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nikethestatue · 1 year

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The Possession

Elain and Azriel’s first kiss and his bite (Of Fawns and Shadows)

Rating: explicit

Ravenous.

Heated.

Sensuous.

Obscene.

Exquisite.

Azriel kissed Elain like she’d always dreamt of being kissed. The way she never believed she could be kissed.

It was slow and heated and exploring, just tittering on the edge of brutal. It was lazy and thorough and passionate and completely overwhelming.

Azriel’s first kiss.

Her last first kiss, according to him. If this was it, then she could die happy.

Moaning tightly into her mouth, he pulled her flush against him, as his heavy hands slid up and down her waist and the curve of her hips. Elain’s back arched against the wall and into his torso, where she felt every defined muscle beneath his shirt press into her belly, as her breasts pushed against the top of his stomach, moulding into the ridges of his abdominals. Even in heels, she only reached up to his chest.

Her nervous, needy hands gripped at his absurdly solid biceps, as she desperately attempted to wrap her trembling fingers around this arm, succeeding only in tugging on his shirt, clawing at him feverishly. All the while, Azriel licked on her bottom lip, unhurriedly, languidly and Elain’s knees wobbled underneath her, even if he was supporting her with his solid mass, pressing her between his torso and the wall.

...They danced. They drank champagne. Crystal sparkled and clinked just as the stars began to fall. Uncharacteristically, Rhysand said a short speech and they raised a toast. Elain danced with Rhys and then with Cassian, and some male guests, until Azriel came over and formally offered her his arm.

“You look stunning,” he murmured, the substantial warmth of his hand resting on the small of her back. He held her politely, almost at arm’s length, as she kept her hand on his bicep, since reaching his shoulder would’ve made for an awkward stretch.

“You always say that,” she smiled softly at him.

If it were even possible, he was more handsome than usual. Actually, breath-takingly gorgeous, if she were being honest.

His suit was sharply tailored for his body, embracing every perfect muscle, subtly accentuating all that pulsating strength of his. The black slacks smoothed enticingly over the long, powerful legs, hugging his narrow hips and emphasizing the vicious cut of his broad torso and his slim waist. His jacket was unbuttoned, revealing a crisp white shirt underneath, and a silk tie of cobalt blue. The siphons were hidden, so not to distract from the suit and instead, Elain noticed simple cufflinks.

“I always mean it,” he said. “You always look stunning. Tonight though,” his tongue involuntarily slid over his plush lower lip as those forest-green and hazelnut eyes skimmed over her body.

He twirled her to the music, and her eyes lingered on how every firm slab of gorgeous muscle was defined under the material of the shirt, his dark-bronze skin a fiery contrast against the stark white of the shirt fabric. The knowledge that behind this vaguely-pristine facade was a body that was honed and carved and covered in dark ink made her feel somehow sinful, like she was teetering on the precipice of uncovering something secret and delectable.

His hair was smoothed off his face perfectly, revealing every sharp, beautiful angle. Elain yearned to bury her fingers in those soft, thick strands of inky-black locks and ruffle them, so she could hold his face in her hands, and run her thumbs over the high, smooth cheekbones.

He winked at her and smiled in a way that made her think of countless women who had succumbed to his intense magnetism, much like she was doing right now.

His hand wrapped around hers, in a way that they only allowed themselves alone, and Elain wanted him to pull her closer, to feel the warmth of his sculpted chest against her nipples, to brush her full breasts against him, just the way she liked it. But, he only touched his lips to her hand and then released her to another male and another dance.

When she could finally extricate herself from yet another dancing partner, her eyes scanned and scanned the crowds of revelers, but Azriel was missing. Leaving her laughing sisters behind with Mor, Elain slipped inside the House, hoping that he was getting more drinks. But she searched and looked, and he was nowhere to be found.

She forced herself to slow down and reached inside of her, seeking...feeling him out in her consciousness. Then, the thrum of their inexplicable tether that pulled them together appeared at last. It wasn’t like the heaviness, the ever-present pressure of the bond. Elain was well-familiar with that feeling and she hated it. The string that pulled her to Azriel was light and thin and delicate, and she followed it, descending two levels, her lilac gown hissing behind her.

When she beheld him at last, it was in one of the many inner courtyards of the House. Azriel was seated on a chaise, jacket unbuttoned, his tie loosened, his wings drooping behind him and over the stone floors. Around him, the stars kept falling and slicing through the night sky, reflecting in the dark pool on the edge of which he lounged. A bottle of champagne beside him.

“Hey, beautiful,” he greeted her, a smile playing on his lips at the sight of her.

“Do you want company?” she asked tentatively, stopping in the middle of the courtyard.

His eyes skimmed over her body, her tight shimmering gown that wrapped around her like a lilac halo, exposing everything, yet keeping her completely covered at the same time.

“I always want your company,” he said, and then looked around the secluded courtyard. “Come to me,” he said, opening his arms and Elain gave the surroundings a cursory glance over. His shadows were swirling, no doubt ordered to keep tabs on everyone else and warn of anyone approaching.

As she slid onto his lap, he wrapped his arm around her hips and gave her a light peck on her nose. “Are you tired?” he asked, as he traced his thumb possessively along her lower stomach, soliciting an appreciative gasp from her. She stroked his uncovered neck, the skin cool in the evening breeze, and shook her head, “no. But I wanted to be with you. Why did you disappear?”

He sighed, and did not answer at first, only brushing the tip of his nose against her velvety cheek, inhaling her delicate fragrance--the perfume that he’d ordered and designed for her himself. The scent of jasmine sweet and musky in his nose, with a soft whisper of honey mixed into the concoction.

“I’ll be honest,” he murmured, brushing his nose up and down her cheek, his thumb circling over her belly, “I needed to get away. I couldn’t stand watching…”

“Them?” she tucked her head into his shoulder, knowing exactly how he felt.

“The syrupy sweetness of all that gleeful bonding is a little too much to take at times,” he admitted, his voice taking on a bitter note. “Especially when I see you--my beloved--and I have to act like you are my damn sister!”

Elain smiled at that. “Isn’t it a good thing that I am not actually your sister?”

“Thank the gods,” he ground out. “But I just didn’t want to be there...couldn’t be there, when I know that I can’t touch you, and that we have to put on this act.”

“Well,” she breathed against his neck, “now you are here with me. Are you in a better mood?”

“Much. Much better.”

His lower lip firmly pressed between his perfect white teeth as he watched her. “Gods, you are fucking gorgeous,” he muttered, looking veritably intoxicated, even if he only had a glass of champagne at the start of the festivities. Elain smiled and stroked his hair with her long, delicate fingers, curling into him, as the night chill cooled her skin. “Only you,” she laughed huskily, “can offer a compliment and a curse word alongside it!”

“No, I am sure that Cassian can do the same,” he whispered in her ear, biting the curved tip playfully.

His arm tightened around her, politely at first, until one of his large hands slid up and down her thigh, exploring her through the thin material of her dress. He pulled her knees up, tucking them almost into his chest, and ran his rough-skinned palm along her calf, sliding under the skirt, brushing over her naked skin.

“Do you want to get out of here?” he murmured.

Elain’s eyelids grew heavy and she looked between their bodies, as she ran her hands across the hard panes of his shoulders, exploring the rolling muscles beneath his finely-cut jacket, her chocolate-brown eyes fluttering behind thick, dark lashes. “Yes,” she murmured, and Azriel was moving at once, threading his hands under her knees and over the small of her back, while she marvelled at his insane strength, when he lifted both of them from his reclining position. She smoothed her palms down his powerfully carved chest, feeling his heartbeat galloping and so fantastically strong beneath her eager hands.

They didn’t get far.

He took only a few steps, and they ended up in an alcove that led inside the House. Only he never opened the door, because with a groan that came from the very depths of his chest, like some starved beast, he released her from his embrace and pushed both of them against the wall. Elain was panting, her chest rising and falling rapidly against him, when he squeezed her face in his scarred fingers, his thumb stroking just below her jaw. His normally bright eyes darkened with innate hunger, watching her with intent, reading the array of emotions on her face.

“Yes,” she breathed, looking straight at him, her expression so soft, so eager and shyly excited that his hands tightened around her head, thumbs gliding over her cheekbones, her chin, even the tips of her lashes.

At last, he tilted her head back, angling it so he could get better access.

This time, there was no interruption.

She stilled completely, as his tongue traced the pink softness of her lower lip, before catching its plush silkiness between his teeth, and licking on it with the tip of his tongue. A strangled moan escaped her lips, much like his own tortured groan. He allowed himself to take her face between his hands and then kissed her more thoroughly, his lips gliding and sucking on hers with pent-up impatience and raw, starved adoration. Her breathless gasp escaped her mouth, now plumped from his attention, as the lips parted in permissive acquiescence, beckoning his tongue to slide inside. He grasped her neck, squeezing ever so lightly, anchoring himself and his immense strength, so he could thrust into her mouth with a savage, needy, uncontrolled determination.

Elain clutched his dark, strong wrist, wrapping her fingers around it and keeping it on her neck, while she threaded her fingers through his hair, and pulled herself up on her toes and into him, her feet barely touching the ground as she worked her tongue around his own. She licked on it with desperate need, allowing him to possess her mouth entirely, unable to get enough of his taste, of his complete dominance of her mouth, her lips, her tongue, of her very being. They moaned and panted against each other, grinding their lips savagely together, incapable of separating even for a breath. Azriel’s free hand fell to her hips, gripping her tightly and pulling her against him, so that she could hardly breathe as they kissed and kissed and kissed, open-mouthed and burning and unleashed.

Elain’s head swam, as her back pressed into the wall, propelled by the power of his body. Gods, he was enormous! But she craved it--craved his colossal strength, his overwhelming largeness all over her. His hand swept around from her throat to gently squeeze the back of her neck, so he could hold her head the way he wanted, and take in her mouth fully, licking into her even deeper. All air in her lungs escaped in a burning inhale as she felt him at last, marble-hard and fantastically thick against her stomach. No words or moans could ever describe how deliciously, overwhelmingly, insanely good it felt to have him pressed against the tender softness of her belly. The exhilaration that she felt at his cock, so erect and so beautifully long, was indescribable.

Unable to restrain herself, she thrust her hips into him, and a rumbling, guttural sound escaped Azriel’s mouth. He tore his lips from her at last, looking down at her, panting softly. His hand smoothed over her exposed neck, her face, her head, caressing her feverishly, as if to make sure that she was real, and not some figment of his imagination.

“More,” was all that Elain could manage.

Her neck was slick with sweat and her breathing was so ragged, her lungs ached, but Azriel soothed her briefly, lapping lovingly on her tongue, allowing her to breathe in his own breath, steadying her against his body.

It was embarrassingly passionate. The kissing. Sloppy and hot and wild.

Elain licked on Azriel’s tempting lush lip, brushing her tongue over his perfect white teeth, her body arched into him so keenly, only her shoulders remained pressed into the wall. His hands slipped to her bottom, squeezing it greedily, pushing her closer to his hot, aching member.

Between gorging on mouthfuls of her tongue, he growled, “You gorgeous fucking thing,” and felt her shudder in his arms, aroused by the vulgarity, as he sucked into her open mouth, telling her how beautiful she was, and how much he loved her dress.

The dress was spectacular indeed. Nothing but a layer of gossamer, decorated with cobalt thread and lavished with diamond and cobalt glitter. Elain’s subtle ‘fuck you’ to her brother-in-law. She would always favour cobalt.

Her breasts felt heavy, tightening and aching as they rubbed against the solid pressure of his body, her nipples swelling through the light material of her dress. Their hips undulated together, Azriel groaning into her lips when he felt the glorious swell of her breasts against his chest. All but snarling, he captured her face in his hands to kiss her furiously once more.

‘Don’t stop,” she begged, her lips swollen, her eyes glossy, her voice trembling, “don’t...don’t ever stop.”

Her hands grabbed him possessively, caressing his body through his shirt, as she devoured him ravenously, her warm palms sliding down his neck and over his powerful shoulders to his collar, until she pressed fully into his neck, savouring its solid strength with her fingers.

“I want you to kiss me forever,” she moaned, licking the inside of his mouth, eyes open, watching him with intense hunger in her gleaming brown eyes. She couldn’t help herself, even if she wanted to, because she would still rake her nails over the back of his neck, sliding down and under his jacket, enjoying all that strength and muscles simmering with visceral power beneath her hands.

“I wouldn't object,” Azriel chuckled against her lips. She looked completely ruined and undone in his arms--her face flushed and the soft waves of honey-coloured hair spilling wantonly over her shoulders, no longer curled prettily and arranged pristine around her face. Her pink lips were bruised from his incessant kisses and the eyes--the eyes gleamed and sparkled with a lustful, tormented gaze, looking at him beseechingly and expectantly.

“You’re so fucking glorious,” he growled, his hand gripping the back of her head, fingers tangling into her hair and tugging with surprising force, slipping his tongue back into her hot, waiting mouth. Elain pushed against him, caged within the embrace of his arms, sucking on his tongue with unrestrained abandon, imagining all the things that she wanted to do with him, to him. Mostly, she just wanted those bronze muscles atop of her, while he fucked her. She imagined it clearly --her legs pushed wide apart, her belly tense, her core aching with the burning satisfaction of being filled with him.

As Azriel lapped and sucked on her tongue, on her lips, dragging his mouth over her face, her cheeks and her eyes, he gleefully detailed every depraved thing he wanted to do with her tight pretty body, and she ate it all up, swearing that she actually purred at his explicit words.

His hands slid from her hair over the sides of her body, feeling the lithe strain of it against him, as they continued their filthy, scorching kiss, tongues and teeth claiming and caressing the other, and he cupped her tight, lush bottom in those greedy hands of his, palming her fully. A brief, sharp breath escaped her swollen lips when he kneaded her supple behind, his hands completely unrestrained on her flesh, demanding, grabbing handfuls of her buttocks, until he turned her around sharply, with her now facing the wall. His thigh slid between her legs, pushing them as far apart as her tight dress allowed, only to lift her arms up above her head and pin them at the wrists with one strong clamp of his fingers. A strangled gurgling sound tore from her chest, when he whispered warmly in her ear, “say my name”, his available hand caressing her hips, her lower belly, coming back to feel up her arching spine, and the delicious curve of her ass.

She could barely think, let alone speak, but she moaned “Azriel”.

He ground harshly into her, the impression of his massive cock pressing into her bottom, while he nibbled on her lower lip, smiling against her mouth.

“Again,” he ordered.

“Azriel”.

Elain moved her bum against his erection, her eyes rolling back as his smug, satisfied hum of approval slithered up her cheek, and she flushed with desire, his responding growl reverberating through her. He licked her cheek, kissed down her throat, then her jaw, and there was no gentleness in his touch, as he ground against her, as he kept her in his utter possession, his solid strong thigh rubbing into her core, while he threaded his fingers with hers, but kept them above her head. He began nibbling on her ear lobe, licking on the dangling diamond teardrop of her earring, pulling on it with his teeth and tugging on her ear. She was panting, completely breathless, when his hot hand slid down her stomach, smoothing over it possessively, and then down her thigh, the deft fingers tangling in the thin material of her dress and tugging it up over her legs, all the way to her thigh, baring her skin to the evening chill, which was a most welcome relief.

“Azriel,” she choked, as he buried his mouth against her neck. Gods. At last. Elain moaned, almost screamed, splaying her palms against the wall, her wrists immobilized by his tightening grasp, while he gripped her thigh and finally, finally sunk his teeth into her neck.

The ultimate act of possession and subservience.

His hand shot up, wrapping around her throat, bending her head to the left, as he sucked and nibbled at the throbbing juncture of her throat, his hips grinding slowly, leisurely against her bottom.

“Az…”

Elain needed more of everything. More friction, more teeth, more of his tongue in her mouth, more lips, more pain, more of his strength, more, more, more. “Azriel,”

“Say it, flower,” he urged her, marking her pale throat with his bite, sucking on the tender skin and watching a colourful lilac of a bruise blossom under his lips.

“I am yours, Azriel,” she murmured at last.

“You are.”

“I am.”

He bit harder, his teeth almost tearing into her throat, and she collapsed against him, subdued completely. Something strange and powerful rushed through her--an exchange of power, where hers sang in her chest, meeting his head on. Their powers tangled and twined together, like golden ribbons of love and dominance and compliance. His bite hurt. It coursed through her veins, and he cried out, taking and taking and taking.

Elain gave.

She was more powerful.

Now, at last, they were in perfect balance.

“I love you, Azriel,” she murmured adoringly, and his nose dragged against her cheek in a soothing, comforting gesture. She turned her face to him and kissed him gently on the lips. He kissed her back, his face softening. He never got tired of hearing the words, the tender, wholehearted admission, the sincerity in her voice. “I love you,” she repeated, as his grasp on her eased and he turned her back to face him, cupping her cheeks and rubbing gentle circles over her skin with his thumbs.

“Do you love me?” she asked shyly, blinking, when she looked up at him.

He kissed her softly, savoring the feel of her swollen lips against his, the loving swipe of her tongue against his own.

“I love you, my girl. My rose blossom. I love you more than anything. My emani maared.”

His darling love.

“Alright then,” she decided. “Kiss me more.”

Azriel grinned, threading his fingers through his hair and sweeping it back. He tore his jacket off and tossed it on the floor, and rolled his shoulders, as if he was about to spar with Cassian. Elain chuckled, watching him. His determination was admirable, if nothing else.

He leaned in, and fused his lips to hers with renewed vigour, and she opened up for him breathlessly, taking in his searching tongue, working it with her own.

Elain wanted Azriel. Needed him inside of her, thick and long and throbbing, and the vision of his cock plunging into her wetness caused a gush of slick stickiness to spill between her thighs. She rubbed her legs frantically, and her delicate, thin fingers drew to his wrists, covering them with her own and then pushing them against her aching breasts. Azriel sucked in his breath, and wasted no time before squeezing the plump globes, which filled his large hands perfectly, just big enough, without spilling out. His thumbs caressed the underside of each through the dress, squeezing a little harder, making her whimper, until he ran his thumbs over her tightening nipples.

Azriel was a tits man. He was also an ass man. Actually, he was an Elain man and he enjoyed and adored every part of her. But her neat, soft, luscious breasts were his downfall, his complete obsession. So his eager fingers clamped on her puckering nipples, rolling them through the tight fit of her dress, her moan causing her cleavage to bounce within his hands. He sucked her neck insistently, teeth nipping on the sensitive skin, lips sliding from her throat up to her ear, his fingers pulling and tugging on her now-aching nipples.

“Baby, you feel so good,” he muttered hotly against her ear, as Elain thrust her hot little hands under his shirt, un-tucking it almost violently, her nails pressing into his skin and she was not gentle.

She felt his swollen cock twitch against her stomach when he gave her breasts a mean squeeze, before grabbing her waist with one hand and pulling her closer.

“It’s a pretty dress, but,” he breathed against her lips, licking on them with the tip of his tongue, teasing her, as she attempted to pull it in her mouth to suck. “Tsk, tsk,” he shook his head, smiling, “so greedy,”

“Kiss me,” she ordered, and almost stomped her foot, when he threw his head back, laughing. She didn’t wait and pressed her whole face into his neck, lapping furiously at the thick, pulsating vein under her tongue, softly biting his scratchy, burnished bronze skin. He might have purred at her thorough attention, when she pulled at his hair sharply when she nipped at the spot where his neck met his shoulder. She sucked and licked, feeling his hand kneading her ass, her tits fitting in his large palm, as he cupped and fondled her incessantly, pushing her back against the wall, the impression of his cock rubbing into her belly.

His fingers pulled on her dress and Elain let out a surprised, desperate moan when Azriel gripped her legs and split them open, his rough, scarred palm scraping along the tender skin of her inner thighs. His knuckle rubbed slowly along the juncture of her upper thigh, and he pulled away from her slightly, his eyes searching her face, watching her reaction, especially when his fingers slipped up, touching the material of her lace panties.

“Ahhh,” Elain gasped, as he ran three fingers up and down the seam of her dripping slit, feeling her arousal warm and damp through the thin lace. She arched involuntarily towards him, the plump flesh of her ass nestling in his other hand, as he massaged it slowly, indulgently.

“Hummm,” he breathed into her ear. “You’re fucking dripping for me.”

He stared into her large brown eyes, the scent of her arousal hanging thickly between the two of them, mixing with his own, creating a symphony of scents and sounds that was unique to them, their own.

“Az,” she was almost in tears of need and desperation, because that’s how badly she wanted to submit to Azriel’s wildly untamed lust. “Az...I want,” she babbled, completely incoherent by now.

“What do you want, love?” he hummed husky into her mouth, his tongue sweeping lush and wide against her own. Those wicked fingers continued gliding against her dripping folds, tormenting her with their easy, unhurried swipes.

“I want,” she swallowed, barely able to keep her eyes open.

“What?” he insisted. “Tell me,”

“I want my name,” she groaned, “on your tongue…”

He kissed her softly.

“Lainey,” he whispered. “Like that?”

She shook her head stubbornly. He smiled as Elain’s eyes pressed shut when he tucked her panties slowly aside. She trembled and buckled between him and the wall, as he expertly dragged the lace across her sensitive folds.

“Azriel, my love,” she gripped his arm with surprising strength, steadying herself, opening her legs wider for his exploration. The friction of fabric against her clit was a tantalizing promise of the pleasure that she knew Azriel could produce with those long, scarred fingers.

“Do you like this, my girl?” he kissed her slowly, lovingly, allowing her to enjoy the sensations that his fingers offered beneath her dress.

“Yes, yes,” she whined breathlessly, as he ran his index finger through her delectable wetness, barely tracing her aching plushness, “more,” she begged, her body throbbing for any kind of pressure.

So he stroked and stroked, watching her, the wetness coating his fingers, even if he didn’t push inside and kept her on the brink, so aroused, tears gathered in the corner of her beautiful eyes.

“Az, I can’t,” she wept, panting, her hips buckling into his hand.

He pulled away, soliciting an aggrieved moan from her and then he brought his fingers to her lips.

“Be a good girl and suck it for me.”

Elain’s mouth parted for him to slip the finger, wet with her arousal, between her lips, and she sucked him deep, her tongue brushing at his knuckles.

She’d taken orders from him like this before. Before him, she never wanted to, and never even fathomed it. But for him, she’d do anything. He drove her mad. Veritably insane with desire, and whatever he wanted, he got...So she suckled on the offered fingers, her tongue licking over the salty sleekness. She’d tasted herself before, and she liked it, especially when her thick smear combined with the feel of his fingers and scars in her mouth.

Azriel watched her with primal satisfaction, a dark male infatuation. He knew that he was a possessive male Fae, aggressive at times, his Illyrian nature thrumming inside of him, forcing him to claim what he felt was his. And Elain was his.

He brushed his thumb over her lips, watching her lick, and then slowly pulled out from her mouth.

“Very good, my girl,” he approved. “Was that nice?”

She nodded. He saw that she liked the praise, as always.

That mix of innocence and sensuality drove him out of his mind and before she even released his fingers from her wet, hot mouth, he was on her again, pressing his lips to her, coaxing the taste of her into his mouth. As he swallowed her yelp, his hand cupped her breast and he began the tormenting roll of her nipple between the forefinger and thumb, while he slid his other hand back between her thighs.

She wound her fingers through his hair, gripping tightly when he dragged three fingers up and down her slit, while his lips pulled on her throat and she granted him access to where her jugular pulsed beneath her pale skin. He’d already marred the perfect whiteness of her neck with his teeth and lips, and he indulged himself further, sucking and licking the pain that he was causing.

“Baby, do you want me to fuck you?” he hummed, and she nodded desperately, kissing the top of his head, his forehead, anything that she could reach with her mouth. His finger teased her folds, but still did not slip past them, and even as the thumb brushed against the painfully aching clit, he did not press on it.

“Every day of my life,” she vowed.

Her brown eyes looked at him with heated desire and she murmured,

“Take us home’.

#elriel #the first kiss #elriel fanfiction #elriel fanfic #Azriel and Elain #Elain archeron #of fawns and shadows #my writing #my fanfiction

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wingedblooms · 8 months

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Like a moth to a flame

Maasverse spoilers below. Proceed with caution.

When Feyre and Elain visit the weaver near solstice, we learn that there is a very specific kind of light that not only withstands the darkness, but cuts through it like a blade.

"The silver thread," Elain asked. "What is that called?" The weaver paused the loom again, the colorful strings vibrating. She held my sister's gaze. No attempt at a smile this time. "I call it Hope." My throat became unbearably tight, my eyes stinging enough that I had to turn away, to walk back toward that extraordinary tapestry. The weave explained to my sister, "I made it after I mastered Void." I stared and stared at the black fabric that was like peering into a pit of hell. And then stared at the iridescent, living silver thread that cut through it, bright despite the darkness that devoured all other light and color. (acofas)

That light is Hope. It is a living thread of iridescent light like the healing light that flows from Nesta:

Iridescent light began flowing from Nesta's body. Into Feyre. [...] Tendrils of light drifted between the sisters. And one, delicate and loving, floated toward Mor. (acosf)

I’ve always wondered if the tendrils of iridescent light between the sisters is a hint of what lies between them: raw magic.

“Once, the High Fae were more elemental, more given to reading the stars and crafting masterpieces of art and jewelry and weaponry. Their gifts were rawer, more connected to nature, and they could imbue objects with that power.” (acosf)

We hear about the raw magic of High Fae when the inner circle learns about Nesta’s Made swords. And Sarah just happens to drop art, jewelry, and weaponry as objects that can be imbued with raw magic. Objects that make us think of the sisters: Feyre creates art, Nesta is compared to and actually forges swords, and Elain is gifted art and jewelry that embody nature. She is a blooming flower compared to Nesta’s freshly forged sword (acowar). And the two sisters who have had their stories told have used raw magic to heal (Cauldron; Feyre, Nyx), to create, like the High Fae once did. We will likely see the third sister exhibit rawer magic as well.

We're led to believe that the Mother shows Nesta how to heal Feyre with iridescent light when she agrees to return her magic. We also see a luminous hand (presumably the Mother's) prevent the Cauldron from taking all of Nesta's power, which may be connected to the hand on the mural in Spring that pours the contents of the Cauldron into the void to create Prythian's world. In Herbs she planted, I discussed Elain’s connections to witches and healers (and these categories often overlap, like witches and seers; since the sisters may all possess raw magic, it is not far fetched that Elain could weave sight and healing together as a mystical forest witch would). In that post, I also review how the being we call the Mother behaves a lot like the Other who appears to Yrene in Tower of Dawn. This Other is believed to be Silba, the goddess of healing and gentle deaths. Like the Mother, Silba is also associated with a dark womb, and her healing magic is referred to as world-making power, which brings to mind the hands of creation in Spring.

Yrene, the healer Silba appears to, possesses raw healing magic and it manifests as white light. She uses it to battle Valg magic, which is compared to darkness, void, and hell.

He’d roared around it. His bellowing had been almost as bad as the magic itself. It was a void. It was a new, dark hell. […] She’d hurled her magic against the wall, letting its swarm of burning white lights attack in wave after wave, but—nothing. (tod)

Like water, it seeps into Chaol's legs, and acts like a swarm of fireflies.

Closing her eyes, Yrene let her power seep into his legs like a swarm of white fireflies, finding those damaged pathways and congregating, surrounding the frayed bits that went silent during these exercises, when they should have been lit up like the rest of him. (tod)

Healers' lights are also compared to blooms, and together, they are a field of white flowers.

Blooming lights, along that broken interior. And where they shone... Flesh knitted. Bone smoothed. Light after light after light. [...] Yrene brushed herself along them, waded through them like a field of white flowers, the lights bobbing and swaying in this quiet place of pain. Not lights...but healers. She knew their lights, their essences. (tod)

Her power can also cut through the dark like a weapon, like Hope.

No way to stop Yrene as she plunged into his body, her magic a white swarming light around them, inside them. […] Yrene did not hesitate. She soared through him, down the ladder of his spine, down the corridors of his bones and blood. She was a spear of light, fired straight into the dark, aiming for that hovering shadow that had stretched out once more. That had tried to reclaim him. Yrene slammed into the darkness and screamed. (tod)

Healing magic is repeatedly compared to living things, and we often see Yrene’s raw gift swarm when it attacks the darkness. The term swarm is associated with flying insects, and in particular, honeybees. They swarm protectively when they leave the hive with new life.

“Fire is cleansing. Purifying. But amongst the healing arts, it’s not often used. Too unwieldy. Water is better-tuned to the healing. But then there are raw healing gifts. Like mine.”

“Light,” Chaol said. “It looked like swarming lights, against their darkness.” (tod)

I don’t think it’s a coincidence that Elain rose early to accompany Feyre and asked the weaver about the living thread of Hope, especially since this thread resembles the way raw healing magic—living light—behaves in the darkness. We learn that life, in the form of living light, not only pierces the void, but travels through it. Elain is consistently linked to rebirth and the dawn through imagery and her daily routine, rising with the dawn to tend to gardens or help the twins in the kitchen. Dawn is connected to healing magic, and ahappyhermit theorized that Elain may have even healed Cassian’s wounds as Nesta beheaded Hybern in acowar. @silverlinedeyes and @offtorivendell also theorized that Elain might be a Lifesinger, calling to living things around her as she creates. She is often (if not constantly) creating. Whatever happens in canon, it’s clear Elain is the epitome of living light, of Hope:

Beautiful - she'd always been the most beautiful of us. Soft and lovely, like a summer dawn. (acomaf)

She was a rose bloom in a mud field.(acowar)

Even in the middle of winter, she was a bloom of color and sunshine. (acofas)

Her sister's delicate scent of jasmine and honey lingered in the red-stoned hall like a promise of spring, a sparkling river that she followed to the open doors of the chamber. [...] Her sister turned toward her, glowing with health. Elain's smile was as bright as the setting sun beyond the windows. (acosf)

Her brown eyes were bright with tears, but she kept her chin high. (acosf)

Even on the longest night of the year, she glows like the dawn, when light pierces the darkness.

But even the silence weighed too heavily, and though the shadows kept him company, as they always had, as they always would, he found himself leaving the room. Entering the foyer. Soft steps padded from under the stair archway, and there she was. The Fanlights gilded Elain's unbound hair, making her glow like the sun at dawn. She halted, her breath catching in her throat. (Azriel's bonus chapter)

Nesta placed her symbol, a bloom made in the icy darkness of winter, next to the Mother's figurine on the mantle. The Mother who showed Nesta how to use her raw magic to heal. We learn in tod that healers sense Death nearby when they are called upon to heal someone’s wounds or ease their passing (hence the reference to gentle deaths). And as @psychologynerd reminded me, Elain uses her hands to bring joy and beauty to others, even in death.

Elain quietly washed his face. Combed out his hair and beard. Straightened his clothes.

She found flowers—somewhere. She laid them at his head, on his chest.

We stared down at him in silence. “I love you,” Elain whispered, voice breaking.

Nesta said nothing, face unreadable. There were such shadows in her eyes. I had not told her what I’d seen—had let them tell me what they wanted.

Elain breathed, “Should we—say a prayer?”

We did not have such things in the human world, I remembered. My sisters had no prayers to offer him. But in Prythian …

“Mother hold you,” I whispered, reciting words I had not heard since that day Under the Mountain. “May you pass through the gates; may you smell that immortal land of milk and honey.” Flame ignited at my fingertips. All I could muster. All that was left. “Fear no evil. Feel no pain.” My mouth trembled as I breathed, “May you enter eternity.”

Tears slid down Elain’s pallid cheeks as she adjusted an errant flower on our father’s chest, white-petaled and delicate, and then backed away to my side with a nod. (acowar)

I can’t help but wonder where she might’ve found those white flowers on a blood-stained battlefield. Did she actually find them, or did she will them from the soil with her own magic? I love that she does not balk from death and finds a way to nurture life amid bloodshed.

And like a moth to a flame, Azriel—Death incarnate—is repeatedly drawn to Elain, whose light seems to be able to cut through his shadows. A match in power for the darkness.

Elain looked up at Azriel, their eyes meeting, his hands still lingering on the hilt of the blade. I saw the painting in my mind: the lovely fawn, blooming spring vibrant behind her. Standing before Death, shadows and terrors lurking over his shoulder. Light and dark, the space between their bodies a blend of the two. The only bridge of connection...that knife. (acowar)

Truth-Teller, a Starborn heirloom, is the bridge between them. It is a bridge of power, where dark and light blend together, creating the harmonious contrast of dawn and dusk. Dark light. @offtorivendell wrote beautifully about how this scene hints at their future, and @psychologynerd suggested it represents an alchemical marriage. I have also wondered what might happen if their powers are joined like their hands in this scene. In one hand, Elain creates joy and life, and in the other hand, Azriel inflicts pain and death. They have also traded roles when called upon, usually in response to the other. This might explain why Azriel’s power also behaves like a dark counterpart to Elain’s, shadows gathering information as her Sight does, twining like her prophetic vine of flowers. They also swarm like the living light of healing when Azriel—or someone he cares about—is threatened.

"Because of the shit with Elain?" Azriel stilled. "What happened to Elain?" Cassian waved a hand. "A fight with Nesta. Don't bring it up," he warned when Azriel's eyes darkened. Cassian blew out a breath. "I take that as a no regarding the meeting topic, then." "It's about what I discovered. Rhys said he requires you both there." "It's bad, then." Cassian surveyed the shadows gathered around Az. "You all right?" His brother nodded. "Fine." But the shadows still swarmed him. Cassian knew it was a lie, but didn't push it. Az would speak when he was ready, and Cassian would have better success convincing a mountain to move than getting Az to open up. (acosf)

Elain had a mere fight with her sister and cold-as-death Azriel nearly lost his shit. His eyes darkened and his shadows swarmed him, promising pain. He wasn’t even there to witness the fight, he just heard about it after the fact. Death clearly has it bad for the lovely fawn. And I fully expect to see her living light bring him to his knees. Like a moth to a flame.

#living light #a match in power for the dark #power attracts power #Death and the lovely fawn #twining vines and shadows #swarming light and shadows #like a moth to a flame #Hope and Void #a blend of the two #dark light #elriel #elain archeron #azriel shadowsinger #tog healers #maasverse connections #elainarcheronweek2023 #day 7 #elain archeron week 2023

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