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tswaney17 · 8 months

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I Do Bad Things with You - Part 42

Happy @elainappreciationweek! 🌸 My contribution for the Lovers Day prompt is an update to this beast. Hope you enjoy! 💕

My fanfic account: @tswaney17fics

My ao3 account: tswaney17

Please let me know what you think about this update. I love getting your feedback. Constructive criticism is always welcome. 💕

Catch up here.

Credit to @featherymalignancy for Cassian’s nickname, Cash. 😘

Trigger warnings: violence, sexual assault , language, NSFW

Word Count: 7,229

Azriel was dreading going back to work tomorrow. Frankly, the time he had off, spending his honeymoon with his wife, was the best three and a half weeks he’d ever experienced.

The places they saw, the food they ate. It was all indescribable.

Not to mention he got to fuck her all over the world until she was a limp, sated mess. His favorite escapade was when Elain rode him under the northern lights, her golden-brown hair alight with colors. Her pale skin shimmered in blues and greens and purples.

She only allowed herself to ride him once while they stayed in the Winter District. Their dome-like cabin retained the cold and it turned out that Elain was always freezing. Even while they had sex, she could only remain above the sheets for about ten minutes before she started to shiver.

He didn’t mind, spending a great deal of time covering her body with his own, keeping her warm as best as he could, though he’d be lying if her blue lips didn’t cause him to worry. They never seemed to regain the pink color until they were in the Spring District to visit their massive gardens.

Now all he wanted to do was spend every waking moment with her.

“What’s got your face all frowny?” Elain asked, leaning a hip on the door frame of his office. “Don’t tell me you’re working already. You still have,” she glanced at her watch, diamond rings catching the sunshine from his floor-to-ceiling windows, “another seventeen hours before we’re back on the clock.” Her lips pulled up into a teasing smile.

“Not working. Just catching up on a few of the other things. I didn’t touch any of the messages I was sent during our honeymoon and there’s quite a few to go over and respond to.” Meaning, he didn’t look at anything regarding his half-brother’s movements or the details Ruhn had pulled for him. He’d been content to just enjoy the time they had together and didn’t want to let anything take away from that.

She seemed to understand his underlying meaning, stepping further into the room. “Anything I should be made aware of?”

He shook his head. “Nothing that stands out, but I’m going to catch up with Ruhn in an hour to go over some details.”

Elain closed the distance between them, coming to perch on his lap. She ran her fingers through the hair at his nape, scratching the back of his scalp with her nails.

Az slung his arm around her waist, holding her close. “Why don’t we go to dinner tonight? I’ll make us a reservation at one of the nice restaurants in the downtown area. Let’s celebrate the last night of our honeymoon before we go back to our normal routines.”

She leaned in, kissing him softly. “I’d like that. I’m going to miss having you like this. Seeing you at every moment of the day.” Elain nuzzled into his neck, breathing in his chilled mist and cedar scent. “Thank you for taking me on the most epic honeymoon, Az. I love you so much.”

His large hand cradled the back of her head, tucking her under his chin. “We will have many more adventures, love. But I’m happy you enjoyed our honeymoon. I wanted to do everything your heart desired.”

“Well, you succeeded. Even if I did almost lose my toes,” she laughed, voice twinkling.

He pressed his chuckle into the side of her head, kissing her temple. Gods, he loved his wife.

An hour later, Azriel was sitting at the bar of his club, waiting for Ruhn. It wasn’t open yet, so he decided to just meet him there. Lorcan was standing outside waiting for his guest while Elide was behind the counter, prepping for the evening.

He felt his presence join him without even having to turn his head. “Drink?” Azriel asked him.

“Sure. Whatever you’re having,” Ruhn said, sliding onto the barstool.

“Elide,” Az waved down his employee. “Same for him,” he indicated with a raise of his glass.

She was quick to move, pouring a knuckle’s worth of whiskey into a glass and sliding it on the counter. “I’ll be in the back if you need me,” she said, stepping through the door to offer them privacy.

Ruhn picked up the glass and clinked it on his. “Congratulations, man. Happy for you and Elain.”

Azriel dipped his head in thanks. “What’s the entail?”

The other man took a sip of his drink. “Frankie told Elias to stand down.”

Hazel eyes widened in shock. “He what?”

“You heard me. He told Elias to stand down and not make a move against you or Elain.”

His heart pounded in his chest. This—it wasn’t right. Frankie had leverage against him. His brother had been looking for a way past his defenses and when he finally had it, he was just going to let it go. It didn’t make sense. “Why?”

Ruhn shrugged. “If there’s any reason, they’re keeping it tight-lipped. I would say nobody other than Nick would have any idea why Frankie isn’t pursuing this.”

Azriel took a swig of his whiskey, letting the burn coat his throat. He needed to feel something other than the anxiety rolling in his gut. “And what about Elias? How’s he taking the order?”

His informant snorted into his glass, swallowing the golden liquid. “As well as you’d expect. He’s furious. Was shoved down the ranks and now even Nick won’t speak with him. Word on the street is that he’s been trying to rally some low-level kids out of Frankie’s mob.”

He stared at Ruhn dumbfounded. “He really thinks he’ll be able to pull from Frankie? Frankie? The guy is even more ruthless than I am.” It took an effort not to glance down at the scars that adorned his hands. “Any kid that steps out is as good as dead.” Once you were in his brother’s clutches, the only way out was by death.

Az never collected kids. Refused to let any of his associates broach them. But Frankie had boys as young as twelve doing low-level work. Running drugs and cash. Making drop-offs on their bikes. If they were good at what they did, they’d be smuggling guns at fourteen. Sixteen the latest.

And if they weren’t good at it, well, let’s just say the Sidra River was notorious for being a good body disposal method. Most of the time, when somebody was dumped, they weren’t found, but every once in a while, he’d hear about a fifteen-year-old turning up dead in the river.

“Let’s hope that those kids know it,” Ruhn murmured, slinging back the rest of his drink. “I’ll keep my ears down for anything else.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a thin, wrapped box, sliding it across the bar over to him. “For you and the Misses.”

Azriel blinked at the black-wrapped package. “What is it?”

The other man just grinned. “Matching pocket daggers. I had your names engraved on them. I thought that with everything going on, it might be wise for Elain to have something on her for protection.”

His lips quirked up in the corner. “That was very thoughtful of you. Thank you, Ruhn.”

Ruhn nodded, sliding off the barstool and making his way out of the club.

Az thumbed the black package, grinning to himself at the idea of handing Elain the present to carry around in her purse. He was already mentally preparing himself for her hesitation with the weapon.

He was pulling out his wallet when Elide slipped in from the back.

“Everything okay, sir?”

“Yeah, we’re good, thanks Elide,” he said, dropping a large bill on the counter.

Her dark brows furrowed. “You know you own this place, right? You don’t actually have to pay for your drinks.”

He chuckled, returning his wallet to his pocket. “It’s not for the drinks. It’s for you. For being on top of serving us and giving us space. I appreciate having good employees.”

“Azriel…” she started, but he held up a hand.

“Just take it, Elide. You deserve it.” He headed toward the door, calling, “I’ll send Lorcan back in. Have a good night.”

Tugging his phone out of his pocket, he dialed Velaris au Château—the French restaurant Az wanted to take Elain to that night. “Pierre, it’s Azriel Knight.”

“Mr. Knight,” the man on the other line said, his French accent heavy. “What can I do for you?”

“I need a table for my wife and me tonight. Is your private room available?” he asked, climbing into the car.

~~~

Azriel was tying his midnight tie when Elain slipped out of their closet in a blush-colored chiffon gown. It framed her slightly tanned skin perfectly, matching the color that he loved to see on her cheeks. His fingers paused on the fabric, looking her up and down. He breathed heavily. “El, my stunning wife. You look gorgeous.”

That pretty blush crept along the high arches of her cheeks as she smiled up at him. “Thank you, husband.” She crossed the room, taking the tie from his hands. “Let me.” Quick as a flash, she had it knotted and was securing it up to his neck. “Perfect. You look very handsome, Az.”

He dropped a kiss to the tip of her nose, making her scrunch it up in the cute way she always did. “I have something for you,” he told her, pulling the wrapped box from his pocket. Az handed her the present from Ruhn.

Elain’s brows raised. “What’s this for?” she asked, carefully unwrapping it.

“It’s from my informant, Ruhn.” She glanced up at him then, confusion etched into her face. “It’s a wedding gift.”

“Oh,” she said surprised, looking back down at the box. Elain flipped the lid, a small gasp escaping her parted lips. “Oh, wow.” Her finger skimmed the smooth handle. “They’re beautiful.”

Az gently plucked the one with her name engraved on it from the box and held it between them. “He thought that you should have something on you for protection.” Flicking open the blade, Azriel showed her how to maneuver the small weapon.

Her dainty fingers closed around the knife handle. “Please tell him thank you for this the next time you see him.”

Now it was his turn to raise a brow. “You’re not hesitant about carrying this?”

She shook her head, golden brown hair swishing over her shoulders. “No, I’m not actually. I think it’s a good thing to have on me. Just in case.”

Cupping the side of her face, Azriel brought her in for a slow, sweet kiss. “I love you, my sweet.”

Elain sighed into his mouth, melting into his embrace.

Taking his knife from the box, he slid it into his pocket before reaching for her hand to lace their fingers together. “Come on. We’ll be late for dinner.”

The couple arrived at the restaurant and got seated in the private room that had a large window overlooking the glittering Sidra River. Azriel ordered a bottle of champagne and translated the menu for Elain.

“I didn’t know you could speak and read French,” she murmured after their orders were taken.

He took a sip from his flute of champagne, smiling behind the glass. “I speak a lot of languages.”

Her lips curved up at the corner. “Perhaps you should take advantage of that later tonight.”

Az chuckled, leaning back in his seat. “Are you looking forward to tomorrow? Being back at work?”

Elain breathed in deeply, considering her words. “Yes…and no. Am I looking forward to getting back into my routine, checking in with patients, and performing surgeries? Yes, of course. I love my job, and I love the people I work with too.” She reached across the table to take his hand. “But I’m going to miss this. All this time together we’ve shared, just the two of us. I loved spending every waking moment with you for the last three weeks.”

He tightened his grip on her fingers. “I did too. Frankly, I don’t want it to end.”

She smiled at him, the one she reserved only for him. It was this soft, upturn of her lips, brown eyes sparkling. He loved that smile.

Elain took a swig of her champagne. “Do you feel different?”

Azriel cocked his head to the side. “Different how?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know, just different. Like something’s changed, I suppose.”

“Well, something did change,” he grinned, making her laugh.

“I know that. I’m talking about something else.” She shifted back in her seat. “I can’t explain it—I can feel it in my gut that something has changed. I just don’t know what.”

He was going to ask her to elaborate, but the door opened, revealing their waitress with their dinner. Az watched her eyes widen at the gorgeous dish set in front of her, and then in front of him.

She pointed to her plate, glancing up at their waitress. “Is the flower edible?”

He chuckled. “Everything on your plate is edible, love.”

“What he said,” the woman grinned. “Anything else I can get for you?”

Azriel shook his head. “No, we’re good, thank you.”

The woman dipped her head, excusing herself and leaving them to their meal. He watched his wife cut into her plate, forking the beef.

“Wow,” Elain moaned after her first bite. “This is delicious.”

“Yeah?” Az smiled. “Are we going to have to make this one a regular, too?”

She laughed, sipping her drink. “Most likely. How many other restaurants do you have up your sleeve?”

He winked at her, tilting his glass in her direction. “A few.”

Elain popped another bite into her mouth, humming in contemplation. “We may have to visit those other places, just to see how they compare.”

“Noted,” he teased, cutting into his food.

They chatted about anything and everything while they ate. Their favorite places they visited, what they were looking forward to and were dreading the most in their return to normalcy.

Sipping on the last of their champagne as they waited for her dessert—crème brûlée. It was one of Elain’s favorites and he would stop at nothing to give her all of her heart’s desires.

When the door opened and it wasn’t their waitress who stepped in with their dessert, Azriel went rigid—his heart thumping with fear.

Because that was Nicklaus, setting the plate with the ceramic bowl in front of his wife.

Elain immediately noted his tension, her dark eyes flicking between the man who had entered and himself. She had never met or seen his biological brothers before. Wouldn’t know who exactly had joined them.

“Aren’t you going to try it?” his brother grinned down at her. “It’s specially made by the chef just for you.”

She didn’t touch the spoon, instead pushing the plate away from her. “I’m actually not hungry anymore.”

Good girl.

He knew she had no idea what was going on, but he was eternally grateful that Elain could read the room.

Nick’s mouth turned up at the corner. “Azriel, aren’t you going to introduce me?” he asked, not bothering to look in his direction. No, his eyes remained on his wife and Az did not like her receiving that attention at all. Not when it came from someone as deadly as Nicklaus.

She met his gaze and read the minuscule change in his expression telling her to move. Elain slipped from her seat, using the table to provide a barrier between her and Nick, and perched herself onto his lap, an arm wrapping around his neck.

His brother never lost that self-satisfied smirk, simply claiming Elain’s now vacated seat.

“What do you want, Nicklaus?” he all but growled.

Elain tensed on his lap, finally putting a name to a face.

Nick leaned sideways, pulling a gun from the back of his pants, and placed it on the table, facing them.

His wife went rigid, breathing harshly through her parted lips. He could sense her fear, practically taste it on his tongue. Azriel slid his large, scarred palm up her body until it lay directly on her chest, over her heart.

Not a second later, he felt Elain’s hand cover his own.

He casually gripped her hand in his other one, bringing it up to kiss her knuckles, and replaced it on her lap.

She turned her face a fraction, shooting him a questioning look.

Az would sacrifice his life for her if it came down to it. Any twitch from his brother and he’d cover her, his hand his last resort to protecting her most vital organ. But like fuck was he going to let a bullet ruin her career by shattering her hand. He couldn’t explain it to her, not right then so he subtly shook his head instead, urging her to listen to him.

Nick reached forward, sliding Elain’s crème brûlée toward him. He cracked the sugar-crusted top with a spoon, taking a mouthful. “This place makes the best dessert.” He winked at them, at her. “Shame you’re too full to enjoy this.”

“Nick,” Azriel snapped. “What the fuck do you want?”

He picked up Elain’s napkin, wiping the corner of his mouth. “Do you know how difficult it is to see you, to meet with you?”

“You could make an appointment like everyone else,” Elain muttered.

Az gripped her hip.

But Nick’s smile grew, looking closely at his wife.

Too closely for his taste. Azriel ran a possessive hand over her curves, lips descending upon the exposed skin of her neck. He never took his eyes off his brother, not even as he kissed her.

“Pardon me, sweetheart. But men are talking.”

Elain’s head cocked to the side at the tone—the dismissal. There wasn’t anything Azriel could do to stop her from lurching out of his lap, snatching his steak knife from the table, and slamming it between Nick’s spread fingers.

Az grabbed her around the waist, hauling her back onto his lap as she snarled, “Pardon me, but his wife doesn’t take well to being talked down to.”

His brother was quick to mask his stunned expression, though he didn’t reach for the gun still sitting on the table. A low chuckle escaped Nick’s chest, plucking the knife from the table. “Well, I have to admit it Azriel, you didn’t pick a meek one like I thought you might. One who kept quiet and hid when things got rough.” He twirled the blade in his fingers before setting it back on the table.

“Frankly,” he started, “I really just wanted to see what all the fuss was about.” Nick sipped from Elain’s flute of champagne. “You’ve caused quite a stir, Elain. Everyone is talking about the Velaris Mob’s new queen. We even had someone approach us with information about you two—”

“Yes, we know all about Elias Hewn’s movements,” Az snipped.

His brother chuckled. “He was rather thirsty for vengeance, brother. You managed to piss off your only ally. Rather poor decisions if you ask me.”

“Elias was a useless ally; something I think you’re well aware of or you wouldn’t have sent him to your lower ranks.” At Nick’s surprised face, he smirked. “Yes, you’re not the only one who knows things, brother.”

Nicklaus’s jaw feathered. “Careful, Azriel, in how you speak to me when I’m holding the gun.”

“I think it is you, who should be careful, Nicklaus. You come in here, interrupt my dinner with my wife, speak to her in such a manner, and think you can threaten me?” He moved so quickly, that Elain barely jostled on his lap, slamming his weapon on the table. “You and I both know who will get the draw first.” His scarred fingers laid on top of the grip, the metal singing under his touch to be used. To kill his horrid brother now.

But Azriel also knew that by doing so, he’d start a bloody war with Frankie. No matter that both of them deserved to be dropped to the bottom of the Sidra, he had to think about the safety of the woman still sitting on his lap. Because the last thing he wanted was to drag Elain into the middle of fucking bloodbath.

He watched Nick take in his words; knew he was correct in his assumption about who’d get the first shot off. Azriel’s reputation was built on the fact that he never missed his mark. And like hell would he miss when it came to his brothers.

Elain didn’t dare move, her body tensed and primed under his grip.

Nick looked between them. “It appears we have nothing left to discuss.”

Azriel didn’t bother to deign him with a response.

Sensing the conversation was over, Nick rose from his chair, grabbed his gun, and slipped it back into his waistband. Az didn’t dare remove his finger from his trigger.

He stopped halfway to the door, turning to look back at them. “I’ll give Frankie your greetings.”

“Tell Frankie,” Az growled, “that if either you or he come waving your guns around my wife again, your life is forfeited.” He watched the warning take in the twitch of Nick’s brow; the slight curl of his lip. But he left without another word and Azriel wasn’t sure whether that was a good thing or not.

~~~~~

Elain hadn’t felt fear like that since she was kidnapped by Hybern. The icy dread that had swept over her body left her skin cold and her heart racing. She knew when Nicklaus had entered, they were in some sort of trouble—Azriel’s rigidness told her that whoever had joined them was a threat to him. To her.

And then she found out it was his biological brother. The one who watched as Alec and Francisco burned his hands.

His beautiful, perfect, strong hands.

She wanted to kill him. Elain wanted Azriel to put a bullet in him.

But she also knew that doing so would open up a brutal and deadly war between the Velaris Mob and the Illyrian one. So, she took the knife from the table and stabbed it between his fingers. Both for speaking to her in such a manner and for the abuse he inflicted and allowed her husband to endure as a child. She had never felt vengeance like what she wanted to unleash on the man sitting across the table from her, eating her crème brûlée…drinking her champagne.

The audacity.

When he left, she released a breath she wasn’t even aware she had been holding, sucking in air as if she had been drowning. Her emotions took over: tears running like rivers down her face, body shaking. Elain buried her face into Azriel’s neck, taking his rich chilled mist and cedar scent deep into her lungs.

Or what she could get during her gasps.

His arms slid around her form, holding her close to him, but not close enough.

No, she needed to feel him. Needed to make sure he was here with her; that they were safe. “Az,” she cried out, fingers moving down his broad torso to fumble with his belt buckle. “I need you. Please, I need you.”

Those golden eyes churned with fear and comfort and wrath, the green fissures swirling in the warm depths. It was such a mix of emotions she read there. But he seemed to grasp what she needed from him.

Elain saw that same need reciprocated by him.

“I’m here, love,” he murmured into her hair, lips pressing to her skull. “I’m here.” Hefting her off his lap, he set her on the edge of the table, rising from his seat to stand between her spread thighs.

There would be no foreplay in this. Not at this time. The desire to be as close as their bodies allowed was too great to tease and touch. This would be raw, animalistic fucking.

He placed a hand on her shoulder, gently pushing her down to lie on her back, legs dangling off the edge.

Elain’s arms went wild, searching for something to grab, and in their haste, sent dishes and drinkware flying.

The shattering glass didn’t stop Azriel from sucking a mark into the smooth, creamy skin of her neck. A purple bruise blossomed under his machinations. His large palms slid her dress skirts up her thighs to her waist, revealing the white lace.

A few quick moves had her bare, her panties tucked into the pocket of his dress pants. His belt buckle clinking made her body shudder in anticipation.

“Hard and fast, baby,” he muttered into her throat before sheathing himself to the hilt.

Elain threw her head back, fingers grasping the cloth and edge of the table. “Fuck,” she moaned.

Azriel didn’t give her a second to adjust, pulling his hips out and slamming back in. He set a vicious pace, balls slapping against her.

Her legs wrapped around his trim waist, urging to fuck into her deeper. She let go of the table, clutching him at his shoulder and around the back of his neck. It forced more of his weight on top of her, but that’s exactly what she needed.

He pressed into her harder like he couldn’t bear any part of them not touching.

She needed everything from him. Everything he gave her and more. Elain felt her toes curl in anticipation of that glorious, blissful drop into her pleasure. “I’m so close,” she cried out.

Az’s mouth traveled down her body, sliding fabric out of the way to suck a pert nipple between his lips.

Up, up, up, she climbed, delirious in the friction of his strong body against her clit, the relentless pounding into her.

Trapped in their bubble, neither of them heard the door open until Ruhn voiced an “Oh.”

Azriel released her breast, twisting his head to snarl at the intruder. “Get out!” The door clicked shut softly as he looked back down at her, took in her little gasping breaths, the way her chest heaved, and said, “My neck, Elain,” he groaned. “Bite my neck. Mark me as you come.”

She surged up, ripping his tie loose. Shoving the collar of his shirt aside, she clamped her teeth at the junction where his neck and shoulder, and came hard. Her moans were muffled against his skin, body spasming around his cock.

He grunted, thrusting into her to ride out her orgasm as he chased his own. A hard suck from her lips had him cresting, strokes becoming sloppy until he slammed home one last time and stilled, spilling himself inside of her.

His pants fanned over the skin of her neck, lips pressing light kisses to the underneath side of her jaw.

Elain released him from her teeth, carding her fingers through his damp hair. “Ruhn saw us fucking,” she murmured, humor dancing in her tone.

He huffed out a laugh. “Better him than traumatizing our poor waitress.”

She had to agree, even though they were caught at all. Holy fucking shit! She just had sex with Azriel in a public space where anyone could’ve walked in on them. The door wasn’t even locked, for fucks sake! They had had sex in some pretty open places before, but Az had always made sure they had their privacy either by a locked door or enclosed in their own space.

The thrill from the risk of being caught just added to the fire burning inside of her.

Az kissed the corner of her mouth, her cheek, her forehead, anywhere he could as he pulled out of her. “Hang tight,” he whispered, tucking himself back into his pants.

To be honest, Elain was too exhausted to move. The adrenaline from their earlier visitor had faded. She lay, sprawled out on the table, still trying to catch her breath. What she didn’t expect was for Azriel’s tongue to delve between her thighs. “Azriel!” she squealed, lurching up into a sitting position to glare at him. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Those amber eyes glowed with mischief. “Cleaning you up, now relax.”

She mumbled something about how that did the opposite of cleaning her up, but after a few more swipes with his tongue, he placed a kiss on her clit and rose back to his feet.

His glistening mouth had her muttering, “Insatiable,” under her breath.

“Always for you,” he grinned, dropping a kiss on her plump lips before helping her off the table and fixing her dress.

“Azriel,” she chastised.

“Elain,” he shot back.

She rolled her eyes. “Azriel, my underwear. It’s still stuffed in your pocket.”

“Your point?”

Oh, this wicked man. “You expect me to go commando,” she demanded incredulously.

Az opened his wallet and dropped what looked like eight, hundred-dollar bills onto the table. “It wouldn’t be the first time,” he said, shoving the leather into his back pocket with a little smirk.

He kissed her cheek, took her hand, and tugged her to the door.

She grumbled the whole way there but stopped when she saw Ruhn leaning against the wall opposite of them, a smirk toying on his lips. Her entire face lit up like a flame, a red color splotching her chest.

“Good evening, Sir,” Ruhn said, then nodded at her, “Mrs. Archeron-Knight.”

Elain acknowledged him with a dip of her chin, before stepping slightly behind Azriel in embarrassment.

“To what do we owe the pleasure?” her husband asked, voice carefully neutral.

It didn’t escape her that Az bypassed stating his name out loud completely.

“I received notice that you were going to be receiving a visitor tonight and I wanted to check in when you didn’t answer my call.”

“I keep my phone on silent when I’m with my wife. But, yes, we got an unexpected visitor tonight.”

Ruhn pushed himself off the wall, stepping closer to them. “What did he want?”

Azriel shrugged. “To make a statement, I suppose. He didn’t really tell me anything I didn’t already know. I think he just wanted to try and get a rise out of me. And get close to Elain.” He tugged her hand, bringing her to his side, and wrapped an arm around her waist. “Where were you?”

The other man slid his hands into his pockets. “I was following Elias. He had a few of the lower ranks with him.”

She didn’t like the way Az’s brows furrowed.

“What’s he up to?”

Ruhn shrugged. “I can’t figure it out. But I doubt it’s any good. I’m just waiting for word to get up there that he’s snagged a few younglings.”

“How young are they?” Elain asked before she could think better of it.

Those dark blue eyes looked at her. “Early twenties, thankfully. I was concerned he’d go after the teens.”

Her brows raised. “He has teens in his crew?” she questioned, keeping her voice low.

Azriel’s thumb swiped over her knuckles. “Unfortunately. I’ve refused them that young but my brother thinks kids are expendable.”

Elain couldn’t stop the shiver, feeling her stomach churn with nausea. She had always sought the good in people; believed people could be redeemed with the right motivation. But she was beginning to think that neither Frankie nor Nicklaus had any redemption qualities in their souls.

“We’ll figure it out,” Az said, though she wasn’t sure if it was more for himself than the rest of them.

And that was concerning for her.

~~~

It had been just over two weeks since she returned from her honeymoon and she was going through the motions.

As the resident attending, she had quite a bit to take care of upon her return, and she had been on top of it. But now…she felt like she was underwater and couldn’t focus.

Which was not a good thing considering she was assisting Thesan with a complicated surgery, giving the new residents the ins and outs. It was a long procedure, having spent nine hours in the operating room already.

Elain’s head was dizzy, vision blackening at the edges. She knew she should’ve taken a break when Thesan asked her—he must’ve been able to see the exhaustion on her face. But she wouldn’t let herself be coddled, even if nobody knew the reason why she was so tired.

However, when her eyes fogged over completely, Elain knew she had fucked up in not taking advantage of the break she was offered. “Take the forceps,” she told the resident working across from her.

Stunned, the young female did what she said, just before Elain’s eyes rolled into the back of her head and she collapsed onto the floor of the operating room.

~~~

When consciousness tugged at her mind, the first thing Elain realized was that everything ached. Her head, her hips, her legs. Her body felt unnaturally weak, and she knew it was because she hadn’t eaten enough that day. Fuck, she was so damn tired. She blinked a few times, adjusting to the harsh, fluorescent lighting.

“Elain,” came a relieved voice.

She twisted her head to the other side, finding Viviane sitting on the edge of her hospital bed. Too many emotions flashed across her friend’s face to be able to decipher, though worry was at the forefront of the list.

“Oh, thank god,” she breathed, placing her pale hand on Elain’s covered thigh. “You’ve been out for almost half an hour.”

Groaning, she sat up in bed. “What happened?” she asked, wincing as her head spun dizzyingly.

Viviane stood up, arms crossing in a way that told her she was about to get a scolding.

Oh, shit…

“You collapsed, Elain. In the middle of surgery! You’re very lucky one of your residents was standing behind you and caught you before your head hit the ground.” Briefly, she wondered which resident it was, but saved that question for later. Not when she saw the nurse’s face soften, knowingly. “Ellie,” she started in a hushed whisper, “did you know you were pregnant?”

For a moment, it seemed like the world paused as it waited for her answer; as Viv waited. Yes—yes, she knew she was pregnant. Had known since Monday and was still trying to wrap her head around it. Finally, she sighed, unable to meet her friend’s gaze, and looked down at her tangled fingers in her lap. “I know,” she whispered.

It was the first time she had admitted it to herself out loud and she felt the weight of that secret lift off her chest.

There was a pregnant pause before Viviane asked, “Does Azriel know?”

They’d only been married for almost two months and Elain had already fucked up. How she managed to not realize her birth control shot that was scheduled the week of her wedding was already the last week in the timeline she had to get it was beyond her. So, when she came in for her postponed appointment on Monday, having rescheduled it a second time like an idiot and realizing how late she was in getting the dosage, she had to get a pregnancy test.

The shock she felt that day still hadn’t completely worn off.

She shook her head, finally answering her friend. “No, I haven’t told him yet.” Truthfully, she was scared to. Not because she thought he’d react badly, but because they’d never even remotely toed the line about whether they wanted to have kids, and frankly, she was concerned he didn’t.

Elain whipped her head to look back up at the head nurse, eyes wide with fear. “Viv, I need you to keep this between us. I’m not ready for everyone to know yet and I still haven’t even talked to Az about it yet.”

Her friend pursed her lips. “Well, you might want to figure out how to tell him soon.”

Her eyes narrowed in suspicion. “You didn’t call him, did you?” At Viv’s silence, she pushed, “Viviane, please tell me you did not call my husband.”

“What did you want me to do, Elain?” she snapped. “You collapsed in surgery! Thesan was worried sick! Of course, we’re going to call your hus—”

“Where is my wife?” came that deep, panicked voice that Elain knew all too well.

“In—in there, sir.”

Footsteps sounded and then he appeared, all six-foot-four, still stressed to the nines of him. The worry on his face made her chest ache. “Elain,” he breathed, rushing around Viv who stepped out of his way and to her side. He cupped her face between his palms, kissing her gently on the forehead before taking a seat on her bed. “Love,” he murmured in such a heartbreaking manner that she nearly burst into tears. “Are you okay? What happened?”

“I’ll, uh, I’ll give you two a minute,” Viviane said quietly, closing the door behind her as she left.

Azriel let his thumb skim across her cheek. “What’s going on?”

She tugged her head from her hands, feeling like she couldn’t bear to let him touch her while she harbored this secret from him. Even though she knew it was time, her gut churned with anxiety. “I’m fine. They really shouldn’t have called you.”

His brow furrowed in confusion and hurt at her distancing herself. “Elain, you collapsed in surgery. And you’ve been acting odd for the last few days.” He paused, looking at her closing. His gaze felt like a brand on her skin. “I was hoping you would talk to me without me having to ask, but now I’m asking.”

The pain in his voice nearly made her flinch. She looked down at her hands, taking a slow, steady breath. “I’m pregnant,” she whispered so lowly, that Elain wasn’t even sure he could hear it. They sat in the silence of her confession until she finally dared to look at his face.

His eyes were searching her, mouth slightly parted in what she could only describe as shock.

“Say something, please.”

He swallowed, throat working with the movement. “I’m trying to determine if you’re happy about this or not…” the uncertainty clear in his voice. “Elain, do you want to have a baby?”

Her throat ached and there was nothing she could do to stop the tears that rolled down her cheeks. “Do you?” she asked pathetically as she sniffed.

Az gapped at her. “Is that what this is about? You think I don’t want to have this baby?”

She wiped under her nose with the back of her hand. “I know it’s early for us; I mean, we’ve only been married for a month and a half…And I know you didn’t have the best childhood. I just—” she sniffed again. “I just wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t want to have kids.”

Azriel moved then, sitting further up on her bed so he could pull her into his chest. His large hand threaded through her hair to cradle the back of her head and tipped it up towards him. He pressed his lips against her forehead. “I’ll admit the timing could be better, that I wanted to share a bit more with you before we had a family. But I would be honored if you had my children, Elain.” His hands slid to cup her face again, thumbs brushing away her tears.

“You’ve never mentioned kids before,” she said, needing to understand why they had never had this conversation until now.

He smiled sheepishly. “To be honest, I was waiting for you to bring it up. I didn’t want you to feel pressured into having kids. I know how hard you’ve worked for your career, El, and I’m so proud of you…I didn’t want you to think I was asking you to stop.”

Elain huffed an exasperated laugh, feeling utterly ridiculous about the whole situation. Having a family had seemed like a distant dream after what Gray—her ex had done to her. “I feel really silly for not bringing this up before we got married,” she said, earning a small chuckle from him. “You really want to have a baby?”

His lips curled up in the corner. “Elain, I don’t think you can comprehend the gravity of my desire to get you pregnant. To have you carry my child. To see you waddling around like a cute duck—”

“I don’t waddle,” she huffed.

Azriel’s smile was like a bright, shining beacon of hope and beauty. “You will.” He paused, seeming to collect his thoughts. “That is if you want to have this baby too. I will support any decision you make; you know that.”

She let out a breath of relief because the truth of the matter was that she did want this baby. Elain wanted nothing more than to have his child. “I’m scared,” she admitted. It wasn’t a lie. Though she was excited for this next chapter with him, there were a few things that worried her, as many expecting mothers go through.

He kissed her sweetly as if he thought she might break beneath his fingertips. “I am too,” he told her. “But we’ll figure it out. Like we always do.”

Her arms went around his neck as she clung to him. When she pulled away, his hand drifted down to her still-flat belly. There was an awe in his eyes that made her chest ache with love.

“Hi baby,” he whispered, leaning down towards her stomach. “I’m your daddy.” His soft kiss on her tummy had her damn hormones in overdrive.

She let out a strangled sound that had Azriel looking back at her face with worry. But Elain just tugged him into her arms and let his embrace soothe her. “Sorry—I just wasn’t expecting that,” she offered as an explanation.

His fingers brushed stray tears from her cheeks. “You don’t need to apologize, love. I know this is going to be an adjustment, but I don’t have a single doubt in my mind that we can do this…If you want to, that is.”

Elain realized she hadn’t answered his question before, and he needed to hear her say the words. Though it was clear he wanted this baby, he was still letting her make the decision. And for that, she somehow managed to fall in love with him even more. “I want to be a family,” she said, watching the way the hope in his amber eyes shone like golden rays of sunshine. “You, me,” she told him, bringing her hand up to cradle her stomach. “And this baby.”

The relief she read on his face made every doubt, every fear evaporate. Because he was right, there wasn’t anything they couldn’t do together.

He kissed her again, once, twice, three times. “We’re going to have a baby,” he whispered against her lips.

Elain let out an airy giggle. “I’m so happy, Azriel. You have made me so happy.”

His fingers stroked her cheek; brushed her loose hair behind her ear. “You’ve made me happier than I could ever dream of. I am so incredibly lucky to call you my wife and the mother of my children.”

“I love you, my husband,” she breathed, lips closing the distance between them.

“I love you more, my wife,” he said back, the words tattooing on the very essence of her soul as they embarked on a new path in their lives together.

~~~~~

Remember, sharing is caring! Please reblog if you liked the fic. It helps spread my work and I truly appreciate it. 💕

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elainarcheronweek · 8 months

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🌸 Hi all, we just wanted to let you know that we are loving what we're seeing so far with #elainarcheronweek2023...

But it appears we've been shadowbanned, or something similar, as the account is barely functional. This means we're not getting messages, or notifications when you tag/mention us in your posts! Combined with Tumblr's ✨ unique ✨ hashtag system, which is selective in what it likes to show us, and we're reblogging everything we can chase down, but know posts are slipping through the cracks. We're so sorry, and we're trying to get this sorted asap.

#elainarcheronweek2023 #elainarcheronweek #elain archeron week #elainweek2023 #elainweek #elain week #elain archeron #pro elain archeron #pro elain #elain positivity #acotar #acotar fandom #a court of thorns and roses #sjm books #elain archeron week 2023 #elain week 2023

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lesolehabitantdelalune · 2 years

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Elain Week Day 1 : Powers

“Its over-large teeth clacked faintly. Thrice now, we have met. Thrice now, you have hunted for me. This time, you sent the trembling fawn to find me. I did not expect to see those doe-eyes peering at me from across the world.” — A Court of Wings and Ruin by Sarah J. Maas

Artist: @sketchesanmin on twitter and insta 💕

#elain archeron #acotar #pro elain #elain #elain week #elainweek22 #elainweek2022

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rarephloxes · 8 months

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A Feeling So Peculiar

Elain Appreciation Week, day 7 - Free Day

Hi friends! Long time no see:))))

I've been extra busy with life and med school, but this fic has been brewing for some time now, and what better moment than @elainarcheronweek to share it? This is part 1 of what I endearingly call the Healer!Elain story. It's officially my first fic with a Taylor lyric as a title and I'm very proud!!!

Anyway, here is this fucking thing <3

(1)

A ghost slides through the flaps of a tent into its cold, vacant interior.

The space is cramped, a rough bed of furs, a small table filled with piles of heavy tomes, ink-splattered journals, and clothing. The heavy smell of mold, grass, and candle wax permeates the air, almost tangible like dust through a shaft of yellow light.

There’s a slight tremble to the hands which reach for the half-burned candles sitting sadly on the far end of the table, lighting them with slow, feeble movements, the only survivors of a dreadful day.

Hands that are not blue and translucent, but pale and corporeal, numbed from the cold but filled with blood.

The ghost doesn’t contemplate any of it, set in her chore. There are things to be done, still. It is night and she’s gone inside. Yet it repeats, a loop inside her mind, there are things to be done.

A swoosh of breath sparks a coal-smudged piece of timber which quickly develops into a sickly fire. It barely warms the minute space. It’s necessary, nevertheless. Like her, it does its job.

Tent.

Light.

Wash.

Lay.

A book with its spine cracked allows a weary mirror to lean on it, a lonely figure moving through it. The specter in the mirror finds a copper bowl, frigid water inside, a ring of humidity staining the book cover used as its resting place. A smudge of soft pink and crimson reflects on the rust-speckled surface. A braid of what used to be bright brown hair lays limp on a tired, curved spine, brown eyes with deep purple half-moons underneath - the only hint of color on once flushed features.

Her face remains impassive as her hands dip a cloth beneath the icy surface tinting the water brown.

The amount is insufficient to wash away the grime and blood of the day, but Elain will not leave her tolerably cold tent for more, so she makes do.

Alone she lingers in her chair, the only creature inside, water dripping from her hands and drawing patterns in the dirt powdering her arms.

An image intrudes her mind, for a few seconds. Warm tan hands bringing a deep bucket of water they would heat themselves with a careful touch. She thinks of the thankful smile she’d give for it. She wonders, the thought whispered like a swish of butterfly wings, of what his face would say as he cares for her. Maybe his scar would reflect firelight just so, and she would forget where she is and allow herself to blush. She welcomes it, for the minute it sparks until the next when it fizzles.

As predicted, the water is only enough for her arms and face. Once, the disgust alone would be a reason to risk outside, maybe dare the nearby stream, or else sleep would escape her stench, running away with a hand plugging its nose.

Elain plops down on her pallet, fur covers warming her body, her tight muscles consoled by the rough structure beneath. It is in no way comfortable, only it’s reliable and quiet. One of the best tents in their camp, the one privilege the High Lady’s sister has, if only because it is the only one to be had.

Most importantly, it doesn’t die or spray contaminated blood into her face. It does its job as it is, with all its faults. It stays still through the night and belongs to her.

There’s sleep to be had. Poor, fitful sleep. But it does its job as it is.

Tomorrow, she knows, she’ll immerse herself in the unforgiving cold from the stream, and a faerie will emerge, dress, and present herself to her duties at the main healer’s tent.

There’s always work to be done.

(2)

The first time Elain sees a healer, there’s a woman screaming. Loud, painful bellows that have harried maids coming in and out of heavy wooden doors with buckets of steaming water, clean and in turn, bloody towels. Nesta holds her shoulders, small fingers digging absently into Elain’s clavicles through her pink cotton nightgown. Barely a year older than Elain, yet she sees such wisdom in her eldest sister’s eyes, as if Nesta knows all the secrets of the universe at the soft age of 7. There’s no place in Archeron Hall Nesta could go where Elain wouldn’t follow. They’re supposed to be asleep, but there are no dreams to be had during a storm like the one that has been pouring down, soaking the garden soil into swimming pools for frogs and threatening to bring down even the wisest and sturdiest of oak trees.

Soon, there will be a deafening quiet, quickly followed by a babe’s booming cries. Elain thinks it just like the noise that sounds right before one of her father’s ships is about to leave the shore, taking fairy dust and bright-colored jewels to the continent, where they will be sold to queens and wizards. She knows it because Nesta is always explaining the world around them to her.

It’s Feyre, born in the bleak hours of the night, lighting tearing down the sky like a claw through silk.

Their governess catches them, huddled by an alcove, spying on the birth of the smallest of them as if they are as inconspicuous as flies on a wall.

“Come,” she demands, a small smile on the tough line of her lips, “Your sister awaits you.”

It’s the only time a healer was the bringer of fortune and good news.

(3)

Madja had her fingers pressed around Elain’s wrist.

The ancient healer’s brown eyes were focused on the time counter ticking on the wall, steady knobby knuckles cradling Elain’s palm.

If Elain had feeling in any part of her body, if even a single inch of soft, hollow skin wasn’t as numb as a reflective glacier tip, she would have been able to feel her own heartbeat fighting against the High Lord’s favored healer’s fingertips. Her wooden eyes, however, remain filmy, like coffee sat still cooling outside for too long.

The bedding should have been the downiest she ever felt, the warm hug of a thousand sheep who only survive in the mountain range closest to Dawn Court. Called Woolen Peaks, because during spring one would be hard-pressed to find a stretch of land free of the bleating creatures, also known for secreting iridescent mucus from their blue snouts. A sea of endless white.

Elain should’ve loved to have known that, should’ve giggled, and maybe even requested to see such charming animals.

Once, she might have.

There were no sounds in the bed chamber but those of instruments being enclosed in a lovingly used leather bag, which promptly vanished into the fold between worlds for later use.

“I believe tea is in order” Madja said in the rough monotone of age, voice traveling through the air, her gaze watchful like a wise tree, leading Nesta and Feyre to exit the sunlit room.

Elain was profoundly grateful for the silence, the stillness of her mind, her whole being stripped down to understanding the heat around her, registering the passage of time solely through decoding the illumination, no previous knowledge guiding her thoughts, images of old folded into drawers, only an amalgam of threads in her mind, the fear to pull at any of them curbed, until any will was pressed so flat it vanished into particles. The effort, like stopping water with a barrage of hands, to tune out rhythmic drumming in her ears.

There were the dreams, of course. Sad. Unavoidable. Drenched in foreign sentiments that left her dizzy and breathless, trembling through the aftershocks of a rumbling earth no one else seemed to notice. Those came and scrambled her meticulous system of calmness. Elain, in her excruciating bouts of clarity, hated them with a strength her strange body found unfamiliar, hated how they made Nesta look as though she was watching a duckling swim into a waterfall through a looking glass. How they made Feyre’s face contort into hopelessness.

Hated how they made her see.

Those are not mine; she’d plead silently on particularly violent nights; I would know, I once would have known.

Elain closed her eyes and searched for the wall of dark swirling steel delimitating her mind. The ivy branches were nearly covering every inch of cold metal now, blooming in sleepiness. Her closed lids allowed the sun breaching the skin to paint her vision a newly comforting shade of red.

Red had always been Nesta’s color. Nesta’s dresses, Nesta’s fire, Nesta’s anger. Or the insubstantial maroon of the fire in her family’s frozen cottage, the violent crimson of the carcasses Feyre brought home. Those had never awakened thoughts of safety before. Protection, maybe, like a cage made of thorns and spikes. But never the safety of a hearth, of burgundy crackling fire.

Now, when her thoughts gently explored the unknown paths in her mind, red would forge itself into crisp Autumn leaves. Bergamots and warm skin

Elain buried herself deeper into the covers.

She left before contemplating any of it.

⠀

(4)

There is a house on a land that is surrounded by ivy-covered iron walls.

A wrap-around porch cracked open by vicious thorns that sprout from the ground, the rotten wood gouged open, foliage like teardrops on every crack, splinters shimmering on air, spores in the wind.

A felled roof, with a mighty willow trunk through it - a stab wound on a soft, white underbelly - warms the rain inside in a mother’s embrace, a shroud of dark green moss slipping from the gable into the stillness inside

The front door is open, a beckoning hand of wispy white smoke so thin one wouldn’t be sure whether it is only a trick of the pressing nebulous light.

If a breeze like the grey finger of an ancient hand were to curl around it and move the hinges in a half-moon motion, a woman would be seen on the inside.

She is tucked upon herself, sleeping on disintegrating wool and dye, the remnants of a beautiful rug. The slope of her waist breathes up and down like the rolling of a hill.

The room around her is filled to the brim, clocks covering an entire wall, some pointers spinning madly onto themselves, some turning with the patience of a grandfather reading a book to his lineage.

Rain, it reads on the chipped blue label of a numberless clock, a hand circling in a rhythmic tick, a mass of angry black clouds where midnight should be, the drawings changing around the wheel from April showers to jolly drizzle.

There are rusty gardening tools beneath a boarded-up window and opened sacks of humus bleed into the abandoned floors. Unnervingly arranged dead seeds form a stream towards the shadow beneath a hand-painted chest of drawers.

An open portmanteau rests on the wall framed by rays of moribund light squeezing through rickety walls; lavish ragged dresses and dusty stuffed bunnies swimming within; pink baby shoes and over-washed underskirts having a tea party at the bottom.

Lined-up novels on bookshelves lay on top of each other in the comfort of touch, interspaced with torn childish letters in alphabetic order. A tiny cloak made of velvet hangs on a chair as if a visitor dropped by for tea.

A precarious chandelier hovers watchfully over the lonely sleeping woman, unsafe chain links repaired with strong white threads that spread unevenly on the whole ceiling.

Guarded by an unnatural radius of clean floor, a white gown lies.

Sewn to perfection, beaded with gleaming pearls and the most delicate of laces. Impeccable seams, regal lines.

A dress made mindful of love, of promise. A dress fit for a future princess.

A rumble of thunder shakes the house as the pointer in the blue clock approaches woeful clouds.

Next to it, a black clock with eight bent lines shooting from the sides of its mechanism box moves from sleepy lids to the daunting indication of bug wide eyes in a resounding clang.

Come see, flurry black bodies with milky white eyes descend on long lines of silk hanging from the ceiling. Siblings, mothers, and children crawl over the mold, spidery legs fortifying supporting beams, the walls, covering memories in a shield of white.

Come see come see come see come see

I do not wish to open my eyes; she mumbles.

I do not wish; she rolls to her side; her nightgown catching in the shards beneath.

I do not want; she covers her face with a feeble palm.

I do not feel; she insists.

You must, the wind howls, rattles her clothes, scrapes down her skin. Your house is dying.

The hearth coughs soot, black and filthy like a diseased lung.

I do not see; she screams, eyes sewn shut, tears fighting to slip through the sutures, cracked fingernails pulling at the roots of her hair, weeds from soil. I am no longer this body.

The unstoppable hand of time reaches midnight.

Storm water slides down the walls in a furious current, washing away the grime and dislodging all the clocks. Those crack and splash onto the rising puddles on the floor with various clangs, cuckoos flailing madly in their springs before falling into final silence.

The bookshelf cracks under a stretch of ceiling that collapses, books losing themselves from each other, weeping in their solitude as they drown in now waist-deep water, loose papers with family drawings (Mum, Dad, Nesta, Me, and Feyre) soften and rip, the colors bleeding and blending into undistinguished blobs of ink.

Seeds of all shapes twirl wildly in whirlpools, and a window box of dead flowers floats aimlessly in the chaos. In the aquatic graveyard beneath them lays a dress of snow, pulled until it is trapped below the floorboards; a bunny covers itself in an old velvet cloak, lingering tragically hopeful underneath the hand-painted dresser.

Cobwebs are unwoven by each violent raindrop, supporting beams breaking like bones.

The woman stands limply in the midst of it all, eyes unseeing, unaware of the fatal torrent around her.

There is a cause to her silence, just as there is a cause to a collapsed house.

I am made of fear, she mulls under the debris, quiet in the wreckage, silent in the aftermath

There’s nothing else for me but forever.

(5)

The House of Wind’s library was the biggest private collection Elain had ever seen. Rows upon rows of carefully curated stories, some ancient with cracking leather covers, tell-tale signs of use staining the spines, dented with the accumulated pressure of readers’ hands. Other books seemed new, the residual smell of press machine oil and ink lingering on the pages, spines unbroken.

Nesta had smuggled romance books from their old village’s dusty bookstore for years, kept them below a loose floorboard in their cottage, discreetly wrapping them in old, moth-eaten clothes to prevent damage. Nesta had cherished those books, had wished for them, and would come into a nasty mood when it was time to return them to the store to avoid the wrath of a deceived salesman with the law by his side.

Old habits die hard, Elain discerned, as her sister slipped a pocket-sized, pink-covered booklet into the folds of her dress. Even with permission to own the piece, Nesta still chose to take it for herself like a criminal. Never conceding, never compromising.

Elain eyes remained unmoving while she made her inspections, the unbending lids to the husk which sheltered her thoughts. She had been counting the organized shelves, internally categorizing books within her eyesight.

83 with single-worded titles, 6 – 12 letters.

102 with double-worded titles, the first being predominately articles.

329 with three words in the title, a maximum of 27 letters.

A small fold in her brow flattened into the clear glass of her forehead, all the muscles in Elain’s face relaxing as the shallowness of her research settled her bones.

Elain was perched on the window’s nook, manufactured lightness to her sentience, while Nesta was lounging straight-backed on a velvet armchair, both hawk-eyed towards their worries. Biscuits grew stale and tea turned cold in gleaming silver trays between them.

There was one volume, Elain noticed, with undisguised and not yet restrained annoyance, which clashed horribly with her elegant system of grouping books by minimalist names. There’s control in succinct titles. There’s calmness in brevity. No space for subterfuge, for mazes or threads leading to somebody else’s memories, eyes not of her own.

A raging woman made of flame, screaming screaming screaming-

One blink of cavern-like pupils.

514 publications with respectable construction.

Not that one, though.

Norton’s Concise Manual for Swift Diagnosis and Treatment of Battlefield Injuries

First, it blatantly lied. There was no brevity of title or length, the heavy-looking tome glaringly thicker than a closed fist. A deceiving book. Elain’s head moved to the side, instinctually, the skin of her neck folding into the unpracticed movement.

A deception not even attempting to remain cloaked. What a disagreeable structure.

No balance, no harmonious restraint.

11 words in the name, what indisputable distaste.

70 letters made tiny to fit into its obnoxious shelf back.

Elain wanted it gone.

(6)

The guest room was soft, like the lingering feel of worn leather.

There was light everywhere, reflecting from mirrors and vanity vials, bleaching the dark wood floors. It created the most delightful shapes under her eyelids if she gazed out the window just right.

Incandescent.

Perfectly blinding.

Elain could stay inside all day, motionless above uncreased bed linens.

Frozen in the armchair with a book resting in peace on her lap.

Unless, of course, it was night.

There was nothing uncovered beneath revealing starlight.

No cave, no shelter, only the stoic awareness of a seasick mind.

Melting snow; ethereal crestfallen swans; the breakage of a woman who would have never begged; a lake so deep it is bottomless.

Bottomless black eyes, all-seeing, swirling, a current so strong it is the hands that push you down, down into the whispering voice that loves you while killing you.

The shards of porcelain on the floor were still beautiful, if only someone mended them.

Elain grabbed each one and placed them delicately on a tray, using a finely made doily to sweep the warm tea spilled on the floor

She padded slowly down the stairs, nightgown dragging around her feet.

Broken china rested on the kitchen countertop, Nuala would take care of it, see to it with the loving touch of an artisan who was ageless and immortal.

Elain reached for the multicolored leaves inside a mason jar under the window, setting them inside the copper pan with boiling water over the stovetop.

Only her hands, if she blinked, started to wither with age, and a black box of fury appeared between them-

The coolness of the counter beneath her young, translucent fingers.

Her mind stalled for half a second, hesitating, unsure, then searched until it found it.

Anger for the unpalatable book.

Elain had something to do.

⠀ ོ ⠀ ོ ⠀ ོ ⠀ ོ

Libraries are known for their solitude. A place for reflection, for diving deep between words, for biting into a book and spitting out a seed-shaped thought.

Elain walked barefoot on the soft expensive carpet beneath her feet. Sangravah patterns, she noted, not quite sure of how she had known so.

The book still stood where it always had, after Navigation for Beginners (3 words, 23 letters). It was just… there. Like its existence wasn’t a disrespect to the Mother herself.

Her eyes narrowed and her nostrils flared, clumsy and irritated hands grabbed the dark blue cover and, unprepared for its weight, let it fall with a muted thud.

The pages fell open, a warm invitation, into the carefully drawn figure of a lacerated spleen. ( when the pages fell open, her eyes couldn’t help but see)

Mindful of the spleen’s vascularization, a Concentric Mending Spell (page 278) must be placed using the middle, ring and little finger, pinpointing the magic into the gash and closing it quickly thus avoiding fatal hemorrhagic shock. The healer’s pointer finger and thumb must only locate the laceration, while the palm concentrates the spell, and the latter three fingers expel it. Previous use of whole-hand magic in repairing interior cuts has led to unwanted tissue adherence and is advised against when in treatment of internal organ damage (see Index for Whole-Hand Magic).

Elain blinked once, then twice.

Smoothness replaced the furrow in her brows and with a short tilt of her head, Elain brushed back her golden curtain of hair with an absent hand as she ran the pad of a curious finger along the lines, her knees completely pressed down on the rug.

Those instructions sounded nothing like the healing she had experienced from Madja.

The ancient fae had only felt her, placing her palms on either side of her head or using unfamiliar copper tools to measure some information she deemed important but escaped Elain’s logic. Madja had moved her hands over Elain’s body as she had once seen a Child of the Blessed do over a clear glass orb during a town square fair.

A quiet, expanding bubble of pressure grew from the pit of Elain’s belly until it lay underneath her skin, soft light shimmering behind once dulled, wooden eyes.

The intricate directives from the book were precise and sure, based on wisely curated knowledge and the pure need to guide those who could be good to others. Save them, even.

Elain held the book kindly in her hands, resting it on her arms as she skittered over to her room in fastened steps so as not to attract unwanted attention.

Under the shy rising sun of the following morning, a side lamp - a friend to a sleepless, captivated woman in a sunlit room – rested with its oil completely burnt.

(7)

The townhouse was empty when Elain woke up.

It wasn’t an unusual occurrence, most of the house’s occupants were busy, political figures with a multitude of urgent daily tasks.

Not that Elain was particularly aware.

She had been furtively reading every healing book she could get her hands on, and the more fascinated she became, the less she seemed to register the comings and goings of the routine around her.

She could barely help it, could she? It was an entire world she was becoming privy to. It had never occurred to her as a human to be curious about such things. In fact, she doubted anyone in the Human Lands had any notion of the delicacy and potency of Healing. The healers back home had to rely on herbs, cold or warm wet cloths, and wishful thinking to cure someone, if they were even able to achieve such a feat.

Not home anymore, she would think, instinctually, and remember the towering walls she longed to be housed within, of luxurious balls, of blue eyes so bright they were sapphires, of a simple band of iron on a delicate finger.

Elain turned to her books.

Mending charms, diagnostic spells, potions. Instruments with the most varied, peculiar purposes. Special needles could be used to draw blood, and expertly assembled lenses could reveal what lay within it. Armbands imbued with magic could indicate the strength of a patient’s blood pressure.

The body was made of such intricate systems, which worked together magnificently to perform delightful, orchestrated functions. She was mesmerized by all of it.

Elain had also taken to helping in the kitchens as well. Nesta and Feyre tended to worry and watch Elain much more closely whenever she stayed in her room too long, and it was exponentially harder to read what she wanted when they were around.

You shouldn’t concern yourself with these things, she feared they would say, the shadow of a winged male behind them. Maybe you should try reading something else, something with nicer pictures, or lighter stories to ease your mind.

Those kind words, seemingly thoughtful advice, and concern would dwindle her precious books one by one, and then she would have nothing again.

Elain hated it too, how they were always looking at her with disheartened gazes. Not only her sisters but of all the Inner Circle. They never understood anything of what she had to say, would never credit any of her thoughts. Even the fox twitched its nose and bent his head to the side with confusion - on the occasion his face wasn’t drenched in pain and longing.

But she had tried. She had told them of the changed woman with feathers set aflame. Warned them of the tempestuous owner of the onyx box, only for it to fall on seemingly deafened ears, her speech only another line added to Feyre’s forehead, another bolt of iron in Nesta’s spine, another worry for someone else had to deal with.

Only Elain could see, and for that, she remained invisible.

The dough flattened smoothly under the roller; Elain’s arms loosened into the motion. The floured surface of the worktable was crammed with little jars of sugar and jams, multipurpose cloths, and an open cookbook. She would finish her pastries, leave them resting on the windowsill then hurry upstairs. Hopefully, her sisters would see them and take much longer to search for her, allowing Elain to have the afternoon she was carefully crafting for herself.

With the soft ding of an egg-shaped time counter, Elain took out a tray of perfectly golden crusted squares and placed them on the cleared table.

There was, if she was honest, a soothing quality to baking. The gentleness of each step lulled her mind and made it easier for her to tune out external and internal frictions, focusing only on the motion of her body.

As she dried her hands in her apron, pastries gleaming with homemade poisonberry jam, Elain heard the soft padding of boots down the hallway, a slithering shadow curling around the doorframe and disappearing as quickly as it came.

With haste, she fled the kitchen and went to her room to find the singularity of calmness.

⠀ ོ ⠀ ོ ⠀ ོ ⠀ ོ

Dinner was a loud affair, as it always was, so Elain waited until they were all overtly satisfied and tipsy to approach her sister in the drawing room. The looming threat of war had yet to diminish the utter happiness Feyre’s return had on Rhysand and his friends.

Feyre was sprawled on the couch, the spot next to her newly vacated by a stumbling Mor, who had claimed the need for beauty sleep.

“How are you feeling today?” her sister asked, her long fingers dragging lovingly over Elain’s arm. A caress she is sure her sister would have never allowed herself to even try, if it weren’t for the drink-induced fog on her mind.

“Just fine,” Elain said, and then with the planned drop of her chin and the openness of seemingly unsure eyes, she continued “I was wondering if you could call for Madja again,”

Fey sat up in alarm, which could attract Nesta’s piercing, preoccupied gaze, so Elain hurried to add “She mentioned some sort of sleeping draught the last time, I believe I could make good use of it,”, watching the other side of the room with the corner of her eye to make sure Nesta was still in her hushed conversation with Amren.

“Oh,” Feyre visibly relaxed, and some of the tension harbored between Elain’s shoulder blades loosened. “Of course, I can send for her,” her youngest sister confirmed, and the tight fist of anxiety in Elain’s gut released its tight grip, replaced by tentative anticipation.

“I’m so glad you’re taking care of yourself.”

⠀ ོ ⠀ ོ ⠀ ོ ⠀ ོ

The calendar on the wall indicated the start of the weekend.

I believed it Monday still, Elain thought to herself.

She was sitting in the living room, having a late breakfast by the window.

An odd sight, the antonym of the barely acknowledged empty chair below early sunlight, collecting the friendly conversation around. There was no one else to notice so.

Feyre had told Elain the previous afternoon – while hurriedly moving down the hallway, rushing outside for some appointment she didn’t even consider explaining - that Madja would come to the townhouse at ten o’clock in the morning, and that she would try to join the appointment, but was unsure if she would be able to.

Nesta was, as she so often was those days, in Amren’s apartment, strengthening her magic. Elain thought she’d heard why that was but couldn’t remember.

Maybe a dream, then.

Distantly, something in Elain longed to also have that privilege. A tutor, someone to guide her in learning this well of uncharted territory inside, but that consideration was swiftly swept under a sodden rug.

A knock on the front door had Elain on her feet, shaking her head as if staving off an unseen fog.

It had been considerably hard, trying to maintain herself awake. She had reached and held so strongly to the absence of her mind that it had become nearly impossible to keep herself lucid on the rare occasions she had wanted to. There was a particularly interesting book on the history of Healing Magic, thankfully written in the common tongue – unlike a large part of the Medicinal Section in the library – that had Elain repeatedly dozing off, either proverbially or literally, in the same way, she had gladly done numerous times. Before it had been a welcoming state, the static of nothingness, but it was consuming her now in a way she hadn’t understood, glad as she had been for the reprieve from her life.

These epiphanies often came and went like waves. Sometimes she would allow the ships to go in with the high tide and return with small storytelling orbs of white light. Sometimes the boats would be swallowed whole by the tyrannical sea, drowned to the bottom until only a clear empty surface stretched on, the reflective glow of crystal spheres crushed in the sand below.

Now, she wanted something more.

There were things she wanted to know.

Madja stood on the front steps in her healer robes. The magic surrounding her was cool and soothing, the relaxing breeze on a perspired forehead. Elain wondered if the old fae is the type to enlighten a room simply by standing in it.

Elain ushered her into the already prepped sitting room, an open notebook, its pages organized in scribbles, sat on the arm of the host’s armchair.

“You seem to be in better spirits,” Madja began once they were both comfortable sitting, pleasantries exchanged. “But I was called in to see the need to prescribe sleep medication.”

“I asked my sister for your presence, yes” Elain stammered. “I have questions, and was hopeful you could aid me in finding the answers,”

Madja sipped her tea with steady hands and eyed Elain with a look she had seldomly encountered directed at her.

Interest.

“My time is yours, Lady Elain.”

The leather-bound notebook was humid from the sweat in her hands, some ingrained sense in her mind making the back on her neck pinprick and her knuckles curl as if afraid of a straight ruler.

“Well,” she breathed in once, then blinked. “In most medical texts, there are numerous examples and experiments on healing fae bodies. I found in one of Joseph Norton’s books many references to the need for quick healing, done with moderate care, and modest effectiveness rates yet high survival chances. Practices are much more rudimentary than the ones from Annabelle Rite’s manuals. She maintains through all her works the extreme need for balanced, methodical, time-consuming procedures, which allows her to utilize whole-hand magic with minimal side effects, and it seems so curious to me that she would even attempt to do so with so many predecessors discouraging it so deeply...”

She shook her head again, blushing – truthfully! - in a fashion she hadn’t for years,

“But I am unsure of why would fae people even need healing practices, if there are entire collections dedicated to explaining the varied ways in which the body heals itself, at higher rates than any other known species. Wouldn’t the spells muddle the body’s own magic? It sounds unnecessary, why isn’t it enough?”

Madja settled her teacup down and laid back further in her armchair, eyes crystalline and lips tugging at the side for an aged smile.

“It would depend on what sort of injury we’d be discussing. Internal bleeding, for instance, if small enough will be dealt with by the body’s own magic. It is noticeable in the evolution of hematomas, as they change colors as the blood is reabsorbed and the blood vessels are restored. Now, when internal bleeding comes from blunt trauma – falling from a high distance, for example - the body would not be effective in healing itself quickly enough. The simplest reason for that is, as much as some try to state otherwise, faeries aren’t perfect. The healer’s job, in this case, would be to work with the patient’s own natural healing magic, potentialize and organize it to ensure they would be able to regain all their functions. It can often, in presentation, be much more complicated. Norton’s protocols would be a particularly safe choice, seeing as they prioritize promptness, and in high-risk situations, those are inevitably what a healer with a multitude of variables to solve will likely tend towards.”

“A stab wound, on the other hand, is much more critical, and with hemorrhage comes the diminishing of the natural magic. Then, suturing charms or manual stitching might be required with the danger of losing the patient completely if not done in proper haste.

Rite’s protocols, I’ve found, are much more appropriate for long-term care. You seem to have read her book, so perhaps you may remember that most of her case studies and examples center around lasting injuries or chronic illnesses. I’ve seen impressive improvements in previously immobile limbs, once from almost permanently dormant to near full range motion from her Wavelength Spells.”

“Mind Injuries, which differ greatly from both, are perhaps the most elusive sort of healing. It tends to be intuitive, and it takes considerable skill to allow the healer’s magic to run unbound in the patient’s body without any harm, and an even greater amount to ensure recovery.”

“I would add that Faeries, High Fae or otherwise, tend to see themselves as infallible due to their perception of immortality, but healing magic and healers came from the tested and true knowledge that there is much frailty in being fae, to the utmost displeasure of the others of our kind. A healer’s job, as I’ve discovered, lies in giving them a second chance.”

“Oh,” Elain said still flushed, and resisted the urge to press her palms to her cheeks.

She could barely believe she had dragged this female from her prior, likely much more important engagements to come and explain to her the seemingly most logical and obvious concepts she had ever heard.

No wonder no one took her seriously if even with the amount of literature she had consumed in the past days (weeks? or months?) she couldn’t make sense of the most common of concepts.

How could she think— How delusional she must have been to even consider herself able to understand such a complex subject –

“Thank you, sorry for taking up so much of your time.” She made herself say, prying her stiff knuckles from her notebook, five crescent moon shapes on the once plain black leather cover. Her teacup clattered mortifyingly on its plate as she moved to pick it up, brown eyes irreflective.

“That was quite refreshing, Lady Elain. I haven’t had a chance to mull over healing in such a long time… Most of my protocols are so inherent to me, I find myself doing them instinctually.”

Elain wouldn’t learn this about herself for many years, but her ears twitched most daintily, disturbing some strands of her golden-brown hair.

“That is very kind.”

“There is a Healing Program here in Velaris if you find yourself with time. It is mostly lectures and debates. There is a selection process, but from what I gathered, you’ll have no problem enrolling.”

“I want,” she whispered, half dazed, teacup clutched tightly in her hands.

“If you believe I could… Yes, Ms. Madja, I want it.”

✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿

Thank you for reading! I would LOVE to know what you feel about it ;)

I'm working on part two, if you want to be tagged to find out what sort of crazy shit imma put my baby Elain through, let me know.

Special thanks from the bottom of my heart to @bittermuire and @sunlightsage for being the sweetest most supportive and most amazing beta readers I could have asked for! You mean the world to me :)

#elain week #elain archeron #elucien #if you squint #you guys i love this one ok #elain archeron fanfic #elucien fanfic #elucien fanfiction #acotar fic #ana writes #i went full nerd mode on this #elain archeron week

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reispinkoveralls · 1 year

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Like a Survivor

Summary: Elain suggests a rather creative solution to overcome her PTSD involving Lucien and a set of chains.

Reposting for @elainweekofficial Day 6: Hopes and Theories (I think?)

Read on AO3 🔥

Lucien smiled, letting out a low growl, a threat if she’d ever heard one. Elain felt the moment the switch flipped. Lucien’s gentle arm became a steel vice around her waist, gripping her harder against him as his other hand dropped hers to grip her chin. He raised her eyes to meet his marred, yet devastatingly handsome face.

“How fortuitous,” he remarked, his voice low and mocking. “To acquire such a pretty little Archeron.”

Elain froze, momentarily paralyzed by his cruel gaze. Gone was her kind, witty mate. Where she had expected a caricature, Lucien had emulated Hybern to horrific accuracy, perfecting his accent and the deliberate drawl of his speech. Repeating the words verbatim as they had been spoken to her that horrible night.

Mother above.

Keep reading here

#elainsweekmarch2023 #elain week #elain x lucien #elain archeron #elucien #acotar #acotar fanfiction #IT TOOK ME SO LONG TO MAKE THIS MOODBOARD

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crownofnight · 1 year

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I rarely post on here, but here’s an Elain portrait for @elainweekofficial

#elain week #elain archeron

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sunshinebingo · 1 year

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@elainweekofficial Day 7: Free Day

The aesthetic of Elain and Lucien combined with Rapunzel and Flynn Rider from Tangled

"All at once, everything looks different, now that I see you." – Rapunzel

"You were my new dream." - Flynn Rider

More Moodboards

#I'm not very good at moodboards sorry #But I still wanted to share it #elainweek #elain week #elain archeron #day 7: free day #lucien vanserra

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roselensedeyes · 8 months

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Sisters of the Moon

Happy @elainarcheronweek everyone! For Day Two: Sister and Friend, I wrote a short one shot about Feyre and Elain travelling the continent like they wanted to in book one. I liked writing this story, I resonate a lot with both Feyre and Elain! I hope you enjoy this!

Pairing: elriel (if you squint)

Rating: sfw

Word count: 3.3 k

Elain Archeron adjusted her floppy hat and sighed. They were late.

She couldn’t even be mad, not really.

A few months ago, her sister, Feyre, and her brother-in-law, Rhysand, had approached her with a proposal she couldn’t refuse. At first, she’d been wary when she saw the two of them walk toward her with two big smiles on their faces. But as they talked, her wariness turned into delight. She’d accepted readily, squealing and clapping her hands like a child who had been given her favorite candy.

Now, two months later, Elain was waiting in front of the carriage that was supposed to take her, Feyre and her nephew, Nyx, to the coast. From there, they’d get on a ship that would take them to the continent.

Elain remembered a conversation with her sister a few years prior, where they’d decided to travel the continent together. She’d be the first to admit she’d forgotten all about that, what with the war and Feyre’s pregnancy. But it appeared her younger sister hadn’t forgotten it, and for her birthday this year, decided to give Elain this precious gift.

The three of them would go by themselves at first, and Rhys would join them after a couple of weeks. He’d claimed he had to look over the finances, but Elain knew it was just an excuse. He’d never leave Feyre and Nyx for more than a few hours, but he wanted to allow his mate and her sister bond, to give them a chance to build a relationship their childhoods denied them.

Nyx, or Nyxie, as he was lovingly called by his family, however, was still too young to be away from Feyre for weeks, which meant he’d have to come with them, consequently meaning Rhysand wouldn’t see him for two weeks. It came as no surprise, then, that they were late. He was probably soaking up all the love his mate and their child had to give him.

Elain’s heart clenched at the thought. She yearned for a love like theirs, to create a family as beautiful as theirs. But it wasn’t her time, not yet. Soon, she would have all of it. She just had to be patient.

She sighed and leaned against the carriage door. Elain glanced up at the sky, her hat shielding her brown eyes from the sun’s blinding light, hoping to catch Feyre and Rhysand in the sky. The warmth kissed her cheeks, and she closed her eyes, bathing in it. It was a quiet morning, the occasional chirping of birds in the distance the only sound. The sweet perfume of her flowers reached her nostrils, and she inhaled its scent. Elain let out another sigh. It was such a peaceful moment.

She snapped her eyes open as a thumping sound came from a few feet in front of her. She heard, more than saw, Nyx let out a happy gurgle. Elain couldn’t help the smile that broke out on her face. She loved her nephew more than anything else in the world.

Nyx saw her and started squealing excitedly, babbling, “tee, tee”, which Elain knew meant auntie. She headed towards them, her arms out to grab Nyx. After peppering him with kisses, Elain settled him in her arms, his head gently laying in the crook of her neck, she finally turned toward her sister and brother-in-law.

Rhysand was the first to plant a big kiss on her cheeks, followed by Feyre who tried to hug her around her son. “Hi, Elain. Sorry for being late.”

She waved her apologies away. “It’s no matter, I understand. Is everything ready now?”

Feyre nodded, just as Rhysand helped put their trunks on the second carriage, a smaller one. They chatted a bit more, with Rhys holding and kissing and cuddling his son and mate. Elain looked away at that, giving them their privacy.

It was then that she noticed three other figures. She huffed out a laugh. The sound startled one of them, the female one. Nesta, her older sister.

Elain approached them, a bright smile on her face. “Hi, Nesta.”

Nesta smiled back at her.

Ever since she’d started training with Cassian and her friends, Nesta had become happier, healthier. She’d gained some weight, her skin had a healthy glow to it that made her devastatingly beautiful. Though the biggest change in her older sister were her features. They were no longer sharp and severe. No, now they were graced by soft, bright smiles, the crinkles around her eyes proof of it.

“Elain,” Nesta greeted her. She gestured to the two Illyrian males flanking her sides. “We wanted to wish you and Feyre safe travels. We didn’t want to interrupt the two love birds, though”. The second part was accompanied by an affectionate eye roll. Elain smiled, just as Cassian snorted.

“That’s bullshit. You were trying not to cr—ouch!” Nesta elbowed him in the stomach, effectively stopping him from continuing. Yet Elain knew what he meant to say.

She turned to look at her older sister. Feyre and Elain had asked Nesta if she wanted to come with them on their travels, but unfortunately she and her friends, along with Mor and Cassian, were to start a training class for the other priestesses and had to decline the offer. Elain knew it ate away at Nesta, that she felt like she was disappointing her sisters once again, no matter how many times Feyre and Elain assured her that it wasn’t the case.

The relationship between the three sisters had improved since the day Nyx was born, since the day they had almost lost Feyre and Rhysand. It was what had brought them closer, the freight of losing one of them for good gave them the push they needed to form the relationship they always should have had.

“I wish you could come with us Nesta, but,” Elain rushed to add when she saw Nesta’s face fall. “I understand why you can’t. What you’re doing is admirable, the help you can offer these women is nothing short of amazing. I’m proud of you, I’m proud to call you my sister.”

A faint blush dusted Nesta’s cheeks, deepening the more Elain spoke. Elain saw Cassian’s hand land on the small of his mate’s back, offering her a small comfort.

Elain glanced at the other male. Azriel. He was already staring at her, an intense look in his eyes that made her own cheeks flush. She quickly looked away, a strange fluttering in her chest. He’d always had that effect on her, since the first time she’d laid eyes on him, when she was still engaged to Graysen.

Elain shook her head, willing those thoughts away. Today was about her and Feyre— and Nyx— not anyone else.

Her younger sister and her family had joined them, Nyx now latching onto his uncle Cass— or, as he called him, Unc Cashy. She probably was biased, Elain knew, but she firmly believed that Nyx was the most adorable baby in existence.

Several minutes later, Elain and her younger sister waved their family goodbye as the carriage moved forward. Feyre had Nyx on her knees, her hand wrapped loosely around his tiny wrist to make him wave at his father and uncles and aunt. Elain could have sworn Rhysand’s eyes were shining with unshed tears.

As their figures became smaller and smaller, Elain turned to face her beloved sister again. “Thank you. For this trip,” she said.

A small graced Feyre’s lips. “There’s no need. I wanted to do this, with you.”

Flashes of their childhood blurred Elain’s visions, making her recall those winter nights that the three sisters spent cuddled in that too-tiny bed, seeking a warmth not even the fireplace could offer. Those scorching hot summer nights, when sleeping was rendered uncomfortable by the inevitable sweating, and the fights and ugly words that ensued. Their rumbling, aching bellies when Feyre was unable to hunt any animal, and the money too scarce to afford anything other than stale bread.

A knot formed in her throat, and no matter how many times she tried, Elain couldn’t seem to swallow past it.

“I’m sorry, you know,” she whispered.

Feyre inclined her head inquisitively. “What for?”

Elain swallowed again. “For the way your childhood was. You were the youngest in our household, yet we forced you to be the adult. I’m sorry you were never allowed to be a child, I’m sorry we never taught you how to read. You deserved better, and we—I disappointed you.”

Quietness enveloped the carriage, Nyx’s babbling the only sound to be heard.

When Feyre at last spoke, her voice was barely above a whisper. “You don’t have to apologize. I’ve already forgiven you. I spent years of my life resenting you and Nesta for not helping me enough, even when I begged you to. I always felt like I didn’t belong, and I resented you for that too.” She shook her head. “I’m ashamed to admit I hated you for how close you were. And I blamed you for it, because if I didn’t have to focus on making sure there was food on the table and enough wood to warm us during the coldest nights, then maybe I could become a part of your bond too. It was all I ever wanted.”

Elain’s sight became blurry, and she felt a lone tear run down her cheek. It was soon followed by countless others, yet not a sound came out of her. She’d learned through the years how useful silent crying was.

“I’m so sorry. The way we treated you, I– It’s my biggest regret. I wish I could have a good enough reason.” The guilt was clear in her words.

Feyre smiled faintly. “I appreciate your words, though unnecessary as they might be. As I was saying, that’s how I felt. Becoming a mother gave me a whole new perspective.”

The High Lady of the Night Court adjusted her son in her arms as she reached forward to grab her older sister’s hands. “Elain, you and Nesta were not responsible for me, for our house. Our father was. He was the one who failed me, failed all of us. Should you two have helped me out? Perhaps. But it wasn’t your job, it wasn’t your role. I took it on when I saw he wasn’t going to move a finger, and I would have appreciated your help, but I can’t, I refuse to imagine my Nyxie taking on a role his living parent should do.”

Elain had to hide her wince at Feyre’s words. It stung hearing her be so harsh to their father, though he deserved it.

While Nesta was doted on by their mother and grandmother, Elain had been pretty much ignored by them. They’d always speak to her with a condescending tone whenever she talked about her garden and plants, always dismissing her as she tried making herself heard. She remembers spending sleepless nights silently crying in her bed, trying to conjure up ways to make her mother love and listen to her.

She never succeeded.

Yet her father never once made her feel wrong or stupid, always made her feel like she was more than just a pretty face, as she’d once overheard her mother call her. The sweetest memories of Elain’s childhood were of sitting on her father’s knees, telling him all the new things she’d learned about plants, of the best way to grow orchids, and how to get rid of ivy. He’d ooh and ahh at the right times, and in turn would tell her all the flowers he’d seen on his travels to the continent, and promised her he would one day take her to see them.

He never did, and now, he never would honor his vow to her.

But her father broke more than one promise. Feyre was right, their father had betrayed them the moment he gave up. He had failed them in the most painful way a parent could fail their child. She remembered the hours staring at her father, willing him to get up, to do something, anything, and the feeling of betrayal churning in her stomach. Elain had tried to make excuses for him. She’d tried to remember those moments in the garden under the sun, her father, his kind eyes so much like hers, reassuring that all would be well, that the next time her flowers would bloom, as his thumbs wiped away her tears. Yet none of the warm memories she recalled helped lessen the blow he’d dealt her.

Elain’s father had always been the one person on her side, until he wasn’t. Until he decided to let his shame wrap around him.

“You’re right,” Elain nodded to her sister. “But that doesn’t mean I couldn’t have helped you. I wasn’t there for you, and I’m sorry. Like I wasn’t responsible for your well-being, neither were you of me. And yet you embraced it.”

Feyre nodded. “Perhaps. But I don’t resent you for it, and you shouldn’t beat yourself up.”

Elain smiled gratefully. She closed her eyes, hoping the rhythm of the carriage would lull her to sleep.

“I wasn’t there for you either, when you needed me the most.”

Feyre’s words made her eyes snap open. She opened her mouth, confused, but her sister went ahead.

“After what Graysen did I– I wasn’t there. I was focused on the war, and then Nyx and I never asked you how you were doing. If you needed help.”

“Oh,” was all Elain said. “No, don’t. They were more important than a break up.”

Feyre shook her head. “That doesn’t mean I couldn’t focus on you too.” She settled Nyx on her right knee, shifting her body so her left side leaned toward her older sister. “And it wasn’t just a break up. After what happened with Tamlin I–saying I was devastated doesn’t do it justice. Yet no one told me there were more important things to worry about.”

Feyre leaned back in her seat, watching Elain as she waited for her reply. Nyx looked up at his mom, a toothless smile breaking out on his face. She smiled softly back at him, her index grazing his soft cheek. He let out a giggle, his little wings fluttering behind him.

“You’ve always been there for me, Feyre. Even when you weren’t physically there, I could feel you in my heart. We’re sisters.”

She wasn’t ready to talk about Greysen, not yet. She’d gotten over him, rarely thought of him anymore, but the memory still brought her pain, and shame, at times. She’d thought he was the love of her life, but Elain had soon realized the ugly truth of it. No matter how many years passed, Elain was certain she’d never forget the pure hatred and disgust that had marred his features when he broke their engagement, when he’d seen the undeniable proof of her new being. It was the most heartbreaking, humiliating day of her life.

Feyre seemed to read this in her eyes, because she nodded and turned her attention to her son, who was delighting himself with tugging on her hair. Elain smiled at the sight, before casting her eyes on the view outside. It was now midday, the sun high in the sky, its heat almost scorching. The leaves on the trees were a bright green, blatant proof that spring was in full bloom. Closing her eyes in hope of some rest, the movements of the carriage rocked her to a quiet sleep, Nyx’ babbling and Feyre’s soft whispers in the background.

They didn’t travel the entire continent. No, that wouldn’t be feasible, the High Lady and High Lord couldn’t postpone their obligations for that long. Still, Elain’d been mesmerized by the dances and art, the peace that reigned over the territory. She’d acquired many unknown seeds, praying the Prythian climate and terrain would make them sprout. Feyre had promised her they could finish the tour some other time, but Elain had assured her she was content with things as they were. She’d hinted she might return with someone else, to Feyre’s surprise. Her sister had been delighted when she told her who, exactly, she’d travel the rest of the continent with.

Now, two weeks after they’d come back to the Night Court, Elain was getting ready for the welcome back party Nesta had insisted on throwing them. She’d been pretty adamant about it, too. It had stunned her two sisters, and the rest of their family too, really, but Nesta wouldn’t budge.

The lilac tulle dress she opted to wear hugged her curve nicely, but not tight enough to suffocate her. Summer was nearing, and with it the damp heat. Nuala had helped her braid her golden-brown hair in a crown plait. It wasn’t a hairstyle she usually wore, but Elain found she liked it with the gown she was put on.

Voices reached her pointed ears.

As she reached the bottom of the staircase, they became clearer and louder. She could hear Cassian’s booming laughter at something Nyx did, followed by Nesta’s reprimand. Her sister was anxious, Elain knew. She wanted everything to go smoothly. As the sitting room came into view, Elain could see Feyre and Rhysand sitting together, the High Lady’s back to his front, the Illyrian’s arm draped across her shoulder in an intimate, possessive gesture. They were looking in the same direction, to Cassian standing in front of the fireplace. Nyx was on the floor, his back to her, and she could see his wings flapping swiftly behind him. To her shock, her nephew started floating in the air. She almost cried out, but something poked her shoulder.

It was a shadow. Elain scanned the room until her eyes settled on its owner.

Azriel was on the other side of the room, near her. He shook his head, a small smile playing on his lips. His ease made her relax slightly, and when she realized Feyre and Rhysand weren’t at all worried, she loosened up.

She gave Azriel a small of her own, noticed the way his eyes darkened as they fixed on her mouth. Elain felt a flush creep up her neck, and glanced away.

Nesta was already looking at her. Elain smiled and walked toward her, her arms already out to embrace her sister.

“Hi, Nes. Thank you for this,” she said.

Nesta smiled, tense. “I hope you like it. I’m not as good at this stuff as you.”

“It’s perfect. I love it, really.”

“If my mate didn’t try to injure my nephew, and subsequently destroy the decorations I spent a lot of time putting up, I’m sure it’s going to be a great night,” her sister said, throwing a faux glare in Cassian’s direction.

He chuckled. “It’s normal play for Illyrians. He’s going to need to learn sooner or later, and at least now all of us are here.”

Indeed, Amren and Mor were both in the room. Amren was reading a tome next to the shelves, while Mor was lounging on a chair.

Nesta huffed. “That doesn’t mean that I like it. I rather Nyx be in one piece, thank you very much.”

Feyre laughed. Nesta looked at her, saw the ease and contentment painted on her face, and smiled too. The first real smile of the night.

Elain sat in a chair near the shadows, and as she watched her family talk, laugh, and bicker, she couldn’t help but let a smile of her own come out.

When she’d seen this image, years ago, it had been impossible to believe they’d ever reach this level of lightheartedness. That they could all sit around in the same room and not tear each other’s throats out.

In the years since she was turned Fae, Elain Archeron had had many visions, some of them proving true, some that never saw the light of day.

As a shadow played with her hair, tickling her neck, she sent her thanks to the Mother for letting this one come true.

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