of their way to avoid each other, but Elain quickly found a friend in Vassa, who Elain could honestly say was a person she did not realize how badly she needed in her life. She reminded Elain of her sisters in a way, yet she eased into a sort of closeness with Vassa that she didn’t quite have with her Nesta or Feyre. Perhaps because Vassa didn’t expect anything from her, except honesty. Jurian had become an unexpected ally, a far cry from the cold and calculating man who watched her be tossed aside like a broken toy. He was a sweet man underneath that gruff exterior.

Despite her newfound friends, Elain found herself at a crossroads. She had not come down to the manor just because of her visions about Koschei. She came down for him. The visions of her estranged mate were getting clearer with the passing days. The whispers she heard and the dreams she had been having in the Night Court were becoming more solid, more tangible things. She could almost feel his touch, his kiss. She felt nearly every emotion of his down the bond. Elain had seen their future in bits and pieces, and she wanted it. It had terrified her at first, she wasn’t ready. But she had finally admitted to herself the thing she had spent nearly a year denying; she was already halfway in love with Lucien.

She just had no idea what to do about it. 

Slapping Jurian’s knee, Elain launched herself off the sofa, “Come on twinkle toes, help me scrounge up some food before our redheads get back.”

Lucien

Lucien watched the horizon as the sun sank behind the hill line. A halo of soft gold and pink stretched its long tendrils across the sky towards the east. 

The colors reminded him of her.

The same beautiful female that sat in the house behind him, a whisper of a gold thread tying them together. If he followed it, he knew she'd be in the kitchen, looking at the same sunset at the window on the opposite side of the house. Lucien could picture her soft, small hands cradling her face, resting on her elbows while she watched pink and gold melt into violet and indigo. He could almost see the longing look on her face, he only wished he knew what it was she longed for. It certainly wasn’t him.

Lucien could not say why he spent his days out of the manor now that Elain was here. He thought he wanted nothing more than a chance, her time perhaps. Yet, Elain  was guarded as ever towards him and he could not shake the discomfort and guilt that lingered in his bones. Elain eased around Jurian and Vassa, opening herself in a way that he never saw at the Night Court, what little he did see anyway. But around him, her smiles were awkward,  and her sentences sputtered. He could feel hard nerves down the bond when they had to speak if he felt anything at all. Lucien had perhaps accepted the inevitable: Elain was only here to help Vassa, and once she was done, she would return to the Night Court. Swallowing his disappointment, he turned to the north, watching the flame in the sky get closer.

The firebird landed before him, dipping her long wings beneath her as she swept up into her human form. Vassa looked back at him with a wide grin, taking his arm. 

“Welcome back!” she chirped, her lilting accent raising an octave, “The beast still bellowing around, or were you able to get rid of his ticks?”

Lucien barked out a laugh, his near daily nanny duties in Spring occupied most of his time. Tamlin wasn’t destroying anything anymore, but he wasn’t doing much else. Lucien dutifully reported to Rhysand, who mercifully stopped sending the Shadowsinger to collect his reports. Rhysand inquired after Elain a few times but hadn’t asked Lucien to bring her home. He wondered why, he knew Feyre and Nesta were livid about her departure. “Take care of her.” Rhys had told him sternly, making Lucien wonder just how much Rhysand really knew about the situation.

“Tamlin is fine. Sleeping most of the time, but no one has been poking around the borders. It’s too quiet.” Lucien mused as they headed back towards the manor. 

Vassa stopped in her tracks, “You think something is coming.” It wasn’t a question.

“Yes, and soon.” He admitted. Elain coming down to the manor with a volume of her visions scrawled in her elegant writing shocked them all, though they knew time was running out. Koschei was coming back for Vassa, and Beron would be ready for a coup. As they approached the large wooden door, Lucien could smell onions cooking. Vassa moaned with hunger and skipped to open the door. Lucien took a breath and stepped into the kitchen. 

Jurian was at the stove, stirring onions and mushrooms, while Elain pulled a loaf of bread out of the oven. Her curls escaped her kerchief, kissing the back of her neck and her cheeks were flushed over a small smile. Lucien’s heart clenched at the sight. An offering of food was an acceptance of the bond, but Elain did not cook it alone, and she had no intention of acceptance. He found his appetite disappear as he watched Elain hug Vassa. He crossed the kitchen to Jurian, who hadn’t taken his eyes off the simmering pan.

“Don’t overdo it. No one wants limp, slimy vegetables.”

Jurian rolled his eyes, “It’s called ‘caramelization’ princess, if you’d cook every now and then you’d know.”

“I only know how to eat. My soldiers do all my cooking, General.” Lucien replied as he swiped an onion from the pan and slurped it down.  

“Does that make me a lieutenant, then?” Elain said softly as Lucien froze, turning towards her as she smiled at him.

“If Jurian is the General of the kitchen, am I the lieutenant?” she asked again, Lucien swore he saw a glint of mischief in her eyes.

“No, you’re not…I didn’t mean any offense, my lady.” He stuttered pathetically.

“Oh, I’m sorry. That was a terrible joke.” She said as red began to creep up her neck.

“Elain, you’re the general of the kitchen. I’m more of the lieutenant around here.” Jurian said mercifully. Elain nodded as she took the bread out of the room. Vassa followed, but not before she scoffed at Lucien, still staring dumbly at the swinging door.

“She was flirting with you, dumbass.” Jurian hissed, as he thwacked Lucien upside the head with an apron.

Read the rest on Ao3

Taglist: @andrigyn @octobers-veryown @ablogofbipanic @ofduskanddreams @wilde-knight @vulpes-fennec @foundress0fnothing @spell-cleavers @the-lonelybarricade @asnowfern @thelovelymadone @velidewrites @separatist-apologist @bellatrixship @cursebrkr @acourtdelaluna @millameazza @mossytrashcan @bennylavasbuns @werewolffprince @stickyelectrons @shisingh @popjunkie42-blog @amandapearls @damedechance @panicatthenightcourt @ineffable-resplendence @krem-does-stuff @kingofsummer93 @lithialetheia @lucienarcheron @wittyrejoinder @bagelfyre @iambutmortal @fieldofdaisiies @houseofhurricane @melting-houses-of-gold @carmasi @iftheshoef1tz

#elucien #elucienweek2023 #day 4 courtiers #THEE WALTZ FIC BABY #it's not what you think #it's also my first long fic

[acourtofwhatthefuck]

#4 on your enemies to lovers prompts is giving Eris vibes

Loose Lips — Eris Vanserra x Reader

Enjoy! 💕

✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･

Rhysand was going to kill you. 

And so was Cassian.

Probably Azriel, too.

Maybe even Amren.

And Mor — sweet, lovely Mor — would be disappointed. Hurt.

You’d fucked up.

The realisation dawned on you upon waking. The rain that drizzled outside felt painfully fitting. 

You sat up in bed, clutching the sheet to your naked body. Your eyes crept over to the sleeping figure at your side.

Eris Vanserra’s hair was tousled on the pillow, mussed from sleep. His bare, chiselled chest rose and fell evenly in his slumber. His milky skin looked soft as cotton.

In a state of sleep, with no snarl or grimace or glare twisting his face, he was actually quite…beautiful.

And vulnerable. There was nothing stopping you from reaching for your dagger and plunging it into his heart right now. Something you’d fantasised about doing countless times. Something you’d promised him you would one day do. 

The male infuriated you something chronic. His history with your friends made your loathing of him a living, tangible thing.

And yet here you were in bed with him. Naked. You peeked beneath the sheet just to be sure — but the memory of the previous night was clear in your brain.

You were only supposed to deliver a message on Rhysand’s behalf. That was one of many tasks as his courtier. You were good with wielding words, with gleaning information. So rarely did you represent him without returning with something for him to turn over in his mind. 

The problem was that you hated Eris Vanserra so ferociously, your tongue always seemed to run away with you. 

Somehow…somehow, last night, your vicious, barbed words had turned into hungry kisses. To stumbling up the stairs of the concealed house you always met in to exchange information. To ripping each other’s clothes off and moaning until your voices were hoarse.

You’d crossed a damn line. And you didn’t know how.

You weren’t going to stick around to find out. 

With Eris still sleeping, you rose from the bed, keeping your movements quick and silent. You shucked your creased shirt on, making fast work of the buttons. Tugged your breeches on and shoved your feet into your shoes. 

You didn’t know how you were going to explain to Rhys where you’d been all night. How a simple message had kept you away for so long.

You’d have to find a stream to bathe in. To wash away the smell of sex. And the Autumn lordling.

Your legs feeling like jelly, you crossed the room in quick strides, not caring to lace your boots up.

“Going somewhere?”

Eris’s voice was decorated with a morning rasp. The sound took you right back to the breathy moans he’d whispered into your ear. You shook off the shiver that danced over your skin, clenching your jaw.

“I’m leaving.” Was all you offered.

“Shame.” Eris sat up in bed, stretching his arms above his head. “And you were such tantalising company, too.”

“Last night was a mistake.”

There was something positively lupine in the way he appraised your unkempt appearance and cocked an eyebrow. Amusement danced on his lips.

“That’s funny. I don’t recall you saying no.” His amber eyes raked over you. “You said yes a lot. And gods, yes. Oh fuck, yes—”

“So you’re a great lay.” You gritted your teeth. “It was still a mistake. And it’s never happening again.”

He said nothing. Merely stared at you with that hint of a smile on his lips. It incensed you so much that you wanted to launch something at him. Before you could make any more rash decisions, you turned—

“You know,” Eris lay back, resting his arms behind his head. “You may just have the prettiest orgasm face I’ve ever seen.” 

“You’re despicable.” 

He chuckled. “Perhaps. But I’m also very clever. You see, while you view last night as a mistake, I view it as an advantage.”

Walk away, your mind screamed at you. Don’t even entertain him. Last night wouldn’t have happened if you’d just walked away.

You couldn’t stop yourself grounding out, “How.”

“Because, darling, I now have leverage against you, don’t I?” Those amber eyes glittered. “Your friends would positively lose their shit if they knew you’d bedded me. Rhysand would probably toss you out on your ass, and where would you go?”

Prick. Gods, the delight you’d take in throttling him—

“What do you want, Eris? For me to get on my knees and beg you not to tell them?”

He smirked. “Pretty as you are on your knees — no, that’s not what I want.” He was enjoying every second of this. “You’re just going to have to start being a bit nicer to me, is all. You know — so I don’t slip up and accidentally blurt something.”

You snorted. “That’s what you want? For me to be nice to you? Does my hatred for you cut deep?”

“Hatred.” He chuckled. 

You stared at him, a muscle in your jaw ticking. Your mind still pleaded with you to just leave.

But there was something dangerously challenging in Eris’s eyes. Something you couldn’t yet walk away from.

He gazed back at you, cocking his head. “Do you want to know what I think?”

“Not particularly.”

“I think,” he ignored your retort, “that being nice to me won’t be as hard a feat as you like to pretend.”

“You—”

“I think that somewhere, deep down, in that cold, emotionally-constipated heart, that you quite like me.” He grinned, flashing teeth. “And I think it fucking tortures you.”

Your body was taut.

You didn’t care that he’d won this round of verbal sparring. That he’d had the last word.

You only cared about getting out of there. Far, far away from him.

Without uttering another syllable, you turned on your feet and stalked out of the room. Before the truth could show on your face.

“Until next time, then, love!” Eris yelled after you.

#Eris #Eris Vanserra #Eris x Reader #Eris Vanserra x Reader #Vanserra x Reader #Vanserra #Request #acotar #a court of thorns and roses #acotar fic #eris fic #writing #acotar x reader #acotar fandom #acotar writing #acotar fanfic #acotar headcanon #acotar smut #acotar series #reader insert #a court of mist and fury #a court of wings and ruin #a court of frost and starlight #a court of silver flames

[copypastus]

@lucienweekofficial Day 4 - Courtier & Emissary

Lucien doing very serious best friend courtly duties helping his High Lord get over a bad breakup.

Based on this amazing post. @kateduchessofdolittle, @feynessupremacy y'all are hilarious.

#my art #lucienweek2023 #lucien vanserra #tamlin #acotar #acotar fanart #tamcien #i love them being silly #and supportive #this series is at it's most enjoyable when not taken too seriously

[huramuna]

wine red, tears gold - chapter 4.

king aegon II x baratheon ofc

previous chapter | next

a 'what if aegon didn't get poisoned and the greens technically won the dance but at what cost' au. basically aegon, alicent, otto and jaehaera are the only greens alive. and larys i guess. someone get rid of this guy.

word count: 3.5k

please follow & turn on notifs for @huramuna-fics for my fic postings

content: smut (specifics below cut), canon typical misogyny, canon typical violence, angst, fluff, arranged marriage, touch-staved aegon, aegon isn't a r*pist in this au but he is still a bad person and has his vices, ofc and aegon need to go to therapy together, justice for jaehaera, awkward sex, kind of a slow burn, infidelity

this comes from the inside - the living tombstone • oblivion - grimes

warnings: p in v, creampie

Being close with another person can be such a precarious thing. Not just in emotional closeness, but physical as well. 

Lyanna never much liked being touched, not even as a child. She would shy away from courtiers pinching her cheeks, from her mother’s outstretched arms, from her father’s heavy hand upon her shoulder. Being touched felt like a burden of sorts, as if someone expected reciprocity from putting their hands on another. 

She never wished to give it in return. 

Since moving to the Red Keep, she has changed— in more ways than one, of course. She quite liked being touched now by her good mother, Alicent’s touches were soft and warm. Mayhaps it was because the queen mother was there to hold Lyanna at her lowest, and she found some comfort in her arms that she never derived from her own mother. 

Then there was Aegon. His touches were… confusing. He seemed much at war with himself, like a stray dog wishing for affection, a scratch on the cheek or pat of the head, but didn’t know how to ask, how to convey he wanted it. His proposal to Lyanna of exchange of pleasure for nurture was a strange one, to be sure. 

It must’ve been the wine, that would be why she had said yes, wouldn’t it? 

Certainly not the fact that her husband seemed… jealous. Jealous of a Dornish prince putting his hands on her and making her laugh. Aegon, being the same one who had said she wasn’t a beauty that men go to war for. Aegon, who couldn’t even flow in the same atmosphere as Lyanna for weeks. Aegon, who fucked a whore the morning after their wedding and many days besides. 

That Aegon— was jealous? 

The notion of it seemed humorous to Lyanna, as if she held some great power over him, reducing him to his knees before her. 

All for a touch. 

In truth, it was more than just a touch. He had fallen asleep with his head in her lap, snoozing softly. Lyanna wriggled down, trying to get comfortable. As much as she detested Aegon, at least she thought she did, she didn’t want to wake him. Not when he seemed so at peace with his pathetic prize. 

He was a heavy sleeper. She managed to lay on her back comfortably and adjust his position to where he was strewn across her stomach and chest. Lyanna watched him for… who knows how long, being lulled into some sense of relaxation by his weight and warmth on her, coupled with his rhythmic breathing. He was like a living heavy blanket. 

Her fingers threaded through his hair, smoothing small circles upon his scalp absentmindedly, as she fell asleep herself. 

When she awoke, he was still there— albeit, shifted slightly. He clung to her like a second skin, his leg thrown over hers, his arms draped over her chest haphazardly, still deeply asleep. Lyanna’s breaths fanned over his hair, his head resting under her chin. Whatever spell she had been under the night before had (almost) worn off, the novelty faded. 

Gently, more gentle than he truly deserved, she roused him. “Aegon,” she murmured, “Aegon, it's morning— I must get ready soon.” 

“Morning…” he hummed drowsily, lips pressed to her neck unknowingly. “No… I will sleep more.” 

Lyanna rolled her eyes; it was like dealing with a child rather than a King. “Laze around if you must, husband,” she began to pry him off of her. “But I have duties to attend to.” 

“Duties can wait, wife,” he blinked, supplanting his chin upon her chest and looking up at her in a way that made her heart wrench. He looked Gods awful pathetic, like an abandoned puppy. “Stay longer, please.” 

“… I have things to see to, Aegon. I don’t wish for your mother to be cross if I’m late to break our fast together.” 

He let out a huff, rolling off of her. “May I at least stay until you leave?”

“I suppose. You can help dress me. Do you know how to dress a lady?” Lyanna asked, getting up from the bed to open her wardrobe. 

“Ehm— I know how to undress a lady.”

“My Myrish silk from last night begs to differ.”

“Well, you have too many layers, too many loops and ties. This is why whores are so much easier, they’re practically already naked.” 

Lyanna shot a glare at him. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t remind me that you frequently lie with other ladies.” 

Aegon came up behind her, a bit taller than her by a head, poking his nose into her neck. “Why? Are you jealous?”

She scoffed. “Jealous? Jealous like you were of Prince Qyle?”

“I don’t get jealous,” he grumbled, backing away from her and folding his arms over his chest. “I just don’t think it was appropriate the way he was touching you— like you were a whore.” 

“You love that word, don’t you?” 

“Mayhaps. I quite like other words, too. Slut, cunt, bitch— the list goes on.” 

“You’re truly an ignorant, beautiful creature, Aegon. It’s a wonder to me that you survived infancy.” 

“You think I’m beautiful?” 

Lyanna let out a snorting laugh, it was undignified and unladylike— but real. Even more real than the laughs that Prince Qyle evoked from her the night before. She stayed turned away, sorting through her clothes. The noise she emitted, raucous and loud as it was, made Aegon smile for half a moment. He quite liked when his wife laughed— and he had been the one to do it this time. 

Aegon ended up not helping her dress, as he took one look at the configurations of a corset and left. 

That was fine by Lyanna, in all truths. She descended to the Queen mother’s chambers and broke her fast with her, as was her daily routine. Somehow, in the middle of their eating, their conversation turned to the topic of sex. Lyanna didn't feel much embarrassment talking about most things with Alicent, as she was a good conservationist– but sex was one of the things Alicent was… hesitant to talk about, all things considered, and Lyanna wasn’t exactly an expert. 

Poking into her soft boiled egg with her spoon, Lyanna listened intently to Alicent.

“You’re the only one I would talk to such things about, dearest,” Alicent hummed, dragging her utensil through her own bowl of coddled eggs, “I never much liked it with… the late King. ‘Twas my duty, after all. I can only hope that, ehm, Aegon makes it less painful for you.” 

“... he does fine, I suppose,” Lyanna murmured, prying the soft white of the egg from the shell and balancing it on the spoon. “... truthfully, we haven’t…” she rolled her shoulders to enunciate her meaning, “Laid together in a way conducive to making an heir– not since the wedding night.”

The queen mother perked a brow, crossing one leg over the other. “So you are doing such things in… other methods?”

“Only once– last night, in fact,” Lyanna admitted softly, poking the bite of egg into her mouth, wiping away an errant drop of yolk from her lip– to which Alicent was watching intently– “After the banquet. Was Aegon… jealous as a child?”

Alicent cracked a small smile, leaning back in her chair. “I’m not sure that he was jealous in the way that some may think. He wasn’t so much envious of what others had that he wished to covet, but rather what others were, comparatively to him. Rhaenyra was his father’s favorite, Aemond was the better swordsman, Helaena more beloved by my father– he was always the odd one out.” she blinked profusely, picking at the hem of her sleeve. “Why?”

“He… followed me to my chambers after the feast and started spewing heinous accusations about Prince Qyle and I.” 

“And this… led you both to the bed?” Alicent took a long sip of her tea, her eyes not leaving Lyanna’s. 

“No– my boudoir chair, actually.”

The queen mother’s cheeks reddened softly. “Oh my– I cannot say that’s something I experienced. Was it… pleasurable at least?” 

“It was certainly enlightening– that he may not be as useless as I thought,” Lyanna paused. “That I may not be as repulsive to him as I thought I was.” she spoke a bit quieter then, the subject still tender to her, a wound not yet fully scarred over.

“It’s his blood.” Alicent replied in a matter-of-fact tone.

“His… blood?” 

“The blood of the dragon– Targaryens have dragon’s blood in their veins, which runs thick and hot when situations become… precarious. It may be any sort of situation that might give you or I an adrenaline rush, good or bad– but for them, all my children included, it’s like igniting the spark to a wildfire. Some sort of primal, uncontainable thirst for… whatever it is that spurred them. For Aegon… he quells his blood with wine and whores,” Alicent frowned slightly at the notion, the corners of her eyes crinkling into a silent apology, “Jealousy could very well be one of the things that whipped him into a frenzy– mayhaps you should use such a thing to your advantage? Of course, I won’t condone adultery, my dear– but the illusion of interest in someone else may have Aegon more… inclined to lay with you.” 

Lyanna sniffed slightly, putting down her empty egg shell. “I wish he would just want it without me having to… set him on fire, or however it’s put.”

“Men are– for the lack of a better word– stupid, Lyanna. They are blind to the things they need the most.” 

–

Lyanna spent the rest of her week planning on how exactly to make Aegon jealous. She didn’t really understand how to put on such airs of that extent– acting confident was one thing, but feining attraction for another person was different, wasn’t it? She didn’t consider herself a massive flirt, either.

They sat in the dining hall, entertaining a visiting lord from the Reach, some Tyrell or Redwyne or other, who promptly gave Lyanna a bouquet of beautiful flowers. She was delighted at the gesture, not because she really enjoyed them, but because it would be easier to start her ruse. 

“Oh, thank you, my lord– these are gorgeous, absolutely gorgeous,” she hummed. She was wearing a green dress that, somehow, matched Aegon’s deep green tunic that eve. “How did you know that sunflowers were my favorite?” 

“Ah, your grace, the sunflower is my favorite as well,” the lord smiled heartily, chattering on and on about sunflowers. “It very much reminded me of your radiance, my queen.”

His audacious compliment earned a warm giggle from Lyanna, her face blistered with a blush– half of the blush was from real bashfulness, as she wasn’t used to receiving such compliments. She knew it was false, of course. She was more reminiscent of a plain dandelion than a sunflower.

The dinner consisted of Lyanna talking to him, making much smalltalk and overall, talking to him more than she’d talked to Aegon in their entire marriage. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see her husband practically stewing, rolling around a brussel sprout around his plate with the tip of his knife, an inhuman heat blistering off of him in waves.

Apparently, to Aegon, enough was enough– his hand slipped from his goblet of wine, drenching the front of Lyanna’s dress. “Ah– my dear, I’m so very clumsy,” he crooned, “Let’s get you cleaned up, shall we?” 

Lyanna nodded slowly as her husband looped his arms around her and led her out of the dining hall. She murmured some apologies to their guests, citing that they would return soon. Aegon led them down a corridor, not far from the hall, into a closed off enclave, where he closed the door. 

“You’re doing this on purpose,” he grumbled, spinning her around so that her back was pressed against the stone wall in the close quarters of what was basically a servant’s closet. “You’re egging me on purposefully.” 

Tilting her chin up defiantly, she spoke nonchalantly. “I have no idea what you’re speaking of, husband, truly.” 

Aegon gave an unamused expression, his mouth wrought into a thin line. “I’m not even that drunk and I could plainly see you letting that… absolute peon of a Lord come onto you.” 

“So? He fancies me and gifted me a bouquet of flowers– I don’t see anything terribly wrong with that. It isn’t unheard of to pay homage to their queen, is it?” 

His hand shot out, gripping her chin and jaw. “I don’t– You– you’re so fucking frustrating!” he growled, raising his voice. Their noses were touching from their proximity, their breaths intermingling. It was the closest they’d ever been.

Footsteps echoed from the hallway, to which the both of them froze. They came past the closet, then descended back down the corridor.

“This is scandalous.” Lyanna murmured.

“How? We are husband and wife, simply having a chat.”

“We are the king and queen of the Seven Kingdoms, not… animals– I’m sure that anyone who opened this door would see you… pinning me against a wall. I’m not sure much could be left to the imagination there, Aegon.”

“You really should get the stick out of your arse, wife.”

“Mayhaps it would do better up yours, then?”

“Careful, I may actually enjoy that.” he grinned, the expression lighting up his usually solemn face. Lyanna considered him quite handsome at that moment. 

“You’re vulgar.” she quipped back, biting down on the soft part between his thumb and forefinger gently.

A sound akin to a breathy moan came from Aegon’s mouth at her bite. “And you call me an animal? You’re fucking biting me, you cheeky minx.” 

“Yes? Well, if you are to drag me to your level– we are both animals then.” she stared at him with wide eyes and she wondered if he could feel the beat of her heart. It felt like it would abscond from her body at any moment. Her heavy chest fell and rose in weighty breaths. 

“That lord is quite wrong, you know,” Aegon whispered, his lips dangerously close to hers– they hadn’t kissed since the wedding ceremony, and even then it was a quick peck – his mouth quirked into a smug grin. “You aren’t a sunflower. You’re a sweet little rabbit. I quite like rabbit, you know. They’re delicious, succulent,” he paused, leaning forward and speaking against her lips, “Tender.”

It was unsure who closed the gap first, but their lips fused together into a ferocious kiss. They both tasted of a deep, rich wine. It was a fight of tongues and teeth, a battle where they both wished to devour one another– Lyanna’s hand tugged at his white curls, nails scraping against his scalp as he held her face in a vice-like grip, as if he was afraid she would dissipate from his clutches at any moment. His lips were soft, surprisingly, where she had expected them to be rough and chapped. His skin pressed against hers and the slight growing stubble upon his cheeks tickled her in kind, her lips perking into a smile as they kissed. 

The once silent closet became a cacophony of small sighs and gasps from both the king and queen. Aegon’s free hand trailed to the small of Lyanna’s back, resting right in the divots above her bottom, his fingers splayed out in exploratory fashion. His repose was short lived, as he grabbed the fleshy globe of her arse, emitting a pleased hum of surprise. They parted for a moment to breathe, as it was wholly necessary– if they hadn’t needed to breathe, they wouldn’t have parted at all, reveling in one another’s taste for hours.

“I forbid you to cut my dress, Aegon,” she whispered in a playful warning, staring at him with a look that couldn’t be described as anything else other than fondness. “I refuse to go through these halls with my garment sliced to shreds.”

“But you love it, don’t you? You quite liked it last night.”

“Aegon.”

“Fine,” he acquiesced, his hand retreating from her face to unbuckle his belt. The light of the closet was dim, close to none– the soft flickering of the sconces outside of the corridor bleeding in through the cracked door. She couldn’t see what he was doing, really, but she heard the soft grunts coming from him as his fist slid against his length. Giving her ass a playful squeeze, he used his other hand to ruck up her skirts, the pad of his thumb swiping down her underclothes. “Lovely.” Aegon practically purred, hooking his finger and sliding the wet garb down her legs.

The air was cold against her bare sex, causing her to shiver. She chased the warmth of his body as he adjusted himself, parting from her closeness for just a moment, making her all but whimper. 

They didn’t need words, despite their new trend of back and forth quips– and it was nice to not have to say anything. She let him take the lead, as he was more experienced than she. His legs were between hers, keeping them open as he glided his member between her folds, gathering the wet slick that had been ruminating since they came to the closet, then he slid into her. Lyanna stifled a gasp, the sensation still so unfamiliar– it wasn’t painful like before, as she was prepared for it now, but it was a feeling of stretching she wasn’t used to. 

Aegon, in turn, huffed a moan into her neck, murmuring something in broken High Valyrian under his breath. He sheathed himself to the hilt inside of her, resting both hands on her hips, which had the perfect little clefts for handles, he noted. He didn’t move right away, savoring the warmth and tightness of her, squeezing around him like she was all but made for him. 

“P-please,” she whispered, so quietly, into the shell of his ear.

He set a wonderfully slow pace, which only sped up with each kiss they shared, their tongues mingling and dancing to the soft sound of Aegon’s heavy stones smacking up against Lyanna’s core. Their cacophony became a full on symphony of wet, slapping noises, coupled with their borderline obscene sounding kissing as they moaned into one another’s mouths.

 It felt like something of newness for both of them as Aegon’s thumb came up to circle at her clit– Lyanna was experiencing a fullness and indulgence in having her husband slotted in her so deliciously. Aegon was experiencing something akin to euphoria at the fact that he was fucking someone who wanted him, whom he did not pay, and was not doing so out of duty. He had been a bit hesitant on the latter at first, but there was no way in the Hells that she was faking such debaucherous, beautiful little moans. This was sensual ecstasy and closeness that they’d both never felt before in their lives. 

Lyanna’s whining became more pronounced as Aegon’s attention on her clit came to fruition– she clenched around him like a vice, feeling a small dribble of wetness soak around his cock. This act alone brought Aegon to his own completion, the wetness of her slick now mingling with his seed as he spilled inside of her, deep enough to hopefully take root. He bit onto the lobe of her ear gently as he came, whimpering. 

Lyanna quite liked that sound– of her husband whimpering into her ear as he emptied himself. It made her put both hands on each side of his face and kiss him again– but soft, like his little whimpers. It wasn’t something born of lust, but something completely different. Something that they both really couldn’t name yet.

Coming down from both of their highs, Aegon quickly situated himself back into his trousers– but not before reaching two fingers to his wife’s folds and pushing back in the seed that threatened to leak from her.

“Aegon,” she keened, dangerously close to overstimulation as he gave a cheeky flick to her wrought-over clit. “E-Enough– too much…” 

“I couldn’t resist,” Aegon chuckled as he pulled her undergarments back up, snug once more against her. “I don’t suppose we are returning to dinner?” 

“Gods– I don’t think I can. I am still reeking of wine and I won’t be able to look them all in the eyes when we come back looking as if the cat just ate the canary.”

“Or the dragon ate the rabbit?” 

“... I am sure I can feign sickness just one time– what do you think? Mayhaps we should retire early tonight.” Lyanna flattened out her dress.

“... we?” 

“Yes– we.” 

“We as in… me and you? In the same room? Together?” 

“That is what ‘we’ means, Aegon.” 

“... I suppose I could be convinced.”

–

They did indeed retire early that night, but not before going for round two, then three. A thoroughly fucked out Lyanna rested in bed, her body riddled in hickies of Aegon’s doing, her fingers tangled in his hair. She was well and fast asleep, Aegon noted. 

He loathed to untangle himself from her– she was so nice and warm and soft… but something inside of him nagged. Something broken and heinous tugged at his humanity, willing him to get out of bed and dress, donning his usual thick black cloak.

Off to the Silk Streets. To sate the broken parts of him and to quell the incessant nagging within his head.

Your fault, your fault.

#aegon ii targaryen #aegon ii targaryen fanfic #aegon ii targaryen fanfiction #aegon ii targaryen smut #aegon ii targaryen angst #aegon ii targaryen fluff #aegon ii x reader #aegon ii #aemond targaryen #hotd #house of the dragon #my writing #wine red tears gold

[autumnshighlady]

I've Always Liked to Play With Fire (part 19)

NESTA ARCHERON X ERIS VANSERRA X FEMALE!READER

summary: Eris helps Nesta conquer her fear of fire

warnings: inner circle slander, MAJOR angst, Cassian hate

word count: 4.2k

DO NOT REPOST ANYWHERE

a/n: sorry for the short chapter (i mean it's still 4000+ words but its short for me lmao) but I'm already working on the next one but here's a Neris chapter! haven't updated this fic in too long, so I apologize. Enjoy and as always, tell me your thoughts and reactions!

part 1 // part 2 / part 3 / part 4 / part 5 / part 6 / part 7 / part 8 / part 9 / part 10 / part 11 / part 12 / part 13 / part 14 / part 15 / part 16 / part 17 / part 18

read on ao3

✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧

NESTA POV 

Nesta gently stroked Athariel’s silver scales as the dragon snaked its head around her, vying for attention. The beast made a low cooing noise at her touch, and Nesta chuckled to herself. She remembered the mix of awe and fear she had felt upon seeing the dragons for the first time. Ancient and mythical beasts beyond her wildest imagination, in the flesh before her very eyes. And yet at this moment, Athariel was acting more like a puppy than a dragon.

“Some fearsome beast you are.” Nesta murmured as Athariel continued to purr lowly. She reached forward to scratch behind the dragon’s right horn, and Athariel responded by closing her eyes and pushing her head further into Nesta’s hand. “Spoiled creature.”

The sweet autumn breeze funnelled into the cave and stroked Nesta’s cheek. It was an unusually cold day. Even the thick wool layers did little to keep out the biting chill that seeped into Nesta’s bones. She shivered slightly, pressing closer to the dragon for warmth.

Eris had left about ten minutes ago to fetch something for today’s training session. As usual, he refused to elaborate, only giving Nesta a playful wink that he knew would send her blood steaming when she asked what he was going to fetch. Every few days, Eris dragged her to the dragon cave to train her magic. Even after her demonstration to Beron, Eris insisted they continue the practice. “Killing my father is going to take a lot more finesse than your display, my dear.” He had explained. “My father is not an idiot. He knows how to defend himself, you do not.”

As much as she hated admitting that she liked spending time with Eris, it pained Nesta to be away from you. Since the announcement of your engagement, you had been constantly pulled away by servants, planners, dress fitters, and courtiers in preparation. It broke her heart, seeing the life slowly drain out of your eyes with each passing day. She saw how you snuck desperate glances at her as you were shuffled off for wedding business, pleading for help through the bond. There was nothing that could compare to the pain of the helplessness she felt. Eris had sternly told her to keep it together, that she had a part to play and couldn’t interfere with your engagement yet. His father would be watching your every move, and if Nesta became too involved then everything would go to hell. 

The thought of the two upcoming weddings made Nesta’s stomach churn. While she definitely got the better of Beron’s sons, there were still so many things about Eris that she couldn’t figure out. The Prince always had an angle to play, never revealing his next move until he was certain things would work out in his favour. Nesta could understand why he was helping her. Objectively, their marriage was a strong match. She had been raised by her mother for this exact role – a doting wife who appeased the males of the court, but one with a viper’s tongue who was able to hold her own and get exactly what she wanted. Eris would benefit from it too, having a Cauldron-made female at his side whose powers dwarfed any of those in his court. 

But his angle with you was something Nesta couldn’t figure out. Helping you was a huge risk for him, one that placed both you and the Prince in danger. Throwing you out of the Autumn Court and delivering you back to Rhysand would have been the smart move for Eris, as it would have eased the tension between Autumn and Night after Nesta had slipped through Rhysand’s grasp. Helping you was a risk that Nesta couldn’t understand why Eris was so willing to take. She had tried probing him about it a few times, but he had always brushed her off.

“A penny for your thoughts?” Eris strode back into the cave, a bundle of sticks and wood in his arms. He dumped them on the floor, the clattering noise echoing throughout the dragon’s den. Morgoth’s massive dark head appeared from the shadows, emitting a low rumbling noise that shook Nesta’s bones as he sniffed his master. Eris chuckled, saying something to the dragon in a language Nesta did not understand as he stroked its nose.

She frowned at the pile of wood on the floor. “You went out to collect sticks?”

Eris smirked. “Brilliant observation, Nesta Archeron. You never cease to amaze me.”

She shot him a withering glare. “Prick. What do sticks have to do with training my magic?”

“Because it’s hard to train fire-related magic when you’re utterly terrified of fire itself.”

Nesta froze, panic rising in her chest. Athariel nudged her now-still hand, as if sensing her anxiety. But she kept a straight face and said evenly, “I do not know what you mean.”

Eris scoffed, bending down and arranging the sticks. “Oh, please. You flinch every time the hearth is lit. You look like you’ve seen a ghost whenever I use my magic around you. Deny it all you want, but I see right through you, my dear.”

She blanched at his words. His tone was not accusing nor angry, but casual and nonchalant. He wasn’t trying to put her down, but simply pointed out an observation. Nesta’s throat closed up as she realised just how much Eris truly picked up on. Not once did Cassian ever seem to notice how she flinched from every fire he lit, or how her room was always freezing and damp because she refused to use the fireplace. He had been too focused on fucking her to ever truly see through the front she put up.

“You do not have to tell me why,” Eris said, a bit softer this time. “But fear will distract you, and we cannot afford to have you distracted at this time. I will not force you to face this fear if you truly feel that you cannot, but I believe you are able to. You have already overcome so much, Archeron. Let this be just another obstacle.”

His gentle encouragement surprised Nesta, despite having experienced it before. She always found herself comparing his words to Cassian and the Inner Circle’s. The Inner Circle always gave her the illusion of a choice, two bad options with one worse than the other, forcing her to choose the lesser of two evils and end up going with what worked best for their agenda. There was no choice in training with Cassian, it was presented as something she simply had to do. 

Eris, on the other hand, always offered her a way out – another option even if it was one that made his life more difficult. He would explain the upsides and downsides to each path with logic, not manipulation. It was something Nesta grew to appreciate. He never backed her into a corner, or wanted her to submit.

She hated how the way she was treated in the Night Court followed her around like a ghost, haunting her every move. Guilt churned in her gut every time she instinctively snapped at Eris, anticipating that she would be forced into something. To his credit, he did not appear phased by her reactions and would wave off any apologies. It was something the Inner Circle had never understood about her. Nesta’s life had been taken out of her hands when she was snatched in the middle of the night and forced into the Cauldron. She did not choose to become fae, and now suddenly she had an immortal life ahead of her and no idea what to do with it. Yet her choices in the Night Court were never her own. Someone always decided what was best for her, rather than letting her figure out this transition at her own pace.

But Eris always gave her a choice. Nesta knew Eris wanted her to overcome her fear of fire for everyone’s sake, and she trusted him enough by now that she knew if she said no, he would drop the subject rather than push her buttons. So she took a breath, staring at the pile of sticks the Prince had assembled. “Ok,” She said. “I’ll do it.”

 *********************

Half an hour later, Nesta’s breath was slightly less shaky. Her back was pressed against Athariel’s silver neck, the heated scales of the dragon adding extra warmth against the damp autumn chill. A small orange fire blazed a few feet in front of her, that haunting snapping noise echoing throughout the cave. It took every ounce of self control Nesta had to not panic, taking deep breaths to try and push down the bile in her throat. 

Eris sat beside her, his arm ever so slightly grazing hers. He had spent the past thirty minutes monologuing about anything and everything, a welcome distraction to help Nesta focus on something else other than the crackling of the fire. He told all types of stories, ranging from tales of the ancient beings in Prythian to recounting the time Lucien accidentally killed Eris’s favourite fish by taking it out of the water to get fresh air. Nesta had not chimed in, but let out a snort at the latter story. She had seen Eris smile out of the corner of her eye. A true smile, not his usual arrogant smirk. It made her heart flutter, seeing the autumn Prince so relaxed. 

As time passed, the less Nesta flinched at the noises from the fire. Her body began to relax, and she saw less of her father’s face across her mind and began to appreciate the beauty of the orange flames. They still unsettled her and if she could smite them out this second she would. But she no longer felt the urge to crawl out of her own skin.

“... And I ate every last bit of that so-called ‘birthday cake’ Lucien made,” Eris rambled on, following another story about him and his youngest brother. “It was ghastly. Every bite made me want to hurl my guts up, but my brother looked so young and proud of his creation that I couldn’t hurt his feelings. Although he has always been a slippery little bastard, so part of me wondered if he was just playing innocent and deliberately made me a disgusting cake on purpose to see if I loved him enough to pretend it was good.”

Nesta laughed, truly laughed at that. She turned her head to meet Eris’s gaze. He made no jibing remark about how rare a laugh like that was for her, like Cassian would have done. He simply smiled, the orange light of the fire casting artful shadows across his pale skin.

“Eris,” Nesta began hesitantly, the noise of the fire fading into the background. “Can I ask you something?”

The heir shrugged. “I am an open book, Nesta Archeron. Ask away.”

She snorted. “Ok, well we both know that’s not true.”

“If you want to know my deepest darkest secrets, my dear, all you have to do is ask.” Eris purred. Nesta’s blood heated at his velvety voice, and she pushed herself to focus.

“What happened to Lucien?” She asked. “I was never told much about him, even by (Y/N). All I know is that he was in the Spring Court with Feyre when she was there, and he was in that room in Hybern with the Cauldron. And that he’s Elain’s mate and is now bouncing between the mortal lands and the Night Court.”

Eris sighed. “It’s complicated, Nesta.”

“I’m just trying to understand his role in all of this.”

“Including if he would be a good mate to your sister, am I correct?”

Nesta swallowed her sadness. She had tried not to think about Elain these past few weeks. The memory of finding out Elain had been the one to pack up what little belongings she had in her apartment stung like a fresh wound. “No,” She corrected Eris. “Because I appear to be the only one from the Night Court who likes to think of him as his own person, not just Elain’s mate. Who Elain chooses to be with is no longer my concern.”

Eris nodded. “Very well. Lucien is the youngest of my brothers, and my father was especially cruel to him. What I am about to tell you cannot leave this cave, understood?”

Nesta nodded, curious.

“Lucien is not my father’s son. My mother had an affair with Helion, the High Lord of the Day Court. I figured it out quickly, but my mother always denied it. My father had suspicions but no proof, so he took every opportunity he could to punish Lucien. He hated that Lucien never cared about his royal status, and that he frequently made friends with individuals that my father deemed unworthy – (Y/N) included. One day, he met a lesser faerie named Jesminda. When my father found out about it, he had two of my brothers hold Lucien back as he executed Jesminda right in front of him.”

Nesta chose her words carefully. “Were you… were you there?”

Eris looked at her sharply. “Yes, I was. But I refused my fathers request to kill Jesminda, so he did it himself. It is the only thing I have ever refused him, even to this day. And I paid the price for it.”

“What did he do to you?”

“That matters not. Once I was released from the dungeons, my spies informed me that my father was planning on killing Lucien. I knew my brother was smart and would flee to the Spring Court, so I alerted Tamlin to the situation. Tamlin found Lucien at the border and killed two of my three brothers that had been sent after him to slaughter Lucien on our father’s orders.”

Nesta picked at a thread on her sleeve and asked dryly, “Let me guess, Malgorm was the one who escaped Tamlin’s claws?”

Eris snorted humourlessly. “Yes. Somehow, Malgorm always finds a way to escape death. It’s incredibly annoying.”

“Does Lucien know what you did for him?”

“No. He does not. And it does not matter if he did know, it would not change his hatred for me.”

A sadness overtook Eris’s eyes that pained Nesta. With a sick feeling in her gut, she knew looking at Eris was like looking in a mirror. Two eldest children with a cruel parent, twisted and moulded into their parent’s perfect creation. Nesta knew that Feyre would always see her as their mother’s favourite, but never knew just how much Nesta suffered underneath her. How Nesta would plead to the universe every night that their mother would turn her attention elsewhere because neglect was better than cruelty to her. Feyre did not know that her grandmother had beaten her, or that her mother had pulled Nesta’s hair until she cried and deprived her of meals to keep her thin. Nesta had never told her, not only for fear of showing weakness, but because she knew that Feyre had been so neglected she wouldn’t truly be able to understand that their mother’s attention was not something to be desired.

And Eris was the same. All the tales Nesta had heard of him portrayed the male as a worse version of Beron, a perfect eldest son and soldier for the High Lord to wield like a sword. But he had done so much to protect his younger brother, and just like Nesta, had never told him because he knew he wouldn’t be able to fully understand it. They were both disliked by their youngest sibling for being their parent’s prized pupils, oblivious to the whole story. Even though Eris had not answered her question, Nesta knew that what Beron had put him through was a thousand times worse than anything her mother had done. Deep down, she knew that Eris was just as broken as she was. Their main difference was Eris had centuries of practice in masking it, whereas Nesta did not.

“You’re not a bad male, Eris.” Nesta said softly, her gaze lost in the warm amber of his eyes.

“You hardly know me.” His voice was bitter, the aloof arrogant mask he wore threatening to slide up and hide the vulnerability Nesta had seen in his face moments ago. “I’ve done horrible things in the name of my father, Nesta. Things that would make you run back to the Night Court if you knew.”

“I don’t judge people for what they had to do to survive.” Nesta insisted, her voice even. “You may have your own secret agenda, Eris, but you’ve treated me better than most people have in a long, long time. Do not think I don’t appreciate that.”

Eris laughed, and the haunted look was shoved from his face. “My dear, how you have been treated is appalling, even to me. Let’s not have that be the standard, I beg you.”

“How do you know I didn’t deserve it?” Nesta said before she could stop herself. It simply slipped out, the guilt that had been shoved down her throat by the Inner Circle ever since she became fae entrapping her words once again. It was an exhausting uphill battle. Every day, she told herself that she was right to flee the Night Court, to try and make a life for herself outside Velaris. But every day those seeds of doubt wriggled their way into her thoughts, trapping her inside a web of self hatred that she had fought so hard to get out of.

“Seriously?” Eris said incredulously, eyebrows raised. He shifted so he was facing Nesta, and he took her still trembling hands in his own. “Tell me, what criminal, abhorrent offence have you committed to warrant being treated like shit and locked up?”

Nesta’s throat was dry. “I didn’t try and help my family like Feyre did when we were in poverty.”

Eris shook his head. “You are the eldest daughter, not the parent. It was not your responsibility to provide for your family.”

“I was mean to Feyre on several occasions.”

“You’re sisters, that’s supposed to happen. You should hear the vicious things my brothers and I say to each other.”

“I spent a ton of Rhys’s money on alcohol, drinking myself stupid every night.”

“Please, that male has more money than anyone I know, my dear. I assure you his bank account was not dented in the slightest.”

“I slept my way through the city after the war.”

“Everyone in that little Inner Circle has fucked more fae than anyone I know. Your number is nothing compared to theirs.” Eris said calmly. “All I’m hearing is that a newly turned fae female was traumatised after being dragged into a brutal war she did not ask for, and found unhealthy yet very normal ways of coping. So tell me again, what actual horrid thing have you done to deserve any of this?”

Tears filled Nesta’s eyes as she listed her sins, the crackling of the fire fading into the background. She knew Eris was right, his logical mind soothing her anxious one. Talking about it with Eris was different than talking about it with you. You had been just as angry as Nesta had, forced into the same situation as her and kept in the House of Wind against your will, the Inner Circle using the fact that they had saved both your lives as leverage to make you do what they wanted. You were someone who Nesta could rant to about it and get angry, letting that hatred she felt out to someone who knew exactly what she meant. But Eris was different. He rationalised her thoughts, providing a different kind of reassurance. 

She couldn’t stop the tears that fell down her cheeks. Nesta bit her wobbling lip, trying to keep more from spilling out. Eris released one of her hands, bringing it up to her face and gently brushing the tears away. “They’ve done a number on you, haven’t they?” He murmured softly, cupping her cheek.  “What are you thinking right now, Nesta Archeron?”

Nesta inhaled deeply, pressing her face slightly harder into Eris’s warm hand. The smell of smoke and forest engulfing her senses. “That I am scared,” She admitted. “For so many reasons. I am scared that Cassian will find me and steal me back to Velaris. That everything we’ve done has all been for nothing. I’m scared that your father will find us out somehow and kill us all. I’m scared for (Y/N) and her engagement to your awful brother. And I hate myself, Eris. I hate myself for who I’ve become not just because I am now fae, but because the person I was before the Cauldron would not have given in and trained with Cassian. I… I am afraid that with this new immortality ahead of me I will not recognize the girl I used to be, and not in a good way. I hate that I have let the words of people who barely know me cut this deeply, and I am ashamed of it.”

Eris continued to use his thumb to brush away the fresh tears on her cheeks. He leaned forward, pressing his forehead to hers. “You have had a difficult hand dealt to you, Nesta.” Eris said softly. “And they should have known better. Do not be ashamed. For anything. Just know you have (Y/N), just as you have me. We will not let the Night Court take you, I swear on my mother’s life. Your mate cares for you, and I… I care for you, too.”

Nesta opened her mouth to respond, but a strange sensation in her chest stopped her. It suddenly felt like she was falling through space, the stars overhead spinning around her as she plummeted towards a strange light. She gasped, and felt Eris tense up as well. In her mind, she saw her silver flames dancing towards orange ones. They intertwined, braiding together and forming a magical rope-like appearance. Nesta reached down in her mind, her heartbeat racing as she grabbed a hold of it. She peered down to where the flames had extended to, seeing a flaming silhouette on the other end, her silver flames surrounding it affectionately. 

And so she reached forward, extending a mental hand into that flaming silhouette.

And Eris gasped. 

Nesta’s eyes shot open, and she lurched back from the Autumn Prince’s touch. Eris’s face was ghostly pale, and he was panting as if he had just fought off a hundred soldiers at once. Athariel hissed behind her, not happy to be awoken by the sudden movement. Her mouth was dry. She had felt this feeling before, but with you. That flaming rope she had followed felt the same as the pull of the tattoo on her sternum.

The mating bond.

The flaming silhouette at the other end of the magical rope was Eris Vanserra. Nesta’s mind reeled, her body threatening to combust with the feeling inside her chest. She could only stare at the male before her in shock.

Estelle said fae can have more than one mate, but Cassian is not one of yours. Your words rang in Nesta’s head like a bell, making her feel dizzy. No, she thought. This isn’t possible. You were her mate, how could this happen? There was still that strange feeling in her chest from Cassian, which confused her even more. The feeling of one mating bond within her was overwhelming enough, but two? Nesta didn’t know if she could survive it.

“Eris…” His voice was like a prayer on her lips, sounding completely different than the previous hundred times she had said it. It was like a song, carrying over to the shaken autumn prince and snapping him out of his trance.

“Nesta.” Her blood sang at the sound of her name, silver flames sparking from her fingertips in response. 

“Like calls to like…” She muttered, recalling Eris’s repetition of the phrase. And then it dawned on her. Eris had consistently told her that like calls to like, and she had thought he was talking about their similarities in magic.

Fury rose within her, drowning out everything else. “Did you know?” She hissed at Eris.

The male’s eyes were wide, and he stuttered. “I–”

“Did you fucking know?” Nesta growled. “Is this the only reason you agreed to help us? So you could use the bond to trap me. Is that what you wanted? To keep me prisoner here, just like your father did to your mother?”

Eris blanched, flinching like he had been struck. Nesta felt it, the blow of her words, as if she had been punched in the chest. “I swear, I did not know.” Eris pleaded. “Nesta, please, you have to trust me. I had no idea about this.”

Nesta rose to her feet, her entire body shaking. She climbed onto Athariel’s back, nudging the dragon forward with her heels. Athariel grumbled, but got to her feet and began to crawl out of the cave. Her hands shook as she held onto the dragon’s horns. She stared down at Eris, who appeared paralyzed in shock as he looked up at her. Nesta’s voice was cold as ice as she said, “I don’t believe you.”

And as Athariel spread her wings and took to the sky, Nesta had not noticed the fire had gone out completely.

taglist (comment if you want to be added): @queercontrarian @kitkat-writes-stuff @moonfawnx @sevikas-whore @weird-and-wise @jemandderkeinenusernamenfindet @kingshitonly @ladyofcherries @eerievixen @readingwritingwatching @peacecoffeeandflowers @a-frog-with-a-laptop @shadowqueen25 @lana08 @highladyofillyria @rachelnicolee @ladespedidas @little-darlingo @manonblackbeakquidditchteam13 @demirunner @terorovaerangi @hauntedandhopeful  @younxii @microwaveallthedemons @fanfictioniseverything @lovra974 @maddietheshoe @peaceandcrackers @emy1-9 @lostinfantasyworldsbi @issybee0611 @thoughtfulshepherdmongerkid @belledawnidk @whhyyynottt @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @littlebbb @piceous21 @sevendeadlyshins-blog @searchingford  @marigold-morelli @thesapphiclibrarian @nikovasbitch @chasing-autumns-chill @the-sweet-psycho @

#ialtpwf #neris #nesta x eris #nesta archeron x eris vanserra #nesta archeron x reader #nesta archeron fic #eris vanserra #eris vanserra x reader #sjm #anti inner circle #anti cassian #anti rhysand #pro nesta archeron #pro nesta #neris fluff #neris fic #acotar #acosf #acosf au #anti nessian #neris x reader

[elucienweekofficial]

Day 4: Courtiers

“Elain, who flitted about the room, personally greeting each guest and dancing with all.”

“I claimed Lucien as since he'd already made many friends across the courts and had always been good at talking to people.”

Commissioned by @sanktadu and drawn by nysasteller

The event has permission to repost

#elucien fanart #prompt: courtiers #elucienweek2023 #elucien #elain archeron #lucien vanserra #elain x lucien

[iliveforyouilongforyouvesuvia]

Lightning round! Who would say what:

1. Be gay, do crimes >:)

2. Bold of you to assume I'm [insert assumption here]

3. YEET

4. I'm a bad b*h, you can't kill me

5. You can't kill me in a way that matters

6. Good sööp

The Arcana Mini-HCs: M6 and More Quotes

@themushroomgoesyeet can I just say that I adore the kinds of suggestions you send me? they never fail to amaze XD - brainrot ~

Julian: "I'm a bad b*tch, you can't kill me" - this is what he was really saying right before- you know what, this is what he says every time he's about to try a Bad Idea

Asra: "Bold of you to assume I'm [insert anything, literally anything, they live solely to confuse people]" - You've seen him turn his whole body tie-dye out of spite

Nadia: "You can't kill me in a way that matters" - spoken with a stone cold gaze as she stared down the Devil himself, causing every demon courtier to collectively crap their pants

Muriel: "Good soop." - It was all he could think to say when Mazelinka gave him a bowlful of her stew and it was so healing that it made him want to talk to strangers

Portia: "YEET" - this is something you hear several times a day now, it's the sound effect she supplies every time she hurls Pepi across the kitchen away from her baking

Lucio: "Be gay, do crimes >:)" - this is something half the villages he's visited has heard, closely followed by your stern "Lucio, NO!" and then by a muffled "Lucio, YES!"

#ask arcana brainrot #the arcana #the arcana headcanons #the arcana hc #the arcana game #asra the arcana #julian the arcana #nadia the arcana #muriel the arcana #portia the arcana #lucio the arcana #asra alnazar #julian devorak #nadia satrinava #muriel of the kokhuri #portia devorak #lucio morgasson

[thelov3lybookworm]

Caged In (part 4)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Day 4: Courtier and emissary

Summary: the secret Y/n had bribed Lucien with is finally revealed.

•○●⛦●○•

A/n: 😈

(Yes, thats all i got to say)

(Edit: Also, i dont think theres much angst(?))

@lucienweekofficial

•○🌑○•

The silence that permeated the air nearly suffocated Y/n.

Her ears were wondering why they couldn't hear anything.

Her brain was shaking its head at her.

Her heart was crying.

And her eyes were searching his, trying to find a way to rectify her mouth's mistake.

But he simply stared at her, his face stoic, no emotions that she could understand.

"So. You, are telling me, that Beron, is not my father?"

She nodded, short of words.

"You're telling me, that the male who abused my mother, made my life a living hell, is not the one who sired me?"

Y/n swallowed, blinking back tears as she again nodded.

Lucien started at her as if he didn't recognise her.

"Lucien–"

"No. No. Wait. Let me process what you just said." He began pacing at the foot of his bed, his hands joined in front of his face.

After that night in front of the bonfire, the two of them had slowly started spending less and less time together, limiting their interactions to just nods and hellos in passing in the past week.

An hour ago, Y/n had come into Lucien's room to finally tell him of his parentage, not able to keep it from him any longer. She had already made him wait for seven months now, and he never pushed her to tell him about it.

She had only told him that Beron was not his father. He was yet to know who it was. And she was dreading telling him that.

"How are you so certain that he's not my father?" He asked after a few tense moments, turning to her.

Y/n sighed. "Feyre figured it out."

"And how, exactly, did she figure it out?"

"She... she just did, alright? She saw you near your father and she knew."

"Wait– near my father? Does that mean we know each other?"

Shit.

"Yeah..."

He stiffened, then stalked around the bed to where she was sitting against the headboard, settling in front of her with his hands on her knees.

"Who is he?"

Y/n was regretting telling him about all of this, but now she was in too deep shit to backtrack.

"Um... I think Feyre could also have been wrong, you know. Maybe–"

"Fucking cauldron! Just tell me who it is!" He raised his voice, stunning Y/n for a moment. He sighed. "Look, just tell me who it is."

She swallowed before telling him. "H– Helion."

Time slowed to a crawl, and Lucien simply stared at her.

After what felt like eternity, he spoke up in a soft voice. "Helion. The high lord of day court. Is my..."

"Father. Yes."

He nodded slowly, searching her face as if for a hint of deception. Then he nodded again, more to himself as he stood. He simply stripped of the shirt he was as he began walking to the wardrobe.

Y/n scrambled up to follow him, her heart beating in her throat. "Lucien, hey, where are you going?"

He ignored her, pulling out a different and more elaborately decorated shirt, shrugging it on.

"Lucien–"

He whipped around, fury in his eyes as he stalked up to her. She took a step back, but he grabbed her wrist and pushed her up against the closest wall, his hands resting on either side of her head as he leaned in, caging her in.

She swallowed, searching his eyes.

"You couldn't have told me this before? Or later? Today was the only day you could think of telling me this?" He sneered.

Y/n blinked, taken aback. "Luc–"

"Don't. Just fucking stop speaking and leave me alone. Cauldron." He turned his back to her, rummaging in his wardrobe.

But this time, she ignored him. She wouldn't leave him alone, couldn't.

"What's gotten into you? Why are you acting like this?"

"Why am I acting like this?" He laughed, the sound void of any humor. "Because I just found out who I thought was my father was not my father. I would say my reaction is fucking valid, considering the information you just dropped on me."

"I get it, and you have all the right to react in any way you want, but why are you getting angry at me? And why the hell are you getting ready?"

He released a deep breath, rubbing his eyes. "Because I am supposed to meet him– my real father– in an hour."

Y/n's blood went cold.

This was worse than what she had thought.

"And how the fuck am I supposed to look him in the eye and pretend like nothing happened? Tell me Y/n. Tell me how I am supposed to sit through the dinner party and pretend like everything's alright. That he is not my father."

"Lucien... I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have– I..."

He shook his head. "It's not your fault. You didn't even know I was going to be on emissary duty tonight. You didn't know anything. I'm so sorry." He sat against the wall he had pinned her against, his head in his hand.

She asked down next to him, silent, and placed her head on his shoulder.

"Are you going to tell him?"

"I'll have to. Better sooner than later." He laid his head against hers, taking a deep breath.

After a moment, she came to a decision.

The confrontation about to come would be an important one, a hard one. He would need someone nearby.

How many times had he needed to not be on his own, needed someone to be there with him during hard times? He had been alone for far too long, had far too many people abandon him. She was not going to be one of those people.

"I'll come with you."

He looked at her, eyes wide. "Are you mad? You can't come with me. What if the inner circle somehow finds out about your whereabouts? They'll kill the both of us."

"They won't. I mean, they could try..."

He shook his head. "No. You are not coming–"

"Did you think I was asking you? I'm telling you. I'm coming with you. I don't care if they find me and lock me back up. Obviously, you will save me again, won't you?"

He laughed, pained. "Y/n, I still don't think that is a good idea."

"It's alright. I think it's a good idea."

He stared at her. "Why?" He whispered.

She smiled softly. "Because everyone deserves to have someone for them. If I were to do a confrontation with my father, I would definitely need someone near."

He placed a kiss on her head, his hand finding hers. "Thank you."

She grinned at him, and his eyes dropped to her lips.

He stared and stared. He swallowed, his eyes meeting hers before they dropped back to her lips.

"Fuck..." He muttered, looking away.

"I think we should get dressed then?" She mumbled when the silence and the awkwardness became roo much to bear. He nodded, standing up.

She turned to leave, but she couldn't shake the feeling of his heavy stare boring into her back.

•○🌑○•

Lucien's pov.

The dinner went smoothly, and he conversed easily with the High Lord of Day Court. The one who was apparently his father.

Lucien wanted to laugh.

He had been sent here to request some kind of books for the priestesses who resided in the house of Wind. Of course, Helion agreed.

He was nice like that.

And Lucien bad been left to wonder. How would he react to the news Lucien was going to give him later tonight?

Currently, he was in one of the private sitting rooms of the day court, sitting on the couch opposite Helion with a drink in his hand. He hadn't bothered to see what he was drinking.

He sat silently, watching as his father and the love of his– Y/n, teased each other and laughed.

"You look like you have something to say Lucien. Is everything alright?"

Lucien nearly jumped out of his skin when Helion addressed him. Helion's eyes were shining with amusement, but Y/n's eyes were filled with understanding.

"Y/n? If you could give us a moment?"

He had brought her with him so that he could have some emotional support, but she the night progressed, he had come to the conclusion that he needed to do this by himself.

She searched his eyes. "Are you sure?"

He nodded, and she made her way out the door, waving at Helion and giving Lucien an encouraging smile.

"Is everything alright?" Helion questioned, lifting his glass of wine to his lips.

"That or the question, isn't it?"

Lucien asked wryly, building up his courage.

Then, taking a deep breath, the emissary of night court told the High Lord of the day court the truth.

"Apparently, you are my father."

A moment of dead silence.

And then a glass shattered.

•○🌑○•

Part 5

Taglist: @bubybubsters @eos-princess @nightless @lizziesfirstwife

#acotar #Lucien x reader #Acotar fanfic #mating bond #a court of thorns and roses #Lucien fluff #acotar fandom #acotar series #fluff #Lucien fic #sarah j maas #acotar headcanon #Acotar writing #acotar fluff #acotar x reader #reader insert #lucien acotar #pro lucien vanserra #lucien #Cassian sister #Lucienweek2023 #Lucien week #Lucien fanfic #lucien vanserra

[velidewrites]

❀𖤣𖥧𖡼⊱✿⊰𖡼𖥧𖤣❀ @elucienweekofficial ❀𖤣𖥧𖡼⊱✿⊰𖡼𖥧𖤣❀

ELAIN ARCHERON & LUCIEN VANSERRA

Day 4: Courtiers

#elucienweek2023 #elucien #pro elucien #elain x lucien #elain archeron #elain acotar #lucien vanserra #lucien acotar #acotar moodboard #acotar #a court of thorns and roses

[thrumugnyr]

@lucienweekofficial Day 4 - Courtier & Emissary

''Lucien was sent to Amarantha as Tamlin's emissary, to try to treat for peace between them. She refused, and...Lucien told her to go back to the shit-hole she'd crawled out of. She took his eye as punishment. Carved it out with her own fingernail, then scarred his face.''

#i....i don't know either what happened - I was trying to do something wholesome but this came out so....*confused noises* #acotar #acotar fanart #lucien vanserra #tamlin #lucienweek2023 #tw: blood #tw: gore #i feel the community label is overkill but better safe than sorry! #i admit maybe i ship tamlin and lucien a little #and by a little i mean a lot

[incandescentlysomething]

Lady of the Ashes: Chapter 8

House of the Dragon Season 1

Aemond x TargaryenOC

Chapter Word Count: 5506

She was his everything… For her…he would do anything.

From the moment of her birth, Aemond Targaryen swore himself to the protection of his niece Aelinor Velaryon. As the two grew up inseparable, they find themselves entangled in the Dance of Dragons, battling to stay together even as their families try to pull them apart.

A/N: Sorry for the delay! Accidentally posted this one to the wrong blog haha Thanks for reading! Cross posted on A03

Let me know what you think!

Masterlist A03

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 P.1 P.2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7

Aelinor was awake even before the sun had appeared through her window. She had not slept well, and was still exhausted from her late night, but she knew that this morning would not be one for leisure.

She wanted nothing more than to remain curled up under her blankets, but she could already hear people moving about in the parlor. Ser Vaemond would make his petition before the king at ten bells, and she had no doubt that courtiers would be flooding the throne room from the early hours, determined to get the best spot.

When she arrived in the parlor her mother was pacing back and forth, one hand on her swollen belly and the other twisting nervously at her side.

“You must rest, Mother,” Aelinor cautioned. “These nerves cannot be good for the baby.”

Rhaenyra held out a hand as her daughter stepped closer, and Aelinor took it in both of her own. “I trust you slept well.”

“As well as can be expected,” Aelinor sighed. “But come, you must sit.”

Rhaenyra shook her head. “I find myself restless. It is best that I stay on my feet.”

Aelinor gave a little smile. “I trust this isn’t a sign of my sibling to come. I could not handle another little boy with Joff’s energy.”

“It could be a girl, you know.” Rhaenyra said. “You could have a sister.”

Aelinor pursed her lips. “I suppose it could. But I shall rejoice all the same. As it is, Baela and Rhaena are all the sisters I need.” She caught her mother’s eye, letting her know just how much she meant that.

Rhaenyra sighed. “Aelinor, if you wish to speak about your father we could—”

“My father,” Aelinor said quickly. “Was Ser Laenor Velaryon. No other.”

“But we could—”

“Today is about Luc, Mother,” Aelinor said. “About his succession. We share a father, and I will stand with him as he claims the seat to which our father’s blood entitles him. As Velaryons.”

Rhaenyra squeezed her hand. “He would be a good father to you, Aelinor. I know it.”

How many times throughout the years had Aelinor wondered the same thing. This was as close as her mother had ever come to just flat out admitting the truth. Daemon Targaryen was her father. She knew it, he knew it, Baela and Rhaena almost certainly knew it. She did not think Jace and Luc were aware, and she wanted to keep it that way. It had not been Daemon Targaryen who had bandaged her bruised knees, who had taken her for her first dragonflight atop Seasmoke. No, that was her true father, a man now nine years in his grave.

But she knew her mother longed for them all to be a family. And she would not jeopardize that for anything. No matter what she suspected, family was the most important thing in the world to her, and she knew Daemon would kill for her mother, possibly even for her and her brothers.

“So long as he is good to you, Mother.” She smiled. “Now, should I begin getting ready?”

Rhaenyra looked as if she wanted to say more, but nodded. “Yes, we should all get ready. I’ll rouse the boys, and I’ll have a maid bring your dress to you.”

“No options for today?” Aelinor asked, recalling the dresses she had tried on for the ball the day before.

Rhaenyra shook her head, giving her daughter’s hand one extra tight squeeze. “It brings me heart, Daughter, to hear you speak of standing together.”

“Of course, Mother.” Aelinor nodded, dropping her mother’s hand. “I am with you, always. Now, you can rouse Luc. Because I love you so, I shall attempt to awaken the beast that is Jace.”

Rhaenyra laughed. “Then I wish you luck. I don’t think he returned to his chambers until well past midnight.”

“I think it was practically morning.” Aelinor forced a laugh. “But I’ll get him. And we shall all make ourselves presentable for you.”

Aelinor waited until her mother was gone before hurrying to Jace’s door, not even knocking before pushing her way inside. 

“Jace?” She hissed. “Are you awake?”

The shape on the bed groaned, so she moved to the window and threw open the curtains. “Let me see. We need to be presentable and I need to see how bad it is.”

Jace protested loudly at the light, pushing himself into a sitting position. Aelinor sat on the edge of his mattress, watching as he stretched both of his arms. He was shirtless, his pale skin unmarred except for a ring of dark bruises around the base of his neck. Bruises that Aemond had put there.

Aelinor clucked her tongue, reaching out to touch the edge of a bruise. “Does it hurt terribly? should I fetch something?”

“It’s fine,” Jace sighed. “My tunic should cover it.”

“And your arm?” She asked worriedly. “I could call a maester.”

“No, I…” Jace blinked sleep from his eyes and studied her. “Gods, Aelinor, why are you fretting so much?”

She punched his leg through the blanket. “Because you’re my brother and you’re hurt, you idiot. Am I not allowed to be worried? Besides, it’s my—”

“Don’t you dare say it’s your fault.” Jace interrupted her.

“You said that last night?”

“Did I?” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Sorry. I’d had a bit to drink. I should never have made you think that this was your fault. This was only Aemond’s doing. No one else’s. Which means you don’t need to be such a mother hen.”

Aelinor sighed. “I just…there has to be more to it, Jace. If I just talked to him.”

“He’s dangerous,” Jace protested. “Do you not see these bruises? This probably would have broken your neck.”

She rolled her eyes. “You aren’t that strong, and I’m not made of glass. Besides, Aemond would never hurt me.”

“Aelinor.”

“Jacaerys.” She crossed her arms. 

They stared at each other for a long moment, before he threw himself back into his pillows. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“I’m right,” She stood, grabbing the covers and dragging them off of him. “This entire thing is supposed to be about bringing the family together. I’m not just going to stop talking to my best friend.”

“Your best friend?” Jace clawed the covers back. “Does he know that that’s what he is? Your friend?”

Aelinor groaned. “Obviously it’s more than that, Jace. Either way, I shall speak with him and find out what reason he had for attacking you. I’m sure it was all a misunderstanding.”

“And I’m sure that the only reason I’m alive is because I’m your brother,” Jace said. “If anyone else had insulted you, he probably would’ve fed them to Vhagar.”

Aelinor faked a gasp. “Are you saying you wouldn’t feed someone to Vermax to defend my honor?”

“Obviously I would,” Jace managed to wrestle the blankets out of her grip. “I would just be more diplomatic about it.”

“So you say,” She laughed. “Just leave it to me, Jace. I’ll sort out this mess. Now, get ready before Mother’s nerves give out.”

She stepped out into the hallway, nearly running into the maid coming from her room. “Your gown is inside, Princess. Will you require assistance dressing?”

Aelinor shook her head. “I’ll shout if I need help with the laces.”

“Certainly, Princess.”

She was just about to step into her room when the door next to hers opened. “Aelinor?”

“What is it, Luc?” She stopped in the doorway.

Her younger brother stepped out of his room, already dressed in his tunic, though he wore mismatched boots. “Which ones should I wear? These ones make me look taller, but these—”

“You don’t need to get any taller, Luc.” She laughed. “I already have to look up at you.”

“That’s because you forgot to grow,” He responded with an old joke, one she used to make all the time before he caught up to her in height. “But alright. Are you not ready?”

“I will get dressed now,” She stepped over to ruffle his hair. “Don’t worry, Little Tidemaster. Everything will go well.”

He batted her hand away, and she was chuckling when she closed her bedroom door behind her.

She would be lying if she said that she was truly confident about this hearing. Since she had been at court, little more than two days, she had heard nothing but rumors of Lucerys’ parentage, which she knew had likely been spread by the Queen. There was every possibility that this trial was simply a chance for Queen Alicent to weaken Rhaenyra’s claim on the throne through her children. 

But, it was a settled succession, and even with the Sea Snake’s injury there could be no good reason to challenge it that did not constitute treason. She just had to pray that everyone stuck to their own honor, and all would be well.

Her mother’s vision for a united family became clear when she saw the gown laid out on her bed. She changed quickly, slipping into the fitted black gown and managing to adjust the laces on her own. The dress was made of a thick material with embroidered dragon scales dotting the shoulders. It clung tightly to her hips before spilling out into a wider skirt, and the neckline fell wide on her collar bones. The sleeves were a deep Targaryen red, hanging nearly to her knees. At least she would not have to wear gloves with this gown, and her mother had not provided her with any.

She was running a brush through her hair when there was a knock on her door.

“Come in, Luc!” She called. “I’m nearly done!”

The door opened, but it wasn’t Luc who stepped inside.

“Prince Daemon,” She turned quickly, dropping the brush on her bed. “Is something the matter?”

The Prince was already dressed, Dark Sister hanging at his side, and he had both hands resting on the pommel as he stepped into her room, closing the door behind him. In nine years, Aelinor could not recall ever being alone with him like this. With her father.

He studied her for a long moment, a glimmer of approval in his eyes. “You’re ready, then?”

“I am.” She clasped her hands in front of her, noting how his gaze caught on her injured hand, She resisted the urge to hide it in her sleeve. “May I help you with something?”

He walked slowly around the room, examining the few meager possessions that she had unpacked. “Today is a very important day for your mother and brother.”

“I know that.” She said, turning as he moved. “And I shall do whatever necessary to help them assert their claims.”

“Will you?” He seemed genuinely surprised. “I spoke to your mother this morning. She told me of your…conversation.”

Aelinor crossed her arms. “Give me some credit, Prince Daemon. Whatever point you are trying to make, make it.”

He stopped, his fingers tapping against the pommel of his sword. “You do not call me Father.”

“No, I do not.”

“Why?”

“Do you want me to?” She scoffed, unable to believe that he was the sentimental type.

He tilted his head, considering it. “It would make your mother happy.”

“And I place my mother’s happiness above all else, except in this.” Aelinor said. “Or are we to pretend you were thinking of my happiness, or Luc or Jace’s, when you murdered the man who had raised us.”

Daemon’s lips curled upwards. “There it is. I knew my daughter was in there somewhere.”

“You have two other daughters, Prince Daemon .” Aelinor glared at him. “I think I have made it exceedingly clear how I feel about you. Now, I ask again. What do you want?”

She did not like how he studied her. Her father — because denying that he was her blood was fruitless — often reminded her of a dragon about to seize its prey. He was still, deathly so, and yet his eyes took everything in with frightening speed. And now that focus was trained on her. It should have been terrifying, but some part of her recognized herself in his gaze, and so she stood her ground.

Finally, he reached into the pocket of his tunic. “I have something for you.”

She blinked. “For me?”

“Did you not understand me the first time?” He held out a hand. “Here.”

Against her better judgement, Aelinor held out her hand, letting him drop a small metal object into her palm. It was surprisingly heavy, but when she held it close to her face, she found it to be nothing more than a hair bauble.

“A hairpin?” She said incredulously. Prince Daemon did not seem the type to give frivolous gifts, and yet that was what this was. She lifted it between two fingers. The metal was a steely silver, with the circle of the pin cast with small dragon scales, and the pin itself sharp as a dagger on one end, and shaped as a dragon’s head on the other, with a deep red gem inset as the eye. It was finely made, that was true, but it was still a hairpin.

“Why have you given me this?” She knew it was rude not to thank him, but she found the entire thing so out of character that it was unsettling.

He was quiet again, considering his words before he spoke. “It’s Valyrian steel. That particular piece came over with the Conqueror. If the rumors are to be believed, it was worn by Queen Rhaenys herself.”

“Truly?” Aelinor gasped, holding it up the light. “It is extraordinary.” Lowering it slightly, she looked at her father. “Why?”

There were a thousand questions wrapped up in that one. Why now? Why this? Have you suddenly decided to try and be a father to me? 

“It belonged to my mother.” Daemon said finally. “And it should belong to my eldest daughter.”

Her lips parted, something like warmth flooding through her. Princess Alyssa was spoken of like a god in their household, the beloved mother of King Viserys and Prince Daemon who had reportedly been a figure of light and love. To be gifted something of hers…Aelinor was without words.

“I…thank you.” She said quietly. “I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t need to say anything,” Daemon said, gripping his sword with one hand. “Wear it. Today. Let everyone see that ours is the line of Old Valyria. Wear it for your mother.”

Aelinor nodded. “I shall.”

Prince Daemon gave a curt nod, and then left without a word.

Aelinor closed her palm of the pin, feeling the metal bite into her skin as she pressed. The pin was sharp enough to puncture flesh. She closed her eyes and tried to imagine this same metal in the hands of Princess Alyssa, or even Queen Rhaenys at the time of the Conquest. She wanted to feel some part of her ancestry sing into her blood through the cold steel.

But at the end, she felt only empty metal, and the only meaning it carried was that of the man who had given it to her. Complicated. Unyielding.

Moving to the large mirror in her chamber, Aelinor swept half of her hair up and away from her face, securing it at the back of her head with the pin. When she turned, the ruby eye glinted through her silver hair. 

She searched for her mother’s face in her reflection, for some hint of familiarity. But the more she looked, the more she settled on just how much she looked like her father. What use was it denying that which was so obvious?

“Aelinor?” Her bedroom door crept open. “Are you ready?”

She sighed, turning to Luc with a smile. “Well, heir to Driftmark? Will I do?”

“Aelinor, you…” He stepped inside, taking her hand in his and giving it a squeeze. “You look like a princess.”

“Don’t I always?” She teased. 

“Of course you do,” He bumped her to the side as they started to walk out of the room. “I just meant…”

“I know what you meant. “She sighed. “Now, let’s get this over with.”

********************************************************

As if the entire ordeal weren’t enough of an insult, Princess Rhaenyra and her family were expected to wait in the corridor outside the throne room until it was time for them to be heard. They were forced to stand outside, watching as throngs of nobles made their way into the room ahead of them. Already Aelinor felt a sense of dread building. Whether they achieved the desired result or not, this would be a spectacle. Her family would become a spectacle.

It was enough to have her picking loose threads out of her gown in nervousness.

“You’re going to ruin your beautiful gown, cousin.” Rhaena said.

Aelinor sighed, looking up at her two cousins. “Sorry. I suppose my nerves are getting the better of me.”

Baela reached out to give her arm a squeeze. “With the news of the engagement, surely things must go our way. You should not be so worried.”

“I would not trust that the Hand or the Queen will take your betrothals as enough.” Aelinor said. “They’ve been waiting for this day a long time.”

They all looked to where their parents stood, Rhaenyra pacing back and forth and Daemon tracking her with his eyes, his expression unreadable. She sometimes wondered if Baela and Rhaena knew the truth of her parentage, that her existence meant that their father had been unfaithful to their mother. Sometimes she thought Baela might know, often making a comment about their sisterhood in such a way as to make Aelinor think she knew the truth, but she had not spent enough time with Rhaena to glean whether she knew as well. She did not think either of them would hold it against her, but she also did not want to throw their peculiar family even more out of sorts.

“Speaking of the betrothals,” She said quietly. “My congratulations to you both. I did not have a chance to speak with you last evening.”

“Thank you, Cousin.” Rhaena smiled, but Baela gave Aelinor a look of regret, reaching out to touch her shoulder.

“I am sorry, Aelinor, that it happened that way.” She apologized. “I did not—”

Aelinor shook her head. “I’ve heard enough apologies from my mother, and I know no one wanted me to be surprised in that way. Jace and I were not suited, and I can bear a little court gossip if it guarantees you your happiness.”

She meant it. She loved her cousins, and she loved her brothers, and she truly thought that they were all well matched. If that announcement had come in the form of a breakfast declaration or an intimate family gathering, she likely would have been the first to rejoice. It was only the unfamiliar setting of the ball, and the strangers surrounding her that had dulled her enthusiasm. After having slept on it, she truly was brimming with happiness for her family. 

“Think,” Baela grinned. “Now we shall all be sisters.”

They shared a knowing grin, before schooling their faces into something more dignified as more nobles flooded past.

“I’m going to go wait over there,” Aelinor pointed around the corner, where she would be out of view of her family. 

“Why?” Rhaena asked. “Hiding from us?”

“Hardly,” Aelinor laughed. “I’m just…waiting for someone.”

The girls let her go, and she stepped around the corner and took a deep breath. She did not want to enter this trial without speaking to Aemond, without getting to the truth of what had happened the night before. Despite what Jace said, she knew that there had to be more to it than a simple insult. There had to be.

Her prayers were answered when Aemond strode around the corner, alone and unaccompanied. His eye settled on her and he nearly skipped a step, before catching himself. She could not read the expression on his face, his lips pressed tightly together and his jaw clenched.

“Aemond,” She said quietly, aware that her family would be able to hear if she spoke any louder. “You’re early.”

“Yes, well.” He clasped both hands behind his back. “What of it?”

Ignoring his curt tone, Aelinor gave him a little smile. He had come early to speak with her, she knew it. 

“Is everything alright?” She asked. “Jace came back last night and said—”

“What did he say?” Aemond asked quickly, his eyes meeting hers like a clash of swords.

Aelinor swallowed. “He said that you attacked him. That it had something to do with my honor. But I know that cannot be true.”

Aemond didn’t respond.

“And now he thinks you’re dangerous,” She said. “But you must tell me the truth, so that I can fix this. Had you had too much to drink? Or perhaps—”

“Perhaps what?” Aemond lifted his chin. “Tell me, Lina, what excuse would justify my beating your brother in the dark of the night.”

Aelinor flinched back at his tone, and something in his face softened. “I just…I just want to know, Aemond.”

“And what…” Aemond’s voice was tight, as if he were speaking without breathing. “What if it was for your honor? What if I decided that he had insulted you enough for one evening, and that I would not stand for it? What then?”

She shook her head. “What do you mean, Aemond? I felt no insult.”

“No?” He stepped closer, and she moved away, her back pressing against the cold stone. “You are too generous, then. I am afraid that I am not so willing as to forgive a slight against you.”

“How was I slighted, Aemond?” She demanded. “The announcement was a shock, but it’s not as if Jace stood in front of the court and declared me defective! I am happy for my family. Truly, I am. I was simply unsettled from the crowd and there being so many unfamiliar faces.”

She reached out her hand and touched his upper arm. “I swear, Aemond.”

His jaw ticked. “I don’t believe you. You spoke of returning to Dragonstone. Of fleeing. Because of what they did! You’ve only just returned, how was I to—”

“So Jace was right then?” She asked. “You truly attacked him over me? You hurt my brother?”

“I let him walk away because he was your brother.” Aemond said. “But what of it, Aelinor? Now that you know what I would do for your honor, are you done? Shall you listen to him? Am I too dangerous? Am I a monster?”

Aelinor was shaking her head, trying to understand where this was coming from. “No. No! Aemond. Of course you aren’t a monster! Whoever said that you were?”

He did not answer. 

“Aemond, please,” She leaned forward and whispered. “I shall never, ever turn my back on you. You know this. We…we understand each other, don’t we?” She recalled his words the night before, when he had shown her his eye, shouting that he understood her. How could he not tell that it was the same for her?

“Just…let me in.” She begged. “Something has made you unhappy, and I—”

“Brother!” Aegon’s voice carried down the hall, and Aemond jerked out of her grasp. Without looking back, Aemond walked toward his family.

She wanted to go after him, wanted to chase him and demand that he confide in her like he used to. She still did not believe that she had the full story, and she needed to know who had ever told him that he was a monster. That was…that was too cruel to even imagine.

But a hand grabbed her elbow, and then Rhaena was at her side. “Come, Cousin. It is time.”

So with one last longing look over her shoulder, Aelinor went to stand before the Iron Throne.

*****************************************

Aemond wouldn’t look at her.

It felt like she was nine years old again, standing across from him at Laena Velaryon’s funeral, with him refusing to meet her eyes and her forced to just stand there in dignified silence. Except instead of a funeral on Driftmark, this was a petition before the Iron Throne. And Aelinor wasn’t a child anymore. She understood what the stakes were, and she was determined not to fail Lucerys and her mother.

Keeping her back ramrod straight, she stood at Luc’s side as Ser Vaemond made his petition. Across the way, Alicent stood with her children, all of them looking as if they’d been forced to attend. Aegon was openly yawning and Helaena, who had once been as close to her as a sister, was huddled at his side, as timid as a mouse. Aemond had kept one shoulder angled her way throughout the entire ordeal, as close to turning his back on her as he could come.

All things considered, Ser Vaemond’s case was surprisingly restrained. There were no flying accusations, only a general plea for the preservation of the Velaryon name. Aelinor had imagined hurled insults, perhaps some thinly veiled threats. But it seemed that they were not entirely doomed.

“Princess Rhaenyra, you may now make your case for your son, Lucerys Velaryon.” Otto Hightower spoke down at them from the throne. 

Rhaenyra stepped forward, her face composed. Only Aelinor saw the way her hands shook, the only evidence of just how frightened her mother was.

“If I must grace this farce with an answer, I will begin by—”

The doors at the back of the hall opened. Two hundred heads turned toward it, to the two guards swinging apart the massive doors, and to the small man who stood there.

A strangled sound escaped Aelinor’s mouth.

“The King!” One of the guards shouted.

It was her grandfather. Frail, feeble, shuffling forward as if every step pained him, it was King Viserys. A gold mask covered half of his face — the half that she had seen bandaged the night before — and his golden crown rested on his head.

She turned, watching Otto Hightower stumble down from the throne. The Queen’s face was pale as a ghost, one hand held to her chest.

Aelinor let her eyes drift to the side, where she caught Aemond’s gaze. He must have seen something in her eyes, something that moved him, for her gave her a small nod, his mouth tightening in what might have been a smile. But then his gaze was back on the King, following the sea of people as they bowed in his wake.

Sometimes she forgot that Viserys was Aemond’s father too. He had so rarely spoken of him, being raised much more closely by Queen Alicent, learning the types of things only boys could teach from Ser Criston Cole or his older brother. But she wondered if he too felt this shuttering in his heart, seeing the head of their family rise again.

Aelinor dropped before her grandfather reached her, her curtsy taking her down to the floor. The charcoal skirts pooked around her, her chin dipping low as she felt her family follow in her wake. Only when the edges of his cloak had moved past did she rise, watching as her grandfather reached the foot of his throne.

He turned and said something to Otto Hightower, something that had the Hand nodding shakily, and then he started to climb.

Aelinor wanted to run forward, wanted to take his arm and help him as he struggled, but she knew it was not her place. Instead she knotted her sleeves in her firsts, swallowing her cry as he stumbled and his crown clattered to the floor.

But then someone else was there. Prince Daemon. Her father. The King’s brother. And with surprising tenderness, Prince Daemon helped his brother to his seat, before kneeling and setting the crown back atop his head. As he descended the steps, she shared a look with her father, dipping her chin slightly

Silence hung in the air for a long moment, broken only by the King’s labored breathing. 

“I must admit…my confusion.” The King said suddenly. “I had thought this matter settled. But surely the only person who can shed some light on the wishes of Lord Corlys…is the Princess Rhaenys.”

The Princess Rhaenys stepped forward, bowing to the King. “My husband has never wavered in his desire to be succeeded by our grandson, Prince Lucerys, and I have ever supported him. Additionally, Princess Rhaenyra and I have just announced the betrothal of her sons, Lucerys and Jacaerys, to my granddaughters, Baela and Rheana, an agreement which we have heartily accepted.” 

Aelinor saw the Queen look at the ground, and resisted the urge to grin. 

“Well, then the matter is settled, again.” The King spoke slowly. “I hereby reaffirm Prince Lucerys Velaryon as heir to Driftmark and the Driftwood Throne.”

Aelinor turned to Luc, offering him a smile. They had done it, it was settled. She saw his expression melt in relief.

“You break law, and centuries of tradition, to install your daughter as heir,” Vaemond stepped forward, outrage on his face. “But you dare tell me who deserves to inherit the name Velaryon? No. I will not allow it.”

Aelinor tensed, feeling the room collectively hold his breath. What was he doing? Had the fool gone mad?

“Allow it?” The King hissed. “Do not not forget yourself, Vaemond.”

Let that be it . Aelinor prayed. Please, please let this be it .

But alas, Vaemond did not listen to her prayers.

“That!” He shouted, whirling to point at Luc. “Is no true Velaryon!”

Aelinor stepped forward, pushing Luc behind her. He did not have to stand here and take this abuse, and she was better equipped to handle the fury rolling off their uncle. Over Vaemond’s shoulder, she saw Aemond jerk forward.

“And certainly no nephew of mine.” Vaemond continued.

“Go to your chambers, you have said enough.” Rhaenyra muttered.

But Vaemond remained, his gaze leveled on Aelinor, at the boy who was too tall to hide behind her. Luc’s hand gripped her wrist, and she thought he might be preparing to pull her behind him. What a funny pair they were, an older sister with her big little brother, both of them fighting to protect the other.

Vaemond was still talking. Still ranting, lost completely to madness.

“And gods be damned, I will not see it ended on account of this—” He caught himself.

Aelinor lifted her chin at the same moment she heard her father whisper ‘Say it.”

Vaemond cast his gaze over all of them, presumably deciding whether these were to be his final words. Aelinor saw the exact moment that he chose to accept his fate.

“Her children….” He began. “Are Bastards!”

Everyone gasped.

“And she…and her daughter…are whores.” Vaemond turned to the King, his challenge clear.

Viserys struggled to his feet, drawing a catspaw dagger. “I will have your tongue for that.”

Aelinor was not sure where it came from. One moment she was staring up at her grandfather, waiting for him to declare Vaemond’s life forfeit, and the next there was an unfamiliar whistle through the air, and Daemon’s sword cleaved Vaemond’s head clear in half.

Aelinor jerked back, finding Luc’s arms around her as he pulled her away. She saw Helaena cover her ears, everyone flinching away as the blood sprayed across the marble. Aemond’s hand was on his waist, to where his own sword hung, and she saw the question in his searching look. Are you alright?

She nodded quickly, shrugging out of Luc’s arms, yet staying pressed to his side.

“He can keep his tongue.” Daemon declared, satisfied.

“Seize him!” Otto Hightower cried.

“There is no need.” Daemon sheathed his sword, stepping away from the body. 

Alicent stepped forward, her nose wrinkling as she dodged the top of Vaemond’s skull. “There is every need. To bring this kind of…this kind of savagery into this hall. How dare—”

“Enough!” The King shouted, the power in his voice shocking everyone into silence. “This stops now. This ends today.”

“Father?” Rhaenyra said quietly.

“My King?” Alicent turned, both of them standing at the foot of his throne, staring up at him.

Aelinor looked up too, her mouth parting when she found her grandfather’s gaze trained on her. Confusion crinkled her brow, and she did not find her answer before he looked away and addressed the room.

“I have one last announcement,” He declared. “One which shall benefit our House, and the Seven Kingdoms, in blood and in name.” His breathing was quickening, every word a struggle.

“Your Grace?” Alicent was climbing the steps now, concern coloring her voice.

“I announce the betrothal of my granddaughter, Princess Aelinor Velaryon!” The King shouted.

Her mouth dropped open, and she met Aemond’s gaze, seeing horror flooding his face. This could not be happening. Who could she possibly marry? Her grandfather was sick, his mind addled with pain, and yet he would betroth her to…to…

“To my son, Prince Aemond Targaryen.”

The hall descended into chaos.

QUESTION: Do you think Aelinor chooses Team Green or Team Black? I'd love to hear your guesses.

#hotd #house of the dragon #aemond fanfiction #aemond targaryen #aemond x oc #fanfic #fanfiction #game of thrones #lady of the ashes #aemond one eye #daemon targaryen

[lovemyromance]

"Well, Elain is kind and gentle and sociable. She deserves to be with a courtier like Lucien who has ties to all the courts 😡"

I've seen this argument pop up recently. So Lucien has ties to all the courts..? Okay... how? Walk with me:

Night Court: Current Emissary? I think? Not really sure what his job entails but at least this mate lives here. Although SJM does make it clear he does not live in the night court so-

~does not currently live there~

Spring Court: He lived there with Tamlin but now avoids him. So/

~does not currently live there or step foot there~

Autumn: Originally born in Autumn Court

~does not currently live there or step foot there~

Day Court: Obviously we all know he is Helion & LoA's secret love child, but neither Lucien nor Helion knows that right now. So I don't think Lucien is spending a lot of time at that court if he doesn't know the truth of his parentage yet. So-

~does not currently live there or step foot there~

Dawn Court: I think Lucien mentioned he had a friend from Dawn Court? Is that the "tie tot he court"? Either way

~does not currently live there~

Summer Court: I'm blanking on this one but how is he connected to the Summer Court? Can't think of anything to tie him to that court so-

~does not currently live there or step foot there~

Winter Court: genuinely cannot think of a single reason he is tied to the Winter Court. So-

~does not currently live there or step foot there~

Is that all 7? Did I cover all his ties to the courts? Aka his ties to maybe 4 (if I'm being generous)?

Either way, the point is despite having all these so called connections to all the courts, Lucien is currently living in the Human Lands. With Vassa. And Jurian. In his mate's, ex-fiancé's Manor (which is honestly a power move lmao but still).

Ties to all... home to none?

Which is why I am genuinely confused how people could read Elain being at home in the night court, making friends, being with her sisters, glowing with health - and say "No 😡 she needs to be where Lucien is because she's sociable and they can travel to all the courts"

You're gonna make her uproot her life, leave her home to go live in her ex-fiancé's manor with a mate she doesn't want and far away from her friends and the sisters she just started rebuilding her relationship with?

For what?

To travel the world with her swashbuckling handsome roguish lord who will sweep her off her feet with his romantic notions of "is she even worth fighting for tho?" and "I'm going to go move across the world to avoid her"

And truly, I'm not trying to hate on Lucien. But I think people are imagining a different version of him than what he is actually written as in the books. He was actually my favorite character in ACOTAR, but he's been on a steady decline since ACOMAF and practically nonexistent by ACOSF. He does deserve to be happy, but they all do.

And I don't think that Elucien can find that happiness together. Not when they didn't choose each other in the first place. Not when there are other people they clearly want to choose instead.

#elriel #elain archeron #elain x azriel #pro elain #azriel #acotar #elain #antielucien #lucien vanserra

[mother-above]

The Golden Warrior | Chapter 4

Azriel x Reader

Summary: To you, love was a poison that slowly killed. It was something that could make the strongest of warriors and leaders weak and vulnerable. You had successfully evaded romance and relationships for a century until the day you realized it had been plaguing you from within.

Chapters: 4/?

Words: 5.3k

Warnings: suggestive, 18+, violence, and swearing

*masterlist*

While the Palace staff were working hard doing last-minute preparations for the High Lords and their courtiers, you were running around the castle expending your energy. Your nerves were through the roof, this was the first time you’d meet most of the High Lords as Thesan’s second and you wanted everything to go perfectly. You thought long and hard how you wanted to be perceived and you decided to go with who you were. Someone who was friendly and kind but once you were crossed or tested, they’d find out about that fire within you.

             By the time you were bathed and dressed in one of the finest gowns you owned, it was already 1 hour till the High Lords were due to arrive. You had your handmaiden Liss help you sweep your hair into an updo with small pieces of hair framing your face. Standing in front of the full-length mirror, you smiled as Liss fussed over the smallest details of your outfit. Your dress was the color of the light blue tinge of the dawn sky. Tiny straps clung onto your shoulders as the material dipped into a deep V-neck that showed off your skin in a tasteful way. Taking the necklace from your jewelry armoire, you clasped the glowing sapphire necklace around your neck, it was so opulent you almost felt unworthy of wearing them.

As if she could sense your insecurity, Liss gave your outfit an approving nod before leaving your room. She was a no-nonsense faerie who was many centuries old, she didn’t talk much so you knew that her compliment was genuine. You did a little spin and admired the subtle golden glow under your skin. Like most of your wardrobe, the dress was backless so your wings had easy access and wouldn’t get in the way. Thesan had granted you permission to reveal your powers whenever you wanted and at first, you were going to reveal your wings as the other courts arrived. Then you decided that it was best to keep the element of surprise on your side, if anyone decided to pull any stupid shit in this meeting, you would be the one to neutralize the situation.

             You meet Thesan, Callon, and the other Peregryn warriors in the grand meeting room, your cousin and Callon kissed your cheek in greeting and your winged friends gave you a nod.

             “That dress would look prettier if your wings were out,” commented Wyla.

The other warriors who were clad in their golden armor nodded enthusiastically. You had told the warriors in this room about your plans to finally reveal your true nature and they were excited for you. They knew how exhausting and irritating it was for you to hide your wings, they also hated that you were forced to keep your identity a secret, but they understood why. The warriors were also looking forward to no longer needing to keep such a big secret from the public.

“I wholly agree Wyla, but we must be patient because all will be revealed in due time. Before they get here, does anyone else want to place any bets?” you said as you plucked a grapevine from one of the many food platters. “I already bet Callon 30 gold marks that some stupid male is going to try to fight within the first hour of the meeting. He thinks a fight will break out in 30 minutes.”

The Peregryn warriors chuckled, Thesan was rolling his eyes even though he thought it was funny you were placing bets on the temperaments of the courtiers.

The wind shifted through the arches and a wave of warmth brushed past you, moments later, High Lord Helion and his entourage made their entrance. Thesan introduces you all and Helion takes in your figure and eyes the glowing sapphires sitting on your chest. The High Lord of Day gave you a dazzling smile that almost made you blush before taking your hand and brushing a kiss on top.

“My lady,” he purred. “I can see why Thesan has kept you hidden from court, you are an enigma.”

You rolled your eyes as you bowed, “It’s a pleasure to meet you High Lord Helion, I hope to work with you and your Court in the future.” He was incredibly handsome, there was no doubt about that, but nothing could beat a certain Illyrian you were anxiously waiting to see.

Winter Court arrived soon after Helion and their High Lord Kallias was a lot less pleasant than you expected. He was formal and polite yet ice-cold. His wife Vivianne, on the other hand, was as lovely and refreshing as crisp winter air. You liked her right away and could tell you could be friends in the future. You led the two courts to the refreshment tables where attendants helped them with whatever they wanted. The Palace began conjuring chairs to match the number of attendees around the reflection pool. The conversation was flowing easily between the three courts when you noticed little wisps of smoke moving slowly and low on the ground.

Azriel.

You leave a pleasant smile on your face, but your eyes tracked its every move. The muscle on your jaw began to clench from irritation that Azriel had ignored your warnings not to send his shadows to your court. It seems you are the only one to notice them so once Vivianne had captured everyone in a riveting conversation, you moved towards the shadows. Using the skirt of your dress, you discreetly swished them around to disperse them. Surprised by their detection, they scattered until one wisp stayed behind and curiously wandered up towards your face. Your eyes darted to see if anyone was looking but everyone was too occupied to see it hovering around as if it was studying you.

“I have no idea if you can understand me but if you can, tell your shadowsinger to knock it off, or else I’m going to kick his ass when he gets here,” you said in a low voice. “Dawn Court is secure, and no one is going to ambush you when they get here.”

It disappeared into thin air and just as you walked back to the group of courtiers, you could feel Rhysand’s power before you heard the distant voice of an attendant welcoming the Night Court to Dawn. Your back straightened up as you heard multiple footsteps come closer to the meeting chamber, Thesan had begun to move to greet them, and you followed right behind his heels. Rhysand brought his court with him but the first faerie you noticed was Azriel whose piercing hazel eyes were already looking into yours. You inwardly groaned when you noticed the slight smirk he had on his absurdly handsome face, it looked like the bastard did get your message.

The two High Lords exchanged pleasantries and then Rhys began to introduce you to the other members of the Night Court. The first person you met was Cassian who looked you up and down, no doubt sizing you up to determine how much of a threat you were. The General raised his brow as he took in the five big jewels adorning your neck, his interest piqued as he noticed the power moving beneath them. Rhysand moved your attention to Feyre’s sister Nesta, who looked at you with those cold silver-blue eyes, you could sense there was something powerful brewing within her, something terrifying. Her icy glare took you in as if she could sense all the glamours and shields placed on your body. As if that deadly power within her could sense that poison you and Thesan had kept hidden. You matched her stare with pure steel until she had the good sense to look away first. Nesta was in your territory and estate, even she could respect your hierarchy and authority.

The gorgeous blonde you meet next turns out to be Rhysand’s third-in-command named Morrigan. Unlike Nesta, she greeted you with a warm smile and you reciprocated it deeming it as genuine. After meeting the new courtiers, Feyre stepped up to you almost sheepishly as if she was still embarrassed by the way you had caught her and Azriel trying to break into your library. You gave her a sharp once over with your gaze landing on the crown on top of her head. Rhysand’s scent lingered around her and then a smirk appeared on your lips.

“A few months ago, Rhysand was still looking at you with heart eyes, and now what? You’re wearing a crown and I hear you’re mates? You’ve got him wrapped around your finger, my friend,” you said with a sly grin on your face. Rhysand rolled his eyes as Feyre poked him on the side. You gestured to the wings behind him, “I like the new look, Rhysand. It suits you.”

Thesan forced himself not to laugh at your bluntness. He had been careful not to mention Rhysand’s newly revealed wings but then you came in and talked about them without batting an eye. He supposed he understood your excitement because just like Rhysand, you’ve been hiding a set of wings yourself. Thesan also understood why you were sometimes careless with your words and actions; you could take down enemies without striking or wielding a weapon. You were so gifted; you could do whatever you wanted.

To Thesan’s relief, Feyre and Rhysand laughed at your candor. The High Lord of Night grinned as he thanked you for your compliment. Feyre launched into a story of what had happened, and Rhysand took this opportunity to talk to his brother who was mentally yelling at him to respond.

Are those siphons?! asked Cassian. She’s High Fae…

They look like siphons, she wasn’t wearing those jewels when we last visited, reported Rhysand.

Cassian was now looking at you in awe, Do you see the power moving underneath? Mother above, what is she?

I don’t know, just be on your guard, replied Rhysand.

The two brothers looked over at Azriel who hadn’t said a single mental word, he had his eyes glued on you the entire time. While Feyre had you captivated by her story, Azriel and his shadows were getting antsy to formally greet you. He had received the message you gave his shadow loud and clear, he walked into the meeting chamber with his chest puffed out knowing he had succeeded in agitating you. The goal was to scope out the Palace as discreetly as he could but a part of him had wanted you to notice, hoping to tease and poke fun that he had managed to get through the wards. Azriel had no idea why he thought you would find it funny, the icy glare you shot at him the moment he walked in was sobering.

Once Feyre was done filling you in with what happened to her and Rhysand in the last couple of months, your attention finally shifted to Azriel, and his entire body tensed. He was genuinely scared of what you’d do because you promised to throttle him if you caught him spying again. With calculated moves, he bends to pick up your hand and brushes an attentive kiss on top. He had half expected you to backhand or punch him now that your hands were so close to his face, but you did no such thing. Not with all the other faeries in the room.

“It’s nice to see you again, Lady Y/n,” said Azriel, his voice deep and rich.

You wanted to berate him for using his shadows, to call Azriel and his Rhysand out and brag that their attempts at spying were once again thwarted by you. There were lots of sharp words you wished to say but nothing made its way past your lips. Azriel's scent wafted over you, and you could no longer think about anything but the enticing smell of night-chilled mist and cedarwood filling your senses. Your head tilted back as you glared at the shadowsinger who watched you warily. The best you could do was give a simple “Hmph” that came out from the back of your throat. You decided that you would give Azriel a piece of your mind whether physical or verbal but not yet, not in front of the High Lords.

Thesan and the others watched the strange interaction between you and the Illyrian. Cassian and Callon tensed at the stares passed between you and Azriel, the looks were heated but they weren’t exactly sure if it was from anger or something else. The only thing that stopped your glowering was the arrival of the Summer Court. Tarquin, Cressieda, and Varian strode in and there was immediate tension once they set their eyes on Rhysand and Feyre. Thesan moved to say hello so you and Callon followed, leaving the Night Court to converse with the others.

 Your near scowl turned into a smile as you approached your friends from Summer, the princess and prince bowed to your High Lord, and you bowed to theirs. Tarquin was just about to throw a glare toward Night Court, but you swooped in and took his arm in one hand and Cressieda’s in the other. With the blood rubies in mind, you cheerfully greeted them and tugged the pair toward the food. Thesan shot you a thankful look and you winked back as you thrust a glass of fae wine into Tarquin’s hand.

While waiting for Autumn and Spring to arrive, everyone dispersed into groups as they nibbled on food and sipped wine. With you and Thesan distracted by your guests, Rhysand threw a quick sound glamour around him and his inner circle. With the go-ahead from Rhys, Cassian punched Azriel in the shoulder and threw a glance at you in that lovely cerulean gown.

“You didn’t tell me you had a thing with Thesan’s hot second-in-command!” said Cassian enthusiastically.

Azriel carefully looked at Mor to see her reaction, but she wasn’t even near him. She was on the other side of the room animatedly catching up with Vivianne. “I don’t have a thing with Y/n. She’s just mad because she caught me using my shadows on the Palace.”

He knew you were a great warrior; they had told him your story and how you got the scar. Cassian also knew you had the unique ability to detect whenever Azriel was sneaking around so he knew you were somewhat powerful. What his brothers and Feyre failed to tell him was how elegant and beautiful you were, to Cassian you were everything he looked for in a female. If Nesta Archeron hadn’t captured his attention and clawed her way into his heart, Cassian thought you were someone he could love right away. Despite that, he was still a shameless flirt who had a knack for voicing his most immediate opinions.

“Gods,” muttered Cassian. “She’s stunning. Too bad she looked like she wanted to kill you Az, you missed your chance there.”

The shadowsinger's brows furrowed as Rhys and Feyre snickered. For some reason, it bothered him that Cassian was fawning over you. What irritated him even more was the sight of you and Tarquin’s arms still hooked together. You weren’t leaning into him, but the gesture was a little too friendly and Azriel did not like what it may have indicated. Azriel sighed and continued to survey the room, watching for anything amiss, but his gaze kept finding its way back to you. Cassian was right, you were stunning, no—ravishing in that dress. His eyes flickered to the blue sapphires around your neck, they were so similar to the cobalt siphons he wore on his body. Each stone glistened and thrummed with power, the biggest stone in the middle dipped lower on your chest which directed his gaze to your soft, exposed skin. Heat spread through him as he imagined what was underneath the material.

You felt someone’s heavy gaze so your head snaps toward their direction to find Azriel looking at you. He held your gaze for a split second before his throat bobbed and he looked away, starting a conversation with Cassian. You watched as his shadows swarmed behind him, they were on high alert and made the large male look even more menacing. Instead of the black suit he wore to his first visit to Dawn, today he was wearing what you assumed was Illyrian armor. The material was made of leather, and it fit snugly to his body, it allowed you to see every band of muscle that wrapped around his limbs and torso. His siphons were strapped onto his body, you counted seven jewels making you wonder how powerful these two Illyrians were to need seven siphons each to control their power.

Your gaze drifted back to Azriel’s handsome face; it was utterly unfair that someone could be that beautiful. His hair was raven black and slightly wavy; you wondered what it would feel like to run your hands through his hair. His skin was smooth apart from the stubble on his chiseled jaw. Suddenly feeling self-conscious, you lifted your hand to trace the notched skin on your eyebrow and above the cheekbone. You glanced back to Azriel to find him looking at you once again, those cold eyes studying you. Feeling a blush slowly heat your cheeks, you angled the scarred side of your face away from Azriel. Trying your best to cool off, you hardened your features and forced yourself to concentrate on whatever Varian was saying.

High Lord Beron, his wife, and sons finally arrived, and you quickly learned why Thesan arrived with a headache whenever he came back from the Autumn Court. When Thesan introduced you, Beron and his sons barely acknowledged you aside from his wife and eldest son, Eris who gave you a small curt nod. The lack of respect from Beron had your sapphires flaring with power, Thesan shot you a warning look and you could have sworn you heard a chuckle coming from the Night Court. When everyone had settled into their chairs surrounding the reflection pool, you learned about the Book of Breathings, the book Night Court stole from Summer. They tell you about Hybern and you and Thesan share a look, it is what you both feared. The King of Hybern was gathering an army and Rhysand wanted to know who would fight with him.

 Suddenly, High Lord Tamlin winnowed himself into the meeting chamber. Tension immediately filled the air and your eyes darted toward Feyre who was doing a phenomenal job schooling her features as she looked at her former lover. Thesan stood up to meet him and conjured another chair into the circle. You had never met Tamlin before and so far, you weren’t getting the best impression of the male, you understood that he was angry at Feyre and Rhysand but to act this brash? You listened to their arguments with neutrality, but the more Spring and Night fought, the more you started to choose Feyre’s side. This was one of the reasons why love was so overrated, it had driven this respectable High Lord into insanity and led him to foolishly let Hybern infiltrate his court. It made him weak.

You looked at Feyre and Rhysand and then at Kallias and Vivianne. What they had seemed sweet, but it just didn't seem worth the extra risks. Do they realize how vulnerable they are? Your cynical thoughts were cut off when you heard Eris start talking, his voice laced with ignorance and venom. He had just insulted Mor and called her a slut, before you could interject, Azriel explodes from his chair at blinding speed. The sound of shattering wood and the crack of marble was the first thing you heard, it was then followed by Cassian swearing and the shouts of surprise. Azriel had somehow gotten through Eris’s shields and was now on top of him, his scarred hands wrapped around the throat of Autumn Court’s heir. You shot up from your seat and Callon immediately grabbed your arm and shoved you behind him, he placed his hand on his sword and used his body to block you and Thesan from the commotion.

Eris was struggling to breathe, his face red as his body thrashed and twisted trying to get away from the shadowsinger. You watched with wide eyes, Azriel was the embodiment of icy hot rage as his knee pressed against Eris’s diaphragm restricting the movement of his lungs. His shadows were swarming and surrounded him as if they were threatening to stop anyone and anything from interfering. Beron started throwing his power toward Azriel, but the fire either bounced toward the reflection pool or Azriel’s shadows tore through the flames until there was nothing but wisps of smoke.

“Enough,” commanded Rhysand but Azriel didn’t budge.

Azriel couldn’t think. He wanted to kill Eris for insulting Mor, his hands tightened around Eris’s throat. Then he heard Feyre, her voice gentle yet commanding, she was telling him to stop. Azriel bent down to Eris’s ear and told him how he would use the Truth-Teller to carve into him and give Eris the slowest and most excruciating death if he ever insulted Morrigan again. Eris Vanserra stopped his thrashing as he looked at the shadowsinger in horror. Azriel finally let go of the redhead’s throat, but his knee was still digging into his torso. Beron and his sons were looking extremely agitated and since Thesan was the host and voice of neutrality, you took it upon yourself to remind everyone whose court they were in.

“This is taking too long,” you muttered. Stepping from behind Callon, you swiftly made your way to the two males on the floor. “You!” you snapped, pointing at Azriel. “Get off him, right now!”

Azriel slowly stood up and blinked at you as if he was slowly regaining consciousness. Rhysand and Cassian looked at you with peculiar expressions on their faces as Feyre extended a hand and slowly led him away. Eris was still on the floor coughing up blood and saliva as you stood over him with disgust written all over your face.

“And you,” you said growling at the red-headed male. “Say anything treacherous like that in front of my guests and I swear to the Mother I will rip your balls off your body and make you eat it. The same goes for all of you. Behave yourselves.”

Your sapphires flickered as you sat back down on the cushioned chair with a huff. Thesan bristled as he waited for everyone’s reactions, thankfully the High Lords and their delegates just nodded. It was impossible for them not to have noticed your siphons flaring as the magic inside threatened to break through but the glowering shadowsinger held most of their attention, scared that his shadows had found a way to get through Eris’s protective shields. You looked at Azriel who was sitting down next to his High Lady, his jaw was set, and he kept glancing at Morrigan who refused to meet his eye. Sadness clouded his features and that was when you understood why Azriel reacted so harshly, he loved her. You looked at Mor once more and this small pang of jealousy rang through you, she was flawless. You wonder what their deal is, you don’t know how Mor could handle the weight of Azriel’s gaze when it was heavy with love and concern.

Thesan discreetly brushed a bead of sweat from his forehead, he was helping you put a damper on your power, and it was requiring more mental effort than usual. Your emotions were running rampant, the control you had on your magic slipping. You were too riled up, too much adrenaline pumping through you. He cast a worried glance toward Callon who was also observing you, Thesan arched an eyebrow and Callon rolled his shoulders back as if to say he was ready for what was to come. They have plans on how to best subdue you without hurting you, something they’ve only had to do twice when you were a young Fae.

Tamlin took it upon himself to make the meeting about his issues with Feyre and Rhysand. The other High Lords and their delegates watched wide-eyed as the three of them verbally tore each other apart. What crossed the line and made you bristle was Tamlin’s incredibly inappropriate remark about Feyre’s facial expressions during sex. Your temper flared and you were about to yell at Tamlin when you noticed there was no noise coming out of his opening and closing mouth. Your head snapped to Rhysand who just watched Tamlin with his sharp violet eyes. You had forgotten he was a daemati, Thesan told you many years ago, and is one of the biggest reasons why you were taught how to shield your mind. Your cousin was scared someone like him would use you for your abilities. Your eyes dart to the other High Lords hoping they weren’t going to do anything brash.

The meeting continued and when the topic came to Hybern and their faebane cache, Thesan brought in Nuan. She introduced herself and explained that her compound could protect everyone’s powers against faebane. Rhysand felt grateful that there was something to defend against faebane. He was the most powerful High Lord and faebane had rendered him practically useless. Everyone was impressed except for Beron who was making his usual sexist and racist comments. Nuan held strong and reassured everyone that her compound was effective. You had to bite your tongue when Beron started insulting your people’s Xian ancestry-- you and Thesan’s ancestry. Thesan gave Beron a warning and the High Lord of Autumn scowled at your cousin. Your sapphires flared once more, and you reached within yourself to clamp down on the grasp you had on your power.

Not now, you said to yourself. No one is in danger at the moment. Control yourself.  

That roar of your power was finally starting to calm down when Beron ruined the peace after Feyre asked him to leave. Beron started spouting bullshit about Rhysand being Amarantha’s whore while everyone was suffering under her rule. Tarquin shook his head and told Beron to stop but the red-headed High Lord wasn’t listening. He kept taunting until Feyre had enough, she looked like she wanted to kill him and then she tried. White-hot fire speared across the reflection pool, and you just had enough time to jump back before the flames rebounded from Beron’s shield.

Fuck.

It was chaos, more fire was thrown, and everyone was yelling. Bright piercing light and water were suddenly thrown into the fray. Rhysand was begging Feyre to stop but her eyes were wild, the need to defend her mate overtaking her. The sapphires around your neck began to stutter and dim as you allowed your power to flow out. The sensation of cool golden metal envelops your body as white, and gold feathered-tipped wings burst from your back. Your massive wings flexed outwards after being hidden for months. The weight of a fine golden sword hangs from your hip, but you don’t reach for it. Stepping in between Feyre and Beron, you waved your hand, sending a pulse of nauseating power toward the two fae. It worked slower due to the shields around them, but your power got through and it was enough for both to falter. Both heaved forward as nausea overtook their bodies, this allowed Rhysand to talk Feyre down. The flames, light, and water receded until everyone was staring at the High Lady of Night and the gorgeous, scarred Golden Warrior.

Jaws dropped as their eyes flickered between you and Feyre. The latter was forced to sit on a cushioned chair as the nausea made her skin pale and sweat formed on her brow. Beron looked worse; he was sprawled on the ground trying his best not to vomit in front of everyone. With a small flourish of your fingers, you dispelled the sickness from her and Beron. A breath of sweet relief was heard, both glad to no longer feel your poison. Rhysand took a protective step toward his mate as the High Lords looked at you in horror when they realized what you did. You were standing between the Night and Autumn courts with your arms raised and hands glowing with power.

“Is everyone going to behave from now on?” you asked, voice laced with irritation. “The King of Hybern is planning to take over Prythian. He had already launched attacks on Velaris and Adriata, we have no time to be acting like a bunch of assholes—I’m talking to you Autumn and Spring. Prythian is our home, and it would be a shame to see her fall into the hands of a heinous king.”

Thesan and Callon slowly moved toward you. “Y/n….” said Thesan carefully but you brushed him off.

“We need to be productive because Hybern is gathering its armies as we speak. The more time we waste, the more disadvantaged we’re going to be. If anyone else decides to have a tantrum, know that I can knock you on your ass in less than a second. So-- can we please agree to act like fucking adults for the rest of the day?

Azriel was the first to nod, his eyes big as he took in your powerful figure covered in elaborate golden armor. He could feel that raw, dark power coiling around you and he was sure everyone else had sensed it too. A sense of recognition flowed through him, and he looked at Rhysand who was already staring at Azriel. That overwhelming power they felt from Dawn Court… it was you. That dark power was all you. His eyes scanned those soft white and gold feathers and went over the golden armor that covered your body. Everything clicked into place for Azriel as he looked at you in awe, his shadows swarming around him. You were the mighty and elusive Golden Warrior.

Compared to your cousin, Thesan had this calm and healing aura to him, and they could tell that you were different. Despite the glowing beneath your skin, something about your presence was darker… sharper now that your power was no longer held back. If Thesan was the lovely orange and pink hue of the Dawn sky, you were the remaining blue darkness of night. Your eyes darted to every single faerie in the room waiting for someone to act out, but no one dared. They were in uncharted territory, even the oldest fae in the room had never seen a power like yours. The Peregryn warriors grinned as they watched everyone balk at you, pride running through them as they watched their winged Lady hold control over the room.

***

Once everyone got over their initial shock, the arguing started once more to discuss Feyre and her powers, but things never escalated enough to need interference. You sat on a chair accommodating for wings and watched everyone carefully. Wary glances were constantly thrown at you, but you didn’t mind them, if you were in their shoes, you’d be scared too. The gaze of the shadowsinger made you shift uncomfortably; you were aware his eyes hadn’t left your body since your wings came out. You wondered what he was thinking, was he disgusted or threatened? You allowed your eyes to meet his and he promptly looked away as if he hadn’t been staring. You couldn’t read him, the only sign of what he was thinking was the slight clench of his jaw. Was he mad that you lied to him that day in your library when you told him you had no idea about the power that he felt? Was he upset that you had hidden your wings? He might have been angry, but he had no right to be mad when he was the one who used his shadows to spy on your court when you told him to stop.

  You slightly shook your head as you looked away to survey the room. Since when did you care what Azriel thought of you?

#azriel x reader #azriel fanfic #acotar fanfiction #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x you #acotar #azriel acotar #azriel fanfiction #acomaf

[the-lonelybarricade]

A Blaze in the Dark - (4/8)

Chapter Title: In From the Snow

Summary: On the eve of her wedding, knowing nothing about her husband besides his apparent disinterest in his soon-to-be wife, Elain uses a spell to meet her true love in her dreams.

A contribution to @elucienweekofficial Day 4: Courtiers.

Read on AO3 ・Series Masterlist・Previous Chapter

-

Elain had never struggled to sit comfortably in silence.

Silence had been expected of her since the moment she was born, when her mother would hand Elain and her sisters off to a nursemaid the moment they began to weep. Elain had grown up watching her father urge Nesta and Feyre out of his study when they couldn’t keep still, and she had learned that the trick to never being pushed away was to keep silent.

There was a weapon to silence. Unlike her outspoken sisters, Elain often traded speaking her mind for observing the world around her. It was easy to slip by unnoticed, putting people at ease in her quiet and unassuming nature while she pilfered their words and countenance for the truth they did not know they were revealing.

If you are going to speak, her mother used to say, then your words must not be empty.

Even then, there were rules to obey. Speak with purpose, but never too clever, never too bold. So Elain watched and observed and weighed every word to ensure it was dignified and poised. It was a meticulous effort, being perfect. Use wit and humor to be interesting, but not so much that she be deemed unserious. So Elain listened and observed so that she could disguise every word beneath the thin veneer of perfection.

She did not mind the silence, except that she found herself struggling to leverage it to her advantage when there was nothing to be won. No one to impress besides her indignant husband, who seemed intent on prolonging the silence as long as possible. It sat unbroken for hours, past hills and valleys and the endless seas of bluebells. It was only towards the end of the trip, when the sun was hanging low on the horizon, that it fractured from Elain’s lips in the shape of a startled, “Oh.”

Lucien raised his head, as if drawn from a daze. He blinked, eyes going first to Elain, then following her line of sight out the carriage window. A small laugh escaped him, before he rapped his knuckles against the wall that separated them from the driver. Elain heard the footman call out, and soon the steady clop of hooves slowed.

The carriage jerked to a stop.

“Go on,” Lucien said, nodding towards the carriage door.

Elain set her hand towards the bronze latch, then paused. Retreated. “Will it be cold?”

“Yes.”

“Will I like it?”

“Only you can decide that, Elain.”

“Do you like it?”

Rather than answer, Lucien began unfastening the buttons of his jacket, beginning to strip himself to his burgundy waistcoat and undershirt.

Elain, feeling a bit delirious, asked, “Do you intend to coax me from the carriage by threat of undressing?”

He only smiled. “Would it work?”

She might very well leave if only to escape answering that question truthfully. “At present, I’m not sure which unnerves me more.”

“My pride is relieved,” he said dryly. Once his fingers pushed the final button free, he slid the fabric gracefully off his arms and held it out to her in offering. “It will be cold,” he said. “You will be grateful to have this.”

Elain accepted it with exaggerated reluctance. It was heavy, still warm from his back.

“Will I be going alone, then?”

The question was partly a means of stalling and partly because she was too proud to ask him directly if he could come with her. But she wanted him to.

All he said was, “Put on my jacket.”

His eyes said the rest. They watched her, gold and russet burning with surprising authority. No more questions.

That tone of voice. It was command, laced with something warmer. Something that felt like drinking a glass of the amber liquid her father kept in his study. She felt the prickling heat on the back of her tongue, slowly slipping down. She pushed one arm through his jacket, then the next as a new warmth was spread over her. She was beginning to feel a bit woozy, not helped by the strong scent of the jacket and the overwhelming urge to tuck her face closer for a whiff.

“Good girl,” he said.

And she realized what that tone of voice reminded her of.

Open your mouth.

Elain was grateful for the way her breath hitched—smothering whatever embarrassing sound built in her throat. The metal latch bit into her skin by how hastily she grabbed it to shove the carriage door open, because suddenly what waited for her outside was much more inviting than examining why those two words evoke such an intense physical reaction when they came from someone other than her true love.

A cool breeze brushed against her flushed cheeks. Good, Elain thought, swallowing every freezing breath in large, greedy mouthfuls. She flexed her fingers, marveling at the strange bite of the air, and how quickly it was alleviating her racing pulse.

Elain pressed her foot tentatively to the carriage step, and her improper thoughts were quickly chased away by the anxieties of what awaited her. She was certainly wearing the wrong footwear, but any clothes that had been brought in preparation for the Eastern Kingdom were in the trunk at the back of the carriage. Really, how bad could it be if they were just stopping to look?

On the next clouded breath, Elain pretended that she was exhaling the timid voice inside saying: what if it doesn’t live up to your expectations?

Then she jumped from the carriage.

The snow crunched underfoot. Her mouth parted open in surprise. She hadn’t been expecting a noise. In her mind, she’d always imagined winter as a silent assassin. The frost brought death to flowers and trees and sometimes the living creatures that could not survive its harsh conditions. It was a brutal, unforgiving force of nature.

What Elain didn’t know was that the snow banks glistened in the low-hanging sunlight, reflecting the gold and pink of the sky above it. There were no chittering birds, no chirps of crickets or cicadas.

The world around them was entirely undisturbed. Tranquil, yet stagnant.

“What do you think?”

Lucien stepped down from the carriage, irritatingly dashing in his fitted waistcoat—which cut to his body tightly enough that she could mark the incline of his chest, how he was slightly slimmer at the waist. A playful wind danced against the billowing sleeves of his undershirt, which he was stretching towards Elain to offer his hand. She placed her fingers atop his, though she hadn’t the slightest idea why they needed to be holding hands.

“It’s so…” she glanced back over the landscape, surveying it for a word that could describe all she was feeling. “Unsettling.”

“How so?”

Elain tightened her hand on his as she took a careful step away from the carriage. He followed, clearly having no direction in mind with which to lead her, making the offer of his hand all the more curious.

“Everything is dead,” she said. “For miles and miles there is only cold, silent snow.”

“That is unsettling, I suppose,” he conceded.

“Yes, but that I was not finished.”

“Oh?”

Another step, further and further from the carriage she tugged him, where the snow became deeper, and she had to lift her skirts to venture forward. Already, she could feel the cold seeping through her stockings.

“There is no sound,” she said, “but the wind. And there is no soul around, but for you and I. There is no one here to observe us, no expectations to cater to but our own. I am left to confront my own existence.”

Lucien made a small sound of understanding. His fingers tightened. “Harrowing, indeed, one’s own existence.”

It was said like a joke, but she didn’t laugh.

“Do you ever think…” Elain trailed off. Would he even understand? She didn’t want to reveal something vulnerable only for it to be written off as ridiculous.

He squeezed her hand. “Go on.”

“It’s all so strict. The things we cannot say or do. There are so many words inside of me that have been smothered. Do you ever think that we spend so long curating these facades, that we forget ourselves entirely?” Elain scraped her eyes over the barren snow. “What I mean to say is, I scarcely know who I am when there aren’t others around to perform for.”

Wind picked up, gentle in speed but vicious in the chill it wrought against her exposed skin. Elain had never been so aware of her body before—how it tingled with the strangest burning sensation, one that she had always associated with heat. How curious, that the cold could burn.

Lucien, despite having surrendered his jacket, seemed unaffected by the weather. His free hand didn’t curl the same way hers did, attempting to protect her numbed fingers. Posture unguarded, he seemed to be welcoming the snow as he stared at her quizzically.

Having suffered in silence long enough, Elain said, “If you don’t agree—”

“I do agree,” he said. “I fear I know exactly what you mean.”

Oh. Voice soft, she asked, “Then why do you seem so puzzled?”

“I can’t figure out why I would be excluded.”

“From what?”

“The people you need to perform for.”

For a moment, Elain felt equally puzzled. That sentiment hadn’t been intentional, but… she supposed that was what she implied.

Lucien said, “I can’t decide if I should be flattered or offended. Is it because you feel comfortable with me, or because you find my opinion so detestable that you don’t care what I think?”

Either case seemed absurd, considering they’d only met that morning. And yet even from the first moment she saw him, before she had known he was Lucien Vanserra, she had felt strangely and uncommonly comfortable speaking her mind with him.

“You are my husband,” Elain said, as if that were a straightforward answer.

His lips quirked. “Detestable, then.”

“No,” Elain said, finding that his expression was making her feel lighter. “You are my husband, which means that it could be either, depending on the time of day.”

“What about now, then?”

She pursed her lips, turning away from the blushing horizon to marvel at Lucien. He was remarkably unflushed from the cold, but the pink and gold of the setting sun rested across his cheekbones as if nature were blushing for him. He was watching her with an attention Elain was not unaccustomed to. But there was a warmth to it, a gentle curiosity that didn’t make her feel overly self-aware. Instead, it made her feel… seen.

“Comfortable,” she said.

Lucien smiled, bright as the snow at their feet. He used their joined hands to tug her closer and, as if it were a dance, he raised his arm over her head to let the momentum spin her forward. The fabric of her dress was becoming heavier, sodden from the snow, but even so it twirled with the motion, dusting up the loose powder on the surface.

He caught her gracefully as she came out of the spin, dipping her so low that the tips of her hair scraped against the snow. There was laughter in his voice as he asked, “And now?”

“Detestable,” she said. With the way she was grinning, it was not a convincing assessment.

Lucien leaned closer. “Is that so?”

“Yes.”

A challenge flickered in his eyes. “Do you want to see how destable I can be, Elain?”

Her good sense told her not to indulge. But Elain was feeling bold and lightheaded and wanted to see just how deep that mischief lay beneath the surface.

“Yes,” she said again.

With a cruel smile, Lucien dropped his hands. Elain barely had time to register what had happened before she plunged into the deep snow. She sunk through the surface, cold powder rising over and around her as she gasped, flickering belatedly between her surprise and anger.

Lucien peered over at her. He was smirking. “What do you think of the snow?”

It was much less pleasant to be encased in it, she thought agitatedly. Elain kicked out her legs, uncertain how to rise without getting her hands any colder. Lucien watched her struggle whilst looking far too proud of himself, and what was worse is that he seemed to find the situation more amusing the longer it went on.

“Do you need help?” He asked.

With a shriek, Elain grabbed at a handful of snow and lashed it towards him.

He chuckled. “That won’t persuade me to help you.”

Taking pity on her, he leaned over to extend a hand. She grabbed it. Then, with all the ferocity she could muster, she used her grip to tug him off balance. Lucien fell forward—nearly on top of her, if it weren’t for his hands quickly shooting to catch himself, braced on either side of her head. His hair fell into her face, a tangle of red silk that had her spluttering, thrashing her face inelegantly as she attempted to get it out of her mouth.

Lucien was too busy laughing to be any help. Elain was forced to reach up, collecting Lucien’s hair in a fist so that she could get it out of her face and, in doing so, peer directly up into Lucien’s. He was much too close. It was like being back on the altar, except now she could see the clouds of their breath tangle together.

Had he been breathing this quickly then, too? Or was that the adrenaline from falling?

“You know,” Lucien said. He was studying her face, attention flicking from her eyes to her cheeks. To her mouth. “Typically a wife reserves this sort of behavior for the bedroom. And I took you for such a modest lady, too.”

The joke sobered any thought she had of pressing their mouths together. Their position was certainly… compromising.

Elain flushed. “Praytell what opportunity I’d have for such behavior? From my understanding, you and I will be sleeping in separate rooms.”

The heat in Lucien’s expression died, too. He reached up to pry her hands out of his hair. “Cauldron,” he swore once his hands closed over her fingers. “You’re freezing.”

“You dropped me in snow!”

“An oversight,” he said, withdrawing easily from their position. This time when he offered his hand, Elain allowed him to pull her to her feet. “Come, let’s get you out of that dress before you catch a cold.”

She hesitated, looking down at the ruined hem of her skirt. Then back to Lucien. “You don’t mean…”

“Mother-forsake-me, of course I don’t mean now, Elain. Once you’re in the privacy of your own room. We’re nearly to the inn, we can make haste.”

Indeed, Lucien was already rushing towards the carriage, hardly a thought of the wife who had to bundle her wet skirts in her arms to keep up. She couldn’t help feeling that he’d emphasized your own room on purpose. It was their wedding night, and they would be staying in separate rooms, and she of course had known this.

Yet the reminder felt raw. Cold, somehow—like the snow and her limbs and Lucien’s changed demeanor.

He opened the carriage door for her, at least, offering a hand to help her climb inside. But he closed it forcefully enough that she jumped. Then he sighed.

“I’m sorry.”

Elain did her best to square her shoulders—a difficult task, now that her body had begun shivering. “About which part?”

“Dropping you in the snow,” he said. “I was being…”

Playful. She’d like it, until he’d withdrawn from her.

“Unkind.”

She snorted, turning her head towards the window to watch as the valleys of snow passed by. “I’ve heard a rumor that Prince Lucien possesses kindness in short supply.”

“A pity for his wife,” he agreed with a wry smile. “I’ve heard she is extraordinarily kind, and in future I will strive to reflect her kindness back on her.”

Until he proved it, it was all talk. Elain said nothing. She was not prepared to dignify his behavior with forgiveness just yet. Not when she was still trembling, and no amount of wrapping her arms around herself was helpful. The air in the carriage might have been warmer, but the cold still clung to her wet clothes.

“The inn is close by,” Lucien said. “But I can help warm you up, while you wait.”

Elain offered him a flat look.

“Oh, stop.” He wrinkled his nose. “Not like that.”

He stretched his hand toward her, flexing his fingers expectantly. Elain stared for a moment, before she cautiously placed her hand in his. Lucien shut his eyes. It’s what drew her attention to his face—initially because she found it odd, then because she realized she had an opportunity to survey him without triggering that smug, infuriating smile.

In its absence, she could freely admit that he was beautiful. Strong jaw and high cheekbones, Elain searched his face for any sign of King Beron—because surely, if she could look into Lucien’s face and see a glimpse of his father, that would be enough to temper the strange, fluttering feeling that gripped her each time she looked at him. But, fortunately or unfortunately, he was unique in his beauty.

His lips parted open, as though in concentration, and it was only then Elain actually paid any attention to what he was doing. His hand, wrapped around hers, was becoming warmer.

Elain stiffened. “What are you doing?”

“Warming you up.”

“How?”

“Magic.” She yanked her hand away, holding it protectively to her chest. Lucien’s eyes were open, now—wide and confused. “What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong?” She echoed. “Magic is…”

Well, forbidden is what she wanted to say. But that wasn’t the truth anymore. That was her father’s rule and now that she was no longer in Archeron manor… she didn’t know what magic was, anymore.

“It comes at a cost,” she said, echoing the familiar refrain of Nesta and her governess.

“Yes,” Lucien said patiently. “I’m paying it.”

“What’s the cost?”

“Energy. I’m going to heat up your hands and take a nice, long nap afterwards.”

“That’s all?”

He looked bemused. “Yes, Elain, that’s all.”

Slowly, she placed her hand back in his. Magic. To think he used it so casually, like it was nothing at all. She didn’t know how much she could press him on the subject. Could she ask about the true love spell without arousing suspicion?

Lucien hummed as though in afterthought. “Though I suppose I should mention that a curse may fall on your firstborn child, but that shouldn’t be a problem considering—”

“That’s not funny,” she snapped.

She knew he was teasing, because he’d been smiling. Now, he was studying her, as though it were shocking to him that she would have such a severe reaction to something he’d said so lightly. Elain could practically see him trace over his words, connecting them with the stern lines of her frown.

He winced, finally, like his meaning caught up to him. “You’re right, lady. It was not funny, and I apologize. All I mean to do is help you.”

Elain pulled her hand away, folding it into her wet lap. “I think I’ve had enough of your help today, your highness.”

She told herself that though there was remorse in his expression, that didn’t mean he was owed her forgiveness. To speak so tactlessly about having children when he was the one denying them to her… Elain thought she at least owed him the silence he had paid her for the majority of the day, when she had acted insensitively.

“Very well,” Lucien said, bowing his head to her. He looked pained. “We’ll be at the inn shortly.”

-

Soon enough, Elain was welcomed by the sound of the carriage wheels rolling over loose stone. They slowed to a stop, the horses whinnying as the lulling clop of hooves finally quieted. Elain was so frozen in her dress that she wasn’t certain she could have moved quickly if she wanted to. Lucien had no such excuse, but he still seemed to hesitate for a moment before exiting the carriage.

Elain ignored his outstretched hand. She didn’t care if she looked graceless climbing out of the carriage—her stiff and soaking dress would mean she looked graceless, regardless. Nevermind that she was still wearing her husband’s jacket, which was equally wet and hardly keeping her warm, yet she couldn’t find it in herself to return it. She would keep it, if only to be spiteful.

“Ho there!” A man came rushing out of the inn, clutching a handheld lantern which he raised to cast them in better light. When he caught sight of Lucien, he scrambled into a bow, “Your highness.”

“If it’s not too much trouble, I request we make haste inside.” Lucien gestured to Elain. “The lady is freezing.”

“Certainly.” The man, who Elain presumed to be the innkeeper, fumbled at his breast pocket for a ring of keys before gesturing them inside. “Right this way.”

They followed him through a series of wood paneled hallways, then up a set of stairs. Lucien had to duck so as not to hit his head on the ceiling’s wooden beams. Elain, still cross, let herself smile at the idea that he might.

Her smile fell away when they stopped in front of one of the doors, and the innkeeper unlocked it for her. “This is your room, my lady. And his highness’s room is just down the hall.”

Elain glanced back at her husband, unsurprised but still disappointed.

“Enjoy your wedding night,” she said, frigidly, before walking into the bedroom and shutting the door.

Why not lock it, for good measure? It took more effort than usual, the key trembling in her fingers. Some warmth was returning to them, now, and she could feel each of them throb with their own tiny heartbeats. Maybe she would lock it later, once the footsteps faded. Elain rested her forehead against the door to listen, but all she could hear was her own heart splintering in her chest.

Alone. On her wedding night. It was a blessing, she assured herself, but that didn’t chase away the cold, lurching feeling of rejection. Maybe sitting in front of the hearth would.

She turned the key in the lock, listening to it click. The footman could deposit her trunk outside, or better yet, with Lucien. For now… for now she just had to get out of these Cauldron forsaken clothes. The ice leached all the way through, so Elain stripped herself bare before she settled atop the fur rug before the hearth.

The absence of the wet fabric was a relief. Whereas the absence of company… that still stung.

Elain angled her head towards the heap that had become of her dress and petticoats. She supposed she didn’t need to be alone. The innkeeper would likely be bringing dinner soon, but he could deposit it beside her trunk. She had no appetite in her state.

She wanted to pretend that it took her longer to consider it. That she waited there for hours deliberating over the morality of seeking the butterfly wings Nesta had given her. She wanted to have reservations, on her wedding night of all evenings, but it was horrifyingly easy to slip her hand into the pocket of her petticoat and withdraw the pouch of wings.

The only difficult part, really, was placing a bug’s wing in her mouth.

After that, it was only a matter of falling asleep. And waking to darkness.

Elain pressed a hand to the cool, silk sheets beneath her. A far cry from the fur rug she’d fallen asleep on. She wondered, briefly, where the dreams took her. Was it her old room from Archeron manor? Having never wandered further from the mattress, it was difficult to tell. But she didn’t think so. The feel of the bedding, the smell… it was different.

“You’re here?”

Thoughts of their location quickly abandoned, Elain scrambled to the edge of the bed, trying to peer in the direction of the voice.

“I’m here,” she said to the darkness.

“On your wedding night?”

The question caught her off guard. She faltered, uncertain how to answer.

“My apologies, lady, I didn’t mean to be insensitive. I only mean to say… I suppose I’m just surprised you came. A-are you okay?”

Elain pressed her lips together. She knew what he thought happened, and she supposed she should assure him that her husband had not forced himself on her. He was, in fact, not the least bit the monster that she had expected him to be. Would that be consoling to her true love, or the opposite?

“It’s been a long day,” she said. It was honest.

“I’m sure it has been.”

His footsteps echoed as he tentatively walked towards the bed. She had the sense he made them louder for her sake, so that she was not startled by his approach.

“Is… Please tell me, is there anything I can do?”

Elain was certain that he was close enough now she could reach out and touch him. She recalled how warm his touch had been last night. And the cold still clung to her, even in sleep. Was he capable of soothing it?

“Could you just—hold me? Please?”

Though she had tried to maintain her composure, her voice cracked involuntarily on the please. And maybe the snow had turned her brittle, because that small crack was all that she needed to break. Elain pressed her hand to mouth, trying desperately to smother the sob building in her throat. She hadn’t wanted to come here to cry.

“Of course I can.” He sounded distressed. By her voice, or something else? “I’m going to touch you now. Is that okay?”

Elain nodded, but of course he didn’t see.

“Sweetheart, please. You need to tell me ‘yes’ or ‘no’.”

Answering him meant removing her hand from her mouth. She didn’t want to speak—she didn’t trust her voice not to crumble. If she spoke, then the tears would surely come, and she wanted to fight them off as long as possible.

“In here, my love, you only get touched on your terms. If you can’t speak, why don’t you grab my hand? I’m standing right in front of you.”

With her free hand, Elain reached blindly into the dark. It didn’t take long to find his waiting hand—warm, like she remembered. Gentle.

“Good,” he said. “Now, do you want me to get on the bed with you? Squeeze once if you do, twice if not.”

She was already feeling calmer just from the way he was speaking to her. In all of her bouts of emotion over the years, no one had ever braced them with such patience. Such… kindness. Elain lowered her hand from her mouth. Her voice crackled as she said, “I’d like for you to get on the bed.”

“Ah, she found her voice. I’m glad.” The bed shifted slightly beneath his weight. “And if you ever feel like you can’t speak while we’re in here, just remember: one squeeze for yes, two for no.”

“Thank you.”

“There’s nothing to thank me for. Do you want to lie down together?”

She searched the question for any underlying meaning. It had been nice when he’d touched her yesterday—more than—but if that was what he was offering, she wasn’t certain that was something she wanted. Not tonight.

It seemed like he responded best to honesty. “I don’t want to… to…”

“Of course not,” he said. “I won’t touch you anywhere unless you explicitly ask me to.”

“Okay,” she whispered.

He moved himself further onto the bed. She could feel the weight shift towards the middle, where he’d presumably stretched himself out, head against the pillows as if they would be going to sleep.

“Come here,” he murmured.

It was a tedious game not to accidentally nudge him somewhere delicate as she crawled towards him, feeling ahead with her hands. She gently patted his stomach, then his chest. It felt oddly catlike, pawing her way to lay down, though she could only hope she had half the grace of a feline as she laid herself down beside her true love, head resting against his steady heart.

“There,” he said. His arm came around her shoulders and he began rubbing slow circles against her back. “We can stay like this as long as you want.”

“Forever?”

It was a suggestion filled with melancholy, since they both knew that regardless of any promises made here, in the morning they would have no choice but to be ripped from each other all over again.

“Forever,” he said back.

Because what was a lie, when the truth would only break their hearts? And what was forever, when between the measly hours of dawn and dusk, she could listen to her true love’s heart beat in time with her own? Forever was overrated, anyhow.

#elucienweek2023 #Elucien #Elucien fic #Elucien fanfiction #Elain x Lucien #Lucien x Elain #Blaze in the Dark

[dailytudors]

Tudor Week 2023

To celebrate our belated three-year anniversary we are hosting Tudor Week 2023. This is going to be hosted from Monday the 31st of July to Sunday the 6th of August.

The week will go as follows:

Day 1 - Monday, 31st of July : Favourite Tudor Rivalry Day 2 - Tuesday, 1st of August : Favourite Female Tudor Family Member Day 3 - Wednesday, 2nd of August : Best Tudor Myth Day 4 - Thursday, 3rd of August : Favourite Male Tudor Family Member Day 5 - Friday, 4th of August : Most Used Tudor Related Resource Day 6 - Saturday, 5th of August : Favourite portrayal of a Tudor Family Member Day 7 - Sunday, 6th of August : Favourite Tudor Mentor and Mentee relationship (can be a Tudor familial relationship, or a Tudor and a courtier relationship)

This can cover all events and media that a Tudor family member is present, so from Owen Tudor to Elizabeth Tudor, and may include spouses and acknowledged children of direct members of the Tudor family (if unsure who we cover please check our Family page). We have attempted to make it as broad as possible and no pressure if you are late with some of the days, we will still reblog.

Previous Years: 2021, 2022

Be sure to tag your posts TudorWeek2023 and DailyTudors, looking forward to seeing your posts!

- The Team at DailyTudors

#tudorweek2023 #henry vii #henry viii #edward vi #mary i #elizabeth i #owen tudor #catherine de'valois #edmund tudor #margaret beaufort #jasper tudor #catherine woodville #elizabeth of york #arthur prince of wales #katherine of aragon #margaret queen of scotland #james iv of scotland #archibald douglas #henry stuart #anne boleyn #jane seymour #anne of cleves #kathryn howard #catherine parr #mary queen of france #louis xii #charles brandon #henry fitzroy #announcement