#of nesta needing but not knowing how to receive gentleness | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

theladyofbloodshed · 2 years

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Prompt: Nesta leaves the NC and becomes a blacksmith.

I tweaked it a bit and instead of leaving the NC, she leaves the IC. 6k words.

Ten thousand. Ten thousand fucking steps in this red prison. Nesta had lost count on about two hundred. Each time her legs had began to burn, she rested. There was no point pushing further when she had all the time in the world. She had been smarter this time. In previous attempts to escape this hell carved into a mountain, Nesta had forced her legs to keep moving even when they trembled. That was why she’d fallen. Making it back up had seemed impossible. This time, she wasn’t going back up. She wasn’t staying in this house with these people who crinkled their noses up in disgust at her.

This time, Nesta had filled a bag with food and other supplies – which the house was more than happy to provide for her - and even brought a cushion. Each time that her legs cramped, Nesta sat on her cushion and pulled her book from the bag. The sconces lining the wall would burn brighter for her while she read and nibbled on snacks. Once Nesta’s legs were rested enough, she descended the stairs again.

Anger had smouldered within her like a supernova in previous attempts. That wrath would be her downfall. No, anger was no use here. Nesta had to be smart. She was smart. She had written a formal letter of resignation last week which Cassian had delivered to his beloved master that removed Nesta entirely from her role as emissary to the human lands – not that she ever received a salary for it besides. It wasn’t anger that dogged Nesta’s path today, only determination and grit.

Amren’s voice echoed in her head, sneering. If you want to venture into the city proper, by all means, go ahead. That is, if you can brave the ten thousand steps down from the House.

Ten thousand steps were nothing when you were prepared. Ten thousand steps were nothing when the driving force was wiping the smug look from their faces. Nesta would make it to the bottom. And she would relish that final step. She wished she could see their faces when they realised that Nesta had departed. The only one she felt ashamed to leave was the House itself. It had taken care of her, been gentle with her. How pathetic. The only one who had given her damn about her wellbeing had been a fucking house. No wonder Feyre had five of them.

On and on, Nesta went. The stone was cold, the torches providing the only light. She had to be over halfway, surely? She’d picked a day where she knew none would bother her so that she was free to begin her descent. The actual work in the library had not been awful. Nesta had come to enjoy parts of it – the quiet calm, Gwyn’s company – and if she had the choice, it might have been a place she would have naturally gravitated to. But they had taken her choices. Just as the Cauldron had taken her mortality. Just as they had forced themselves into her life and ruined it. Nesta had never been allowed to make her own choices.

Nesta stilled. She sat again on the cushion, stretching out her toes and wiggling them in her shoes. Her heartrate pulsed a steady, rapid rhythm. She drank generously from her canteen of water. She had eaten her big breakfast which Cassian had praised her for. Nesta had swallowed his praise with a knowing grin; yes, Cassian, she did need the energy because she was escaping from this shit-hole prison.

The end was in sight, she hoped. That fragile hope grew stronger with every step so Nesta was back on her feet, treading down from the next landing.

As Amren said, you are free to leave the House. If you can manage those ten thousand steps. Were they not Feyre’s words to her? When they had destroyed her home, packed up her belongings and condemned her to the House of Wind with Cassian, they had forgotten one thing: She was Nesta Archeron. A spiteful bitch. And spite was a hell of a motivator. She’d manage those ten thousand steps. She’d get to the bottom and laugh. If her freedom hinged on managing those steps then she would fucking well do it.

The balls of her feet thumped against the stone in a rhythm. With each thump, she heard the words her sisters had thrown at her.

Feyre warned me this might happen. Good, let Feyre warn you forever, little Elain. Nesta was done drawing blood for Elain. She had chosen whose skirts to hide behind and she could stay there. When Nesta needed her, Elain had stuck her nose up and thrown her lot in with Feyre’s new, special family. Elain had been the worst betrayal. Too cowardly to show up to their intervention, she had packed up Nesta’s things instead, the wretch.

If Lucien came sniffing around Elain, Nesta would let him. Lucien had only ever been decent to her anyway. Elain could fend for herself. Feyre and Rhys wouldn’t deter Lucien too much – he was far too valuable to them to send him away. The male navigated the mortal lands and every court in Prythian with ease. Nesta wasn’t stupid. The moment she had set eyes on Helion, she knew exactly who Lucien’s father was. Feyre always hesitated for a moment before calling Beron his father. It was a miniscule mis-step, but Nesta noticed it. Rhys noticed her pauses too and his body would tense for the briefest moment. They thought she was oblivious to these things, too addled by alcohol and rage to notice.

Nesta noticed the way Cassian stiffened when she and Morrigan were in the same room, how he’d gravitate towards the blonde, ready to leap to her defence in case nasty Nesta hurt her precious feelings.

I knew plenty of people like you once. You never deserve the benefit of the doubt that good people like him give you.

When Morrigan had said that, clutching her abdomen for dramatic effect, Nesta had fought not to snort with laughter. Perhaps that female and Cassian ought to take a look in the mirror and truly understand who they were before they cast judgement. Nesta knew her flaws better than any. To be blind to them was a weakness. She had wanted to ask Morrigan what she meant by good people. Good people didn’t flirt and claim it was innocent, not when their friend flinched from it. Good friends didn’t buy each other lingerie. Good males didn’t offer foot rubs to the female their brother was in love with. Nesta noticed it all. Azriel was aloof and private, but his hazel eyes lingered too long on Morrigan. The hurt was carried in them each time she draped herself over Cassian or when he squeezed her body against his own. Ignorant, callous, cruel. That was what Nesta had wanted to call them, but she bit her tongue. She had bitten her tongue around the Night Court so often that it bled.

You have become a pathetic waste of life. Oh, Nesta had so badly wanted to reflect that back to Amren. What was she now? A husk of a fae, drained of magic with only a short temper to use as a weapon. Amren was nothing to be fearful of now – and certainly nothing to be respected. She had shown her true colours when Nesta had failed with her own magic. She had seen Nesta as a means to an end, not a friend. Somehow, Nesta had managed to hold in her retort. Her petty revenge had been to move all of Amren’s things to the highest shelves though so it was out of her reach. She’d cackled to herself, hearing the goblin muttering when she was unable to fetch a jigsaw.

A door was in sight. It was old and heavy. There was no lock – what need would there be when no fool would attempt ten thousand steps? An oversight on Rhysand’s part.

Savouring the feel of the metal on her skin, Nesta pressed a glowing cheek to it. It was cool to the touch - and so welcome.

She had done it. Freedom was inches away and she had done it all on her own.

The bright shine of the snow made Nesta shield her eyes. It blanketed the streets of Velaris. People bustled by about their business. She closed her eyes and listened. Snow crunched under boots. Children giggled nearby. Even the Sidra could be heard gargling in between the lull of voices or shoes.

Bundled in her coat and scarf, Nesta took her first steps in the city in weeks. None of it felt real. She moved as if in a dream – and yet, it was all so vivid. Nesta inhaled the cold, crisp air, thankful for the way it bit into her lungs. For too long, she had stared down from the roof, wishing she could have her freedom again.

Nesta moved through the crowded streets, not minding if an elbow clipped her own, not snarling at the apologies. Snowflakes landed on her raised hood. She extended a hand, letting a few drop into her palm before melting away.

Her apartment had been condemned. They were true to their word at least. The tiny corner of land would be utilised to house those still displaced by the war. Never mind that her sister now had a vast mansion on the river front, an elegant town house, a cabin in Illyria, a prison cut into a red mountain, and a moonstone palace in the Hewn City. Nesta’s home, the only home she had ever chosen for herself, had been ripped out from under her feet instead. Where had her neighbours gone? Had they been compensated?

Heartbreak motivated her now, so Nesta trawled the streets of Velaris in search of work or board. Far in the west, where the river widened, Nesta found a grey-stone building with a thatched roof. Beside it was a small cottage. Winter had darkened the skies early and Nesta knew that soon, Cassian would return to the house and realise she was missing. Perhaps she had until morning if he thought she was already asleep. There was still a glow in the windows of the workshop so Nesta took a breath and knocked.

A ruddy-skinned male opened the door a few moments later. Delicious heat blasted from the door where his forge blazed. Soot-covered hands were wiped down his equally dirty apron.

‘What do you want?’

A male after her own heart, she thought, at his blunt question.

‘A place to stay – for the night.’

The male grimaced. ‘This isn’t an inn. Follow this street then take the second right. There’s one there. The Boar’s Beard.’

‘I’ll work,’ Nesta offered desperately. ‘Please. One night.’

She lowered her hood, not sure why. Her face was recognisable in this city as the high lady’s sister, but Nesta was still a young female. The blacksmith had lines on his face like fingers traced in the sand and his hair was thinning. She prayed that he would take pity on her.

He sighed. It was more of a growl than anything. ‘One night. If you steal from me, I’ll chop your hand off. Can you cook?’

Nesta tensed. Barely. ‘Yes.’

‘In the cottage. Light the stove. Cook something. I’ll be an hour.’

The gruff interaction carried over for the first couple of days. Her one night turned into two then three and so on.

The cottage was lonely, his life even more so. It wasn’t until the second day that Nesta had even learnt the blacksmith’s name. It was Petar. The syllables had rattled around his mouth with disuse. There were remnants of a female in his home; a dusty basket of knitting, books on cooking. Nesta saw no sign of any other family, no wife or daughter. He was totally alone.

The stove was black with wedged on food and the oven even worse. Nesta had scrubbed and scrubbed. After the first dinner, she had scrubbed the surfaces, the floor, the windows.

On the second morning, Petar had dumped a pile of dirty clothes on the clean table and said if she cleaned them, she could stay another night for free. Nesta had worked and worked. She carried out all the traditionally female jobs around the house that had been neglected like mending clothes, cleaning, cooking. The only signs of life were the patrons to the forge. It suited her.

By the fourth morning, Nesta ventured into his forge with a pot of tea. He never called her by name, only girl. He mopped the sweat from his brow then perched on a crate. Nesta tried not to frown at the grubbiness of the building.

‘Can I clean this too?’

‘It will be filthy again tomorrow, girl.’

‘I like a challenge.’

Bucket after bucket was emptied out. Black water sloshed across the snow. She managed to sweep up metallic scraps and tidy his workstation. Petar explained the various stages of forging a blade, from the quality of the ore to the proving while she worked around him. Nesta had even organised his tools, which he was grateful for it seemed; Petar had patted her on the head like a dog with a massive hand.

One evening, when he caught her watching him, he gestured to the coals. ‘Do you want to try? I’ve made a mess of the pommel. It’s yours if you want it.’

The rare time that the male touched her, Nesta never felt afraid. He adjusted her shoulders and used his foot to spread hers further apart. Petar stood behind her, his strong arm bearing the weight of the hammer. He spoke gently to her, more gently than the blunt words they’d exchanged thus far. His hand was warm and calloused, guiding hers down at the blade. With every strike, Nesta grew more confident. Nesta could have sworn the world paused as she unleashed herself on blade with the same intensity that she had stared down the King of Hybern.

Sleet drizzled from the thick grey skies as Nesta ate a breakfast of toast and eggs. Twice a week, Petar ventured into the city to re-stock the pantry. He had not yet asked Nesta to leave. The male wasn’t wealthy – not like Rhysand, but nobody could be – but he earned a good income, enough that Nesta’s presence wasn’t a burden on his pocket.

Despite only heading to his forge moments before, Petar swung open the front door. A blast of cold air followed him in. The usual frown had been replaced for something like disbelief. He carefully lay a sword onto the table.

‘Look at it.’

The pommel and cross guard were just as they had been; Nesta had not worked on them. Inch by inch, she removed the scabbard from the sword. The fresh steel glowed like moonlight lay within the metal.

‘Ah. I suppose that’s not supposed to happen.’

Iridescent sparks danced along the blade. Pure, crackling magic. The light danced and spurted as if an invisible hammer still struck it. Petar sank back in his chair lost between admiration and disgust.

‘It’s a magic blade,’ he murmured. ‘You put your magic within the metal.’

‘Does it make more valuable?’

His rounded face paled. ‘Only three Made swords have ever existed, girl. You can change the tide in a war with this.’

‘But is it valuable?’

The blacksmith gestured for her to cover the blade again, as if it were listening to their conversation. He shook his head solemnly.

‘Only a fool would sell this. There is no price that would ever compare.’

Nesta pondered it for a moment. Her fingers drummed against the table, breakfast forgotten, and the sword seemed to thrum in response to her rhythm.

‘What if I made another?’

***

Under Petar’s tutelage, Nesta learnt how to craft. Not every item was imbued with magic – only seven so far. She had managed to train herself not to pour her emotions into it. Mostly that came through the mind-stilling techniques that Gwyn had taught her. If she thought of her sisters, of the people who had trapped her in that house, her blades were wrought with power again.

Refuge could be found at the forge. It was difficult work that left her aching afterwards. It was a different sort of ache to the kind that came from training. Her right arm was thicker with muscle from raising the hammer repetitively. When her muscles hurt too much, she switched back to taking care of the house. Each night, she slept solidly. Eight hours on her feet contributed to it too.

Petar was glad to share his skill with her. He wasn’t a magnificent craftsman but his work was well-made and sturdy. Different techniques were employed for longswords and daggers. As well as working the metal, the ore had to be managed, finished pieces smoothed and polished. Beyond weapons, Petar had shown her how to make links until she had produced an entire chain then shoes for horses, nails, hooks, hinges, and implements for the fire.

When farriers came to purchase more horse shoes, they were always complimentary of Nesta’s work. Of course, the compliments were mingled with comments that they had not known many females who worked as a smith. Rather than smack them with her precious hammer, Nesta would smile blandly instead. Those who pressed the topic, who seemed to think that because they were males, they would be more suited to the role, Nesta offered to run them through with one of her blades to test its sharpness.

Without meaning to, Nesta had become Petar’s apprentice. It ought to have been an avenue she recoiled from. In the evenings, her hands were black. There was a layer of soot that could never fully be removed despite thorough scrubbing. The scrubbing was necessary too because she sweated no end from the heat. Burns dotted her clothes and her skin. Yet she loved it. She loved every moment. Loved to watch the sparks fly from the metal when it was struck. Fires no longer bothered her. The ringing peal of her hammer overpowered anything else.

Winter had waned. Solstice had been and gone. Nesta had not stepped foot in the city since that first day that she had departed the House of Wind. She was not a prisoner her. Sometimes she took a walk in the mornings around the area, but it was on the outskirts with only a mill and a farm for company so she saw nobody. Alcohol hadn’t tempted Nesta either. The roaring in her mind had been overpowered by her craft.

If word had snaked its way back to the Inner Circle that Nesta was now training as a blacksmith, they hadn’t acted upon it. She doubted that anybody truly knew who she was. Most days, Nesta’s hair was pulled into a bun, sweat slicking it to her scalp or running in dribbles down her face through the black grime. On a rare day off, Nesta scrubbed and scrubbed until her skin was clean of soot. Her hair would be carefully braided into a coronet and she’d choose a gown to sit by the window and read in peace. It never felt like work though, Nesta loved to be in the forge – surprising herself. She and Petar moved around each other like two orbiting bodies, never meeting, never interfering. They worked mostly in silence once Nesta had developed her skills except sometimes she called on him for assistance.

Petar still called her girl rather than Nesta, though sometimes his voice would be fonder and he’d call her “my girl” like a proud father. Well done, my girl. Keep trying, my girl. Each time that Petar called her that way, it softened a part of Nesta. He hadn’t cared if she was as blunt as him. Hadn’t cared why she turned up on his door or why she hadn’t left. The male was as unlikely as she was to seek out comfort and, somehow, they had found quiet companionship together.

***

‘There’s a market coming at the turn of spring. A big one.’

Nesta pushed her roast potatoes around on her plate to soak up as much gravy as possible. Her cooking had improved too. The owner of the cookery books, perhaps a deceased wife, had written cramped notes around the recipes. Nesta handled the books with reverence each time she tried to create a new meal for them. Today had been a simple roast dinner with a joint of beef that had been roasting on a low heat since the dawn. Her work made her ravenous so withholding food was no longer a punishment to herself and eating became a source of enjoyment. Petar never held the sugar bowl hostage either. He was as fond of pudding as Nesta.

‘As my apprentice, are you coming?’

‘In Velaris?’

Petar used only a fork to jab at the tender meat rather than a knife to slice. Once, that lack of manners might have made Nesta shocked. ‘Illyria. Once a year, high-fae are permitted to sell their wares.’

‘You want me to go with you? They don’t like females.’

A grumble came from the male then, ‘I had a thought.’

‘Go on.’

‘Weapons sell well in Illyria. Males won’t buy from you – but what if you convinced females?’

‘I’m not much of a public speaker.’

Petar grunted. ‘Then thrust your magic swords at a passing male. Just be there.’

It was tempting actually. She had practised often enough with every blade she had created, just to test its balance. If Rhys and Feyre were going to leave Illyria to fester, Nesta wanted to take her sword and cut off the hand of any male that dared touch a female without her consent. What better way to do that than to arm all of the females? Nesta was more recognisable in Illyria though, more likely for her sister to find her whereabouts. She had nothing to hide. She had followed their deal, had gone down all ten thousand steps as stipulated by their ridiculous intervention.

‘Why does it matter if I’m there?’

Petar threw his fork down. ‘Because you’ll have all this when I’m gone. Who else will it go to?’

They both scowled at each other across the table. Nesta crumbled first. ‘Stop being so familiar with me.’

‘Then don’t be so nice.’

‘Fine.’

‘Fine?’

‘Fine, I’ll go.’

‘Good.’

‘Dessert?’

***

For many weeks, they prepared a large, canopied wagon to begin the journey to Illyria. Nesta hadn’t really considered what the journey might be like without winnowing or flight. Two large shire horses had been hitched to the wagon. It was packed with their products as well as a tent for them to sleep in. Oddly, the thought of sharing a tent with Petar did not fill Nesta with dread. He’d been more of a father to her than her own despite his gruff demeanour.

They had busied themselves, preparing as many weapons as they could. Nesta had gone cross-eyed from polishing blades until they gleamed. They’d even worked leather into scabbards and sheaths to keep the blades protected on the journey.

Despite spring blooming in Velaris, on their northern trek, the winds grew colder and snow still coated the rugged landscape of Illyria. They stopped every few hours to untether the horses so they could rest and Nesta would stretch her muscles. She had grown stronger since leaving the House of Wind. Her muscles were lean from working, but she felt healthier too. Being a smith required energy and hard work; both of those required food and sleep and taking care of herself. Without even meaning to, she had done what Feyre had tried to achieve by locking her up. Give her time and space then Nesta would achieve anything she wanted.

As the familiar sight of Windhaven came into view, Nesta’s heart felt imprisoned. She forced herself to breathe evenly as they built a stall from metal frames and dragged a canopy over the top. The high-fae gathering clustered together to ward away the suspicious stares of the Illyrians.

Fear did not accompany Nesta as she walked alone through Windhaven to find a stream to wash herself in. They had spent three nights travelling so she had gotten used to dunking herself in frozen waters and shivering by the fire. They shared each other’s body heat in the tent, with Petar always piling an extra blanket on top of Nesta with a gruff warning to stop her teeth chattering or he’d throw her outside.

In the absence of fear, there was a niggling worry that word would reach the high lord and lady. Nesta repeated her mantra that she was not a prisoner and they could not take her back to the house as she washed her hair in the icy water. It was Cassian she most dreaded to see; she knew how his temper could be. On the journey, she had confessed to Petar who she really was. The male had known – of course he had. When she’d voiced worry that they might try to take her, he’d given a characteristic shrug and told Nesta to strike them with her hammer.

Once back by the fire, Nesta nestled under furs and drank a hot mug of spiced tea. Petar was watching a figure coming towards them.

A slender hand touched her shoulder. ‘Where the hell have you been?’

‘Emerie? What are you doing here?’

‘I live here,’ she reminded Nesta. ‘Why are you here? You’ve been gone for so long. I thought you were dead.’

‘Very much alive.’

For what felt like hours, they whispered under her blankets, keeping first watch on the wagon full of weapons. Emerie filled her on the last few months while Nesta did the same. The inner circle had tried to keep her absence under wraps for a few days until it became too noticeable in training. They had said she'd gone travelling, a paltry lie. Females didn’t want to train without her there, and Nesta felt a sudden guilt that she had in part stopped their learning.

‘Cassian stopped too. It was only Azriel training us. It was a mutual decision to stop.’

‘Do you still have your shop?’ A business opportunity had presented itself. ‘I could make weapons and you could sell them here in Windhaven. Two independent females earning a living.’

‘The males in my family would jump for joy at that,’ Emerie replied drily.

‘Oh? Wait until they see this.’ Nesta had made it a habit to keep a dagger sheathed at her hip. It was the one she was most proud of. Hours and hours had been spent on this. The curved blade met a steel hilt inlaid with golden floral print. It was pretty and infused with her magic. As Nesta withdrew it to show Emerie, the blade sang. It was a high whistle that had others - who were also keeping a watch - turning their heads.

‘Is that a Made blade?’

Nesta sheathed it again, smiling proudly. ‘It is.’

‘It’s not Gwydion’s twin. Where did you find that?’ Emerie’s eyes were wide, her whisper low and wary.

‘I made it. I’ve not drawn blood with it but I gather a Made weapon is valuable.’

Emerie tucked a length of her dark hair behind her curved ear. ‘Nesta, you can’t sell these. They’re so rare. There’s no fortune worthy of it.’

She crossed her ankles over each other. ‘I can make more. I have already.’

‘Don’t sell them,’ she repeated. ‘Those who can afford them shouldn’t have them. They’re the types of weapons that can change a war. Or start one.’

Her friend departed for the night, embracing her tightly as she left. Nesta thought on Emerie’s words. If she did sell these weapons, Emerie was right. Someone like Rhysand could afford it – or Beron Vanserra. Neither one should have access to them. There was a question of morality that Nesta was not prepared to answer where her weapons were concerned.

Their stall was quiet for the most part. Many Illyrians skirted past in silence, some sneered and made crass comments about the quality of the metal. It wasn’t just them; the majority of the market stalls run by high-fae were largely deserted. Petar had shrugged and said trade would pick up later.

The hours trickled by. Emerie had come by to visit again, bringing hot soup for the three of them.

‘My people are superstitious. Since the war, the divide with high-fae has grown – money is in short supply for many too.’

At Emerie’s words, Petar nodded regretfully. Nesta couldn’t take the misery taking up residence on his features. It wasn’t fair. They had worked so hard on preparing for this.

Apart from her dagger and her longsword, Nesta’s Made weapons remained secured at home in Velaris. Desperate times called for desperate measures, so she withdrew the longsword and held it out to catch the sunlight on the blade.

A pulse of magic rippled across Windhaven. It was felt by many. Heads turned towards them, aware of the change in the environment.

‘You have a longsword?’ Emerie hissed, backing up.

‘A longsword and a dagger made by the finest smiths in Velaris,’ Nesta said, carrying her voice on the wind.

By some miracle, trade picked up. None dared to try and touch her sword, but Nesta kept it out on display.

With much pleading and bargaining, Emerie parried her blows. Each time her blade met Emerie’s, the ground trembled and the Illyrian winced at the force of magic that circled around them. It was tempting to find out what the blade could do once it had tasted blood. Bellius – Emerie’s rotten cousin – stood amongst the amassing crowd – and Nesta knew exactly who she’d like to try it on.

A crowd had been lured. Petar worked at his forge, repairing items brought to him while Nesta sold their wares. Her longsword was strapped to her spine, the dagger to her hip and Nesta had never felt so powerful.

Later, the crowd parted. A sudden hush descended. Four males stood staring at the market stall. Two were Illyrian, the third rippled with magic, and the final male was tall with pale skin and red hair.

‘Nesta?’

Cassian’s voice, rough and unyielding, chilled Nesta’s blood. Azriel sized up the space between them. Cassian tended to charge in, heart on his sleeve, worrying about the consequences later. Eris Vanserra saw all, enjoyed all. As slippery as could be, he inclined his head in greeting.

‘Well, this is unexpected.’ Rhys’ voice was as cool as starlight, but Nesta shivered from the tone. ‘A blacksmith. No wonder we couldn’t find you. Not even a scrying would find you covered in grime.’

Petar had stilled. Above all, Rhys was his high lord. If he leapt in at her defence, he would reap the consequences.

‘We’ve been worried. Your sisters have been worried.’

Cassian left the next line unspoken. I was worried. The male should have worried about her earlier when she cried for days over her father’s death, when she couldn’t close her eyes without seeing the king’s hands fracturing his neck. Cassian hadn’t worried for her when he drank and sang songs with Mor and Feyre while Nesta vomited all night in sheer terror after the war.

‘It’s time to come home, Nesta.’ Again, Rhysand’s tone left little room for choice. It was an order, nothing more.

‘No.’

‘Nesta,’ he warned, wary of the Illyrians gathered in the crowd. He had little control over them as it was; their allegiance hung by a delicate thread, Nesta knew. Time for a little chaos.

‘No.’

Rhys might have been the most powerful high lord in existence, but Nesta Archeron had plundered the Cauldron and seized its magic. She wasn't a spiteful bitch for nothing. Whatever he had, she could match.

Nesta angled on the spot so that her sword crossed her body. The metal sparkled with moonlight, pulsing with her inhales as if it were an extension of herself. The magic throbbing was unmistakeable. And it was begging to be released.

A whoosh of breath left Azriel as his eyes landed on the sword. Rhys backed up a step, dragging Cassian back with him. Not Eris though. Eris Vanserra cracked into a smile. It spread across his pale face.

‘I will not be returning to your prison. I am an ordinary citizen not under your command. I have board and employment. Furthermore, I descended the steps.’

A growl emitted from Cassian’s throat. There was something drawing them together. Not the thick, metal links of a chain, more a gossamer thread from a spider. Easy to cut away. Nesta pointed her sword at him. He had been complicit in helping them lock her away. Cassian had never been on Nesta’s team. He never would be. Cassian was loyal to Rhys and only Rhys.

‘Feyre told me that if I managed the steps, I was free to leave. She is high lady, as you so love to tell me. You haven’t a leg to stand on. I’m not yours. You cannot keep me.’

The magic that resided in the longsword thrashed against the metal cage, desperate to wet its tongue with blood. She felt the recoil of magic from the others gathered. There was a larger crowd now, hungry to see why their high lord and his brothers were pale and stuttering backwards.

‘Where did you find that sword?’ Eris’ voice was alluring. She expected his amber eyes to be tracing the hard lines of the sword, but they were fixed on her own. Was he assessing her as a threat? Or something entirely different.

In a quiet voice, the whole village hanging on her every word, she said, ‘I made it.’

The silence was deafening. In answer, her sword gave another burst of magic. It writhed within the metal like a snake seeking an outlet. It craved to protect her.

‘You did what?’ Darkness laced Rhysand’s figure. His face had gone slack. Far different to the red-haired male beside him who grinned with feral delight at Nesta’s admission.

Wisely, Petar moved from the forge at Nesta’s approach. She plunged her own sword into the hard ground, admiring the way it sliced through easily then withdrew the blade he had been heating in the flames.

‘I.’ She grunted, striking it with the hammer. ‘Made.’ Another strike. ‘It.’

Nesta gritted her teeth. There were too many eyes on them. It was too far down the path to turn back now. She had to follow this through. Silver fire blazed within her vision.

Again and again, Nesta heated the metal and hammered it into shape with the eyes of Windhaven staring in their stunned silence. Finally, she thrust it into the barrel of water. It made a satisfying hiss as it cooled.

The water was repulsed by it. When Nesta withdrew it, it burst to life with red sparks lighting up the spine. It wasn’t the cold flames her magic usually created. This time, Nesta had impregnated it with wrath and fury and it burned hot.

‘I Made it.’ Her chest rose and fell rapidly.

Try and take me, she thought to herself. The males wouldn’t dare. They wouldn’t risk the power of these swords. Emerie and Petar had refused to touch the others.

‘Run along now, boys. You’re not wanted here.’

‘Rhysand, I think I would much rather make a deal with this female than you.’ Eris cocked his head to the side, admiring her. ‘You are magnificent.’

#blacksmith nesta #nesta archeron #anon asks #my writing

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velidewrites · 1 year

Text

Two Gifts and a Sword

What if I told you love is meant to feel better than this?

Pairing: Lucien Vanserra x Gwyneth Berdara

Word Count: 947

Warnings: None

Note: This is my very humble submission for Day 1 of @sjmromanceweek: Meet Cute. Enjoy!

It was nearing midnight at the House of Wind, and Lucien longed for the blissful quiet of the darkness.

He’d left the townhouse as quickly as he could, exchanging greetings, good wishes and gifts—exactly in that order. After so many years, the Winter Solstice had become nothing more but a routine.

There was only one thing different about today.

This year, he did not bring her a gift.

Feyre received one, of course, and, for the first time, so did Nesta and her mate. A mating present, he’d called it when Cassian mumbled something about not getting anything for him. Since I couldn’t be there for the ceremony, he added, and that seemed to appease the male enough.

Two gifts—and that was it.

Whether she’d take it with offence or a breath of relief—he didn’t care anymore. The only thing he did care about was getting past the training ring and straight into his bed.

He found it already occupied.

A female was practicing under the moonlight, her hair like molten copper flowing atop a gentle breeze. It was a different shade to his own—a richer kind of red, one that he imagined glistened brighter than the sun when she’d stepped out into daylight.

The female turned, and Lucien frowned. He’d never seen her before.

An intruder, then?

But understanding dawned upon her freckled face, and she lowered her sword, inclining her head in respect.

“Lord Vanserra.”

Oh, gods.

She must think I’m…

“I’m not Eris,” he told her, almost stumbling back a step. His brother and the Night Court were allies now, yes, though he doubted the relationship was close enough for Eris to be invited to family events.

Her eyes, teal like the surface of a calm sea, narrowed in assessment. “You are Elain Archeron’s mate.”

Something tightened in his throat at the words, and he pressed his lips into a thin line. “I am,” he told her. Even though it means nothing.

“She isn’t here,” she told him.

“I know.” She’s back at the townhouse with another male.

Those eyes surveyed him again. “Why are you here, then?”

Lucien’s mouth twitched. “Who are you?” So…inquisitive.

“Gwyn,” she said, then cleared her throat. “I mean. My name is Gwyneth. Gwyneth Berdara.” She reached out a hand.

He found it slender and surprisingly strong.

“Gwyneth,” he mused, weighing the word on his tongue. Pretty. “Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you. My name is Lucien Vanserra.”

“I know that,” she said, and he smiled, unable to help himself.

“How, exactly, do you fit into this court?” he asked.

Gwyn—Gwyneth—straightened, no longer leaning over the hilt of her sword. “I’m a Valkyrie.”

Lucien frowned. “Valkyries died out centuries ago.”

“Well, they’re back now,” she said, something like pride creeping into her tone.

Lucien almost scoffed. “I find that hard to believe. The training—” he started, but the flash in Gwyn’s gaze effectively shut him up.

“You think someone like me couldn’t have done it?” she challenged.

“No, I—” he sighed. “Forgive me. I’m…usually much nicer than this.”

She angled her head. “Is that so?”

“Well, I try to be, at least.”

Gwyneth hummed at that. “I suppose, in your circumstances, it is the least you could do.

Lucien’s mouth tightened again, and she quickly amended, “I’m sorry. Believe it or not, I, too, am usually much nicer than this.”

“I don’t need your pity, Gwyneth Berdara,” he assured her.

“It’s not pity I’m offering.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “What is it, then?”

She sighed. “Understanding.”

He saw it, then—saw the sadness that hid behind those bright eyes, an endless sea of emotion she felt too deeply to risk a flood.

He saw it, because he felt it too.

“Is that so?” he asked her anyway.

She nodded. “It is,” she said, her gaze shifting up into the stars.

“I’m sorry to hear that, Gwyn,” Lucien said quietly.

A faint blush stained her cheeks as she looked at him again. “I thought we agreed on no pity tonight.”

Lucien smiled. “Right. Forgive me.”

“You know, for a nobleman, you sure do apologise a lot.”

He huffed. “I am hardly a nobleman.”

She rolled her eyes playfully. “I think you’re as much a nobleman as I’m a Valkyrie.”

Lucien’s gaze narrowed at that. “I’m…not sure what to make of that.”

Challenge flashed in her eyes again, and this time, Lucien met it with a grin. “You still don’t believe me?” Gwyn asked. “I’ll spar you right now,” she said, her grip tightening around the hilt again.

Lucien raised a diplomatic hand with a chuckle. “I think I’m starting to.”

Quiet fell, neither of them choosing to say anything, and Lucien, too, looked up to the stars. He was starting to realise why she’d opted to train under the open sky. There was something so calming in its darkness—a serenity in a world of pain.

“It hurts,” Gwyn’s quiet voice reached him, and his gaze fell on her again. “I never thought…” she shook her head, her eyes dropping to the stone floor.

Lucien nodded. “Go on.”

“It’s not important,” she hedged.

“It is.”

She looked at him at that—truly and openly, letting all that emotion rise to the surface. “I never thought that of all the things I’ve done, love would be the hardest,” she finally whispered.

Lucien swallowed hard. “I did know. I just thought…I just thought that this time, it would be different.”

Gwyn said carefully, “Perhaps it wasn’t love, then.”

Lucien nodded, and found that, for the first time, his heart did not sting with pain as he said, “No. Perhaps it wasn’t.”

#sjmromanceweek2023 #lucien x gwyn #lucien vanserra x gwyneth berdara #lucien vanserra #gwyneth berdara #acotar drabble #acotar fic #acotar #a court of thorns and roses #my writing

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hellogoodbye14 · 3 years

Note

Okay I dunno if you take fic requests but I would love to read one from you based on this prompt 💕💕💕💕

Azriel complaining to Rhys about Nyx bullying him because he keeps asking for hugs and kisses and its harmful to his broody bat facade and "Cauldron Rhys I can't babysit him, HOW THE HELL AM I SUPPOSED TO SAY NO TO HIM!!!??" while Rhys laughs and the distressing effects of an adorable child on his spymaster.

I m just a sucker for fluff and fun and Uncle Az 😁😁😁

Ask and you shall receive fam ❤️ (also might have gone overboard with this but oh well!)

“Unci Assshh!”, yelled the adorable toddler from across the training field.

Nyx was walking - well more like stumbling- between Feyre and Rhys who each held onto one of his tiny hands to help him balance his walk.

His tiny wings ruffled with each excited step and Rhys just laughed at Nyx’s clumsiness and determination to get to the spymaster.

Feyre and Rhys let go as they neared Azriel and Nyx threw himself at Azriels right leg. Azriel chuckled and ruffled his nephews head. Nyx as usual tried to crawl up Azriels long leg and managed to get to his thigh this time. Azriel gently grabbed Nyx by the scruff of his shirt behind Nyx’s head, like one holds up a puppy. Nyx squeeled with laughter and reached out to play with the shadows around him.

“Hey little troublemaker”, said Azriel as he carefully moved Nyx to his shoulders. The toddler was now joyfully yanking at Azriels hair.

Feyre winced, “sorry Az, he’s been yanking at everyones hair these days.”

Azriel just smiled and said it was no problem at all.

His highlord then gave him a list. Yes a list. One he always gave if Nyx was left with anyone who had to babysit. He had the list at each of the houses. One specifically addressed to every.single.person. To say Rhys was a motherhen was an understatement.

Feyre just rolled her eyes at her mate and motioned Azriel to bend down so she could give Nyx a peck goodbye.

“Be good for uncle Az”

“Unciiii Asssshhhhh!” , the toddler yelled in excitement.

Rhys smiled at his son, “we’ll be back from winter court in about two hours at most. Thank you for doing it again. Oh also under any circumstances NO sugar for him.”

Azriel nodded as Rhys reached up and ruffled Nyx’s hair who in return waved at his father and said “byeee daaaaa!”

Azriel was about to turn and take Nyx flying when he bumped into Gwyn.

“Oh hey!” , but the valkyrie was already cooing at Nyx who now reached out his hands to be picked up by Gwyn.

“Look at you, you little munchkin!”, she grabbed his tiny fist and pretended to munch on them, “oh i could just eat you up.”

Nyx squeeled with laughter.

“Umm.. I’m still here you know.”

Gwyn looked up at a frowning Azriel.

“You get my attention at training everyday, this one is too adorable to ignore.”

Azriel shook his head and rolled his eyes. His shadows as always were reaching out to Gwyn, and Nyx was taking full advantage of it and playing with them.

“Guys!”

Emerie came running out, “we need to go to Illyria for a bit, Nesta says they need help with the commanders meeting.”

Azriel frowned, “Cassian needs me to look over the trainees while he deals with the commanders?”

“Yeap”

“I have Nyx. I can’t train them.”

“He said you only have to stay and overlook it. Give some pointers, not engage them in any training yourself. He’s swamped.”

Azriel reached out to Rhys and Rhys offered his approval to take Nyx with.

Gwyn frowned down at the toddler,

“Will it be safe for him to be there?”

“Feyre says Rhys has a shield around Nyx which equates to the shield around Velaris. Besides he’s with us, it’ll be fine.”

“What did Rhys say?”, asked a surprised Emerie.

Azriel smiled, “He wanted to come back and take Nyx but Feyre told him to shut up and stop being so over dramatic.”

Emerie laughed, “sounds like Feyre. Okay lets go.”

Luckily, the weather at Illyria was on the mild side today, Azriel regardless made sure Nyz was covered and warm. The toddler was taken with Gwyn, not that Azriel could blame him. Any time Gwyn tried to leave the ring, the toddlers face would scrunch up, alerting everyone that he will wail like hell if Gwyn leaves.

Azriel had Nyx buckled and wrapped against his torso, and the toddler squeeled, clapped, and offered “wooaows” at the training illyrians. The illyrians were surprised to see the high lords son but still offered smiles at the toddler, they however turned their gaze away from Azriels stare in fear. Well that was until, Nyx called out and demanded attention, “unciii asshh, kiss”.

The blades the illyrians used faltered at that and gwyn straight up laughed at Azriels red cheeks. He nonetheless couldn’t refuse the adorable violet eyes looking up at him and gave Nyx a peck on the cheek.

The request was repeated another two times, until Nyx started getting fussy. It had been over an hour and Azriel had settled Nyx down on the mat and gave him some snacks. Healthy Rhysand approved snacks. But no. The toddler wanted candy.

“Buddy I have no candy, and your dad said no”

“Unci Ashh pleeease?”

Azriel sighed and looked up at the heavens. He could never refuse this child anything. Lord help him. Where the heck would he find candy in illyria? Gwyn ruffled in her pockets and got out five different candies.

Azriel lifted an eyebrow, “really?”

Gwyn just shrugged, “what.. I get hungry after training.”

“Well aren’t you the answer to all my prayers”

Gwyn blushed at that.

Another hour passed and Nyx was fussy again, Az sat down at the bench and tried to rock Nyx to sleep but the toddler was not having it. He turned around to make sure all the trainees were far away taking their break and looked down at Nyx. He then begun singing light notes of a song Nyx always loved. As he sang, his shadows gently caressed Nyx and soon his nephew was asleep in his arms.

Azriel carefully without jolting Nyx stood up and turned towards the ring. A ring packed with trainees who were gawking at him as if he was an alien. Well they obviously heard their stern spymaster sing a lullaby. Gwyn had returned from Emeries shop with Emerie as well and looked at him funny.

“What?”

She shook her head, “nothing. You have a beautiful voice Azriel.”

Azriel nodded his thanks and felt his cheeks burn.

“I’m taking him to the cottage, are you coming with?”

“Emerie is meeting Mor here in a bit. She’ll winnow us back.” Azriel nodded at the pair and turned to take Nyx inside the cottage. As soon as he got in, Rhys and Feyre had winnowed in.

“Is he okay? Didn’t trouble you too much?”, asked Feyre as she carefully took a sleeping Nyx into her arms.

“He’s fine and he was great.”

Feyre nodded and moved towards the kitchen to warm up some milk. Rhys gave a gentle kiss on Nyx’s head before she left the room.

“Why is there a chocolate stain on my sons mouth?”, said Rhys throwing an accusing look his way.

“Rhys, I can’t say no to him okay?! Its fucking impossible! He looks up at you with his puppy dog eyes and says please and I CANT SAY NO.”

Rhys just laughed.

“No I’m serious! And he is taking my rep to shit okay, I have a reputation to uphold. Everyone was scared of me, NOW THEY LOOK AT ME LIKE IM A CUTE LITTLE BEAR WHO SINGS LULLABIES!”

At this point Rhys was doubled over, holding his hand against his stomach. “Stop! lord this is too good. My high, mighty and terrifying spymaster brought down to a little bunny you said? By a toddler.”

Azriel sniffed, crossed his arms across his chest and rolled his eyes, “I said bear not bunny.”

Azriel could hear Feyre’s laughter from the kitchen as well, “not funny!”

“Oh my gods, its hilarious! I cant even right now”, she called out from the kitchen.

#acosf #acotar #acowar #acomaf #feysand #rhysand #feyre and rhysand #feyre archeron #high lord rhysand #baby nyx #nyx acotar #azriel x gwyn #gwyn x azriel #gwynriel #shadowsinger #nyx like his father plays cupid too #nyx and rhys are matchmaker pros

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duskandstarlight · 3 years

Text

Ribbons (Gwynriel drabble)

Notes: This is technically a Drabble thanks to an anon ask but I’m posting it in its own post because it may inspire a four-chapter Gwynriel fic later down the line. The title “Ribbons” will make a lot more sense once you’ve read them all. The prompt was “Gwyn and Az first kiss 💖”. Enjoy!

Azriel always thought attraction was akin to an arrow—it was arresting, piercing the heart with that sudden epiphany. That’s how it had been with Mor and Elain—a moment of being unable to breathe, unable to think of anything apart from them, even as he realised that whilst his heart was no longer his own, he’d never own theirs.

And in the shared moments with each of those females, Azriel’s shadows always betrayed him. A smile solely for him or a few kind words and they’d lift for the briefest of seconds. It was enough time to expose his expression and the clear want in his eyes—sometimes even the faint embarrassment that burned his cheeks from being thrown into the spotlight. Because if there was one thing that Azriel had learnt over five hundred years it was that he would never be worthy.

But with Gwyn things were different. Their interactions weren’t conventional but intriguing. Gwyn was the priestess he’d been too late to save at Sangravah, but they rarely brought up how they first met. Instead, Gwyn acted as if he might be a predator. It was not something Azriel judged her for. After what had happened to her, he did not blame Gwyn for acting like she was a deer and he a lion. But under his and Cassian’s gentle tutelage in the sparring ring, and the company of Nesta and Emerie, Gwyn bloomed like the roses in his mother’s garden. No longer did she hover uncertainly in the shadows—she emerged fully into the light, her auburn hair glistening in the sunshine, her lithe figure unwaveringly strong in her fighting leathers.

And Gwyn was too smart for her own good, putting together that he had given her the necklace, and that she was not the original recipient, within weeks of receiving it. But rather than freeze him out, Gwyn had turned up to training after a few absent evenings and thanked him, before telling him sternly that she may be living with Clotho’s priestesses but that she didn’t need to be treated like damaged goods, thank you very much.

After that, she crept up on him—slowly but surely—over months of nightly training sessions as both of them avoided the churning of memory, thoughts and dreams. And in those moments beneath the stars, Azriel started to see Gwyn not as the girl who’d been raped by Hybern’s men, but as Gwyn. He learnt things about her and noticed details he hadn’t before—or at least hadn’t acknowledged thanks to his tortured wallowing—such as how Gwyn’s teal eyes glittered with challenge, or how her nose wrinkled just so when she was concentrating on mastering a manoeuvre.

But the biggest change was in his shadows—that pesky, childish part of him that Azriel couldn’t wholly control. They began to grow more inquisitive, peeking over his shoulder as she told him about her latest research or what book Nesta and Emerie had recommended to her. And if his focus slipped for a second, they would start to stretch their tendrils towards her, reaching, reaching—

Azriel blamed the lack of control on sleep deprivation, but Gwyn never shied away from the shadows that blotted out the stars. She only opened her palm, lit up as they wound around her arm and up her neck, whispering, whispering in a language no-one understood but him. Pestered him for answers about them until he was sure she was going to abandon their nightly meetings altogether in place of the library to learn more about Shadowsinger gifts.

And then one evening, after months and months of trying, Gwyn managed to cut the ribbon with her non-fighting hand. She turned to him with pure, undiluted elation etched across her features, and Azriel only had the time to register that she looked beautiful as she threw her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek.

It was rarely something anybody ever did with him. With Azriel people were always cautious in their approach of him—distant from the male submerged in the storm or shadows they did not understand. But Gwyn did not seem to care. Didn’t even blanch as his shadows twined around them like dancing ribbons.

And when she drew back, Azriel knew.

Tags (let me know if you want to be added/removed): @arinbelle @superspiritfestival @sayosdreams @perseusannabeth @mylittlebigplanet @biggestwingspan-az @bellsqueen @ekaterinakostrova @bookstantrash @prophecyerised @rainbowcheetah512 @awesomelena555 @wannawriteyouabook @lovelynesta @melphss @laylaameer01 @a-trifling-matter @grouchycritic7794 @thalia-2-rose @champanheandluxxury @swankii-art-teacher @princessconsuela02 @lavendergoomsltd @princessofmerchants-reads @jeakat @sjm-things @imwritingthesewords @nestable @inejbrekkxr @silvernesta @inyourmindeye @amelie775 @helen-the-weirdo @pizzaneverdisappoints @wishfulimaginings @trash-for-nessian @my-fan-side @sophilightwood @valkyriesupremacy @vidalinav @onceupona-chaos @inardour @thesunremembersyourface @teagoddess99 @ellies-iced-coffee @nehemikkele @misswonderflower

#acotar5 #acotar #duskandstarlightwrites #acotar fanfic #ACOSF fanfic #Gwynriel #gwynriel fanfic #gwyn and azriel #azriel x gwyn #azriel shadowsinger #azrielpov #gwyn berdara

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snelbz · 3 years

Text

Life As We Know It {Chapter Seven}

Summary: After the sudden deaths of Nesta’s sister and Cassian’s best friend, they gain guardianship of their nephew, Nyx.

Based on Life As We Know It (2010) and a prompt sent in by anonymous for our Nessian fanfic contest. This is a modern au.

Instead of doing a tag list for this story, we have decided to have a set posting schedule. Chapters will be posted weekly on Mondays and Thursdays. Chapters will be posted on both my and Tara’s blogs! >> @tacmc.

Life As We Know It Masterlist

Shelby’s Masterlist

Tara’s Masterlist

Nesta was out with Elain, Mor, Emerie, Amren, and Gwen for the night.

She had no idea when she’d be home.

This meant one thing and one thing only.

It was Cassian’s first night alone with Nyx.

It was no different than being home alone with Nyx during the day, which Cassian had been a handful of times thus far. However, Nyx didn’t seem to need as much during the day.

Eat, sleep, play, repeat.

At night, he needed a dinner, a bath, his bottle, to be rocked, to be put down for the night…which was something he never liked doing. A daytime nap? He didn’t mind. Sleeping for nine hours? Apparently that thought just pissed him off.

Nesta was a pro at getting him to sleep for the night. Cassian had offered once to do it and failed miserably.

“Not tonight, little man,” Cassian said to Nyx as they sat at the dinner table together. “Tonight, you’re going to bed the first time for Uncle Cassian.”

Nyx looked at Cassian and giggled.

Cassian scoffed. “Don’t mock me.”

Dinner with Cassian meant Nyx got the good shit. No puréed green beans or mashed carrots tonight. After he’d polished off a small jar of the cinnamon apples, Nyx had eaten nearly half a tube of puréed sweet potato, and Cassian was eating his own food. He took a bite of supreme pizza and pointed at him, before holding up a single finger. “After this, we’re gonna take a bath, and you aren’t going to throw water everywhere or poop in the tub, got it?”

Nyx just banged his little hand on the tray of his high chair, causing more sweet potato to fly onto himself, grinning up at Cassian.

“Then one last bottle before bed, while I read you a story,” he said, holding up a second finger. “I’m sure there will be a diaper change in there somewhere, so please go easy on me, yeah?”

Nyx played in the mess of mixed food in front of him.

“And then you go to bed, so I can watch a movie and pass out myself, and boom. Nesta can’t say anything about my parenting anymore cause I managed to keep you alive for a whole night.”

Nyx blew a raspberry at him before he started babbling.

Cassian took that as agreement.

“Perfect,” Cassian said, ruffling Nyx’s dark hair as he shoved the rest of the pizza into his mouth with his other hand.

He got up to clear his plate, and by the time he went back to Nyx’s high chair, he had managed to make orange streaks in his black hair.

Courtesy of the sweet potatoes.

With a sigh, Cassian took the tray off the high chair and unbuckled Nyx, picking him up and carrying him toward the bath.

“You first, tray second,” Cassian said.

Nyx started patting his little potato covered hands on Cassian’s cheeks, giggling at the sound it made.

Cassian cringed at the way it felt. “Thanks for that.”

He filled the bathtub up, ensuring it wasn’t too hot, like Nesta had shown him, and got Nyx out of his messy clothes and into the tub. After he’d wiped his own face clean of sweet potato, he went to work on Nyx, who had somehow managed to get it on the back of his knees.

Twenty minutes and a full change of wet, soggy clothes later for Cassian, he was sitting in Nyx’s nursery, in the rocking chair in the corner, a book open in his lap.

“This would be a book your parents bought you,” he muttered, opening the front cover. After clearing his throat, he began, “The night sky of Velaris greeted all the townspeople, letting them know it was time to go to bed.” Nyx patted the page and babbled something incoherent. Cassian nodded. “Yeah, it’s a nice picture, isn’t it?” He went on reading the story, written by a local author, no doubt, and Cassian found himself snorting at some of the sentences, but Nyx was fully engaged.

By the time he had finished the book, Nyx was leaning back against him, fully relaxed in his pajamas.

Even Cassian let out a yawn.

“You know, the Velaris starlight was important to your parents,” Cassian said, rocking Nyx back and forth. “They fell in love on Starfall. At least, that’s what Rhys always said. He was in love with your mama long before that, but she started falling for him on Starfall.” Nyx’s dark lashes began to fall, his eyelids drooping. “That’s why they named you Nyx. In Greek, Nyx means night.”

Nyx’s hand gripped Cassian’s thumb. He looked down at the sight and chuckled, quietly.

The baby looked up at him then, with those big, blue eyes, eyes that were so blue, they looked violet in the dark. That dark hair that was starting to need a trim, falling into his eyes. Cassian blinked quickly, trying to keep the sudden tears from spilling over. “You look so much like your dad,” he whispered.

Nyx just continued to watch him, pacifier in his mouth, those eyes getting sleepier with every rock of the chair.

Swallowing harshly, Cass set the book down and resituated Nyx so he was laying against his chest. He gently rubbed his back, the way he saw Nesta do when he would get fussy.

“I miss your dad,” he said, softly. “I know you do, too, you’ve known him your whole life, but—. But so have I. And after twenty-eight years he’s just…gone.”

That dark head snuggled in closer against him, one of his little hands clutching Cassian’s t-shirt.

Cassian said nothing else. If he had, he wouldn’t have gotten them out clearly.

He rocked. He rocked and he rocked and he rocked until Nyx was snoring, softly. As carefully as he could, Cassian rose and laid Nyx down in his crib.

After waiting a moment to make sure he didn’t wake up, Cassian tiptoed out of the room and across the hall to his own bedroom.

He had just laid down and unlocked his phone when he heard crying.

Tossing his phone back on his pillow, Cassian was instantly up, hurrying back across the hall. Nyx’s feet were kicking, his arms waving wildly, perfectly unhappy.

“What’s going on?” Cassian asked, picking the baby up out of the crib and cradling him against his chest. “Huh? You were sleeping so nicely.”

He continued to cry, and no amount of bouncing or patting his back was seeming to work.

“Come on, dude,” he muttered, sitting back down in the rocker. He resumed the slow back and forth motion, praying it would soothe Nyx back into peaceful sleep. “We did the bath. We did the bottle. We did the book. This is when you go to sleep.”

He kept crying and Cassian just shushed him quietly, his hand resuming the gentle rubbing he had done before. It helped, but Nyx still sniffled. “I don’t know what to do,” he admitted. “I don’t know how to do any of this. I’m still scared I’m gonna do something to fuck up and I wouldn’t just be doing it to you, it’d be to Rhys, too.”

Nyx’s wailing returned, and Cassian tried to close his eyes and take deep breaths. It wasn’t working. With everything he tried, Nyx only cried more and more and more.

“Come on, buddy,” he begged. “It’s time for bed, alright? It’s time to calm down.” Nyx let out a cry so loud that Cassian nearly jumped, which only scared Nyx, making him cry louder.

Cassian tried changing his diaper, tried getting him to take his pacifier, but nothing helped. He continued to rock, continued to pat, continued to walk Nyx around his room, but nothing worked.

Nothing.

Defeated, Cassian laid Nyx back down in his crib. “Come on, bud. Come on.”

Nyx kept crying, and Cassian rubbed his temples, trying not to join his nephew in his agony.

“Shhhhhh,” Cassian began, leaning over the crib, patting Nyx’s stomach. “It’s time for bed, Nyx. It’s time for bed. If your parents were here right now, I’m sure you’d already be asleep. Shit, if Nesta were here, you’d already be asleep.” He shook his head. “It’s me, isn’t it?”

The baby replied by continuing to cry.

He swore quietly, and hurried across the hall grabbing his phone, dialing a number he’d unknowingly memorized. She answered on the second ring.

“Is everything okay?”

He couldn’t hear music and laughter in the background of the call, but heard how panicked her voice was. She must have stepped away from her friends. It only made him feel that much worse.

“I can’t get him to stop crying and go to sleep,” he admitted. “I don’t know what else to try.”

“You gave him his bottle?” She asked, and he nodded. Then audibly answered her. After that, she ticked off the checklist of things she usually went through. Every single one he’d already tried.

“It’s like it’s just me,” he said, trying to calm him down while he held the phone to his ear. He scooped him up into his arms and sat down in the rocking chair. “He hates me and won’t go to sleep.”

She was quiet for a minute. “You know that’s not true, Cassian. He loves you.”

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” he said, quietly, low enough that he wasn’t sure if the receiver could pick it up over Nyx’s wailing.

But it didn’t matter, because he heard footsteps hurrying up the stairs.

When Nesta rounded the corner, she wasn’t expecting to find Cassian looking defeated in the rocking chair. She pretended not to see the tears on his handsome face as she dropped her purse by the door of the nursery and took Nyx. She began to soothe him and tried to give him back his pacifier, but he wouldn’t take it.

“He’s cutting a new tooth,” Nesta said, carefully looking into his mouth, wide open thanks to a drawn out sob. “That’s all. He’s just uncomfortable, isn’t he?”

By the end of the sentence she was looking at Nyx, an over-exaggerated frown on her face.

She handed him back to Cassian and was downstairs and back with cooling, teething toy she’d pulled out of the freezer. He began to chew and gnaw on it the moment she handed it to him.

The crying quieted.

“There,” she said, smoothing his dark hair back from his forehead. “Better, yeah?”

Taking him from Cassian who hadn’t said a word since she walked in, she put him back into his crib and gently rubbed his belly. Within minutes, he was asleep again.

He murmured, “Thanks. You…didn’t have to end your night early for me.” He gestured toward the front door. “You can head back out. I can— I can handle it now.”

She shook her head. “I was on the way home. Turns out I wasn’t really in the going out mood.”

Cassian nodded, and said no more. He simply watched Nyx, his chest rising and falling. Nesta gave him a curt nod and walked out, back into the hall.

Cassian followed, shutting the nursery door quietly behind him.

“You did that so effortlessly.”

Nesta stopped and turned to face him near her bedroom, a brow raised. “Effortlessly?”

“I’ve been struggling for hours and you came in, and less than five minutes… He was out.” Cassian shook his head. “I’ve known him since the day he was born and I had no idea what he wanted.”

“He’s a baby, Cassian. He doesn’t even know what he wanted.”

“You knew,” he said, exasperated, exhausted.

She blinked, not expecting the tone of his voice to have sounded so…empty.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Nesta said, looking at him, willing him to meet her eyes. He didn’t look up.

“It’s not okay,” he said, and suddenly his words were sharp. “Rhys trusted me to take care of him but I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing.”

She shook her head. “They trusted us, but they knew it wouldn’t be easy. We knew it wouldn’t be easy. We just have to take it day by day and-.”

“It’s not okay!” His words weren’t loud but they were panicked. “I have to provide for him and I can’t fucking do it if I don’t know what he needs.”

“Cassian-.”

“Why would they choose me?” He asked, his voice quiet. Tears filled his eyes. He hated himself for it. “I never even wanted kids! I have no idea what to do with a kid, Nesta. I don’t know what parents are supposed to do, what dads are supposed to do, I didn’t even fucking have one.”

Nesta remained quiet, afraid to speak, afraid to move. She had never seen Cassian like this.

She didn’t think anyone had ever seen Cassian like this.

“I don’t know what to do, I don’t know how to do this,” he repeated. “I can’t— I can’t do this.”

She knew her words would mean nothing, reassuring him that he wasn’t alone in this, that they would figure it out together. It wouldn’t help him, wouldn’t ease his mind or his heart. That heart that was still broken from the loss of his best friend, his brother. So she did something she never thought she’d do.

She closed the space between them and wrapped her arms around him.

Cassian didn’t move for a moment, he just let her slim arms wrap around his waist, not realizing that he was on the brink of losing it. He was fairly sure that right now, she was the only thing holding him together, both mentally and physically. But after a long minute, his own arms wrapped around her shoulder and he buried his face into the top of her hair. He didn’t care that his tears were soaking her hair, didn’t care that this was the woman he’d spent the past five years hating and avoiding like she was the damn plague.

He didn’t care that he was falling to pieces.

Standing in that hallway, with Nyx sleeping behind the closed bedroom door, Cassian wept, and he didn’t care who saw it.

#life as we know it #snacmc lawki #lawki #nessian #nesta archeron #cassian #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acofas #acosf

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confused-as-all-hell · 3 years

Text

Feyre Archeron

You do not falter.

You do not fear.

You do not yield.

Feyre Archeron, sweet and whimsical and bright. Cursebreaker, Princess of Carrion, High Lady of the Night Court. A girl who understood desperation and poverty, who drew herself up, who set her jaw and said “I will make this world a better place.”

Feyre has done so much for YA literature, and for young girls who are not fiery and angry. She has shown them you can be gentle and patient, and yet proud and dignified. My lovely Feyre does not need a knife or power to be revered: she is wonderful without magical aid.

I have seen unacceptable hatred concerning the High Lady, stating she is weak and useless, that she has done nothing to be worthy of her throne. Since when do women have to be rude and bitter to be sovereigns? Since when do we get to name ourselves feminists and then turn to ridicule girls for being kind?

Feyre’s strength has been kindness and warmth, from the first page of ACOTAR to the last of ACOSF. She loves unconditionally and irrevocably, from her blood family to the IC, and never sidelines a single soul. She ventured beneath the mountain for Tamlin, underwent those awful trials for the sakes of strangers, tried time and time again to reach out her hand.

She loves Mor like a sister, protecting her day and night, looking after her without a second thought, mindful of her trauma always.

She loves Cassian as though he were her brother, lounging with him because she understands he needs physical contact, teasing him, coming to him with tears on her face.

She loves Amren in her own way, offering her unswerving privacy and respect, going out for dinners together, buying her incredibly thoughtful gifts.

She loves Azriel, even if their relationship isn’t a loud one, offering him silence and respect and warmth.

She loves her sisters, defending them without fail, risking her life every night while they complained ceaselessly, working to help them the best way she knows how.

She loves her son, proving over and over that she would give him the world, giving him all the kindness and affection she never received as a little girl, taking her trauma and learning from it.

And she loves Rhys, broken, shattered, ruined Rhys. She lights lamps to banish the darkness, kisses away his nightmares with aching gentleness, giving him brutal honesty and her stark opinion.

Feyre does not need to fight and rage in order to be a YA character. She is allowed to be soft and sweet and patient, is allowed to forgive those who wrong her, is allowed to set her boundaries. My girl fought for her entire life, pleading her for mother’s attention, hunting in those dangerous woods for her family, giving herself to a world of poison and hatred.

It is okay for Feyre to set down her knife and rest. She can take time with her son (still can’t believe she’s a mom, but she deserves that happiness) and husband, work on healing her own trauma.

She did not fuck her way onto the throne. Yes, Rhys married her and gave her the title, but Feyre was a queen without a crown. She proves every day she is worth more than your stupid fucking hate.

Feyre worked so hard to try and make her world a better place, and she is happy to share that joy with her family. I am sick of characters taking the burden of the world onto their shoulders. Feyre shares her victory with those she cares for, so they might feel that wonder, so they might do their part, so that she might sit back every once in a while and breathe.

She is allowed to want her own space, to say “I am not allowing this” without being called a bitch. Feyre is perfectly within her rights to see a suffering sister and intervene.

I have my own little sister, much like Feyre herself, warm and patient and loving. If she was suffering and drinking in copious and abusing herself, I would step in without a second’s hesitation. She is my fucking sister. I am always going to look after her, like Feyre looked after Nesta and Elain.

Some of you comparing Tamlin to Feyre, do you not have siblings? Or friends, for the matter? It is not abuse to remove your loved ones from a toxic environment where they are hurting themself. I went into this in detail, via my Nesta and Feyre post.

Feyre is the kindest YA protagonist I’ve ever read, with the courage to remain warm in such a cold world. She doesn’t take shit from anyone, but she does not start any, either. She tries to seek the good in people, to find that light within, and such is the beauty of our High Lady.

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rhysanoodle · 3 years

Text

The Night We Met

Here’s a chapter I think everyone has been waiting for for quite awhile. Enjoy. 😘

Word Count: 1769

AO3

Chapter 11

Cassia was in love. She was in love, and it probably should have terrified her, but nothing about Azriel could scare her.

Since that evening, he had been so sweet and gentle with her, always letting her know exactly how much he wanted her but holding himself back.

He held her every night, and they had gotten well-versed with each other’s lips, but nothing more had progressed. She couldn’t blame him. She was still healing, and though she also wanted more, she had to admit to herself that she was still abundantly sore.

But she had gotten so much stronger. She was now walking unaided all around the cabin. It still wasn’t a lot, but she was able to reliably carry her weight. They now walked arm in arm every evening, still being careful and keeping to his shadows, but walking nonetheless.

She still tried every day to look into the past, but she hadn’t learned much. Sometimes, she accidentally found herself gleaning small events happening around the cabin in the future, and she caught bits and pieces of things which might be her life. But she still didn’t know who she was or where she came from.

While it seemed to be frustrating the hell out of Azriel, Cassia struggled to care most days. She liked her life right now, and at the rate things were going, she was going to ask Azriel to take her to see his home.

She enjoyed their quaint life in the cabin, but it was time to see the world again. There was only so much one could do, so fulfilled one could be when not experiencing everything the world had to offer.

She worried over how he would receive her request, sometimes finding herself gnawing at her nails as she struggled to focus, but Azriel obviously cared about her, so she was certain she would be able to wear him down, whether or not she discovered her true identity soon.

So she did her best every time she sat down on the edge of the bed, honing her mind and reaching out for whatever the universe would show her.

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

Blood. There was so much blood on the floor, and in the middle of it—Azriel.

She slipped on the freezing floor, her torn nightgown doing little to preserve her modesty. Silent tears rolled down her face, her cries stifled by the gag, as Nesta panted beside her.

Nesta. Her sister’s name was Nesta. Her human sister. It made no sense.

“You made a very big mistake,” the king drawled from his throne made of bones, “the day you went after the Book. I had no need of it. I was content to let it lie hidden. But the moment your forces started sniffing around …”

Cassia went numb, her eyes on Azriel and Azriel alone. He couldn’t be dead, right?

As the others prattled on, he lifted his head in a weak attempt at a snarl. So not dead then, but was this a memory? The future? Why were they both here?

Because Cassia was very much present in this vision, unlike the many other times she had inadvertently spied on him.

She was broken out of her stupor by a blinding white light tearing through the room. She was powerless to move, to speak, as it blasted into the small, battle-wary group before her. She only barely caught Cassian shielding Azriel with his wings.

The others went to assist him, but just then she saw the blonde male lunging at Feyre. Her other sister. She had two sisters, and her voice involuntarily cried out as if whoever she had been before had known to shout a warning.

Feyre threw her knife at him, and he backed off in time for the blonde female to charge the king, teeth bared.

But Azriel cried out in pain, and Cassia whipped back to him. “Don’t you touch her,” he growled, and Cassia felt a pang of jealousy. But it was short lived as she remembered his predicament and was thankful the female returned to help staunch the bleeding in his chest wound.

“Put the prettier one in first,” the king said, and Cassia felt all eyes in the room lock on her. Feyre looked like she was going to launch at the guards holding her, but at Azriel’s renewed yelp of pain, everyone froze again.

“Please refrain from getting any stupid ideas, Rhysand.”—That was the dark-haired one. The one whom she had seen mourning.—“If any of you interfere, the shadowsinger dies.” Cassia could feel panic wracking through her at the suggestion. “Pity about the other brute’s wings.”

The way the king snarled it implied anything but, as he sketched a mock bow, turning to her. “Ladies, eternity awaits. Prove to their Majesties the Cauldron is safe for … strong-willed individuals.”

Cassia could feel herself trembling and sobbing as she felt herself jerked forward, toward the large tub at the head of the room. Her feet fought for her but made no headway as the guards made quick work of lifting her and hoisting her up. The kicks aimed to topple the Cauldron were insufficient.

She could hear the others bargaining for her freedom, but it made no difference. The king had complete control of the situation, and she screamed as her foot hit the icy water and then she felt her head being shoved under.

She did not emerge.

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

Cassia was shaking when she returned to her senses, but somehow she felt steadied. It was only when she heard his soothing voice that she realized she was in Azriel’s lap, completely bundled in his arms.

“Breathe, Cass,” he murmured into her hair. “It wasn’t real. It wasn’t now. Whatever it was.”

She shook her head furiously. It had been real. She had no idea when it had happened, but she knew she was looking at their shared history.

“You had a bolt in your chest.” It was practically incoherent, but despite the predicament she had found herself in, she couldn’t help but be infinitely more worried about him.

“That’s happened on a number of occasions.” He chuckled, as if it were nothing serious. He had been dying, being used as a pawn in some madman’s schemes.

“No,” she insisted. “You almost died. The king—”

“What king?”

“He had black hair, sat on a throne of human bones.” She shivered.

“Ah.” Azriel stiffened minutely. “That was a long time ago. He unbuttoned his leathers, letting her see the puckered skin right where she’d seen him punctured in her vision.

Cassia laid a hand atop it, feeling the steady beating of his heart beneath, the warmth of his very alive skin. “I was there,” she whispered.

“You saw it?”

“No. I was there that day. They … shoved me into the water. They had my sisters. They—”

Cassia heard a sharp intake of breath, followed by a soft, “Elain.”

And suddenly, something clicked within her. Yes, that was her name. Elain Archeron. She had two sisters, Feyre and Nesta.

Oh god. Nesta. The female who had sacrificed herself in her vision. The one whom everyone was mourning. Along with Cassian. What had happened? What had gone so wrong? Where had she gone?

“What … What happened to me?” she breathed.

“That’s what I would like to know. You—your mate—snatched you and took you back to the Spring Court. The next thing we knew, he was on our doorstep telling us you were dead.”

The red haired one. Lucien.

“They ruined my life.” A tear was sliding down her cheek. “That blonde witch lured me into the forest, and that’s the last thing I remember. She must’ve …”

“Whatever spell she cast on you was wretched, but look at you. You’re so much healthier now. And she’s gone—killed by your sister.”

“Is Feyre still …”

Azriel nodded. “She and Rhys made it. The others …”

“I know about Nesta and Cassian,” she bit out between sobs. She couldn’t contain them anymore.

Azriel placed a featherlight kiss upon her brow, but she could feel slight tremors within him as well. He was clearly also shaken by the revelation, but he held her steadfastly until she began to calm.

“We could go back,” he murmured. “Right now. As soon as you’re ready. I’m sure … I’m sure everybody would be happy to see you. Feyre. Mor. Lucien.” And with that last name, she felt his voice slipping, cracking as if he were still pubescent.

She shook her head. “Maybe tomorrow, but I’m not ready.” It was true. Bits and pieces were slowly returning to her, but she needed to sit with this new knowledge, allow her old memories to flood in before she placed herself under the others’ scrutiny.

“I’ll give you some space,” he murmured, settling her on the edge of the bed and fleeing practically across the room, as if he couldn’t get enough distance between them.

“I’d rather you didn’t.” Whatever was jumbled inside her, one thing was for sure; spending time with Azriel had done nothing but heal her.

Azriel shook his head, hair falling across his brow. “I’m not what you need, Elain.” And with one last burning glance at her, he faded from view.

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

How incredibly stupid Azriel had been to think that he had been gifted something—someone—which was wholly his.

Of course he had managed to stumble across Elain Archeron by accident. A female who had been missing for a century, whose own mate had declared her dead.

Mate. There it was. He had been foolish for even a second to have the faintest suspicion that he … That fate had matched him with someone as wonderful as Cassia. Elain, he had to remind himself. No matter the weeks they’d spent together. Her memories seemed to be slowly returning to her, and soon who knew if she’d continue to embody the female he’d fallen for.

Even as he shadow-walked back to Velaris, he found his entire being pulling him towards her. As if some sick, masochistic piece of him still believed that he was worthy. That they were matched in the way he had begun to suspect.

It couldn’t be though. He needed to keep his distance. They would return to the Night Court together, but he knew Lucien would not be far behind them. No matter what had passed one hundred years ago, he knew better than to stand between another male and his mate.

Sighing, Azriel forewent notifying the others of his return, preferring to spend the night alone, in his room, with a bottle of whiskey.

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

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#elriel #elain archeron #azriel #a court of thorns and roses #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acofas #acosf #fanfic #my fic #the night we met

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bloodycassian · 3 years

Text

LEATHERBOUND - Reader x Cassian - (I think I missed this request but I think someone req’d something similar) Reader is a librarian in Illyria when Cassian comes in asking for help finding something.

Cassian's favorite time of year in Illyria was the winter days where the sun was out. The winds were harsh enough to stun his wings, but the rays from the sun were warm enough for a perfect contrast. Not letting him freeze, but not letting him get too hot either.

The muddiness also became packed ice instead of the mess it had been over the summer. It was still messy in the more trafficked areas, but not nearly as bad. He couldn't hide the joy that rept into his heart at the sight of so many Illyrians taking joy in the season. Small winged children threw snowballs at passerbys from a ledge. A broad winged male scared them off with a flyover. Cassian entered the small shop, the smell of dust and worn carpet whirled around him. It was comforting in a strange way. It reminded him of being a child. Innocent and curiously exploring different shops at his home.

The bell above rang in a dull tone. He looked up and saw the shotty repair job on the ringer. Not exactly as it had been when he was a child, it seemed. "Stay right there!" You called from the back, putting away the stack of books you held. They clattered into the bin loudly. The sound of rustling made him curious.

"I'm just here for-" He called, starting to step further into the room. The books lined the short walls, and the stacks in the middle looked percaiously stacked. They were organized, but the bottom of the stack seemed stained. He doubted the resources for another bookcase were available.

"I know, just dont move. I just cleaned the carpet." You brought a towel from the front desk over and placed it beside the small outcropping of hard wood you had laid out for anyone first entering the store. "This is the last building in Illyria with carpets. I'd like to keep it that way." You said when the dark haired male gave you a pinched look. He bent and began taking off his boots. Boots that looked far too new for the likes of an Illyrian.

Watching him do so, you noticed the two Siphons on his hands. Then the one on his knee. Your head went fuzzy. What had you done to deserve a visit from the Lord of Bloodshed? He noticed your stare and gave you a wolfish smile. You didn't flinch away from it. The wind howled at the gaps in the stone, and you cleared your throat.

"So what do you need?" You asked, crossing your hands behind your back. Ready to be of service. Hopefully he wouldn't demand too much of your small store.

"You said you knew. So you tell me." He said with a sly smile. You stammered, sweat slicking your palms. "I didnt mean- We have several ah..." You looked away, at the different categories of spellbooks and history of Prythian. Shame fell in your gut at the bottom layers of books that made the stack in the middle of the room.

"I'm looking for a cookbook. One with Illyrian recipes." He stepped to the carpet, his dark socks immaculate against the worn pattern.

"Is the high lord a fan of home made treats?" You laughed at the odd request. Then covered your mouth, the embarrassment turned your ears red. "I'm sorry-" "No, its fine." Cassian chuckled, pulling a book off a shelf. It was of the first war, and was bound in dark leather. "He does. But the book isn't for him. The high ladies sister, actually."

The one of hellfire and stone or the one that seemed to be a ghost? You dared not question him. "A solstice gift?" You asked, showing him over to the small cooking section you had obtained over centuries. They weren't of much use in Illyria, but the few travelers found them fascinating.

"Yes, she's had a rough year." His voice was somber, but the hope still lingered in his eyes.

You let the words sink in. The silence wasn't uncomfortable, his presence was warm and welcoming, actually. As if he was putting off a vibe of 'I'm safe.' You handed him a complete cookbook full of basic recipes and baking. The cover was so worn the title was unreadable. Dark spots stained the inner pages, you knew because you'd borrowed the book several times. "We all have." He flicked through it for a moment, smiling. His teeth were immaculate, and a bit extra pointy on his canines. The sight of them sent a thrill through you.

"I recommend the sweet dough. It's spice free, the only thing you need for it is pine needles and sap." You flicked the pages to one you had bookmarked. The opposite side was full of different types of cakes to make with minimal ingredients.

"I'm too familiar with it." He laughed, shaking his head. Some fond memories from long ago lingered there. He could recall the scent of the bread with full accuracy. The way it the needles would char on top of the dough if there were too many.

"How much do I owe you?" He pinned the leather under his arm and pulled a satchel from his pocket. Your heart raced at the glimpse of so many gold coins there.

"Ah- it'll be Twenty silvers." You said, embarrassment coating your tongue. He didnt even look like he was carrying and silver. He eyed you speculatively. "Twenty silvers for a full book?" He asked. You nodded, trying not to wring your hands. He fished a gold coin from the pouch and held it out to you. "Let me get you some change... it may take a second." You fumbled to the desk where you kept your coin inside a spellbound box.

"Dont worry about it. I'll be back another time." He called, setting the book on the floor to pull on his shoes. "Lord Cas-" You began to protest.

"Just Cassian." He corrected, grunting as he pulled on the boots. "Call it a tab." He winked and eyed the ripped, hole filled curtains of the front window. How they swayed in the breeze that drifted in from the rocks.

"I'll be seeing you." His eyes scanned you, and you nodded. "Be seeing you." You said back, your mouth dry. He was intimidating in the ways you'd never thought of. Not in a scary way, but in a sly way that made your heart race. The bell over his head dinged hollowly as he exited, shoving the book into his backpack. You tried not to stare as he left.

+ The Solstice party was a success as it normally was. Nesta kept to herself in the corner with Amren while everyone else exchanged gifts. Elain's eyes lit up at the book, and she hugged Cassian with heart. "I'll be making you something tomorrow." She promised. Cassian felt the flicker of cold over him and shot Az a look. They glowered at one another.

Rhys leveled a look at both of them that got them to straighten up. Feyre handed out mugs of hot cider. Mor brought around a bottle of liquor to mix with it. The night was warm with friends and joy. Besides the cold corner where Nesta sat. Cassian did his best to ignore it. As did everyone else.

He was nearly the last to leave. The cider had effected him more than he thought. But it warmed his insides against the cold wind of Velaris. He wrapped his wings around himself to shield from the cold. He thought of the librarian who had given him the book. His mind drifted to the rest of that day, how Devlon had even seemed cheerful.

He wondered if you were doing anything, if you had any family celebrating with you. If you had a mate that spoiled you. His heart kicked up at the thought of it. He hadn't noticed a ring...or any tattoos to signify a mating bond. He couldn't recall much else. He had been stunned by the beauty and simplicity of you and your shop. He couldnt remember if you had wings.

The frustration ate at him. He had to know more. He needed to know if you had a good solstice. He made a plan. "It would be good karma" He told himself, entering one of the several shops on the way to the townhome. His excitement made it nearly impossible to sleep that night. + "Happy solstice." A voice called from the front door. You hadn't heard the bell chime.

You rushed to the front, making sure that the carpet hadn't been ruined. The curtains whipped from the wind outside. The enormous Illyrian shut the door with a firm gentleness that made your heart race. His hands wrapped around a small wooden box. Well, it was small in his hands.

"It's the day after solstice. Happy late solstice." You corrected, striding over to him and giving him a look about the shoes. They looked incredibly clean. "You still need to take them off."

"I know. You need to open this first." He forced the box upon you and stooped to begin unlacing the boots. "What-"

"Just open it." He stood and followed you to the counter. Heat flooded your cheeks, you hadn't gotten him anything. Not that you could afford it, or even knew what he would want. "Why did you get this?" You asked, trying to hide the tension in your voice.

"So you dont have to cook that sweetbread again." He said with a grin, staring at you. At how your hands delicately removed the lid from the box. Then at your stunned reaction at the waft of spices that spilled from the box. "Cassian-" You breathed, utterly speechless.

"I have a request too...So you can't say its too much. It's for me too." He went to the shelf where he'd gotten the cookbook for Elain. "Make us these, and we'll call it even."

"Cassian... I'm not a cook. I dont bake." You laughed when he pointed at the spice cakes in the book. "Maybe ask the sister-" You pushed the box toward him, the heaviness of it screamed 'expensive' to you. Guilt marred the joy of receiving the gift.

He pushed it firmly back to you, locking eyes. He noted the way you tensed at that stare. He eased, trying to ignore the scent mixing with the smell of leather and spice. "I want you to make it, using these." He patted the top of the box.

You debated with yourself. The male carried around more gold than you'd ever seen. And he wasn't worried about it. You figured if it was a gift then he genuinely wanted you to have it. You sighed and took the box, placing it under the shelf beside your bag. Your wings pinched at the movement.

You ignored how his eyes lingered on your scarred members. You were used to it from some males, but never one as important and high ranking as him. He shook himself and refocused, pulling himself out of the rage he was feeling at the sight of your ruined wings.

"Any other requests?" You sighed, feigning annoyance. His toothy grin made your stomach do flips.

#acotar fic #reader x cassian #acotar #cassian

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acourtofthought · 2 years

Text

I don't understand how it's said Elain has no depth. Someone who observes and processes those observations has a type of character depth and inner strength that is just as important as that of any warrior. By definition, depth is "complexity and profundity of thought". Elain is well spoken, clear and concise, and is often noted as wise. I understand that her hobbies seem shallow but her words are not.

Elain:"this season was somewhat.. strange.”

Feyre: “In what way?”

Elain: “People acted as if we’d all just been ill for eight years, or had gone away to some distant country—not that we’d been a few villages over in that cottage. You’d think we dreamed it all up, what happened to us over those years. No one said a word about it.”

Feyre: “Did you think they would?”

Elain: “No—but it made me … made me wish for those years again, even with the hunger and cold. This house feels so big sometimes, and father is always busy, and Nesta …”

Feyre: I gazed again at that sad, dark house—the place that had been a prison. Elain had said she missed it, and I wondered what she saw when she looked at the cottage. If she beheld not a prison but a shelter—a shelter from a world that had possessed so little good, but she tried to find it anyway, even if it had seemed foolish and useless to me.

She had looked at that cottage with hope; I had looked at it with nothing but hatred. And I knew which one of us had been stronger.

.........................................................................

Feyre: I turned back to the garden and caught Elain staring at me. “What?”

Elain: “You just look so … different. You sound so different, too.”

“Did something happen at Aunt Ripleigh’s house?” Elain asked. “Did you … meet someone?”

Feyre: “Just good food and rest.”

........................................................................

Nesta: “So there will be no meeting here,” Nesta said, shoulders stiff. “There will be no Fae in this house.”

Feyre: “Do you include me in that declaration?” I said quietly. Nesta’s silence was answer enough.

Elain: But Elain said, “Nesta.” “We keep it secret—we send the servants away. With the spring approaching, they’ll be glad to go home. And if Feyre needs to be in and out for meetings, she’ll send word ahead, and we’ll clear them out. Make up excuses to send them on holidays. Father won’t be back until the summer, anyway. No one will know.” She put a hand on Nesta’s knee, the purple of my sister’s gown nearly swallowing up the ivory hand. “Feyre gave and gave—for years. Let us now help her. Help … others.”

............................................................................

Elain: Elain’s voice wobbled as she noted the same thing and quickly said to him, “It … it is very hard, you understand, to … accept it.”. “We are raised this way. We hear stories of your kind crossing the wall to hurt us. Our own neighbor, Clare Beddor, was taken, her family murdered …”

Elain said, “It’s all very disorienting.”. “And as for Feyre’s hunting during those years, it was not Nesta’s neglect alone that is to blame. We were scared, and had received no training, and everything had been taken, and we failed her. Both of us.”

...........................................................................

Feyre: Elain had always been gentle and sweet—and I had considered it a different sort of strength. A better strength. To look at the hardness of the world and choose, over and over, to love, to be kind. She had been always so full of light.

............................................................................

Elain: “When I sleep,” she murmured, “I can hear your heart beating through the stone.” She angled her head, as if the city view held some answer. “Can you hear mine?”

“No one ever does. No one ever looked—not really.” A bramble of words. Her voice strained to a whisper. “He did. He saw me. He will not now.”

............................................................................

Feyre: “This could end very badly, Elain.”

Elain: “It’s already ended badly. Now it’s just a matter of deciding how we meet the consequences.”

Mor: “Wisely said,” Mor offered

............................................................................

Elain: Elain offered a half smile. “I suppose that war makes wanting things like that unimportant.”

Mor,: Mor was quiet for a heartbeat. “Perhaps. But you should not let war steal it from you regardless.”

............................................................................

Elain: “With Father,” Elain whispered, still staring up those steps, “I don’t think Nesta—”

Feyre: “I know,” I murmured. “I think Nesta needs to sort through … a lot of it.”

Elain faced me. “Do we help her?”

Feyre: “Yes—but not today. Not tomorrow.” I loosed a breath. “When—when she’s ready.”

............................................................................

Feyre: “We have everything we need,” I admitted to Elain. “Buying presents feels excessive.”

Elain: “It’s their tradition, though,” Elain countered, her face still flushed with the cold. “One that they fought and died to protect in the war. Perhaps that’s the better way to think of it, rather than feeling guilty. To remember that this day means something to them. All of them, regardless of who has more, who has less, and in celebrating the traditions, even through the presents, we honor those who fought for its very existence, for the peace this city now has.”

Feyre: For a moment, I just stared at my sister, the wisdom she’d spoken. Not a whisper of those oracular abilities. Just clear eyes and an open expression. “You’re right,” I said, taking in the insignia rising before me.

............................................................................

Elain: “I asked Nuala to do it in that order,” Elain said as the others gathered round. “Because you’re the foundation, the one who lifts us. You always have been.”

............................................................................

Elain: “There was nothing that could have been done to save him, Nesta.”

Nesta: “You tell yourself there’s nothing that could have been done because it’s unbearable to think that you could have saved him, if you’d only deigned to show up a few minutes earlier.”

Elain: “You think I’m to blame for his death?”. “No one but the King of Hybern is to blame for that.” The quaver in her voice belied her firm words.

............................................................................

Elain: “You can’t have it both ways. You cannot resent my decision to lead a small, quiet life while also refusing to let me do anything greater.”

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

...........................................................................

Elain: “Nesta never spoke of it afterward,” Elain said. “I just observed.”

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

#elainarcheronweek2022 #elain archeron #pro elain archeron #pro elain #Elain acotar

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enchantmentandshadows · 3 years

Text

Elriel Month | Day 9: Adoption

WORD COUNT: 5086 (I know...but I fell in love and didn't want to let them go either.)

CONTENT WARNING: EMOTIONAL ABUSE

THEME: FLUFF

SONG SUGGESTION: “I GET TO BE THE ONE” - JJ HELLER & “LITTLE WONDERS” - ROB THOMAS

“I saw, it was wonderful!” Elain said through her tears, holding him so tightly, she feared she may never be able to let him go. She met Azriel’s silver lined eyes as he made his way over and knew that they finally needed to have the conversation they had been dancing around for weeks.

Elain walked with Nesta, her blue cloak clutched tightly around her. Elain rarely visited the Illyrian camps and was nowhere near prepared for just how cold it would be. Azriel himself rarely spent time here if he could help it, however, this time he had been asked to stay for an extended period of time, and the thought of being parted for so long pushed both of them to opt for an extended trip together.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Nesta asked, looking to her sister, worry creasing her brow. Nesta was much more familiar with the ways of the camp, she feared her sister wouldn't adapt well to the treatment she would receive for not only being an outsider, but Azriel's mate as well.

“I’d like to help if I can. With Azriel here for so long, I don’t want to just sit around all day, I want to be useful.”

Nesta nodded. “Well, Madja will find plenty to keep you busy. She’ll be happy to see you doing so well.”

Elain nodded, thinking back on how lost she must have seemed to the healer before, when she had no leash on her own abilities and the visions controlled her. So much had changed since then, since the war, since the breaking of her bond with Lucien, since her mating and marriage to Azriel. She smiled to herself and Nesta nudged her with a smile of her own as she led her inside. “You’re thinking about him again, you always get that same look on your face when you’re thinking about him.” Nesta teased.

Elain laughed, blushing. “You think of Cassian all the time, we all just pretend not to notice. I can’t help thinking about Az. I love him.” She said, the words warming her.

“And he loves you.” Nesta said, taking her sister’s hand, so happy that she had found someone who truly appreciated and deserved Elain’s gentle and loving heart. The sisters were met by a flustered Madja as she was making her way out. “Something wrong?” Nesta asked, noticing the look of worry on her face.

“The scouts have found children on the outskirts of camp. A young boy and a babe, likely orphaned. I’m on my way to see to them now.”

Elain felt her heart sink at the healers words and offered. “I’ve come to help, is there anything I could do?”

Madja took her hand and began walking again, Nesta giving her a wave goodbye as she was led away. “We’ll manage just fine the two of us.” Madja said, as they made their way out, Elain sending a goodbye wave back to Nesta.

“Do you find many orphaned children around here?” Elain asked, the sadness clear in her voice.

“No, the elements are not kind to those unable to care for themselves." Madja said as she walked with her, to the farthest end of the camp. A group of hulking Illyrian warriors waited, parting only as the two women approached. At the center of the group stood a young Illyrian male, to Elain he appeared to be no older than 7 and in his arms he held a small, fussing baby.

Madja looked to the leader of this group, nodding to him. “We can take them from here.” The male shifted his gaze to Elain, as if considering. Elain met his gaze and waited for him to look away as Nesta had taught her, he didn't have to know that her heart was pounding in her chest and her fists were clenched under her cloak. The male shifted his gaze back to Madja and nodded speaking words in Illyrian to the other males before they all followed him away.

“I am Madja, a healer here, and this is Elain. We’re here to help you. What is your name, and where is your family?” Madja asked, to the point but with a tone that seemed to put him at ease.

“I am Valen and my family is here.” He said, lifting the baby slightly. “Her ama and my apa are with The Mother now. When the bad men came to the village, I took Mavi and ran.”

Madja nodded, it was not uncommon for children to be orphaned when smaller groups clashed and there were casualties. “Come, you will be safe here, we'll take you someplace warm, and get you something to eat. You are far too scrawny.”

The boy eyed them both warily before nodding, looking down at the fussy bundle in his arms.

“What have you been feeding the babe? Mavi, was it?” Madja asked.

“Milk, from the goats that cover the mountainside.” He answered, proudly.

“That’s very clever of you.” Elain said softly, as she knelt in the snow, removing her cloak and offering it to the boy. “You must be freezing, may I put this on for you?”

Valen hesitated for a moment, perhaps assessing Elain’s threat level before nodding. Elain smiled and draped her cloak over his shoulders, gently fastening it and pulling the warm fabric in to wrap over the baby. “There now, that’s better.” Elain stood and Madja motioned for Valen to follow, the small group making their way back. Elain’s heart clenched in her chest as she imagined the small boy beside her on his own, out in the cold and caring for the tiny baby in his arms. Without her cloak she was already freezing, clenching her jaw so her companions wouldn't hear her teeth chattering.

When they made it back to Madja’s, Elain watched as the healer negotiated with Valen until at last, he agreed to allow Elain to hold his baby sister while Madja examined him.

“Careful of her head.” He instructed as he passed Mavi to Elain’s arms. Elain nodded and did as he instructed, taking a seat next to him to keep the children as near to one another as possible. Madja looked the boy over as Elain looked down at the baby who was now sleeping peacefully, tiny wings just peeking out over her shoulders.

“She’s beautiful.” Elain said softly, looking over at Valen. “She is very lucky to have a brother like you to watch over her.”

Valen nodded, tucking his wings in as Madja tried to get a look at them. “Not my wings, they are fine.” Madja lifted a brow, but nodded. “If they are fine, then nothing is amiss. You are in excellent health, boy, you need only to eat…scrawny thing. May I examine your sister as well?” Madja asked.

Valen nodded and Elain handed the baby over to Madja’s waiting arms. Valen stretched and angled his neck as he tried to see what Madja was doing.

“Valen? Would you like to come with me to get something to eat?” Elain asked.

“Mavi will be well with me, she can have some milk while you enjoy some stew and then we will find a place for you to stay tonight, hmm?” Madja offered.

Valen considered for a long moment before finally nodding slowly. “She will be here when I return?”

Madja nodded. “She will be here, young warrior, do not worry.” Valen smiled, his chin lifting proudly as he followed Elain and they sat together to enjoy their stew.

“You’re very brave, Valen, and very smart to have taken care of yourself and Mavi out there in the cold.” Elain said, her heart aching at the thought of it.

Valen nodded, mouth full of stew as he said, “Of course, a good male must care for his family.”

Elain nodded and hummed, thoughtfully. “We’ll find some warmer clothes for you once I’ve taken you back to Mavi, hmm?” Valen nodded and after inhaling two bowls of stew, he was ready to see his sister again.

“Where will they go?” Elain asked Madja quietly as Valen sat with Mavi cradled in his arms once more, speaking softly to her in words that Elain didn’t understand.

“They will stay here for tonight, tomorrow we will find space for them with the widows, though the babe may need to stay here for a while longer yet.” She explained.

Elain bit her lip, looking back at the children. “And then?” she asked, her fingers tapping on the counter until Madja’s hand rested over hers, a soft smile gracing her lips.

“Might you have another suggestion to share with me, Elain?” Madja asked.

Elain blushed slightly as she nodded. “They could stay with us, Azriel and I. We have plenty of room and…and they could stay together.”

Madja patted her hand. “Caring for two children is no easy thing, Elain, especially a babe this young. Perhaps you should think on it a while.”

Elain knew she was right, that it was the sensible thing to do, that she should at the very least discuss this with Azriel first, but when she looked back at them again, she just knew. “It will be fine, until you find somewhere for them to go together.”

Madja nodded, brow raised. “Right…alright. I’ll pack some things for the babe and some fresh clothes for the boy...and it appears that you have a visitor.” She smirked, watching as Azriel walked in, scanning the room before spotting Elain and approaching. Elain made her way over to meet him, nerves building slightly as she thought of how exactly she would ask him about the children staying with them.

“Hello, my lovely wife.” He said, smiling and leaning down to kiss her.

Elain kissed him back, blushing, her heart fluttering every time he called her his wife. “Mmmhello, my handsome husband. Azriel, I-I need to talk to you, to ask you something.”

“Alright, ask away.” He said, sliding his coat off and draping it over her shoulders, rubbing his hands over her arms to warm her.

“Well, the thing is…that is to say-” she sighed, shaking her head and feeling flustered. She took Azriel’s hand before starting again. “There were some children found just outside the camp, they need a place to stay, just for a bit.”

“And you want them to stay with us.” Azriel finished, looking down at her.

Elain nodded. “I do, if its alright with you.”

Azriel looked down at her and smiled softly. “Elain, I can think of no better use of our home than to help those who need it.”

Elain smiled and threw her arms around him. “Thank you, Az, I knew you would say yes, I just knew it.”

Azriel held her in his arms and sighed contented. “There is nothing I would deny you, petal. Cassian is waiting to see you outside, he can help fly them over. Now, introduce me to our new roommates then.” He teased, taking her hand and heading over with her.

Madja smiled and offered Elain a basket with supplies for the children, giving Azriel a nod in greeting. “I had thought it might be another negotiation, but Valen is quite eager to get settled.”

Valen puffed his chest out as Azriel took a knee in front of him and gave him a nod, putting his hand out. “Valen? I’m Azriel.” Azriel cringed inwardly as the boy gasped at the sight of his hand, the shame draining from him as Valen touched his Siphon in awe, eyes wide in wonderment.

“Seven Siphons…” he whispered to himself before looking back up at Azriel’s flushed face. “You are a great warrior.”

“I-thank you.” Azriel said, his cheeks pink, especially as he saw Elain, one hand over her mouth and the other over her heart, giving away how adorable she found this moment to be. “We should leave soon, there is already a chill in the air.” Azriel said, rising to his feet, Elain offering her hand to Valen and the four of them making their way out. Madja watched, arms crossed, a knowing smile on her face.

“Ellie!” Cassian called, picking Elain up in a great hug. Azriel placed a hand on Valen’s shoulder, shaking his head subtly to signal that there was no need for him to destroy Cassian right this second.

Elain laughed, hugging him back. “I’m so glad you’re here, we actually need a favor.”

Cassian nodded. “Name it.”

“We need you to help fly all of us to the house.” Azriel said, his tone letting Cassian know to tread lightly as he nodded to the children.

Cassian, taking the hint, nodded. “Sure, who am I taking?”

“Me.” Valen volunteered, handing Mavi over to Elain, trusting that they would be safe with Azriel. This new male, he could certainly handle him if he needed to.

Cassian smirked down at him, seeing the fire in his eyes. “Alright, ready to fly, little warrior?”

“Valen. My name is Valen.” He said, giving Cassian a nod. “I’m ready.”

Cassian gave Azriel a nod, waiting as he took Elain into his arms, before lifting Valen, the boys arms going around his neck and holding tightly as the two warriors took flight, precious cargo safe in their arms. Thankfully their destination wasn’t too far from the camp and soon they were all filing inside the house after the short flight.

“I’m going to get the kids settled in, thank you, Cassian, it was so good to see you, we have to have you and Nesta over soon.” She said, hugging Cassian with her free arm before leading Valen up to the room he would share with Mavi.

“Its just temporary, until Madja finds a place for them.” Azriel said before Cassian could open his mouth.

Cassian nodded, patting him on the shoulder. “You don’t have to explain it to me, Az, I get it.”

Azriel nodded, knowing that his brother did understand because they had both been those children in their own ways, abandoned, fighting for their survival until Rhysand’s mother had taken them under her wing.

Once Cassian left, Azriel made his way upstairs, checking in on Elain and Valen, the boy washed up and changed into some clean night clothes, courtesy of Madja and settling into bed.

“Will you stay? Until we sleep?” Valen asked Elain. “Mind if I keep you company for a bit?” Azriel asked, stepping into the room.

“Would that be alright? I’ll come back after I wash up.” Elain asked, smiling as Valen nodded. She mouthed her thanks to Azriel and kissed him on the cheek before going to take a hot shower. When she emerged, she found Azriel and Valen snoring on either side of the bed, Mavi a sleeping little bundle between them. Elain smiled, unfolding a blanket and draping it over the three of them, curling up in the comfy chair sat by the bed, the symphony of snoring eventually lulling her to sleep.

The next few days went by in a flurry for Elain. Mavi, thank the Mother slept through the night on most nights and Madja continued to send milk for her with Azriel everyday. Valen, though reserved at first had eventually become more comfortable with Elain and Azriel caring for his sister, instructing them and watching them diligently until he was sure he had taught them well enough to care for her and hold her on their own. Elain smiled, watching as Azriel’s new shadow followed him around, eager to help with any task that needed to be done, Azriel always managing to find something “very important” for him to do. Days turned into a week, then into two until no one cared to keep counting anymore.

Azriel bit his lip, fighting to keep a chuckle inside as Valen puffed up as he saw Cassian approaching, a smirk appearing on the General’s face when he saw the boy with Azriel.

“Permission to approach.” He said, chuckling as Valen glanced up at Azriel who gave a curt nod, Valen then looking to Cassian, giving him the same nod.

Cassian shook his head and hugged Azriel, clapping him on the back. “I thought we’d have a quick fly around while the women folk are oohing and ahhing over the baby. Expect to see Nesta more, by the way, she’s in love.”

Azriel chuckled. “Sounds good, Valen, care to join us?”

Valen’s eyes lit up for a moment, before he shook his head with a small smile. “No, I’ll stay with the females while you’re away.”

Azriel nodded, watching him scurry back to the house before turning to Cassian, the both of them having noticed the same thing about the boy.

“Do you think they’re injured?” Cassian asked. “You should take him to Madja, or bring her here. If anyone can fix it, she can.”

Azriel nodded. “Elain wants to speak to him first, she’s noticed it too.” They had all noticed how Valen would avoid the subject of flying, always finding an excuse to stay behind with Elain.

Cassian nodded. “So, how much longer is this…arrangement going on? You’re always itching to get back home as soon as you can, so, just curious.”

Azriel just shook his head. “Not sure, just enjoying my time here for now.” He tried to sound casual, but Cassian knew that he was asking himself the same question. What would happen when they finally decided to return home to Velaris?

Nesta was busy fawning over Mavi when Elain found Valen sitting out front. She plunked herself down to sit next to him and gave him a little nudge, smiling down at him. “I thought for sure you would want to fly with Azriel and Cassian.”

Valen shrugged. “I wanted to stay and watch over you.”

Elain smiled. “You don’t have to watch over us, Valen, we’re here to watch over you. You should go flying next time, flying with Azriel is one of my favorite things to do.”

Valen looked down, poking at the grass with a stick. “I wish I had no wings, like you.”

“Why?” Elain asked. “I think your wings are wonderful.”

“They don’t work.” He said, his small voice breaking as he said it.

Elain was panicking inside, she wished that Azriel were still there, as wings were definitely NOT her area of expertise. “Would you let Madja look at them?” she asked, gently. “You trust her, don’t you?”

Valen nodded. “Will it hurt?”

“I don’t think so, but Madja will be very gentle, maybe you’d like Az to be there with you?” She asked and again Valen nodded. “Alright, we’ll figure it out together, hmm?” Valen nodded and scooted closer to Elain, cuddling into her side. She tried her very best not to cry as she put her arm around him, holding him closer to her side, her heart spinning and flipping inside of her chest. Elain was in so much trouble, and she knew it. She had felt this way once before, the feeling that someone was meant to be in her life, feeling as if losing them would be like losing part of her own heart. She couldn’t think about it now, not as she felt Valen’s tiny arms squeeze her tighter. She wrapped her arms around him and pressed a kiss to the top of his head. “All will be well, Valen.” She promised. “No matter what happens, all will be well.”

The next day, Nesta stayed home with baby Mavi while the rest of the family flew in to see Madja, Elain also needing more supplies for Mavi.

Madja smiled as she saw the group approaching. “Look at these proud Illyrian warriors. What a well protected Lady you are.” Madja teased Elain before looking down at Valen. “Ready to have those wings looked at?”

He nodded, a bit hesitant until Azriel nodded and motioned for him to follow, going with him.

Elain sighed, watching them go, hoping that they would have positive news about Valen’s wings. Cassian draped an arm over her shoulders. “Don’t worry Ellie, it’ll be fine. Whatever she says, it’ll be fine.”

Elain wanted to believe that Cassian was right, and so she nodded and they waited until Azriel and Valen both sulked out. The flight home was quiet, Elain flying with Cassian and Azriel with Valen, a quiet conversation happening between two of them the entire way.

“I wish I were a daemati right now.” Elain said, making Cassian chuckle. “Hey, if anyone can get him to talk, its Az and I can’t think of anyone better to help him get back into the sky.”

“You’re right.” Elain conceded, watching them, her heart aching slightly. “There is no one better.”

They all made it home safely, Nesta begrudgingly leaving Mavi behind and heading back home with Cassian. Elain and Az put the kids to bed, Elain nuzzling her nose into Mavi’s chubby cheek as she hummed softly. “She is so sweet.” She whispered, feeling Azriel at her back, his arms slowly sliding around her, his chin resting atop her head. “She is, turning Nesta Archeron into putty in your hands is no small feat.” Elain smiled and put Mavi to bed and followed her husband, taking one last look at the children before shutting the door.

“NOTHING?” Elain repeated, sure that she had heard him wrong, but Azriel shook his head, laying back with a sigh.

“Madja says there isn’t anything wrong with them. He says he hurt them flying when he was younger and now he can’t.”

“Do you think he’s just afraid?” she asked, sliding into bed and snuggling into his side.

Azriel pulled his arm closer around her, his thumb lazily stroking her arm. “I’m sure that’s all it is, he’s agreed to try again at least so that’s something.”

Elain hummed in agreement before smiling up at him. “Is that what you were negotiating on the way home?”

Azriel’s expression darkened slightly, his eyes were sad as he was taken back to his conversation with Valen. “We spoke about our fathers…and their expectations. He fears being seen as broken or a coward.”

“After everything he’s been through?” she frowned.

“It is what we’re brought up to believe, Elain. It isn’t easily left behind, not when you know they all see you as a broken bastard.” He said softy, thinking back to the many times he’d doubted himself for not living up to those Illyrian standards that had always seemed to work against him, against his brothers, no matter how much they sweat and bled for their people.

Elain threaded her fingers through his, bringing his hand to her lips and kissing the back of it before resting their hands on his chest. “I love you, Az.”

“I love you too, El.” He said quietly, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Valen will be alright, because we’ll make sure that he is, whether he flies or not.”

Elain nodded, drifting off to sleep, Azriel’s thumb still rubbing her arm and soothing her until her eyes finally closed. “We’ll make sure…”

The next morning, Elain fed Mavi as Azriel and Valen discussed the plan for their flying lesson.

Valen huffed, stuffing fruit in his mouth. “What if I can’t do it?”

“All I want you to do is try.” Azriel asserted. “If you meet the challenge and try then we count it as a victory.”

Elain smiled, watching the corner of Azriel’s lips curl into a knowing smirk. He knew how such a challenge would motivate Valen, he saw so much of Cassian in the little warrior, it was little wonder that they’d grown so close in such a short time. Kindred spirits that Azriel felt blessed to have in his life.

Valen nodded. “I will try, but you will see.”

“We will see.” Azriel agreed as they finished their breakfast. Before the duo could make it out the door, Elain was kneeling in front of Valen to see that his coat was buttoned properly before wrapping a scarf around his neck. Azriel stifled a chuckle as Valen looked to him for help from the fussing.

“There will be cookies waiting when you’re finished, to celebrate your victory.” Elain added with a nod and Valen smiled and nodded back, not bothering to stifle his laugh when Elain turned to Azriel and made sure that his coat was buttoned up properly as well.

Azriel humored her and gave her a peck on the lips before heading out front with Valen for their training. Elain had promised to give them privacy, but she found herself passing the front window more than usual today, Mavi cooing and kicking. Elain kissed her head and sent a prayer to the Mother that whatever happened, flight or no, Valen would be alright when it was done.

Valen sighed, kicking at the snow at his feet after over an hour of instruction and failed attempts to fly. “I told you. I’m broken, I have no courage...”

Azriel shook his head, trying to shake off the sadness that spiked in him. He had heard those words before, but to hear them from a child who believed it to be true about himself was like a knife in his chest. “Valen, your wings need work, it won’t happen right away. They’re moving and that’s the most important thing. They need to build strength if you haven’t used them in years, you are NOT broken, and you have the courage of a great warrior with the heart to match it.”

“You wouldn’t understand, you fly as easy as breathing.” The boy said with a huff.

Azriel sat on the front step and sighed. “Come sit.”

Valen sat sulkily and looked up at him, the defeated look in his eyes breaking Azriel’s heart.

“When I was a boy, when I was your age, I had never flown.” Azriel confessed.

Valen’s eyes widened. “But why? Were you broken too?”

Azriel shook his head. “I…was not allowed. I was much older than you when I was finally allowed to learn and I wanted to be in the sky right away, but I couldn’t. I needed to gain strength, and even then, even when I could get myself off the ground, I fell and crashed more times than I can remember.”

“Did you hurt your wings?” Valen asked, his eyes moving over Azriel’s enormous wings.

“Sometimes.” He nodded. “But I wanted to fly so badly, I couldn’t quit. Eventually, it got easier and I had my brothers there to help me.

"You have brothers?" he looked up at him.

Azriel nodded. "Cassian and Rhysand, we're not family by blood, but they are my family. We care for one another, as family should." He chuckled, thinking about Rhys and Cass helping him back then. "I think they just got bored of watching me crash into the same trees.” He added with a small smile. “You can fly, Valen, if you want it, you can fly and I’ll help you.”

“I do.” Valen nodded. “I want to touch the sky like you and Cass.”

Azriel smiled and nodded, standing. “Once more, and then inside for your victory cookies then.”

Valen nodded and jumped up, facing Azriel as he widened his stance and stretched his wings out. His wings moved slowly at first, feeling the breeze before gaining speed and flapping furiously enough to lift him off of the ground, higher and higher until he felt Azriel’s hand take his, holding him steady. Valen’s eyes blew wide open as he continued to flap his wings, straining a bit to stay level. Elain, fighting tears, stood at the door with Mavi who squealed at the sight of her brother.

“I did it!” Valen cried, dropping back to his feet, his wings already tired.

Azriel dropped to one knee, his smile radiating with pride as Valen threw himself into his arms, hugging him tightly. “I did it, Az!” Azriel didn’t have a second to process the hug before Valen ran to Elain next. She dropped to her knees, clinging to him with one arm, Mavi still cheering from the other. “Did you see, Ama! Did you see me flying?!”

“I saw, it was wonderful!” Elain said through her tears, holding him so tightly, she feared she may never be able to let him go. She met Azriel’s silver lined eyes as he made his way over and she knew that they finally needed to have the conversation they had been dancing around for weeks.

As the days passed, Azriel and Valen trained every single day without fail, his wings strengthening faster than either of them had expected. He had taken his first flight out with Cassian and Azriel that day while Elain spoke with Madja about Valen and Mavi.

That evening, Elain tucked Valen into bed as Azriel softly sang an Illyrian lullaby to Mavi, her eyes slowly closing as she drifted off, her tiny hand clutching his finger.

“You seem sad tonight.” Elain said, stroking Valen’s hair back and out of his face.

Valen glanced to where Azriel stood, cradling Mavi. “I wish that Mavi could know how it feels to fly…but they’ll take her wings away.” He said sadly.

“No.” Elain said, shaking her head. “Mavi will fly one day too, you can help show her how when she’s ready.”

“I could think of no better teacher than a natural like you.” Azriel added quietly, so as not to wake the baby.

Valen beamed with pride before his face fell again. “What if Mavi and I are separated? How will I watch over her if I’m training to be a warrior?”

Azriel exchanged a look with Elain who wrung her hands slightly in anxiousness. “Valen, if you could stay here with us, Azriel and I and Mavi too, all of us together, would you like that?”

Valen nodded. “I wish Mavi and I could stay with you forever.”

“Nothing would make us happier than to have you with us forever.” Elain said, tears in her eyes.

“Mavi and I? With you and Az always? Like a family?” Valen asked as he sat up, holding his pinky out to Elain.

Elain nodded, linking her pinky with his as tears spilled over her cheeks. “Yes, we’ll be a family, all of us together.”

Valen threw his arms around her, both of them crying now as he buried his face in her neck. “Ama.”

Elain held him tightly. “I would be honored to be your Ama.”

“Apa.” Valen sniffled, his arm snaking around Azriel’s neck too as Azriel took them both in his arms, baby Mavi snoring through it all.

Azriel held the whole world in his arms at that moment, as he held his family. “Our family, forever.”

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wildlyglittering · 3 years

Text

Love in an Elevator

Happy Sunday everyone!

Thank you to those who have liked, commented and re-blogged my pieces so far - you are *chef’s kiss* awesome.

How’s the ACOSF discourse coming? I’m watching it all whilst slurping my tea but very much staying out of it. I’m cracking on with my fanfiction though, am feeling weirdly inspired lately which is rare but I’ll take it!

In a few weeks I’ll probably ask if anyone has any requests as I’m feeling up for the challenge. I’m slow but I’ll get there in the end.

In the meantime I hope you enjoy this one!

***

There was no getting out of the predicament she’d found herself in, no matter how much she begged - and she had begged.

She’d thrown in some negotiations and when those offerings failed, she’d feigned a nonchalance that was as transparent as water. The very last weapon in her arsenal had been to fling mean spirited insults but those spurred him on more.

Then again, she grinned to herself, didn’t she know they would?

Nesta’s arms were stretched upwards above her head, the backs of her hands pressed against the cool wall of the elevator. Two large hands held them in place with a grip that refused to relent, the skin of her captor so hot he must have been burning.

At some point his mouth had moved from hers to her throat, his head dipping down while she strained hers back, her neck arching to give him better access. She always provided an initial protest. I don’t want your filthy mouth on me. The waiter from the restaurant looked like he was able to provide more satisfaction than you and he could hardly stand. I think I should go home now before my evening ends in disappointment.

It was a game they played and they played it well.

That hot mouth travelled to a sensitive spot, lips skimming her skin to the point where they scarcely touched her. A whine escaped her, short and shrill enough that she’d hoped he hadn’t heard but from the quirk of his lips on her throat that she did feel, she knew he had.

“Patience is a virtue,” he trilled at her and her own lips turned into a sneer.

“I’m just trying not to die of boredom.”

Nesta’s voice was far too breathless for the barb to land and he chuckled.

“Sure,” he murmured, “and that’s why you sound like you’re a filly in a stable right now.”

“Shut up, Cassian.”

“Mmm. Make me.”

His mouth was on hers again, lips hot and greedy, tongue gliding against hers. He tasted faintly of the scotch he’d been drinking at dinner and he would be tasting red wine.

Cassian was somehow lazy and energetic with his kisses.

He kissed like his goal was to steal every breath she might ever make but he did it so leisurely, so languidly, like he’d managed to switch the passage of time off to allow for it. He pulled back his mouth to suck her bottom lip between his before soothing it over with his tongue.

One day he’d probably make someone combust from kissing them. Not her though, she’d built up an immunity.

Nesta squirmed; her muscles straining in her back. Thankfully yoga had made her limber over the years so that any discomfort was minimal but still, she needed to exhibit some form of protest.

Cassian slid his mouth from hers and glanced at her, it was a brief check in to make sure he wasn’t hurting her, his eyes quick to turn gentle even with his pupils dilated into blackness. She could tell all this from one look. Cassian had such expressive eyes.

Nesta mentally chased the endearment away and pouted. Cassian’s faced slipped from worry to amused, his lips tipping into an arrogant smirk. He chuckled and dipped his head down to suck on the skin of her collarbone.

“Nice try sweetheart, but it’s not going to happen.”

She let out a sigh, half irritation and half bliss, which turned into a moan when he doubled his efforts and sucked harder.

If Nesta had any decency, she wouldn’t be letting him doing this to her in the elevator of his apartment building. If Nesta had any decency, she would pull her body away instead of rubbing it against his.

If Nesta had any decency, she wouldn’t have been the one to make the first move as soon as the doors had closed.

Nesta’s eyes fluttered shut. Her heart pounded its rhythm in her chest and her blood rushed in her ears. Her pulse thrummed everywhere, everywhere, including the place Cassian hadn’t yet reached for.

Still, it was as though he read her thoughts, and he elevated some of the ache by pressing his pelvis against hers, his crisp dress pants rustling as he stepped further between Nesta’s legs.

He lazily flexed his hips against hers and she rocked back, her dress slipping further up her thighs, expanses of bare skin showing to an empty cube. His tongue pressed against the pulse point at the join between her neck and shoulder and she gasped, eyes flying open.

Every. Time.

Once Cassian had figured out what made Nesta’s body hum he’d seemingly made it his personal mission to turn a tune into an orchestral delight.

Her eyes refocused past the swimming haze that Cassian drowned her in and what she saw must have reached some part of her brain that hadn’t vacated her head.

The numbers on the elevator display kept increasing. Five, Fifteen, Fifty.

There was no danger of anyone calling the elevator, the apartment building was in an area of the city that was considered ‘up and coming’ which meant over three quarters of the complex were still up for sale. Cassian had been one of the first buyers and snagged the penthouse at a decent introductory rate.

Nesta’s eyes managed to sharpen into focus when they alighted on the black polished and exceptionally shiny tiles lining the ceiling, which, for all intents and purposes, acted like a mirror.

The tableau playing out did absolutely nothing to quell her thundering heartbeat.

Earlier Nesta’s hair had been preened into a slick French knot, teased into place by her hairstylist who implied Nesta had big plans for the evening. Nesta had dismissed those remarks with a wave of her hand and a scowl that could curdle milk.

Now, hours later, all was in disarray. Gold-brown strands fell onto her shoulders loosened by two firm hands that had buried themselves in her hair at the first available opportunity.

One of those shoulders was bare, the strap of her dress slid down when Cassian had made a beeline for the curve that contained the most freckles. His favourite shoulder, he’d once told her. She’d rolled her eyes at him on hearing that but made a point of wearing one-stap tops at family summer barbecues where he couldn’t reach for her.

At this vantage point Nesta was able to catch glimpses of herself from their mirror-twins but mostly what she saw was him.

Cassian’s hair was still in its low bun, which, unlike Nesta’s was messy by design. The expanse of his back covered her, his snow-white shirt stretched across solid back muscles. His jacket was discarded on the floor along with her bag and one of her shoes.

She’d managed to tug his shirt loose before he’d pinned her, the bottom of it now crumpled and ridden up at the back and in the shimmering, slightly distorted surface of the black tiles she saw his smooth, deep olive skin.

Her fingers twitched. She couldn’t wait to get into his apartment, to grab at the buttons and pull the fabric from him. Nesta had ruined, two, maybe three shirts of his now, not that he cared. With any luck she’d have him naked halfway across the lower floor of his open planned mezzanine. Maybe this time they’d make it up the stairs to his bed. Maybe they wouldn’t.

Cassian must have felt her fingers twitch because he shifted his hands upwards, from her wrists across her palms, to entwine his own between hers. They clung, entangled with each other, their knuckles surely turning bone white with the grip.

It wasn’t enough that she wanted to see his skin, she needed to feel it, smooth and warm underneath her fingertips. She envisaged her fingertips rounding over the muscles of his chest and abdomen and then drifting her palm over hard muscle to harder muscle still.

Every time they did this was like Nesta was receiving a present from the universe and it was a sobering thought that ultimately, they would have to decide the gift tree needed to stop gifting.

“Cassian,” she groaned and he lifted his head.

It always seemed to Nesta that she was more undone than him in these situations. Her clothes and hair were always mussed, her skin flushing red and her breath huffing from her mouth in harsh pants. Cassian always looked like he’d run a marathon without breaking a sweat.

There was lust in the way she’d said his name, of course there was. A man this decadent couldn’t hold his body against hers like this, couldn’t flex his hardness against her pelvis like this, for Nesta not to sound like she was about to unravel into a spool of thread.

But something else had crept in, something that sounded disturbingly like longing, like she wanted their ribs pressed as close as they could get so their hearts almost touched.

His eyes, half-lidded and hazy were staring into hers. Desire lived in them when he looked at her, but she also knew how he counted the freckles on her nose while he thought she was asleep and how he played with her hair when she dozed. Now his desire had a permanent room-mate who’d crept in uninvited.

These were things that would go unsaid. They hated each other, of course. They even had friends who encouraged the level of vitriol they could spew.

Cassian slipped back into arrogance as easy as he could breathe.

“That’s right, Nes,” he murmured, “say my name.”

Her eyes narrowed at him. If she could move her legs, she’d be tempted to give him a kick. “Bastard.”

The smile never left his face. “Oh, and don’t you know it.”

He kissed her again, shifting his pelvis away only to position one strong muscled thigh between her legs instead. She moaned against his mouth, feeling the determined throb of his erection through the fabric of his pants against her thigh. She ground down onto his leg, her hips rocking as she tried to quell her building ache.

Cassian moved both her wrists into one of his hands, freeing the other. His grip was looser now with just one fist holding her and if Nesta wanted, she could pull both her hands down and out with ease. She didn’t of course, despite her earlier protests. This game had well established rules.

Cassian’s free right hand slipped down to her bare knee, hooking behind it to draw it upwards towards his hip. They’d played this part of the game before too, Nesta instantly wrapping her leg around his waist, her dress indecently bunched around her hips.

There were many things to be thankful for in this world. The fact that Cassian’s apartment complex was semi-deserted. The fact that his frame shielded hers from any view if the elevator happened to stop and the fact that Cassian knew where the button was to turn off the security camera.

They’d learnt their lesson from experience.

Stern words had been directed to them both from the old security guard. “Please,” he’d pleaded, “no more sex in the elevator. I’m over 70, my heart isn’t so good. Make love to your girlfriend in your apartment.”

Nesta had been extremely quick to point out she wasn’t Cassian’s girlfriend which just made the old man raise an eyebrow in disbelief.

Perhaps Nesta was the only woman that Cassian invited over, perhaps she’d brought over an overnight bag once or twice and perhaps they’d hooked up after the cinema and a couple of dinners and even after a Sunday farmer’s market but it didn’t mean a thing.

“Ah,” Cassian sighed, pulling his mouth away from hers. “I know this pair – the red silk?”

His fingers trailed up her bare thigh and further until he reached the edge of her panties. The man had an unusual gift for accurately guessing her underwear.

The dress she’d chosen to wear out was a new one; sleeveless black lace with thick cut straps scooping into a scalloped neckline. Demure and elegant. Hints of cleavage and slight bare shoulders only.

The lower half was significantly shorter than what she would normally wear but pairing them with her highest heels had been worth it to see Cassian’s face when she entered the restaurant, his eyes skimming up her naked legs with an expression like he wanted to devour her.

This underwear was a particular favourite of his so she thought that tonight they should make an appearance.

His fingers, a maddeningly delicate touch, skimmed across the front of the fabric, pressing firmly with his thumb in just the right place for the briefest of seconds before pulling away.

Nesta’s body jolted and his eyes shone.

“Prick.”

“Hmmm pretty sure that’s Feyre’s pet name for Rhys.”

Well there was a mood killer.

“Ugh please,” she said, “please don’t mention my baby sister and that asshole while your hand is up my dress. I already spend enough money on therapy as it is.”

Cassian laughed, a sound that was rich and warm and thrummed through her. When Cassian laughed, he laughed with his whole body. “Oh, not finding Feyre and Rhys’ terms of endearment a turn on?”

She scrunched her nose.

“Well, that’s cute.”

“Shut. Up.”

Cassian grinned and kissed her again.

At first, when all this began, they didn’t talk about real life; Cassian’s job, Nesta’s job, weekend plans, friends or family. It was strictly skin on skin contact only. Those were the rules.

As time trickled past like sand in an hourglass, the rules warped until a significant portion had changed completely.

They ended up asking how the other was.

At first it was small talk, trying to be polite as they walked through shared the lobby of Cassian or Nesta’s apartment buildings but then Nesta had a bad day and Cassian seemed genuine in his question.

She told him about a potential client who no longer wanted her as their literary agent and how that rejection had stung. She’d believed in that book she told him, it was about sisters and redemption, and she explained how she’d cried when she first read the manuscript.

After that point they talked about their work. Nesta would glance at the architect plans Cassian had scattered about his drafting table and asked questions about how his projects were progressing and check her emails while he cooked dinner. There were times they sat opposite each other, Cassian while he drafted and Nesta while she read.

That was the other thing. There were dinners. Lunches. Weekend plans involving brunches and early morning Saturday jog’s around the park.

The one thing that did seem to be beyond their new rules was discussing friends and family.

Cassian and Nesta rarely spoke about their mutual acquaintances, often refusing to acknowledge they even had any. It was strange for Cassian to bring Rhys into conversation but he was obviously on Cassian’s mind from the phone call earlier.

They were done with their starters and waiting for the main’s when Rhys rang, Cassian answering because if he hadn’t, ‘shit would look suspicious.’

Nesta could hear the conversation from both parties even as Cassian twisted in his chair, phone pressed to his ear hunched away as much as possible to try and limit the sound.

It was confirmation from Rhys that him, Cassian and Azriel were still on for their tomorrow plans; a morning of manly activities followed by ‘lunch with the ladies’ to celebrate Cassian’s thirtieth birthday as Cassian had told them he wasn’t able to celebrate tonight, on his actual birthday.

Of course, Nesta hadn’t been invited to the group festivities. As far as all were concerned, Cassian and Nesta loathed each other and so Nesta let it slide. Cassian had essentially fobbed off the ones he loved the most with a work-based lie to have dinner with her. She thought it was a poor and unexpected exchange on his part.

Still, she had promised him a lovely birthday treat to make up for it.

Nesta gently pulled back from his kiss and watched Cassian pout.

“Now, who’s looking cute.”

“It’s my birthday. I want kisses.”

She looked up at him as coyly as she could, flexing her hips forward into his, gasping as the action moved his fingers across the front of her underwear. “Well as you’re now such a big boy perhaps tonight we can do that thing you’ve always wanted to do. It being a special occasion and all.”

Cassian’s pout dissipated and his eyes grew five shades darker.

“You mean...”

“Yes.”

“Fuck, Nesta. What the hell floor are we on? Why aren’t we top floor yet, c’mon!”

Nesta laughed. They were in the world’s slowest elevator which wouldn’t be an issue but they definitely wouldn’t be doing the thing in here.

The birthday gods or whoever Cassian just offered a sacrifice to in his mind were in an obliging mood as the ‘ding’ told Nesta they’d finally reached Cassian’s floor.

Somehow, with super human speed, he’d removed his hands from her body, scooped up the jacket, bag and shoe from the floor and turned to her, hoisting her up so she clung to him like a bear climbing a tree.

Nesta laughed again combined with a shriek of surprise, her legs wrapping around his waist, her hands buried in his hair. With a fumbling grace, his face pushed between her breasts, one hand full of their belongings and the other on her ass, Cassian moved them from the elevator into the hallway.

Her back thumped against the wall by his front door as Cassian dug around for his keys. Nesta tangled her hands further into his hair, making his bun as messy as hers.

“You know,” she said, “you should really consider getting a mirror installed above your bed. I think it would add a certain post-modern aesthetic.”

He momentarily paused his search to look up at her, his eyes hazy. “Yeah, you think?” he rasped. “If you want, sweetheart.”

“Not for me,” she replied with an air of indifference, moving her fingers to skim along the muscles corded in his neck. “Some woman you try and pick up might go for it.”

Cassian gave her a smirk and kissed the skin of her exposed cleavage before getting back to find his keys.

“Hurry,” she pleaded to hear Cassian mumble back, trying.

The click of the lock turning was the best sound she’d ever heard and they were barely through the threshold and into his darkened apartment before everything in Cassian’s hands, aside her, fell to a clatter on his solid floorboards.

Cassian simultaneously slammed the door and her back against the wall, his mouth stretching up to claim hers while she grabbed the back of his shirt, tugging it higher. She needed to get to his skin, needed to peel off his layers and throw off hers. If they made it to the bed for the first round of this evening it would be nothing short of a miracle.

It was only seconds before the apartment flooded with light where it had been pitch black before. The realisation that neither of them had turned on the lights came a second too late.

There was a chorus of loud and happy voices to accompany the lights.

“SURPRISE!”

It petered out to stunned silence and gasps. Cassian pulled back from Nesta his eyes filling with horror. Nesta didn’t want to look, but she was facing them, she couldn’t not.

Balloons and streamers dotted the apartment, a huge banner stretched overhead to say ‘happy birthday,’ tables full of food and alcohol primed and ready to go. There they were in front, the collective loved ones they didn’t talk about with a few extra of Cassian’s friends thrown in for good measure.

They just stared, eyes wide and mouths open. Silence.

There was a throaty chuckle followed by Amren’s voice. “Surprise? Well, I’d say it is.”

#nessian #fanfiction #nesta archeron #cassian #acotar #i wrote something #acosf #nessian fanfiction #nessianfic #nessian fic #nesta x cassian

118 notes · View notes

elriell · 3 years

Text

The Seer of Shadows

Chapter One— A Fateful Return

It came once more, cold and forceful as it so often did, ripping open her thoughts and bleeding through her unconscious mind. It surged like a powerful river, the running rapids numbed her hearing completely, the soft dreamworld fading to a dark loveless expanse. The terror would only continue to grow inside her, though asleep her whole body seizing with dread, spilling over into reality and it would end how it inevitably always did.

Feyre had thought to comfort her throughout many months, speaking of how the nightmares would get easier and with time the dark clouds that settled over her during sleep would slowly grow weaker and would eventually go away all together. However what she had not told her sister, nor anyone for that matter was that the opposite was true. For her nightmares where only growing stronger, and her sleep shorter each day.

Elain’s scream clawed itself out her throat violently, weaved its way through the night settling in the air, chilling her own blood.

As she attempted to calm her racing heart which could be heard pounding in her ear like war drums, she knew she could not go on like this for much longer the short bursts of sleep scarcely got her through the day and she grew paler and frailer by the day. It was infinitely frustrating feeling powerless, the backpeddling of her recovery since that terrifying day at the Cauldron, but try as she might she was wilting away like one of her favorite flowers during the winter season.

Disturbing her from her musings a sharp crisp knock sounded at the door. It was during these moments she became most afraid, because the truth was, she never quite knew whether she was dreaming whilst asleep or drifting whilst awake, her visions felt so real, so true, it confused even her own mind. As dread heighten once again, she tugged at the sheets, submerging herself beneath them willing the horrible images that flickered in front of her eyes though her lids remained closed.

Gentle but firm, the voice called out, “Elain?” At first it was dulled by the ringing in her ears until it came again, louder, clearer, finally breaching her murky thoughts.

At that her heart felt like it came to a stop momentarily, though it made her feel better to hear his comforting voice, the male on the other side of the door did little to slow the rhythm of her heart.

Taking a deep breath, once then twice more, she vocalized her internal thoughts. “Azriel, what are you doing awake so late?” Or early she supposed, depending on how you looked at it. She hadn’t been aware he had returned after so many weeks away; the shadow-singer had been gone on an important task with the Illyrians, alongside her sister and Cassian. Rhysand had casually informed her over dinner one night after she couldn’t bear to wonder any longer and perked up the nerve to ask, she had not realized quite how accustomed she had become to his quiet strength and companionship. Ordinarily she might not have noticed his absence quite so much, however with Nesta ‘s departure to the mountains as well it had left quite the notable hole in her life.

“I was returning from the mountains when I thought I heard a scream from the other end of the house, I thought I would seek out the source of the sound. Are you alright?” Azriel paused, he seemed apprehensious to continue but his voice picked back up again, just as clear as before. “May I come in if it is not an imposition.”

Casting a glance down herself she was relieved to see she appeared relatively decent, though sweat lined her temple and her hair was a tangled mess from thrashing about, she supposed he had seen her in far worse states throughout the years. Smoothing her hand through the tendrils in a half-hearted attempt to separate the sweat plastered hair lining her face, and righting the nightwear from off her shoulder.

“Of course.” She replied with a confidence she did not truly feel though the quiver in her voice almost certainly betrayed her.

The door released gently and as it unlocked the candlelight from the hall trickled in slowly, the glow framed his shape casting the rest of him in shadows but there was no doubt who the tall figure with broad wings belonged too, sapphire syphons glimmering across his torso, they seemed to thump steadily almost in unison with her own heart.

There was a stillness in him that set her on edge, though it had only been a few weeks it seemed like a lifetime ago as he stood quietly in the doorframe, whatever calm understanding had grown between them over months prior seemed to be absent. Tonight, he was tenser than usual she could read it in the creases of his forehead, in the tension of his torso, his whole being was screaming out for release. Not to mention his shadows rippled around him, very unusual for him to allow them such free range around her.

"I apologize for disturbing you, I did not realize I was quite so loud.”

He remained far from her by the now shut door, keeping his eyes downcast probably in some chivalrous attempt to allow her to maintain some modicum of privacy. He was always like that Azriel, gentlemanly to the core.

“You have nothing to apologize for.” His siphons glowing vividly in the dim room.

She knew he was only being kind to her as he always was, nonetheless she appreciated the gesture, did not have the energy to sustain any sort of façade she had been prolonging for Feyre. She had so much to worry over already, what with being pregnant. It certainly wasn't the time for her to fret about her again, so she kept her rising demons to yourself.

“How often has this been happening?” He queried gently, it was so low she had barely heard him, almost as if he had been speaking to himself.

“Not frequently.” Only constantly.

He searched her face for any trace of a lie and she knew with his experience, and intelligence he was likely to see the lie for what it was, if he did, he made no comment on the deception, allowing her this secret. And for that she was infinitely grateful.

He did not speak for a while the silence between them louder than the usual tranquility she was accustomed to when it came to the shadow-singer. Tonight, was different. Perhaps whatever happened in Illyria had put him on edge, at the verge of his control, because the silence between them was anything but serene.

“There are many who don't wish to sleep for fear of nightmares. Sadly, there are many who don't wish to wake for the same fear. I suppose we should count ourselves lucky ours are the former.”

“You get night-terrors too?” She guessed.

No hesitation. “Of course.”

It was hard to imagine such a strong and stoic man being capable of being rendered powerless by a mere dream, more likely he was trying to make her feel better about her weaknesses, for the fragility of her mind some days. She wondered if going mad might be easier, if she simply let it pull her under, perhaps she could finally get some much needed rest.

Elain implored genuinely, “And how do you cope with them?” He took his time to ponder her words, carefully picking the ones he would use.

“I want to keep my dreams, even bad ones, because without them, I might have nothing all night long.”

“That seems inordinately sad.”

A soft chuckle, and then, “Never.” Pause. “Have you spoken to Feyre about your nightmares? From the look of your eyes, I am guessing she knows...”

“No, no... I do not wish to worry her, what with everything going on and all, it would be unfair. Anyway, it is all under control so there will be no need to lose sleep over it.” The god of Irony was looking down upon her she was sure. However, it was her best bet at making sure he did not seek Feyre out and tell her, so she would reason with him, certain he was aware of her sister's delicate condition.

"Mhm.” He fiddled with his rings. “Would you like me to do anything? I could bring you a sweat tea...” Azriel was looking around the room as if it would divulge all the answers to him, or mayhap to avoid looking at her. As the thought manifested, she considered how improper this was, how intimate this room was to her and even further still as she lay in short silk underthings with only a thin sheet covering her lean form.

“I can wait for you to fall asleep before leaving, if you'd like?” Damn— She had not realized how long her musings had gone on for, taking her silence as a refusal he had persevered on.

“Oh no, that's quite alright. I am sure I have a tonic around here Madja gifted me.” She refused to tell anyone she had ran out quite some weeks ago, believing she could regain control of her nightmares, perhaps that was ill-advised on her part. Continuing on, “Truly, I was not expecting such a rough sleep or I would have had some before laying to rest.”

A lie, regrettably. Elain felt a heap of shame envelop her but it was no more than she would feel at the look of pity she was sure to receive if anyone knew the truth of it.

Shifting his weight from one foot to the other, Azriel was anything but at ease tonight himself, so at odds with his usually calm steady demeanor. He appeared to be contemplating his next words carefully but settled—

“Well should you need me at any point I'm in the West Wing. Day or Night.”

She offered him a appreciate smile, again it was out of kindness he offered, but it was no matter why as she knew with absolute certainty that she would never take him up on that offer. She watched him take his leave and some part of her rebelled and she murmured, “Oh, Azriel... I am glad you are back home.” A blush rose to the surface quick and hot.

He paused abruptly; his hand was paused wrapped around the doorknob and stayed so as if glued to it, though frustratingly, she could not make out his face with his back towards her, the air within the room seemed to vibrate over her skin, raising goosebumps along the length of her arms. The tension that he had been holding in since he arrived seemed to reach its crescendo, his shadows growing and rising higher up his body swiftly covering him as if safely tucking away whatever was eating away at him.

She could not be certain as the shadows pooled around them and pulled the room deeper in to darkness but she caught the slight movement as he ducked his head in a nod, a poor attempt to acknowledge that he heard her.

Elain wasn't even sure if that was just her imagination playing tricks because as quickly as she could think it, he regained himself and pulled the door open wide and fast, causing a rush of air to flow over her cheeks, Azriel was through the doorway and a mere shadow before she could even blink.

All that remained was the fading light from the halls as her door gradually closed on its own accord.

She would lay there for many hours to come, eventually falling back in to dreamland, though this time when she returned her thoughts were filled less of a frigid baren land and replaced by visions of dark mountains scattered with wild-flowers, gentle wind chimes sounding through the trees and a small but beautiful cabin lay ahead.

Although the inky sky should have filled her with fear there was no such unease here, the shadows seemed blanket her, appeared to comfort her in this foreign land, welcoming her home, even though she was certain she had never visited such a place before.

Elain was not able to identify anything familiar but its presence loomed over her in a intimate embrace and the soft smell of roses soothed her soul and coxed her in to a deep sleep.

The respite would not remain so for long, as the cold abyss would return on her next sleep as the sun set beyond the hills, summoning her to the icy void where reality was far from her reach.

As usual if you wish to be added or removed just let me know 🖤

@theshadowsinger-and-thefawn @verifiefangirl @stars-falling @abraxos-is-toothless @tswaney17 @elrielllll @empress-ofbloodshed @b00kworm @sleeping-and-books @julemmaes @thefangirlofhp

#Elriel #Azriel #Elain Archeron #Elain x Azriel #ACOTAR #ACOFS #ACOMAF #ACOWAR #a court of thorns and roses #elriel fanfic #elriel fic #myelriel #myelrielfic #the seer of shadows

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forget-me-not-s · 3 years

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You’re so stupid for shipping Elriel and love Elain. You need to leave this platform your reasonings are a piece of shit! Gwyn is already more important than poor lame Elain and will be endgame for Azriel idk what your shadows post say, Azriel shadows sing for Gwyn! The signs are all there and your just that dumb you don’t see it! SHIP GWYNRIEL OR FUCK YOU!

So this are a few of the anons I’ve received since I started posting about Elriel. I wasn’t going to answer to any of them (I deleted most of them), but seeing how they keep coming, I thought I would answer them in one go.

Like I said before I sincerely believe that we shouldn’t fight hate with hate but I won’t be bullied on my own page again.

Everyone should be able to ship whatever they want as long as they are respectful. People shouldn’t be attacking the people who ship, rather than the ship itself, this behavior is just wrong. No one should target another person’s opinions. There is a line that both sides have crossed. No side is innocent.

Sometimes the bad parts of the fandom are the loudest but they don’t represent all of us. I’m just so tired with people who hate Elain and Elriel harassing others and then victimizing themselves.

We should be able to feel save in our pages and not feel guilty of what we post. And if all this hate is making you more anxious just take a step back, pick up one of your comfortable reads and when you feel ready come back. This characters will always be here, reading shouldn’t be an anxiety triggering experience. Also don’t be afraid to curate your fandom experience, block whoever you need to make your space feel safe. Block anything if it makes it easier for you to have the experience you want.

First whoever is sending this anons to a few Elriels should stop. It’s not funny! And second Elain isn’t a coward!! She’s one of the most courageous characters on ACOTAR. Without knowing how to fight she went into the middle of the battlefield, plunged a knife through the King of Hybern’s throat saving all of Prythian and changing the tide of the war and ofc saved Nesta and Cassian, they definitely would have died if it wasn’t for Elain.

Elain is described as courageous by her own sister and main character, Feyre herself says:

Elain had always been gentle and sweet—and I had considered it a different sort of strength. A better strength. To look at the hardness of the world and choose, over and over, to love, to be kind. She had been always so full of light.

Not to forget she said go to hell to the queens. Also Elain bravery during her rescue in the enemy camps heleped Azriel and Briar stay on the air. Without her visions we wouldn’t know Vassa and things about Koshei. Bravery doesn’t always mean fight. She isn’t a soldier she has her own kind of courage and bravery and finds other ways to help her family.

She’s loved by the IC and if you believe that she is boring that’s on you but we have enough hints that Sarah had done it because her book is next! Also this takes are really rooted in internalized misogyny. I hate how society hate on women that are described with more womanly traits.

Also please don’t forget that behind our pages there’s actual human being with sentiments and that words have the power to destroy, you never know how much this could affect the people you’re sending it to. Like I said in my post about the drawings when I was younger I used to draw it has been more than 10 years since I picked up a pencil and started drawing, I know they aren’t perfect but I wanted it to share with my community of Elriels because I know we all love them. If you don’t like some drawing or a post just ignore it don’t leave hurtful comments on it, it is really that hard for you to ignore it?!

Like I said at the beginning of this post lets just enjoy our ships and not start in a circle of hate.

Don’t forget to treat people with kindness!

#stop hate #I’m tired of this bullshit #Please SJM just confirm who the next book is about

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snelbz · 3 years

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Life As We Know It {Chapter Three}

Summary: After the sudden deaths of Nesta’s sister and Cassian’s best friend, they gain guardianship of their nephew, Nyx.

Based on Life As We Know It (2010) and a prompt sent in by anonymous for our Nessian fanfic contest. This is a modern au.

Life As We Know It Masterlist

Shelby’s Masterlist

Tara’s Masterlist

Nesta sat across the kitchen table in Azriel and Elain’s kitchen, looking at her sister.

“I mean, I just don’t get it,” Nesta continued, shaking her head. “Me and Cassian… Why didn’t they choose you and Azriel? You’ve been together forever and want a big family.”

“You’re second guessing taking care of Nyx?” Elain asked, with no judgement, just curiosity.

“No, of course not,” Nesta began, sighing. “It’s just… Me and Cassian?”

“They did try to set you two up all those years ago,” Elain said, propping an elbow on the table and dropping her chin in her hand.

Nesta raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms. “And how well did that work out?”

Elain rolled her eyes, but sighed. “Feyre was right though,” she said, looking at the letter from Rhys and Feyre, laying face down on the table. Nesta had brought it over for Elain to read, which had just made them both start crying over again. “You have the fiercest heart. Nyx needs you in his life.”

She blinked away the tears lining her eyes again. Silently, she wondered when she’d be able to think about her sister, about Rhys again, without dissolving into tears. She knew it would be a long while.

Finally, she said, “I know he does. I just don’t understand why Cassian has to be involved. That’s not going to be a healthy environment for him to grow up in.”

She could already see it, she and Cassian at each other’s throats. He knew how to get under her skin, loved to do it, did it as often as he could. It would be all Nyx saw as he grew up, his guardians screaming at each other.

“He needs to be somewhere happy and loving and peaceful. Like here, Lainy. He’d flourish here, with you and Az and Seph.”

Elain gave her sister a long, wistful look. Her eyes were soft and misty when she said, “We’re just learning to take care of one, Nes. I can’t… We can’t take on another infant. And, besides, it wasn’t what Feyre and Rhys wanted.”

“They probably wrote that the second they got engaged,” Nesta said, knowing that wasn’t true. “They didn’t know what they wanted.” Elain glanced at the open letter that sat on the table between them. “I read it. They knew exactly what they wanted for Nyx in case something happened to them, and I think that they were right. Just because you and Cassian can’t see it doesn’t mean that it’s not a good idea.”

“The lawyer will disagree with that,” Nesta muttered, remembering Tarquin’s words from their meeting. I tried to advise them against this. She shivered. “The thought of living with Cassian and playing house has me nauseous. And pissed off. So pissed off that I’m nauseous.”

Elain sighed again. “He really is a-.”

“A good guy,” Nesta interrupted, letting her head fall into her hands. Her fingers tugged in the roots slightly. “I know. You keep telling me that. Feyre always told me that. Everyone keeps telling me that. But the two of us?” She looked up at Elain, letting her see into those eyes that matched Feyre’s perfectly, letting her see the slight panic in them, letting her see everything. “We aren’t compatible. Everything about him, it throws me off.”

A cry from down the hall had both of the women standing, but when Nesta realized it was Nyx, she hurried out of the kitchen. In a flash, she was in the spare room, crossing to the small crib Elain and Az had set up for Feyre and Rhys when they found out they were pregnant.

Nyx’s blue eyes were wide and he let out another tortured wail and Nesta tried to soothe him before he was even in her arms. “It’s okay, bubba,” she cooed, holding him against her chest. He kept crying, though the volume of his screams lessened. Instead they were more akin to what Nesta would have almost called sobs.

“It’s been a long day,” she breathed. “I think we should go home, yeah?”

She gathered his diaper bag from where it laid on the bed and when she entered the living room, Elain was sitting on the couch, reading over the letter again. Quiet tears slid down her cheeks.

“I’m gonna get him home,” Nesta said, softly. She repeated, “It’s… It’s been a long day.”

Nodding, Elain folded the letter back up and wiped at the tears on her face with the back of her hand. “Right.” She held the letter out to Nesta, who took it, careful not to jostle Nyx who had finally quieted down, though Nesta could tell he was still awake.

His little hand was pressed to the side of her neck, and she could feel it moving gently.

“Call me if you need anything,” Elain said, carefully hugging her and pressing a kiss to the top of Nyx’s head. “Az and I will help you move what you need to into the house, so don’t hesitate to ask.”

Nesta could only nod, still unsure of how she was going to do this, how she was going to live her life, while also taking care of the far more precious one in her arms. She silently left, driving home and getting Nyx inside and settled, letting him sit in the Bumbo seat she’d found in the kitchen atop the counter while she cooked dinner.

After putting him down for bed, Nesta found herself sitting on the balcony off of Rhys and Feyre’s old bedroom. She looked out into the small wood that made up their backyard, over the pool and chairs that had been set up for the approaching summer, but her eyes were drawn up to the stars that Velaris was famous for.

“I don’t know how to do this,” she whispered, not sure if she was admitting it to herself or to Rhys and Feyre, listening to her wherever they were. “I’m so scared I’ll do something wrong.”

The sounds of crickets and other manner of nighttime creatures were the only reply she received.

“I know you believed in me, in us, but I don’t. I want to make you both proud but I don’t know if I can do that. I just need something to tell me that I’m not making a huge mistake and-.

She softly gasped as a shooting star went blazing across the sky, a second one following it right after.

Her lip trembled as she nodded up at the night sky, understanding, knowing who had sent those stars. She almost felt like she could feel them there, as if they were telling her that it would be hard, but she could do it.

And she… she didn’t have to do it alone.

Cassian wasn’t at Az and Elain’s for thirty seconds before he crossed to the mini-fridge Azriel kept stocked in the garage.

“There’s no way they thought this was a good idea,” he said, pacing around, Azriel silently watching him. “It’s a sick joke, just like all of this is. There’s another letter somewhere that says just kidding, wouldn’t that be funny though?”

He cracked open the beer and drank it all in one go.

“I mean, Rhys and I always messed around and shit, but…this is too far,” he went on, tossing the can in the garbage and reaching for another one.

Azriel crossed his arms as he said, “Too many of those and you may think it’s funny, too.”

Cassian shot him a look as he drank from his can. “This isn’t funny. None of this is funny.”

Azriel took a deep breath before saying, “Did you stop to think that maybe they knew exactly what they were doing?”

Cassian said nothing as he propped himself on a stool and shook his head. Azriel didn’t push him. Eventually, Cassian said, quietly, “I want to help Rhys. I want to be the man that he thought I was. I mean, shit, he left me in charge of his child. And I would die for that child. But, Nesta was right, you know? I have no idea how to take care of a kid, especially one as young as Nyx.”

“You think I did, when Seph came along?” He asked, leaning back against the workbench. Cassian was as comfortable in this garage as he was his own, had created just as many beautiful things here as he had in his own cramped space. But he focused on Azriel’s words, sighed as he listened to his brother.

“I was scared shitless, but that didn’t mean a thing to her, or to Elain,” he went on. “Because they both needed me. They needed me to get my shit together and figure it out, and that’s exactly what I did.”

Cassian didn’t say anything, he just looked down at his feet, at his dirty work boots and silently drank from the can in his hands.

Azriel crossed the garage and pulled out a beer of his own, cracking it open and taking a drink. “So read the books, do the research, go online, do whatever you have to do, but Cassian, listen to me.”

His brother rarely used his full name, so he looked up at him, nor expecting to find the tenderness on his face or the silver lining his eyes.

“If you think for one second that Rhys and Feyre didn’t know what they were doing, you’re wrong. No one loves that little boy as much as you do. Yeah, you’re probably going to fuck up once or twice, but it’s okay.” Azriel placed a hand on his shoulder. “It happens and as long as you learn from it, that’s all that matters.”

Cassian wiped at his eye with the back of his hands. “I’m fucking scared, man.”

“I know you are,” Az replied, his voice dropping, almost gentle. “Not to mention we’re all still hurting. But you and Nesta are going to be fine, Nyx is going to be fine.”

Cassian clamped his eyes shut. He groaned. “It wouldn’t be so bad, I know I can learn to take care of Nyx, but Nesta? They expect me to live with Nesta?”

Azriel actually hesitated. “Yeah, that sucks.”

Cassian, despite himself, laughed quietly. “Yeah.”

“But, believe it or not, I think she’d be good for you,” Azriel said, keeping that quiet tone.

“Now you’re trying to set us up?” Cassian asked, wiping at his eyes and the tears that had nearly fallen.

Azriel shook his head. “No. But, Nesta Archeron gets shit done. And she loves Nyx, too. The two of you together….different parenting styles? Yeah. But, you’d be surprised at how well two opposites balance each other out when it comes to parenting.”

Cassian thought of Azriel and Elain. They were both gentle and kind, but they were pretty opposite, too.

“And if it’s a complete failure?” Cassian asked.

Azriel sighed as he watched Cassian. At last, he said, “It won’t be.”

Cassian wanted to believe him, wanting to feel confident in the words Azriel said, but even his third beer hadn’t lifted his confidence.

He let his head fall back, staring up at the ceiling, at the garage door that was raised to allow the cool, night breeze in. “I have to live with Nesta Archeron. The Mother thinks she’s funny. The Cauldron is laughing at me. Fate is rubbing its hands together and laughing maniacally.”

“No,” Az chuckled. “I think that might be Rhys.”

Cassian snorted, but the door to the house opened and Elain stuck her head out. She smiled softly at Cassian, who raised his drink in greeting. “I thought I heard you out here. You gonna stay for dinner?”

His alternative was grabbing something from a drive through or searching through his fridge for something that wasn’t completely freezer burned, so he smiled and said, “Sure, Lainy. Thanks.”

She beamed at them both and the door clicked shut behind her as she turned to go back to the kitchen. Cassian looked over at Azriel to find him still smiling like a fool at the door.

He sighed quietly as he realized he would probably never have that, would never have someone he could stare after and gaze at as fondly as Azriel did Elain. Not if he was to spend his life shackled to someone who wanted absolutely nothing to do with him.

As soon as he thought the words, he chastised himself, stepping out into the driveway. She was just as miserable about the whole ordeal as he was. But for Nyx, they could try and make it work. They would make it work. They would do what they had to.

He sighed, gazing up into the night sky.

Shaking his head, he wondered if there was some sort of afterlife. If there was, he wondered if Rhysand and Feyre were somewhere in the sky, looking down at him, trying to encourage him, trying to get a message to him during this horrible, hectic, anxiety-ridden unknown time.

He hoped they were.

He could use it.

That encouragement.

That love.

Cassian began raising his can to his lips, but then he froze.

A shooting star shot across the night sky.

Then another.

Cassian’s hand fell back to his side as he stared at the bright Velaris starlight, completely in awe.

They were watching, they were there with him. They were there with all of them.

Of course they were.

Cassian swore under his breath as he fully gave into the ridiculous notion of moving in with Nesta, of co-parenting with the most frustrating, stubborn woman in Prythian.

But for Nyx, he would.

For Rhysand, for Feyre, he would.

#life as we know it #snacmc lawki #nessian #nessian contest #nesta archeron #cassian #snelbz tacmc collab #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acofas #acosf

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kingandfireheart · 3 years

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What stories are left in ACOTAR: Elain edition

It is likely that the next installment of the ACOTAR series will cover Elain Archeron. Elain is probably the least developed character of the Inner Circle, and the only character (other than Amren and Lucien) whose perspective we haven’t seen yet. This post details her trauma, the issue of choice, Elain’s personality, the sweet innocent Elain image, and her various roles.

Elain will definitely have to face her past trauma, which include:

Graysen: grief, feeling of betrayal

The Cauldron and being kidnapped: trauma, feeling violated, becoming high fae

Her father: grief

Sisters: having a role in the Night Court, belonging there, being protected

Choices:

Before I get into Elain’s role, I want to talk about a huge thing for Elain, which is choice. Rhysand spends ACOMAF and ACOWAR showing Feyre that she always has choices. Nesta struggles with this in ACOSF, and while Nesta does make choices to be more active - she kills the Kelpie, saves Feyre, saves her friends, she choses Cassian, and kills Briallyn.

“I am not a thing to be controlled by you”, Nesta said icily. Everything in her life, from the moment she was born, had been controlled by other people. Things happened to her; anytime she tried to exert control, she’d been thwarted at every turn -- and she hated that even more than the King of Hybern.

Elain, who has suffered much of the same trauma as Nesta, will make her own choices in her book. Those choices will involve who she ends up with (I refuse to get into the Elucien/Elriel debacle here - I like both!), how she wields her power (as a seer, as high fae, as a Made person, as the Cauldron’s favorite, as a political pawn), and what she makes of the situations that happened to her.

Elain has already shown that she can make good on a bad situation in ACOWAR, I’m excited to see how she keeps that up in her book:

“This could end very badly, Elain.” // She brushed her thumb over the iron-and-diamond engagement ring. “It’s already ended badly. Now it’s just a matter of deciding how we meet the consequences.” (ACOWAR)

“I know your circumstances for coming here were awful, Nesta, but it doesn’t mean you need to be so miserable about it.” (ACOSF)

Sweet Innocent Elain:

Elain’s persona in the Inner Circle is a sweet and innocent girl. She loves gardening and cooking. She is kind and cares about things like manners and propriety. Here are a few quotes that show that:

“You’re still lovely,” Mor said a bit gently. Elain offered a half smile. “I suppose that war makes wanting things like that unimportant.”Mor was quiet for a heartbeat. “Perhaps. But you should not let war steal it from you regardless.” (ACOWAR)

“What now?” Elain mused, at last answering my question from moments ago as her attention drifted to the windows facing the sunny street. That smile grew, bright enough that it lit up even Azriel’s shadows across the room. “I would like to build a garden,” she declared. “After all of this … I think the world needs more gardens.” (ACOWAR)

“I wonder if everyone has spent so long assuming Elain is sweet and innocent that she felt she had to be that way or else she’d disappoint you all.” “With time and safety, perhaps we’ll see a different side of her emerge.”(ACOSF Bonus Chapter)

We know that there is a lot more to Elain than anyone gives her credit for - Cassian, Amren, Rhys, and even Nesta point this out on different occasions in ACOSF:

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

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

Rhys: “I also think we haven’t seen all she has to offer. “Don’t forget that gardening often results in something pretty, but it involves getting one’s hands dirty along the way” “And torn up by thorns”

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

We also see Elain starting to take back her power in ACOSF when she steps up to look for the Dread Trove

“You do not decide what I can and cannot do, Nesta.”

“You can’t have it both ways. You cannot resent my decision to lead a small, quiet life while also refusing to let me do anything greater.”

“I am not a child to be fought over”

“I went into the Cauldron too, you know. And it captured me. And yet somehow all you think of it what my trauma did to you.”

Elain’s Roles:

Sister: Elain has long been a mediator between Nesta and Feyre. She is the calmness that complements each of their fire, she is the one they each seek to protect. (I’m thinking of SJM’s fire/ice/stone metaphor for Manon, Asterin, and Sorrel). However, she is able to fight for what she wants with each of them, and use her skills to her advantage. Elain shows Feyre her remorse for the years when they are poor, which is why Elain and Nesta step up to help with the Mortal Queens.

“Feyre gave and gave—for years. Let us now help her. Help … others.” (ACOMAF)

“And as for Feyre’s hunting during those years, it was not Nesta’s neglect alone that is to blame. We were scared, and had received no training, and everything had been taken, and we failed her. Both of us.” (ACOMAF)

Sweet, innocent Elain who vomited from the violence on the battlefields, who recoiled from Cassian’s weapons, does show that she is willing to fight for her sisters.

Elain stepped out of a shadow behind him, and rammed Truth-Teller to the hilt through the back of the king’s neck as she snarled in his ear, “Don’t you touch my sister.”

Seer: Elain seemed to gain clarity once she realized what she was seeing. She says she can control her Seer talk, and actually uses this power to help Feyre find the Suriel in ACOWAR, and offers to do the same with the Dread Trove. It isn’t clear if Elain’s refusal to acknowledge her powers stems from fear, lack of acceptance, or just the fact that she needed to be normal before she can embrace her new life.

“Are you asking me that as her sister, or as a seer?” (ACOFAS)

“Then I will find it. I might require some time to ... reacquaint myself with my powers, but I could start today.” (ACOSF)

Made and Cauldron’s Favorite: Just like Nesta and Feyre, Elain is Made. All of the Like Calls to Like logic that applies to Feyre in ACOMAF with the Cauldron and the Book of Breathings and Nesta in ACOSF with the Dread Trove applies to Elain. Now that Nesta’s power is limited, Elain may have to step up and use her power to help find the fourth Dread Trove item or with a new Cauldron-related task. The big distinguishing factor here is that the Cauldron likes Elain.

The Cauldron purred in Elain’s presence as the King of Hybern slumped to his knees, clawing at the knife jutting through his throat. Elain backed away a step.

The Cauldron seemed to realize what she’d done, too, as his head thumped onto the mossy ground. That Elain … Elain had defended this thief. Elain, who it had gifted with such powers, found her so lovely it had wanted to give her something … It would not harm Elain, even in its hunt to reclaim what had been taken.

“You were Made by the Cauldron. You may track other objects Made by it as well... and because you are Made by it, you are immune to the influence and power of the Trove. You might use them, yes, but they cannot be used upon you.”

Lucien’s Mate: Elain hasn’t been raised with the mating bond, she doesn’t care for it in ACOWAR when she tries to win Graysen back, but it is possible that after almost two years in the Night Court, and watching both of her sisters accept their bonds, that she may want to acknowledge it, or at least understand it. Being Lucien’s Mate also makes Elain a political pawn. Her presence in the Night Court ensures Lucien’s loyalty, and given that Lucient has ties to 3 of the seven courts and the human lands. Elain could potentially wield the power of those alliances (or destroy them based on her relationship with Lucien).

“You are his mate. Do you even know what that means?”// “It means nothing,” Elain said, her voice breaking. “It means nothing. I don’t care who decided it or why they did—”// “You belong to him.”//“I belong to no one. But my heart belongs to you.”(ACOWAR)

“You couldn’t say a single word to him? A pleasant greeting?//“He brought you a present”// “And that entitles him to my time, my affections?”// “No. He is a good male. He cares for you.”// “He doesn’t know me.” //“You don’t give him the chance to even try to do so.”//“I don’t want a mate. I don’t want a male” (ACOFAS)

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

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

Member of the Inner Circle: Elain insists that she is a member of the Night Court in ACOSF, and offers her help in tracking down the Dread Trove. . She is already an active member at Inner Circle dinners (seen in ACOFAS and ACOSF), and those bonds could continue to grow.

“And he knew the cruelty of the Hewn City troubled her. But she hadn’t hesitated to come. When Feyre had offered to let her remain home, Elain had squared her shoulders and declared she was a part of this court -- and would do whatever was needed. ... He’d never once in the two years he’d known her found Elain to be plain, but wearing black, no matter how much she claimed to be part of this court... It sucked the life from her.”

Nuala and Cerrdiwen’s Friend: Elain has befriended the two half-wraiths who spy for both Azriel and Rhys. Give Elain’s powers for persuasion (”my sister Elain can convince anyone to do anything with a few smiles”) and observation (”Nesta never spoke if afterward, I just observed”// “Elain’s brown eyes flickered, well aware of all that.” ), she could make an interesting spy or courtier.

“They’d spent more time with Elain than even I had. They understood her moods, what she sometimes needed.” (ACOFAS)

Nesta started, not having heard her sister approach She scanned Elain from head to toe, wondering if she’d been taking lessons in stealth either from Azriel or the two half-wraiths she called friends. (ACOSF)

#elain archeron #acotar #elain #elain archeron week #kp analysis #acotar series #mtp

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