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labellefleur-sauvage · 10 months

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(Can I Handle) The Seasons of My Life

Summary: The former Lady of Autumn reflects on her difficult history, and hatches a plan while observing her mate.

Helion reminisces over what could have been when presented with intangible proof of his mate’s past.

Or: The private yearnings of a newly reunited MILF and DILF

For @sunandflameweek, Day 7: Free Day!

Despite only having hints written about them, Helion and the Lady of Autumn have such an interesting history and relationship and, I believe, lots of potential. I've wanted to try my hand at writing these two for a while, and what I imagine for them in the future, with a very healthy smattering of smut, of course, and this event gave me the perfect motivation! Thank you so much to @starfall-spirit for creating and hosting this event!

Title is from Landslide by FleetWood Mac.

Rating: Explicit. Word Count: 3.9K

Read on AO3

The woman surveyed the scene in front of her, leaning on a tall marble column with a small smile on her face. Even in her wildest imaginations during her darkest days, Adeline, the former Lady of the Autumn Court couldn’t have dreamt of what she was witnessing now.

The High Lord of the Day Court - Helion, the Sun personified, one of the oldest and most powerful High Lords in all of Prythian, the love of her life, her mate - stood in the palace’s private courtyard, his arms wide, palms facing outwards. Next to him was a younger male with the same build and confidence and hints of features as Helion - Lucien, a prince of Autumn, master emissary, a powerful fae male in his own right, their son - standing opposite him, staring at their surroundings with a concentrated frown on his face.

“My wards are tight, and cannot be broken easily. Most wards can’t, unless you can find a flaw.”

“And what if there is no flaw?” Lucien asked through gritted teeth, his eyes darting to the space between Helion’s spread arms.

Helion grinned. “Then you make one. Whether by unraveling the ward as you see it - like purposely fraying an edge on a piece of clothing and pulling it - or by overtaking it completely, and making it your own.”

“You can do that?” Lucien asked, flabbergasted.

“For the High Lord of the Day Court, and those with my blood, yes,” he said. “And you can too, since you’re…”

Helion trailed off and cleared his throat, looking away from Lucien. Lucien ducked his head and ran a hand through his long red hair - her hair - a blush staining his cheeks.

“Well,” Helion went on. “Shall we continue?”

Adeline continued watching them from the shadows. It was the closest the two of them had come to acknowledging their undeniable relationship. She wasn’t sure they’d ever get to the point of calling each other what they were - father, son - but Helion clearly cared for Lucien in his own way.

“Good,” she heard Helion murmur. He and Lucien were staring at something only they could see, their son’s eyes dancing with excitement, his arms aloft. “Clever, using your fire and light magic together. You’re a natural.”

She could see a few glowing embers in the air. Adeline shuddered. Even after all these months, anything that reminded her of her home court sent a shiver of dread through her.

She hadn’t been back to Autumn, not since that hazy, blood soaked night when Eris had ascended the throne, his father’s mangled head in his hand. She’d fallen to her knees and taken her first wracking breaths as a free female for the first time in centuries. Smoke filled her lungs but it was the sweetest breath she’d ever taken.

Fortunately, Beron’s body had burned to nothing but dust and ashes before anyone could see the ten small stab wounds that suspiciously matched the ornate dagger she kept in her bureau for her protection.

But that was all behind her. Adeline continued observing her mate and their son together - Cauldron, would that ever fully sink in? - as Helion roared with approval at Lucien’s actions, smacking him firmly on their son’s shoulders. Happiness and pride shone in Helion’s eyes and it was unlike anything she had seen on his face before. He and Lucien wore matching smiles and they looked so similar.

This is what your life should have been. She took a deep breath. It was an ugly thought, but true. This is what she should have had for the entirety of her long life: a loving mate, a family with even more red haired, dark skinned children, living not in constant fear and anxiety but surrounded by warmth and love.

But if Adeline could turn back the clock, make one or two different decisions, would she change anything? She loved her six other sons - four, now, she thought with a sharp pain in her chest - some, more than others, and some only in the most biological way a parent had to love its offspring; would she sacrifice their existence for her own happiness?

Lucien, at the very least, deserved better. Lucien deserved a mother who didn’t need to shield him during his childhood, then was forced to watch helplessly as the Autumn Court and all of Prythian tore him apart. He deserved a father who could have protected him, taught him everything he knew, guard him, love him -

It was what Helion was doing now: stepping up and being the father Lucien never had but deserved.

And he looked delectable doing it.

Helion’s dark skin, a few shades darker than Lucien’s, shone with sweat, his broad chest and thick thighs barely covered by his short, one shouldered white toga. A pair of gold sandals wrapped around his graceful ankles and calves, and a matching gold arm band barely fit around a large bicep.

Helion said something to Lucien that had the younger male laughing and Helion reached over to pat him on the back. It was hardly anything, and so simple, but he looked so fatherly, so lovingly paternal, and Helion looked so natural at it -

The beginnings of arousal coursed low in her body. Adeline sucked in a deep breath, then another. She would not have anyone be able to smell how desperate she was for her mate, especially not her son. Controlling her breath, she stepped out of the shadows and into the courtyard.

“I think that’s enough for now,” Helion was saying to Lucien. “You’ve made remarkable progress for a late learner.”

“You’re certainly doing things I never thought possible,” she piped up. Both her mate and her son turned towards her and gave her the same matching smile - how odd, being able to pinpoint where each of Lucien’s features came from - before Lucien jogged over to her.

“Oh, you’re sweaty,” she laughed as he approached, batting him away. “And smelly. I hope you’re not planning on seeing anyone until you can change.”

“I was actually going to go for a walk with Elain soon,” he replied. “She mentioned collecting shells on the beach for the garden.”

“Did she,” she mused, sneaking a peak behind Lucien. Helion had the same shit-eating grin as she did. “Well, I suppose a change of clothes won’t really matter with what you’ll be doing, hm?”

Lucien blushed despite himself. “Well, I shouldn’t keep her waiting,” he mumbled, pressing a soft kiss to her cheek and walking away.

“Take a towel with you!” Helion called to Lucien’s back. “Take it from me, it’s not fun when sand gets -“

Lucien yelled with disgust and shot his parents a crude hand gesture, fleeing the courtyard. She laughed. Her son and his lovely mate had only been mated a month, and the bond was just now beginning to lessen its all consuming hold on them.

“And what are your plans for the day?”

Helion’s strong arms wrapped around her from behind. Adeline lifted her head up against his chest and peered up at him.

“Not much,” she answered. “Perhaps a walk myself, or some reading. Yourself?”

“I have a meeting later today and several proposals and drafts to review. I think I’ll be stuck in my office the rest of the day,” he sighed wistfully.

“A shame,” she murmured back sadly, a plan forming. She pulled away from his embrace. “Well, I don’t want to keep you -“

“And leave me with nothing to remember you by?” he asked in mock hurt, a hand over his chest.

“I thought what we did this morning would have sustained you for the entire day,” she shot back. “My jaw is still rather sore.”

“Ah, but that is in the past and I’ve already forgotten it,” he teased, grinning wickedly. “One kiss to power me through the rest of my dreadful day without you.”

Sighing exasperatedly, she leaned into him and pressed her lips chastely against his. His hand cupped her jaw as he deepened the kiss, nipping her bottom lip, his tongue probing her mouth -

“Have a good afternoon!” she called, dashing from his side before she got sidetracked from her plan. She left him standing alone in the courtyard, his hand in the air where it had been caressing her jaw, as still as a statue.

Adeline wanted him, desperately, but he wouldn’t have to wait long. Dashing to their room, she opened her wardrobe. She couldn’t admit out loud how excited she became at seeing Helion being a father to Lucien, but she could at least show him how much it turned her on.

XXX

Helion stood up from his desk and stretched. He had been curved like a crustacean over his papers so long his neck and bore were stiff, and would most likely remain so for hours. He glanced at his sundial. Only an hour had passed since his mate had left him alone and hard in the courtyard, flitting away to wherever she might be.

He crossed the room to sit in the wide, low chair next to the window. He was irritable that he was stuck here alone, going over inane paperwork, with a meeting still later, rather than with his gorgeous, delectable mate.

Helion groaned softly and leaned back, letting his eyes drift close. What he wouldn’t give to have Adeline here with him right now. He remembered their parting kiss, how soft she had become under his touch. He could almost smell her -

Two sturdy knocks at the door broke him out of his daydream. “What?” He snapped, too wound up to hide his displeasure.

The door opened and his mate’s head popped around the corner of the door. “Are you busy?”

He perked up and grinned, his foul mood already gone. “For you, my dear, never.”

Grinning softly, Adeline hurried into the room and Helion let out a sharp gasp at her appearance. She normally favored long, flowing dresses that covered her shoulders and legs but she now wore a dangerously short one-shouldered stola. Her slim legs were on display, the tops of her breasts peaking out from her low neckline. She stole through the room on quiet, bare feet. Not giving him the chance to move, his mate climbed on top of him, bracketing his hips with her own.

“This is… unexpected.” Helion peered up at her, his hands automatically finding the indents of her waist. “Come to break up my boredom? Or was our parting kiss not sufficient for you?”

“Perhaps I too have a short memory,” Adeline said, leaning down and slanting her lips against his.

Helion hummed against her lips, moaning a little when her hands tangled in his thick locs and gently tugged. She was like a hellcat possessed above him, her hips moving over his lap as she wildly kissed and touched him.

“Here, let me -“ he began, grabbing her underneath her ass and moving to lift her. Her small hands shot out and planted themselves firmly on his chest and shoulder.

“No! I want you like this. Under me. At my mercy.” Adeline’s cheeks were pink, her mouth slightly open, like she was a bit surprised at her own tenacity. She licked her lips and gave him her stearnest glare, refusing to back down and let him lead as he always did.

Who was he to deny his mate?

Settling back down in the accent chair, he swiftly pushed the shoulder strap of her toga down her arm and pulled the top of the dress down to her waist, too impatient to get her fully naked if it meant she had to leave his lap for even a second. Her full breasts were heaving with her labored breathing, her nipples peaked. What drew his attention this time, however, were the faint silver marks running down her pert breasts.

He knew from their frequent and numerous couplings that Adeline had matching stretch marks on her hips and thighs and lower stomach, the only remnants of her pregnancies. He’d spent hours re-learning and exploring every inch of her body over the past few weeks, and these stripes received the same love and attention as the rest of her.

Here, in his arms in the sun, the stripes on her breasts shone and glowed. The stretch marks adorning her body were evidence of her fertility and fecundity, of all the babes she had brought into the world -

A stab of pure anger shot through him. Those should have been his children his mate conceived and carried and bore, not that bastard’s. Adeline’s body should be wonderfully soft and gently stretched because of him and his cock, no one else’s. He gripped the cushion on the chair beneath him so hard he heard the fabric rip.

They struck gold already; they made Lucien in a single, heady, lust-filled night, a young male with power and abilities that rivaled his father’s, even after only a short period of studying and training. The potential of any future offspring could be enough to cement Day’s glory in Prythian for ages. Helion wanted it - wanted to have another child with his mate, watch her stomach swell as she grew their babe within, establish a dynasty in his court and the entire world, parade her around to the other high lords and beat his chest, Look at my mate, look what I’ve done to her -

“You're angry - what’s wrong?”

His mate had that all too familiar furrow between her brow, her eyes weary. Her breasts were still exposed, body taut with anticipation, but she had subtly shied away from Helion’s body and looked ready to run away if needed.

Like she could if she wanted to. Helion mentally beat that animalistic part of himself that was always so near the edge whenever she was around him down deep into his psyche. Guilt and shame welled up where his inner beast had been only a moment before. Adeline had spent nearly her entire life afraid due to one male - he vowed to himself when she first came to Day that he would never frighten her.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, trailing soft kisses along the delicate skin of her wrist. “Just thinking of all of our missed time together.” Not entirely a lie.

But he would never ask that of his mate, never put the burden of another pregnancy, wanted or otherwise, on her. Adeline had already spent so much of her life in service to others - Helion would be damned if he added any more responsibility for her.

“It’s never too late to start making up for lost time,” Adeline said quietly, a soft smile on her lips. Helion hummed his agreement and leaned up towards her at the same time she lowered her face towards his for another kiss.

He gently dug his fingers into her luscious hair as they kissed, keeping them together. She spent so much time on her hair, he almost felt bad undoing it. Almost.

She grasped one of his wrists now lazily twirling her unbound hair around one of his fingers. Keeping her heavy lidded gaze on him, Adeline slowly dragged his hand under her short stola and between her thighs.

Helion swore. “So wet for me already, my mate?” He swirled his fingers through her soaking folds, enjoying feeling her tremble in his arms. “And what has gotten you so excited already?”

She blushed a red so deep it nearly matched her hair. “N-nothing,” she stuttered shyly. “Just thinking about you.”

Helion hummed. She wasn’t being truthful but he wouldn’t press her - at least not now, anyway. There were better, more pleasurable ways to get information out of people.

He sunk a single finger inside her at the same time she brushed his toga away and pulled his length out into the open, her soft lips grazing his. Helion hissed as Adeline began pumping him leisurely, in time with his finger inside her. He broke their kiss to gaze down. It was a sight he’d never tire of: her small, pale hand, wrapped around his straining cock.

There were many sites he’d never tire of, all of which concerned the female in his lap, but this was one of his favorites.

Quickly, she shifted so she was squatting over him on the chair and angled his cock between her legs, still obscured by her clothes.

“I was planning on eating you out, you know,” Helion groaned, shutting his eyes and leaning his head back as his mate began working him inside her tight channel. “It’s been nearly a day since I put my mouth on you. I’m overdue.”

“Later,” Adeline said distractedly. She bit her lip as her hips finally met his, letting herself get used to him (as she always needed to do, he thought smugly). After only a moment, however, she raised herself over him then brought her hips down.

They groaned in unison. She set a steady pace, rising and falling in his lap, occasionally taking his entire shaft and grinding her lower body against his. She moaned loudly when his cock hit deep inside her, uncaring about who might hear as she chased her pleasure.

Adeline was never this forward with him. He had had to coax her into more adventurous love making, his cock a proverbial carrot on a stick as they tried new positions and acts together. This was the first time they had fucked outside of their bedroom and Helion was already thinking of the places he could get her next.

He bunched up her toga at her waist and groaned. Her pink lower lips were stretched obscenely around his thick length, her small bud jutting out for any attention. Helion watched, transfixed, as Adeline bounced in his lap, his cock shining with her essence every time she took him to the hilt.

“You look so good taking my cock,” Helion rumbled appreciatively, still watching her pussy grip him. He brushed the red curls between her legs before swiping his thumb over her clit. She whined low in her throat. “My beautiful mate, fucking herself full of me.”

Her breasts bounced in his face and he took a peaked nipple in his mouth, laving his tongue against her skin. His mate whimpered above him and thrust her hips down even harder and faster against him.

“That’s right,” he murmured softly, his thumb still caressing her clit. “Take what you want me from. Want to feel you break around me.”

“Cauldron Helion,” she groaned, digging her fingers into his shoulders. He could feel her legs shaking and he gripped her under her thighs and ass to help her move up and down his length.

She threw her head back and closed her eyes, her long hair grazing the tops of his thighs. She was so damn beautiful, and he was so fucking lucky to have her in his life.

Planting his feet firmly on the ground, Helion started thrusting up into Adeline’s tight depths every time her plush ass met his thick thighs. She gasped in pleasure as she stopped moving and let Helion fuck her, lowering herself to her knees and throwing her arms around his neck when her legs gave out.

“Helion, please, yes!” she cried, burying her face in his neck. He gripped her hips to keep her steady as he continued to thrust into her wet heat. His balls tightened underneath him; the wet smack of their flesh joining, combined with his mate’s soft cries and gasps against his skin, pushed him dangerously close to the edge.

“Touch yourself,” he grunted out. He wasn’t going to last much longer and didn’t want to come before his mate. Adeline’s hand ghosted down his front before it delved between her thighs, her fingers occasionally grazing his shaft as it pistoned in and out of her.

He wrapped an arm around her shoulder, hauling her even tighter against his body as he finally felt her break around him. Her inner walls fluttered around his length and she cried into his shoulder, her moans muffled against him, her short nails digging into his muscles.

Helion didn’t care to silence himself. With a loud groan that reverberated through his chest he came, emptying himself completely into his mate. He moaned through the aftershocks of his orgasm, lazily thrusting into her until he was fully spent.

They sat there together in blissful silence for several long minutes. Helion ran a hand up and down her spine. Even after all the sex they had, each time was still better than the last.

His mate sat up. She had a happy, satisfied grin on her face.

“I’ll have to visit your office more often,” Adeline said, nuzzling his neck. “Make sure you’re not working too hard and what not.”

He chuckled. “After that, I don’t think anyone will be under the impression that there’s any work being done here.”

She sat up. “Did… did you not set a silencing ward?” Alarm bloomed in her eyes.

“Didn’t really have enough time, since you sauntered in here and had your wicked way with me before I could even think to put one up.”

She groaned feebly. “I hope I didn’t interrupt your afternoon meeting.”

Helion shrugged. “I’m sure I won’t have a problem rescheduling. Besides finding increasingly bizarre places to bed Elain, I don’t think Lucien has much else penned in his daily planner.”

She blanched, her eyes wide. “You’re meeting… was supposed to be with Lucien?” She gulped. “Oh Cauldron, what if he heard us?!”

“Lucien is a young male with a very happy and content mate,” he said pointedly, running his hands soothingly up and down her arms until she calmed down. “I should know, I’ve heard and seen them going at it everywhere. They destroyed a perfectly good reading table in the library -!”

“And we haven’t managed to destroy anything with our lovemaking,” Adeline said thoughtfully. “Perhaps we’re losing our touch.”

He scoffed. “Are you implying we’re old?”

“Well, you discovered you were a father not too long ago,” she said slyly. “How would you feel about becoming a grandfather so soon?”

He cocked his head at her. It wasn’t an entirely unpleasant thought, to be honest - Lucien and Elain were a beautiful couple, and any babes they had would be just as wonderful. Plus, it would bring children into the palace. Children he could hold and coddle and play with, then foist back to their parents when they cried or started smelling.

Perhaps grandfatherhood was more up his alley.

He grinned up at his mate. “As long as you’ll still have me in your bed, I don’t care what you call me.”

“A grandfather,” she said mischievously. “Who I’d still like to fuck.”

“Then I’ll have to make sure to cancel meetings with Lucien more often, so he and Elain can make us grandparents,” he said mischievously, bringing a laughing Adeline even closer to him.

XXX

Lucien stood frozen outside Helion’s office, a horrified grimace on his face. He heard everything.

Ok, not the entire traumatic ordeal, but enough to know his mother and Helion still had a very active sex life, and were apparently counting the days for him and Elain to have children.

They wanted grandchildren that badly? Fine. Let them see how amusing it was when Lucien and Elain handed a screaming baby to them for a night off, or Lucien took a leave of absence from his Heir duties, piling even more work back on Helion’s plate. Good luck finding time to spend with his mother then.

Lucien turned and rushed down the hall. It seemed his schedule was suddenly booked full with Elain.

#sunandflameweek2023 #helion spellcleaver #lady of autumn #helion x lady of autumn #helion x loa #acotar #my fics #my fic #day court #autumn court #a court of thorns and roses #i spared everyone the horror of a poorly done moodboard to go along with this #because i couldnt find any good images for the life of me

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queercontrarian · 2 months

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my uni adobe licenses are running out so i got a new drawing software for my laptop and tested it out on helion

#not entirely happy with him so i'm probably going to try again later #anyways #helion spellcleaver #he's so babygirl

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acourtofladydeath · 7 months

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@erisweek2023 AU Teaser

INTRODUCING: FALSETTOS

The latest production by Prythian Productions at the Court Theatre, founded by Aurelia Vanserra-Spellcleaver. Director Helion Spellcleaver is excited to announce casting calls for his latest show. Do you want to be one of the jews in his room bitching, or maybe even a lesbian from next door? Union and non-union actors are welcome to audition. Stay tuned for more details.

Hello all, I am happy to introduce my next multi-chap fic “Lovers Live and Die, Fortissimo”.

Are you interested in a modern theatre AU featuring an entirely overworked and overwhelmed stage manager Lucien? What about retired actor and now stage husband and father Rhysand? Featuring Azris (literally and figuratively) center stage, and a scandalous backstage polycule Feytamsand. Nessian, Elucien, Helion/LOA will also all make an appearance. Buckle up folks, this is going to be a ride.

Why did famed union actor Eris Vanserra have a very public onstage breakdown? What happened between Rhysand and Tamlin to make them hate each other so much? Where the hell did new kids on the block Cassian and Azriel learn how to act? For answers to all of these questions and more, stay tuned for my next fic, which will include one chapter per song in the show for a grand total of 43. Will you be able to find all of the song quotes? Keep an eye out!

Given the amount of research and number of interweaving plots this fic will take a while to write, and will not have a regular posting schedule. I’d rather give you good content than rushed content. But I'm incredibly excited for this, and I hope you are too.

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sunshinebingo · 9 months

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Hello hello!! Here is the 3rd and last part of this amazing fic. My apologies that it has taken so long. If you haven't read the previous part, you can check the Part 1 here by @sideralwriting, and Part 2 here by @thelovelymadone. Both of their chapters are chef's kiss 😘 I hope mine is good enough 😅 Also, check out the Masterlist of the Acotar Writing Circle here for more fics!!

Thank you @azrielshadowssing for organising the Acotar Writing Circles. They are always really fun to be a part of. ♥

Pairing: Helion x LoA

Word Count: 3.9k

Warning: little bit of smut 🤏

Read Part 3 on Ao3 or below the cut

I hope you enjoy! 🌊

Chapter 3: There are no rainbows without rain

It’s her.

He knew it before but he is certain of it now. As her lips gently moves against his and that ever-present tether pulls them closer, all thoughts and dreams he has had of her flashed behind his closed eyes and he knows that she is the one that the Gods had meant for him since the beginning. She is his angel sent to save him. His salvation in every way. His light of sunshine that would rival even the brightest day in Rhodes. She is the beginning and the end.

‘’Cyra, I…’’ he struggles to find the words when their lips part and he looks down at her. She looks at him with wide eyes and an expression of awe that he is sure is a mirror to his own.

‘’Do you feel it too?’’ she finally asks. He knows then that the rope of glittering gold that is wrapping itself tightly around his heart is doing the same to hers. Cyra grabs his hand, places it on her heart and he feels it.

Thump! Thump! Thump!

Her heart is racing in sync with his own. That rope of light pulls them impossibly closer and he feels it circling around them, engulfing them with the promise that their souls are forever bound to each other. The rope of life chants to them, encouraging them to bound their bodies to seal that promise.

Looking at Cyra, Helion finds that he does not need to ask for what she thinks of all this. The look in her eyes and the tug he feels from her side of that ethereal rope give away her want. And still –

‘’Yes,’’ she whispers against his lips before kissing him with more passion and abandon than he has ever witnessed in her. Helion takes everything that she gives him and gives himself completely in return. Soon he lies her down beneath him on the sand next to what remains of the fire. The light around them shines brighter than the stars and the moon, and it glows brighter with every touch and every kiss.

Kiss, touch, claim…

The tether between them sings so clearly that it drowns out the sound of the crashing waves and the trees swaying with the wind. The only thing louder now is their gasps and moans after they get rid of their clothes and explore the others body.

Helion’s name comes out of her lips over and over again like a prayer as he kisses and touches and claims her just like the light between them demands of him. ‘’Cyra,’’ he whispers against her throat. She brings his face up to hers and looks straight into his eyes, nodding once, before Helion slowly thrusts inside her.

With that final connection, the light between them shines even brighter and sing a song that only their joined souls can hear. It sounds like the ancient hymns of Rhodes sung on the shores to celebrate the sea and sun combined with other voices that he somehow knows are whispered in the Autumn forest despite never having been there. These ethereal voices echo the promise of the bond; they promise life, love, laughter and comfort that only the twin to your soul can bring.

As he moves in and out of her and Cyra moves with him, Helion feels his essence mingling with hers. When their movement becomes more frantic and the pleasure building inside them reach its peak, he sends his silent thanks to the Gods for sending this magnificent female to him. Cyra cries out his name as she shatters around him and he follows, spilling himself deep inside her while he drinks in the sound of her voice and the feel of her as she holds onto him tightly. The light between them slowly fades, until what remains is the faint glow of their bodies as they remain tangled in each other.

‘’Helion,’’ Cyra whispers as if afraid to come back to a reality where all of this has only been a dream. He moves his face from her neck to place a kiss on the tip of her freckled nose and then looks at her. She presses her forehead against his and whispers again, ‘’I am yours.’’

The tether between them thrums with its last notes as Helion brushes his nose against Cyra’s and whispers back, ‘’And I am yours.’’

They remain in this blissful silence for a while until he lifts her up and carries to the sea to wash away the sand from their bodies. Their late-night swim leads to another round of love making followed by both of them laughing amidst the gentle waves of the calm sea. Then they finally rejoin their cave, both clothed and a new fire lit up to keep them warm. Cyra lies on top of him and they hold onto each other closer than they ever have. Soon, she falls asleep lulled by the crashing waves and the sound of their breathing.

Helion’s last thought before he follows the other half of his soul into a well-deserved sleep is that, of all the storms he has been through, none has ever brought him this much peace. But what he does not know yet is that there is a kind of storm that does not cause the waves to rise nor the rain to fall. What this storm brings is days of sorrow and pain as its tempestuous wind blows tangled souls in opposites directions and forces them to hold onto hope to keep their ship afloat.

.........

The following weeks they spend on the island are the most blissful moments Cyra has ever had in her entire life. Her new reality cuts her off so much from her life before the storm that when their old life comes back, she forgets for a moment that she has been a lady and he a Prince.

They should be glad that help has come for them. That means that they have not been forgotten. Cyra’s heart beats in her throat as she watches the ship that approaches their isolated island that morning. She recalls the last time she has seen the three masts and the familiar green and gold sails being pushed forward by the wind. Of all the scenarios she has made in her mind about someone coming for them, she has never held onto the hope that it would be the Duke’s ship that would come for them.

A small boat with a few men aboard is lowered to the sea and makes it the rest of the way to the shore. Cyra cannot make out yet who they are. She holds onto Helion’s arm while they wait. Her eyes fill with tears but not of happiness at being saved, but of fear that whatever has grown between them will be left on this island. ‘’I don’t want to leave you,’’ she tells him.

Helion turns to her, taking Cyra’s face between his hands and kisses her forehead. He must have sensed how she has become tense at the thought of returning back to her father. ‘’Everything will be fine,’’ he tries to reassure her.

‘’Hey, look at me,’’ he lifts her face so she looks into his eyes. ‘’Whatever comes next, we will face it. Do you understand?’’

Cyra nods. ‘’Together.’’

‘’Together,’’ he repeats with a smile. ‘’I am yours Cyra,’’ he kisses her cheek. ‘’I will always be yours,’’ and the other cheek.

The humming of the rope tying their souls sends a flow of relief and hope in her. ‘’And I am yours,’’ she promises him again before pouring all that she feels for him through that invisible bridge between them.

Looking back at the approaching boat, Cyra lets go of him and braces herself for what she imagines her father would say when he sees her. Lost at sea or not, having almost lost her life or not, the Duke will not be happy to see her daughter in her old, worn-out clothes while clinging to a stranger, especially a male. But in this moment, she is ready to fight her strict father for what she really wants. For what the Gods have deemed her worthy of. She has risked her life for him once and she will do it again.

However, there is no sign of the Duke among those who disembarks the little boat. Instead, her eyes stop on someone she has heard to be far worse than her father. Beron, a Prince of Autumn. Cyra’s blood goes cold at the sight of the male who she has heard terrible rumours about. What is he doing here? Where is my father?

‘’Lady Cyra,’’ Beron asks as he stops before the pair. He does not even acknowledge Helion who stands between them. ‘’I come here on behalf of your family. Allow me to escort you back to safety.’’

The island seems safer than the male who is currently offering it to her. As if suddenly remembering her manners in the presence of new faces, Cyra dips in a bow. ‘’Thank you for coming for us.’’

Beron grimaces and looks at Helion like he has just now realised that he is here too. ‘’I did not come for him I’m afraid. I only came for you. Your father and I have a strict agreement.’’ Cyra frowns, dumbfounded at what she is hearing. Helion tenses beside her and Cyra instinctively reaches for his hand and interlace their fingers. Beron tracks the movement and raises an eyebrow.

‘’What sort of agreement?’’ Helion asks the other Prince.

Beron ignores him again and addresses Cyra only. ‘’Your father gave you away to me if I agreed to come look for you.’’

‘’What?’’ Cyra snaps. She would rather be forgotten by her father than being handed over to the first male like a mere object. ‘’I refuse to leave without him.’’

Helion wraps his arm around her both in reassurance and to let Beron know that he has no intention of being separated from her either.

‘’Fine,’’ Beron says nonchalantly. ‘’Take them both,’’ he says to the few guards who have come with him. Cyra and Helion thrash and fight the five males trying to pull them apart to drag them to the small boat.

Fight, fight, fight, their bond urges them both.

‘’Make it quick,’’ Beron shouts over Cyra’s screams. Someone knocks Helion out and he falls down. They hit her a second later and the last thing she sees is the guards dragging Helion’s unconscious body on the sand before everything turns black.

.........

Cyra wakes up in pain. The back of her head, her legs, her arms. Everything hurts. Or perhaps it is just the terrible headache that is making her whole body feel worse. The swaying feeling is not making things better either. She opens her eyes in a dimly lit cabin. But seeing everything moving around her only makes her nauseous. She only manages to turn her head to the side before she empties the content of her stomach on the wooden floor.

Someone rushes by her side with a towel in hand and a glass of water. ‘’Drink this my lady,’’ the servant tells her.

She takes only a little sip and gives the glass back to the female. ‘’What happened?’’

And then she feels it. Find him, find him, find him. The bond sings.

‘’Helion,’’ she whispers before the servant can explain anything. Cyra jumps out of the bed without taking the time to acknowledge that she has been changed into new clothes and rush to the door. She feels dizzy but she has to find him. When she opens the door, two guards blocks her way out.

‘’Let me out,’’ she orders them but they do not budge.

‘’My lady ple- ‘’

‘’What is happening?’’ she turns to the female and asks in a harsh and panicked tone.

The female looks at Cyra as if she has turned into a wild animal. ‘’You should rest my lady. The travel has been long and we will arrive at your home soon.’’

‘’Home?’’ Cyra asks more to herself.

‘’Yes, my lady. We will reach the shores of Autumn in a few days.’’

How long have I been asleep? Why can’t I leave? Where is Helion? What happened to him? Is he safe? Cyra holds her aching head as the questions and worry assault her mind. I have to find him, I have to find him…

The servant grabs Cyra by the hand and pulls her inside the cabin before shutting the door. ‘’The other male is fine my lady,’’ she whispers. Cyra realises then that she must have spoken out loud. She looks at the female with pleading eyes.

The servant looks at the closed door like she was ensuring that no one can hear them. ‘’The male who was with you on the island is in a cell below.’’ Cyra gasps.

‘’He is fine my lady,’’ the servant takes her hands and continues.

‘’Please tell me what happened,’’ Cyra begs.

The servant guides her back to the bed and makes her sit down before she explains everything that has happened while Cyra was unconscious. She keeps her voice as low as possible and occasionally looks at the door. ‘’Prince Beron does not believe that the male is an actual Prince. He says that he will remain his prisoner until he gets proof of his true identity.’’

Anger fills her when Cyra learns that Helion has been brutalized by Beron. What stops her from tearing this ship apart to go find him is the servant’s warning. ‘’The Prince of Autumn is powerful my lady. It is best if you do not fight him.’’

‘’Why is he doing this?’’ Cyra shouts in the cabin.

‘’Because I can,’’ a voice drawled at the door as it opens again. He shoots a look at the servant who lowers her gaze before leaving. Cyra hopes that no one has heard the servant tell her so much. She does not wish for the kind female to face the possible cruel consequences of having helped her.

‘’I want to see him,’’ Cyra says, trying to sound calm.

Beron scoffs at her. ‘’You do not have the right to want anything here, lady Cyra,’’ he steps towards her. He grimaces at what Cyra assumes is the smell of vomit that fills the cabin. ‘’I saved you. You owe me. And that is it.’’

‘’What do you want from me?’’ she stands up.

The Prince smirks. ‘’I told you. Your father handed you to me.’’

Another wave of nausea roils in her when she remembered what he said on the beach. ‘’You, my lady,’’ he takes another step, stopping toe to toe with her, ‘’belong to me now.’’

Cyra gulps. She feels sick. She needs to throw up again and her head spins. She sits back on the bed and holds her head between her hands. A small relief spreads in her through the bond in her heart. She places a hand there and holds onto that connection.

‘’As for your fake little Prince, he will get what is coming for him if he is lying to me.’’ With that, Beron turns around and walks the two steps to the door. ‘’If you try to see him,’’ he adds over his shoulder, ‘’I will make you watch as I punish him.’’

As soon as the door slams shut behind him, Cyra throws up again. Soon, the servant comes in the cabin with a bucket of water and towels. She cleans the mess she has made on the floor. By the time that she starts to care for her, wiping the cold sweat from her face and changing her clothes again, Cyra falls back asleep, still holding onto the rope of warmth in her chest.

.........

He has spent weeks on that ship and a few more in another cell in the royal dungeons of Autumn. Months during which Helion has spent most of his time either sleeping or being subjected to the questioning and beatings of the Autumn Prince. The pretentious prick still believes that he is lying. Or perhaps he just enjoys using his fists. Anyway, he does not know what is coming for him.

The time he spends in his cell at least allows Helion to think of all the ways he will be able to have revenge against Autumn once he is back in Rhodes. Perhaps he can make sure that Autumn loses all associates in Day. Or maybe he can send some contaminated rats into the home of the Prince. Either way, he will pay.

Every day and night, the servant who bring his food, the one who has tended to Cyra on the ship, also brings news of his lady. But the news have not been as good as he would like. She has been sick since she woke up on the ship and that has him worried. She has been able to see her family. But even that has not helped much apparently. Helion can sense her distress through their bond.

Find her. Keep her safe… that rope of light screams at him.

But there is nothing he can do from here except pour his love for her through their bond and let her know that he is still here. One of the few comforts Helion has is the fact that the Autumn Prince has not claimed her yet. Helion has learned from that same servant that Beron is waiting for Cyra’s health to improve before he officially declares the Duke’s daughter as his wife. So with nothing else to do, Helion prays that his light of sunshine gets better and that they can soon be reunited.

We will be together soon my sunshine, he sends to her through their bond.

Thump! Thump! Thump! He listens to the beat of his one own heart. Thump! Thump! Thump! Another beat echoes right after his own. Then he feels the faint tug in his heart.

Together, my sunshine, he promises.

A few heart beats later, another tug.

Together, her voice fills his head and Helion smiles.

.........

‘’You will pay for this.’’

Helion rises to the sound of a familiar voice. Slowly, his eyes open.

‘’Release my son at once,’’ the booming voice echoes in the cell and Helion eyes instantly widen.

‘’Father?’’

At first, he thinks that this is a dream. A wishful thinking manifested by his imagination. But then his eyes find those of his father, amber eyes similar to his and the loose greying hair framing his face.

The guard fumbles with the key for a minute before the door to his cell finally opens. ‘’Are you well?’’ the King of Rhodes asks with both hands on his shoulders.

Helion nods. He holds his father in a hug for a minute before the King pulls back. ‘’Let’s get you out of this wretched place.’’

Helion remains silent as he walks towards his freedom. Finally.

He knows from the look on his father’s face and the tension in his body that he too is plotting the demise of the Autumn Prince.

.........

The days come and go. The sun rises and sets. Yet Cyra feels the same as the first day she has come back to Autumn after she has been rescued. Her health has not gone much better. She often feels nauseous and her head often aches. She has seen a healer but has refused to tell anyone about what the female has said. And she will keep refusing until she can be reunited with the reason behind her sickness.

Soon, he has promised through their bond. So Cyra decided that she will wait. She knows she will get better once she is with him. He is the only one with whom she intends to share her condition with. So, she waits.

Sometimes her sisters sit by her side and read to her. She has not tell them much of her days on the island. These days are her treasure. Precious memories of the happiest moments of her life. Just the thought of them makes the hope inside her burns bright.

Other days, like today, Cyra just walks around the Duke’s estate in search of any spot with enough sunshine where she can sit and daydream about the bright rays she has lived under on the island. The sun in Autumn does not shine as bright as she has started to love. Nor is it as warm. So Cyra relies on her memories and the light inside her to keep her warm.

Tug!

Something pulls at her heart. Cyra stops amidst the flowers and focuses on that invisible rope inside her.

Tug!

Harder this time. It feels urgent.

Find him, find him, find him… it chants.

A wave of fear crashes over her, causing her headache to come back. Cyra closes her eyes and holds tight onto that rope. She tugs back. And soon…

Tug! and another stronger Tug!

Cyra gasps at the force of it.

Look, look, look… it urges her.

Cyra turns and looks around frantically. Her eyes travel from the garden, to the walls of the estate, to the gate and then –

There. Just behind the open gate. Looking brighter than any sunny days of this court.

Run, run, run…

And she does. She runs and does not stop until she is in his arms. She buries her face between his neck and shoulder when he lifts her off the ground and she cries. The tether between them shines a light that only they can see while it whispers their shared promises.

I am yours. And you are mine. Together…

Helion pulls away first and kisses her like he is trying to make up for every second that they have spent apart. His kiss is like a balm to her aching soul. Every sorrow and despair that has kept her company in his absence are washed away by the sudden tide of relief and joy that floods her.

‘’My beautiful lady.’’

Cyra giggles against his neck. ‘’My sailor.’’

‘’Come with me,’’ he says when he places her down. Cyra only stares at him. ‘’I am going back to Rhodes. Come with me and we’ll never be apart again.’’

She looks back at the estate of her father. Cyra thinks of her family and her life here. Helion places a finger beneath her chin and turns her head so that she can face him. ‘’We can go see your father if that is what you wish. I am a Prince after all,’’ he shrugs. ‘’You will be exchanging one of Autumn for one of Day.’’

She could. She could go back and asks for her father’s permission. Cyra has always been the obedient daughter who listens to every word her father says if only to prevent his name from being soiled. But the Duke has given her away to a cruel male for the sake of that family name. The sole reason why he has sent someone to rescue her was in hope that the Autumn Prince would get the prized obedient daughter that everyone talks so highly of.

‘’No,’’ Cyra says firmly. This time, she will choose for herself. She will follow the one that the Gods have already chosen for her. ‘’Let’s go now.’’

When Helion smiles at her, the light between them burns even brighter, humming again of love and life and something new. Something born out of the promise between their hearts and soul.

#acotarwritingcircle #helion x lady of autumn #helion spellcleaver #lady of autumn #helion x loa #I have to admit that I'm scared about this #Is it too dramatic??#Maybe #But hey its fanfic 🤷‍♀️

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elliemarchetti · 9 months

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ACoTaR fandom, I need your help: I clearly remember Helion hitting on Nesta in ACoWaR and ending up with Mor when she turns him down, but I'm afraid I'm making it up or mixing a good fic with canon. Can someone confirm or deny? It's the briefest scene, and I don't have the time nor the energy to reread it for such a trivial detail but it's truly important for my fic's plot 😭

#acotar #acowar #nesta archeron #helion spellcleaver #the morrigan #mor

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flowerflamestars · 2 years

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So I just binge read effloresce and uhhhh ohmygodohmygodohmygod it’s so good???? Elain is Perfect and I would marry her in a heartbeat myself if Lucien wasn’t around and Nessian?? Are a Good couple??? Like tbh I Hated ACOSF and what sjm did to their characters and their relationship so seeing them here- Nesta beautiful, feminine, a spine of steel and unapologetically human?? Cassian with a brain and actual respect for her?? I love it. Also Elain nearly ripping Rhys’ throat out is my favourite scene, that and her casually poisoning everyone she doesn’t like. Effloresce is just hitting all my buttons and aaaaah I’m gonna go reread it again it’s so good thank you for sharing it!!! ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

oh my god, thank you!!

I'm always so happy when people like Effloresce because it is SO different from my other stories, and to me, at least, some of my very favorite character work.

Elain with her knife and her crown and her man!! Nesta taking her birthright by force!! Lucien finding a home and on the way finding himself! They're so fun, and for all my hatred of canon coloring everything, I do still love a Cassian who starts out an ass but is just thoroughly and immediately and life-changingly flattened by Nesta's whole existence.

I've been kicking around the last two chapters or so for an embarrassingly long time (I'm putting off the Night Court part. We HAVE to go to Illyria and then spoilers spoilers spoilers run to Day for reasons and it is ALOT), but rest assured, there will be more, if only because Elain does, in fact, try to stab a second High Lord and I cannot not share that.

#Effloresce!!#the one that starts with Lucien getting hit with a shovel #and ends with Elain on a throne #and Nesta with a DRAGON #but I've been writing it so long we've all kind of forgotten that #Helion Spellcleaver knife to the throat: hey so are you looking for a job? because I could use this kind of energy in my Court #AND WOULD REALLY LIKE TO RETIRE #Lucien dying in the background: honestly babe? stab him #he's got her flower it's murder time

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booksofkingdomsandcourts · 2 years

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So Helion and the Lady of Autumn “For the Dancing and the Dreaming” scene when?

#I feel like this has been said before but I need it in my soul #helion x loa #helion x lady of autumn #helion spellcleaver #lady of autumn #acotar

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my-inner-crisis · 2 years

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Liability: Chapter 4

Summary: A mating bond is supposed to be sacred, right? It seems to be working out just fine for everyone but him. At the first Solstice Lucien tries to spend with the Inner Circle, just to see his mate, everything goes wrong. The second Solstice is even more of a disaster than the first one. And there seems to be no end to his descent to rock bottom. As Lucien navigates his everchanging bonds with family, old and new friends, and enemies, his thoughts race towards self-destruction, only halted by a mischievous and dangerous glimmer of hope, a thread tying him to reality. And that thread is indestructible. Is that a blessing or a curse?

Chapters

AO3

Warnings: major angst and some promise of adventure in the next chapter. Eris has arrived.

That’s what you get for a tiny sliver of hope creeping up your spine. He wasn’t even angry. The talons of disappointment shot directly into his heart. Why did he have to leave that room just at that moment? Why did he have to see it? He winnowed out of the River House. He would never come back.

All Rhysand heard was the distinct hiss of magic. He stepped outside of his office and Lucien was no longer there. He… winnowed out. Again. The home his mate and newborn were sleeping in, Lucien Vanserra could winnow in and out of. He cast his mind out, searching for those present. Feyre upstairs, with Nyx, Helion accompanied by Amren, Varian and Mor. Azriel and Elain. Azriel and Elain. It all made sense.

He stormed towards the hall and cleared his throat loudly. The pair jumped apart.

“What are you doing?” The High Lord demanded, his eyes flashing violet. Tendrils of dark power rippled from his skin as he waited for Azriel to explain.

“Why is that your business?” Elain challenged, though her cheeks were flushed.

“It is my business when your mate is in this house. How long am I meant to count on his discipline before he snaps?”

Elain folded her arms across her chest. “So what? I’m supposed to live like a nun because I have a mate I don’t want?” Azriel squeezed her shoulder gently.

Rhys ran his hand across his face, his frustration palpable. “He caught you. He winnowed through my wards. All of them. He could’ve just as easily gone for Azriel, which would have been a problem the size of the Moon. Especially if Azriel killed him.”

Elain flinched, looking between the two brothers. She hadn’t thought about it. She hadn’t thought that far ahead. “But I’m not obliged to be with him, am I?” Her will was cast in iron. No meandering dreams and ridiculous future possibilities would change her mind.

“He has no claim‒” Azriel started, to protect her from Rhysand’s wrath.

“You, Azriel, should know better,” the High Lord growled, slivers of darkness pouring from him. “He has no claim, as I had no claim, if you need to refresh your memory. Remember what I was like? Does he not deserve at least some decency?”

“I didn’t realize you were so interested in protecting his feelings,” Azriel answered sharply, his hand not leaving Elain’s shoulder.

“I truly don’t care what happens to Lucien Vanserra one way or another,” the High Lord waved a dismissive hand. “He is Feyre’s friend, so she does, which means I shall too. And, if your lust-filled thoughts would subside, you might remember that the male you keep poking and poking incessantly is connected to Autumn, Spring, and well-liked by the people of Dawn, to name a few. Even if his intentions would never be to harm the Night Court, you know Beron would use his son’s mistreatment to advance, to do something brash, to rope in Tamlin, and on top of our problems with Koschei and the human queens, this is the last thing I need to deal with.”

Elain listened carefully, her face sharpening into cold rage. “So… I’m a pawn in your game?”

Rhysand looked at her and for the first time, Elain saw that simmering rage that made Rhysand famous for being the strongest High Lord in existence. “I do not wish to use my mate’s family as pawns. But you’re here, you live here and I expect you to not cause problems.” She opened her mouth to protest but Rhys raised his hand to keep her quiet. “You don’t owe Lucien anything. You don’t owe me anything, you don’t owe me to string him along. But it would be decent and safe to at least reject the male. In that case, even if he loses his wits and tries anything, Azriel, and even I, would be justified to protect you. No one just claims a female in the Night Court.”

Elain pressed her lips into a thin line, frowning at Rhys. “So, what? I just tell him to leave me alone?”

“Do whatever you want, but at least not when he’s right here.” His gaze shifted towards Azriel. “He winnowed out of here. Straight out of here. I wouldn’t have known had I not heard it as I was leaving the office.”

“Do you think him a threat?” Azriel’s voice was cold and deadly, ready to strike at any moment.

“Truthfully, no. I don’t. But you can’t keep doing this until he truly snaps. I don’t want his blood on my hands.”

A few weeks had passed before Lucien requested a meeting with Rhysand. He didn’t go to the River House, he didn’t even really want to step foot into Velaris, but he didn’t have much of a choice. Rhysand invited him to the townhouse that had used to be his home before his family outgrew it.

“I don’t want to report to the shadowsinger,” Lucien muttered, extending his legs as he sank into the armchair Rhsyand had offered him. “Can that be arranged? I can talk to his spies, or deliver news to someone else, write letters, or‒”

“You don’t have to report to him.” Rhysand interrupted his ramblings, his voice not unkind. “I know this is unfortunate enough. You can reach out to me directly and report that way.”

“I’d prefer not to go to the house either. This seems alright. Or I have an apartment in the city as well, for now,” Lucien hummed, pursing his lips. He didn’t know if there’d be a reason to continue paying for that place. He never stayed there. And now he probably never would.

“It can be arranged. If the bond is chafing you, it’s for the best.”

“It’s not chafing me,” Lucien snapped before he could bottle up his rage. His fingers sank into the armrests of the armchair, digging into the leather. “I just don’t wish to be exposed to all of this. It’s shit enough as it is.”

Rhys merely nodded, furrowing his brows. “I wish it wasn’t this way. But you must understand that I will protect her and her choice.”

“Do you see me interfering?” Lucien bit out impatiently, his one good eye lighting up with that fire that burned in his veins. “I haven’t interfered in anything she’s done, ever. I just wish to protect my own sanity, so I would like to avoid putting myself in situations where the Mother is further testing my ability to just swallow all the shit that is being shoveled down my throat.”

“Understandable. And I don’t want to scold you, Lucien. But my mate’s sister, and my brother, they will be protected. Don’t do anything brash,” Rhys warned.

“Of course.” Lucien didn’t push this conversation further. He stood and winnowed out of the room, his magic flashing white as it cut through the wards of yet another home Rhysand thought to be proofed for his family. You’re definitely Helion’s son, he thought to himself. Would this be his burden to uncover? Would he cause more trouble by letting Helion know? Would he even believe him? Would the Lady of the Autumn Court suffer if her secret was revealed? Rhysand rubbed his temples, lost in thought.

Your stress thoughts are distracting me from my class.

I’m sorry, darling. I’ve had a visitor of the red headed variety, he answered his mate.

Eris or Lucien?

He didn’t bother explaining it, he simply showed the conversation to Feyre. There was no reason to keep anything from her. His mate… she was everything. His heart ached at the thought. Lucien’s good eye had held no emotion, it had seemed as dead as the mechanical golden orb clicking about in his head.

I can’t lie, I’m glad Elain is here, with Azriel, but seeing Lucien like this… he used to be a completely different person, Feyre commented, her mind wrapping around his, as if to make sure that her bond was as strong as ever. Rhysand welcomed the gesture, letting comfort and solace wash over him.

I think I would’ve done something brash by now. It’s been nearly three years. I barely managed three months, he confessed. Just thinking about the time when Feyre had still been betrothed to Tamlin, when he had gotten back to Velaris, the way all the joy had been sucked out of his life, as though he couldn’t breathe. I would’ve definitely done something brash by now.

Well, you are a brash person, aren’t you?

She still hasn’t rejected him. I think he’s avoiding being near her.

Maybe he’s trying to avoid the rejection? Feyre mused, earning a sigh from Rhysand.

All this talk of depressing mate issues is making me miss you much more than usual. Cut that lesson short, or I’ll show up with at home High Lady duties to hand out.

He could hear Feyre’s delicious giggle in his mind. He let it wash over him and fill his chest with happiness, like it always did. No other could elicit such a response. Only her, and Nyx now.

This is one of my High Lady duties, Rhys. You’ll just have to wait your turn.

“You look like shit,” Tamlin commented, in his fae form now more often than not. The Spring Court still hasn’t regained its beauty, the land was barren, the magic weakened by remnants of Amarantha’s blight, and the High Lord’s mental state seemed to affect it as well. He was in ruin, and so was his court.

“If you’re one to talk, then I must truly look like shit. I mean, you were covered in fur an hour ago,” Lucien shot back weakly, his voice missing that teasing edge it had once had.

“It’s easier to block the thoughts out that way. Maybe I should turn you into an actual fox for the day, so you can run around and wrangle some rabbits to soothe the rage,” Tamlin suggested with a smile. It was strange to hear it, to be comforted by him, sort of.

“I’ll pass. I don’t have much rage to work out,” he answered simply. Rage would have been easier. More manageable. Tamlin merely nodded, running his fingers through his hair.

“I’ve started clearing out the briars. I don’t want the servants to do it. I want to be perceived as at least a somewhat manageable High Lord to them before I reach out to try to rebuild this court…”

“You need help then?” Lucien asked silently.

“I didn’t say that to trick you into helping me,” Tamlin muttered his answer. “You can report to the Night Court that I’m… improving, I guess, but I don’t wish to‒”

“I want to do something to keep my mind busy. Cutting overgrown thorns seems like it needs a lot of attention, it’ll take a fair amount of time too,” Lucien said, cutting off Tamlin’s rambling.

“If that’s what you want, I could use a hand,” Tamlin nodded, getting to his feet in a swift motion.

Within an hour, Lucien had taken off his emerald jacket, rolled up his sleeves, and started working on cutting off the overgrown briars that dug into the manor’s walls, almost as though they were squeezing the life out of it. It was laborious work, the rose bushes grew into thick branches covered in thorns. They dug into his skin whenever he wasn’t paying enough attention, they required considerable force to cut them off, even with the help of various tools. And the manor… it was all but destroyed under the thick bramble. The entire scene was a metaphor laid on so thick, Lucien wanted to roll his eyes every now and then. The manor in ruin, just like the High Lord who lived in it, the thorns digging into the walls, just like Tamlin’s pain, the neverending briar surrounding the home, the way his old friend’s heart had been engulfed in rage directed at himself as punishment, and at others to keep them away. Lucien wasn’t certain if Tamlin perceived all of that. He seemed lost in thought, pulling the thick branches off the manor’s walls with the incredible physical power the land had gifted him long ago.

“It’s funny,” the High Lord began after some minutes spent in sort of comfortable silence, “the way we both landed in a similar situation with an Archeron girl.”

“It’s not quite the same, is it?” Lucien challenged, annoyance washing over him. “You treated Feyre like shit, Tam.”

“I know I did. And I know you didn’t treat your mate that way, and I know my shortsightedness played a role in your situation now.” Tamlin’s eyes were fixed on the manor’s wall as he spoke. “Other than what I’ve done to Feyre, the thing I regret the most is the way I treated you, especially after we escaped Under the Mountain.” No response came from Lucien, so Tamlin continued. “I am sorry, Lucien. Maybe you don’t wish to come back here, and I respect your decision. But you’re welcome in this court, even if it is in shambles. You’re welcome here.”

“Thanks,” Lucien croaked out after a few moments of silence. He wouldn’t come back, not to live here, not to end up back under his thumb when things would inevitably start looking up. But he wouldn’t make an enemy of Tamlin. He would heal these wounds as he did with others. If not heal them, at least cauterize them so the pain could finally stop.

A few hours of work, efficient but exhausting, and the manor was at least recognizable as the estate it once had been. Evening was upon them by the time they dug the house out from under all that bramble. Tamlin huffed out a chuckle, throwing the last of the branches into the large pile they had been creating over these few hours. “Do me the honors and burn them, please,” he asked and Lucien obliged. His hand filled with the familiar lick of fire, hot but never burning, and he sculpted it into a ball that he dropped atop the briars, igniting them instantly.

“Get your fiddle, maybe the light and the music will attract some of your court,” Lucien suggested. It would be good for optics to see the High Lord celebrate. Tamlin, surprisingly, obliged. Lucien brought up a barrel of wine from the cellar, just in time for his old friend to start playing an oh-so-familiar tune of the Spring Court. Soon, members of the court came by, sentries, curious wraiths and faeries, even some high fae from the nearest settlement. Someone was roasting meat over the large fire, females were singing the song Tamlin was playing, and, Lucien observed with some pride, maybe his people would start believing in the High Lord of Spring again.

He would remember this day as a sunny one, gleaming dimply in the eternal darkness his mind had trapped him in.

Her skin was the most beautiful shade of rich brown, tanned in the gentle autumn sun. Sprawled out on the blanket below him, he could see the flecks of gold in her eyes, how long her eyelashes were, brushing against her plump cheeks with such grace. She smelled like freshly cut grass, wild rivers, the chilly air on a cold morning. He had never been so in love before. She had to be his mate, the bond would snap any day now. He would marry her, he would leave his title, his father, his home, everything for her. Two russet eyes met two of dark ebony, he ran his fingers down her cheek gently as he whispered “I love you” for the thousandth time to her. To make sure she knew. She would shudder, wrap her arms around his body with a giggle, tease him about being sappy before whispering the words back to him. And then her body would be under his, like clockwork. Covered in blood, lifeless, the radiant rich skin turning grey, those dark eyes flecked with gold never opening again. Her blood was all over him, her neck… cut so brutally, the life snuffed out of her with such force.

That’s usually when he woke up. Sometimes he woke up screaming. That hadn’t happened in a long time, not that he had noticed anyway. Tamlin certainly had noticed, long ago. Since then, the dreams only came infrequently, usually after a particularly hard day. Jesminda. She hadn’t even been his mate… if he had just left her alone, she could’ve found her own mate, she could’ve lived a long and happy life. She could’ve been happy forever, without him and his ridiculous family troubles that he couldn’t really even understand sometimes. Why was he the one singled out, he couldn’t tell. He never even wanted to be High Lord.

The dreams returned in frequency now. Sometimes Jesminda’s face morphed into Elain’s. She would look at him lovingly, she’d whisper that she loved him and then the cauldron would swallow her. The blood, Jesminda’s blood, would mix with that dark water. Sometimes both of them would be murdered by his father. Sometimes the bond would break.

He took up a habit of only sleeping when he absolutely couldn’t take it anymore and a dreamless, restless sort of slumber claimed him for an hour or two.

The autumn months passed without incident. He stayed away, met Rhys at pre-arranged locations. Sometimes the High Lord winnowed to see him in the human lands. They didn’t talk about Elain. The last time he had stepped foot into Velaris, Feyre had invited him to solstice.

“You can come earlier. Or the day after. I wish to see you, Lucien. You’re my friend,” she had pleaded. He had agreed.

And there he was again, two boxes in hand. Feyre smiled widely and hugged him, inviting him in.

“How are you?” she asked gently, surveying him with those bright blue eyes.

“I’m well,” Lucien answered his typical answer. Feyre narrowed her eyes. “Happy early birthday,” he smiled smoothly, handing one of the neatly wrapped boxes to her. “It isn’t much, but I thought it to be fitting for a HighLady, and her baby, heir to a court.”

Feyre unwrapped her present with endearing excitement, examining the leather-bound tome carefully. The golden lettering on the almost comically large book read A History of Prythian and Its Seven Courts.

“It is a revised edition,” Lucien hummed, gesturing for Feyre to open the tome. He tapped over the very last chapter of the Contents. Feyre Cursebreaker: The Liberation of the Seven Courts. “It has some nice art of you.”

Feyre opened the tome to the last chapter with delight, blushing lightly. “Oh, Lucien, this is beautiful… I didn’t even know something like it existed.”

“The Day Court is filled with scholars and scribes who keep our histories. Most courts have their own, but Day is known for compiling these large anthologies and things. I thought you would appreciate it, and… an heir to a court should know of all these things, so I brought Nyx some homework,” he explained with a small smile.

“Oh, he’ll be delighted, I’m certain,” Feyre smiled fondly, flipping through the book carefully. “Thank you, this is very thoughtful of you. It’s beautiful. Have you been to Day?”

“Yes, I visited Solaris a month ago. I was trying to look into Vassa’s curse, but I haven’t come up with much.”

“Did you ask Helion?” Feyre asked softly.

“He gave me access to the libraries and a scholar to help, but she hasn’t come up with much. We’ve been going through ancient spell books and any information about monsters, the prison, old gods…” Lucien ran his fingers through his hair, heaving a sigh. “There’s a lot of useless information to swim through to find a mention of Koschei’s name at all. I’m fortunate enough to take some of the books home.”

“That’s really nice of Helion,” Feyre murmured softly, her eyes glinting.

They fell into easy conversation for a while. It worked. They had managed to heal their friendship over the last few months, even though the odds had been stacked against them. He stayed away from the topic of mates as much as he could, but Feyre let Elain’s name slip in conversation accidentally. There wasn’t a universe where he could simply ignore it.

“How is she?” He asked silently, the dull ache settling into his chest.

“She’s doing well, I think, she’s much better than after the Cauldron,” Feyre answered, avoiding any details. But Lucien needed to know.

“She’s seeing the spymaster, right?”

“Lucien…” Her tone wasn’t unkind, but it held an edge of warning anyway.

“I won’t do anything. I just want to know. I can feel it through the bond anyway…”

“Then why do you need confirmation?” Feyre questioned quietly, looking into his eyes, as if to search for the answers there. “Why hurt yourself further?”

“Ignorance isn’t bliss when she sends these bursts down the bond every now and then, and I know she’s having a good time,” Lucien shrugged, running his fingers through his hair. “I know I don’t deserve much, her time, her love, her… anything. I deserved to at least be told. I thought I did.”

“You weren’t together, you weren’t even speaking…”

“Because she wished to have nothing to do with me, not because I didn’t want to,” Lucien snapped and blew out a breath to steady his mood.

“I know… I told her to handle it at least,” Feyre mumbled silently, her eyes cast towards the ground. “You did deserve that much. To be told at least.” Lucien merely shrugged, his fingers tapping over the box he had brought his mate.

“I got her this. I’ll stop doing this for next year. It feels pathetic, and I don’t want to be the creepy male who can’t take a hint. I guess she can consider this a farewell present, if she opened it.”

“What is it?” Feyre asked, leaning closer to Lucien to look at the box.

“I’ve collected packets of seeds from a few different courts I visited throughout the year. They’re flowers from the human lands, from Spring, from Autumn, even Day. Maybe she’d like them.”

Emotion flashed across Feyre’s usually composed features before she smoothed them into an easy smile. “That’s a brilliant idea, Lucien. I’m sure she will enjoy them.” He merely nodded again, letting the conversation move back towards easier territories.

He was just about to leave, after a few hours spent with his friend, he had put his jacket on and was headed out of the house when he smelled her scent.

“Lucien.”

It was her voice, coming from the garden. She was there. He had left the present with Feyre to give it to her in his name. His heart began hammering in his chest as he turned, spotting her easily. He needed no further indication, his nose, his eye, his heart, who knows exactly what, led him to her immediately. “Lady,” he murmured silently and bowed his head.

“We need to talk. I’ve heard you were here…” Her eyes only shifted towards him for a second before she averted them back towards her lap.

“What do we need to talk about, Lady?” Lucien asked, panic rising from the pit of his stomach. This was it. She would formally reject him. He knew it was coming. No one ever said anything positive after ‘we need to talk’. He schooled his features into a neutral expression, approaching the bench she was occupying. His anxiety was a thunderstorm, a hurricane of flames, a cyclone of misery approaching his space, the tiny fortress in his mind. He had no chance.

“Would you like to sit?” Elain asked quietly, still barely meeting his eyes. He weighed his options.

“Just get it over with,” he managed after a moment of deliberation.

“What?” She asked, raising her eyebrows in surprise.

“I don’t think I can handle niceties. Just lay it on me,” he muttered, his tone dropping dangerously low. His scent lingered somewhere near. He was watching from somewhere to make sure Lucien didn’t do anything brash. It only filled his heart with rage. It barely fit next to all the emotions he had already been trying to keep at bay.

“Well… I thought you should know that I’m seeing someone, and…” She was considering her words carefully, wringing her hands nervously in her lap. Lucien braced himself. “I want to reject you, formally. Is there anything I need to do or is that it?”

“That’ll do,” Lucien muttered. His grip on his self-control was slipping. Elain sucked in a deep breath, as if she too was bracing herself. “Enjoy your life then. The bond can only be broken by death, but it’ll weaken now, so maybe I won’t see so many of your dreams.” He couldn’t help himself, his feet were about to give out under him.

“Well, I don’t wish to see yours either,” Elain snapped, her tone sharper than before. A shadow curled under the bench she was occupying. Lucien couldn’t stay any longer.

“You have never given me a chance. I know I am not entitled to one. Maybe you know better, you did get dealt a pretty weak match compared to your sisters. Happy Solstice.”

He was gone after that, he didn’t wait for a response. He winnowed with remarkable speed.

Elain’s lips trembled as she pressed her hands against her chest. The pain was suffocating. The guilt, the shame, the yearning for love ‒ it was about to crack her heart in two, and then it suddenly stopped. It took her a moment to figure it out. Those were Lucien’s emotions pushing through on that bridge between their souls, creeping over to her side until he had likely clamped down on them. Her chest heaved from the sheer force of those feelings.

“Are you all right?” Azriel stepped out of the shadows at that moment, sitting down next to her. His gloved hands were holding hers already, no sign of his shadows as he pulled her close to his chest. “Did he aggravate you?”

She shook her head, the ache still dull in her chest. “No, no… I’m glad to be done with it,” she smiled instead, lacing their fingers together. Azriel was her safety ‒ he was compassionate, he was kind to her, and protective of her. He reminded her of Graysen, his good qualities anyway. He looked the least male too. His features were elegantly and devastatingly beautiful, his ears were not pointed, apart from his wings, he looked almost like a human man. There was no long red hair, no scars, no enchanted eyes. She could find comfort in that, and passion and love too, eventually.

The first week was pure and unbridled self-pity. It was pathetic. He just stayed mostly in his room, ignoring the humans like a petulant child. He pulled himself together by day six. There was no justification to ignore Vassa’s plight, to act like such a huge thing had occurred. Realistically, nothing changed. His last bit of hope was squashed. The pain felt like his heart was put into a vice, an ever-crushing vice with no way to stop that tension. That is why some males had gone mad, he mused as he pulled his hair into a careless braid. It made too much sense now.

Jurian greeted him with the indifference he appreciated and expected. He didn’t need to be pitied. The man had a short temper and a tortured soul, his tongue was his sharpest weapon, but that same man had a gentle nature and great perception of others’ feelings. He didn’t push him, he simply offered him breakfast and talked about his plan to rebuild administrative buildings in the nearby village. Lucien was happy to listen.

He continued his day doing the routine things he needed to get done, just so the minutes would pass. In the evening Vassa turned back to normal and tried to cheer him up with gestures of care and gentle questions. He smiled dutifully and answered in reassuring sentences. From the way those blue eyes were staring daggers into him, he knew he was not fooling anyone.

He was about to retreat back into his room when a familiar scent hit him. His body went utterly still, to the point where his human companions noticed, looking at him in alarm.

“My brother is here,” he muttered, getting up to his feet. He opened the door right as Eris stepped in front of it.

“Little brother, the runt of the litter” he greeted with that smug smile that never seemed to falter off his face. Just what he needed at this very moment, for Eris to ruin his godsdamned day…

“What do you want?” Lucien bit out as Eris slipped into the manor, uninvited. Lucien wasn’t sure whether his blood chilled or heated up, but he did not have the patience for this bastard.

“What. Do. You. Want.” His patience was running thin as it was, he didn’t need his asshole brother to goad him.

“I want you to help me kill my father,” Eris muttered, his voice dropping dangerously low. Lucien gaped at him.

“‘Are you out of your mind?”

“No. No one will eliminate him, if I don’t,” Eris shot back, sitting down at the worn kitchen table. His russet eyes were aflame with simmering rage. “He’s colluding with the human queens, he plans to move on Tamlin’s territory, he wants to either take it over or pull that brainless bastard into a fight against the other courts. A fight he can’t win, mind you. He’s going to destroy Autumn.”

“And your only plan is to‒” Lucien couldn’t finish his sentence as Eris snarled, drumming his thin white fingers on the table.

“Yes. And I will become High Lord and whip that place into shape.”

“So, that’s it then? You want to become High Lord so bad, you would kill our father and rope me and presumably our brothers into it too? Or will we kill them too?” Lucien challenged. “What of mother? What if the magic doesn’t choose you? Why don’t you ask the other three?”

“Don’t mistake the end of my patience for frivolous bloodlust, little brother,” Eris answered, leaning closer to him. “The magic will choose me, there is no one else to choose. I wield the strongest power of the four of us. Mother will finally be freed from years of torment. And you? You’re not Beron’s son.”

Lucien stared at his brother for a while. All of his thoughts were running away from him, he couldn’t grasp any of them in his hands, he couldn’t form a single question. He just stared and stared, his mechanical eye whirring as if it was trying to discern what was told to him.

“How have you not figured it out yet? That’s the biggest mystery, oh so sly fox,” Eris muttered, staring down at the table as though the wood grain held the secrets to all of his problems. Lucien couldn’t even fire back a response. His jaw went slack as he blinked at his older brother.

“You have been winnowing in and out of every place effortlessly for the last few months, wards be damned. You broke through Rhysand’s wards like they were nothing. When in Spring Court, you just slipped through Tamlin’s simple wards without any effort. Rhysand’s wards weren’t like that and yet you still did it. Did you ever think how?”

“I-“ What was he supposed to say? He had always done that. He could detect wards, track spells, he even had some healing magic.

“What, little brother? You just thought you learned it? I certainly can’t do any of it,” Eris muttered, a vicious smirk spreading across his face. “You’re the only one. The only one born from love. Why do you think I’ve protected you all these godsdamned years?”

“What are you talking about?!” Lucien stared daggers into his brother. “How do you even know… any of this?!”

“I guess it is time I let someone know.” Eris straightened as he watched his brother, his fingers still drumming on the table. “That shadowsinger can take claim of the dark corners, but the fire whispers to me, and there’s a hearth in most houses, there’s a bonfire on the beaches, there are fires in kitchens, and outdoors, where you cook your freshly caught game. And there’s fire wherever father is, but that fire whispers to me.”

“What?” Lucien muttered as he watched his oldest brother whose eyes were filled with quiet rage. “So… all this time, you just spied on everyone?”

“I didn’t need to. The fire started whispering secrets to me when I was but a fledgling, but I kept it to myself. The Vanserras, our ancestry can be traced back to Hestia herself, she who first breathed fire into a hearth. We’re descendants of the old gods, but their gifts are not common to inherit anymore.” He ran his fingers through his fire-read hair, cut shorter than Lucien’s. “I knew about you before mother did. And before you ask, no. Beron is not given the same gift, or curse, depending on how you look at it.”

“Why do you call it a curse?” Lucien stared at his brother, barely able to wrap his mind around everything he was bombarding him with.

“I can easily get information about everything, about the scum my father is, about what plans Rhysand has to string me along, anything. Not all of it is complete, fire doesn’t reach everywhere. But sometimes knowledge is a curse.” He cocked an eyebrow as he asked, “Aren’t you curious about who your father is, little brother?”

“Uh… yes. I think‒”

“You’re the only one born out of love, of all of us,” Eris cut him off, his fingers drumming incessantly on the table. “The only one. And that’s why I protected you. You’re mother’s child with Helion. Which makes you the sole heir to the Day Court. That’s why you’re cleaving spells left and right, Lucien. That’s why you have healing powers. That’s why you look a lot like Helion. I can’t believe people haven’t put this together yet.”

Lucien gaped, a small chuckle escaped his lips, then an incredulous sigh. “You can’t be serious. This is not funny. My power is fire, just like yours. It’s not singing me bedtime stories but it’s certainly not cleaving spells and controlling light or wind or whatever it is Helion can do.”

“This is no joke.”

“Oh, really?” Lucien snapped, anger bubbling in his chest. “And how come you’re the only one who knows?”

“Don’t you think Beron suspects it, idiot?” Eris shot back, crossing his arms over his chest. “He tried to murder you multiple times, he tried to get me and our brothers to murder you, he made sure we viewed you as the enemy, he tortured you wherever he could, he pushed you out of his court before your parentage could be revealed. Those were no mere accidents.”

“Or… he was a fucking asshole, like to all of you.”

Eris rolled his eyes, leaning over the table. “Mother named you Lucien. L-U-C-I-E-N. She was never sure, but she suspected it, and she marked you with that name. Helion, the wielder of the power of the sun, fathered a child who is going to be the sun, light and fire. Mother cried tears of relief when she saw that your hair was as red as hers.”

“She knows?” Lucien’s lips pressed into a thin line. His whole world was turning upside down and he had no handle to hold on to.

“Suspected it. She had a centuries-long affair with Helion.”

“This is insane,” Lucien muttered, running his fingers through his hair. “Why is it always me? Why do I get to have these life-altering revelations out of the blue?”

Eris snorted before his expression turned deadly serious. “Be glad you’re not born of that monster. Helion is a good male. And he’s not manipulating his kin to be soldiers against one another in an endless blood duel for power.”

“I can’t‒ I can’t picture him‒”

“As your father? Well, you’ll have time to figure it out,” Eris hummed, raising his fingers elegantly. His ring glinted in the dim light of the fire as he put a ward around himself. “Break it.”

“What?” Lucien countered dumbly, his thoughts escaping like startled rabbits.

“Cut through my ward, Lucien Spellcleaver.”

“Don’t call me that,” Lucien muttered with a frown. But the challenge got his attention. Was he truly able to do it? Did he truly have that power? He blinked and extended his hand towards the edge of the ward. His eye revealed the intricate details, the way the magic weaved into a wall like a basket, forming a solid shield around Eris. It was easy to undo it. His fingers worked quickly as he sliced through a few strands of the magic, and suddenly the entire ward disappeared.

“Should I call you Prince Lucien then? You’re a Prince in the Day Court. The only prince, if my sources are not mistaken.”

“Don’t‒” Lucien took an exasperated breath. “Don’t claim anything like that. I don’t have a great track record of being wanted or accepted by those whose lives I’m supposed to be a part of. Maybe Helion will want to murder me because I threaten his reign.”

“Helion knows you might be his son after your run-in with him during Nesta’s mating thing,” Eris shrugged easily, studying Lucien’s features. “You have mother’s hair color and eye color, but your face is the spitting image of him. It’s ridiculous.”

“I know I should be happy, but he did some things and I wasn’t even his son…” He could have had a normal childhood in the Day Court, he could have been free of all that torment. He could have never met Jesminda, or he may have met her and she wouldn’t have been killed by a maniac… so many people knew the truth, no one bothered to tell him.

“Don’t go into a doom chamber, Lucien. We couldn’t tell you, we weren’t even sure, your powers were never honed or taught to you, it took you a long time to even show a sign of it.”

Lucien sighed, rubbing his temples. “When Elain was taken to the cauldron, that’s… that’s the first time I used those powers. I didn’t notice. Tamlin asked about it later, he asked how I freed myself. I didn’t even realize I did it.”

“You’ll have time to freak out on your own terms about your mate and your new dad and all that. Now, you need to help me eliminate mine,” Eris muttered, a dark grin tugging at his lips. “And if you do, I’ll help you figure out your human queen’s deal with Koschei. I can help you sniff out his weakness, and you can break that magic. First things first, you need to develop a mental shield. Rhysand and Feyre will not know of my gift.”

#elucien #elucien fanfiction #elucien fic #elucien fanfic #elain x lucien #lucien x elain #lucien vanserra #elain archeron #eris vanserra #helion spellcleaver #tamlin #Elucien

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sinvulkt · 2 years

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Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Luke Skywalker & Darth Vader Characters: Darth Vader, Luke Skywalker, Leia Organa, Han Solo Additional Tags: but they are only at the beginning xd, bcs I have no idea how to write them, So it's mainly Luke and Vader, Luke Skywalker is a Naberrie, he was raised by Sola in this AU, And a bit by Ahsoka and Hondo too, seriously who let a Skywalker child interract with Hondo, it was just asking for chaos, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Shapeshifters, I kind of made a mix of the two xd, bcs I just can't resist, Animal Transformation, Light Angst, I would have loved heavier angst but the crack kind of swallowed it xd, Crack Treated Seriously, can't say how seriously it was treated though, Identity Reveal, Adventure, Heist, If we can call it that XD, Luke Skywalker Needs A Hug, Darth Vader Needs a Hug, hugs can always be useful for those two Summary:

Or how to go on a heist to steal the Emperor's pet, but end up with something much more important instead.

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iszapizza · 5 months

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quote from the fic Funeral Rights by SpellCleaver.

I’m in love with how this author writes Luke and Vader’s relationship. It hit me on a personal level and I made this as a way to channel that.

#Star Wars #star wars ot #luke skywalker #darth vader #anakin skywalker #luke and anakin #father and son #does this count as venting #idk #I didn’t want to draw lineart or sketches #so this is what it is #fanart of a fanfic #fanfiction

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c-e-d-dreamer · 3 months

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You Are Not the Kind of Boy (Who Should Be Marrying the Wrong Girl): Part One

A/N: happy happy @sjmromanceweek! Don't you just love the first date of... (checks notes) being ruined by your older sister's lover bursting into her wedding? It's how all the great first dates start! 😉 I hope everyone enjoys this Elucien sequel to But I'm Only Looking At You! You don't have to have read the Nessian part to understand, but you do need to know that Cassian ruined Nesta and subsequently Elain and Feyre before this fic's timeline. This is the first of three parts I'll be posting for Romance Week 🥰

Read on AO3 // Next Part

Three Months Ago

The music drifts through the large, arching doorway, the sound light and lilting as its melody fills the room. It wraps around Elain's limbs, floating above into the high ceiling and the chandelier hanging there. Elain can't help but hum along quietly to the familiar tune, even as she tilts her head to admire the painting displayed before her. It's a beautiful landscape, light brushstrokes of white perfectly capturing the clouds in the sky, dots of color in the foreground to mimic wildflowers.

“My lady.”

Elain nearly jumps out of her skin at the sudden voice, even as the familiarity of that tone sends goosebumps cascading down her arms. She turns her head to the gentleman now standing beside her. His fitted waistcoat is a deep green color, the intricate gold stitching exactly the type of luxury Elain expects from a Duke's son. Still, the color compliments his red hair, the strands left loose to hang around his face. Even with the fox mask he's chosen to don for the evening's festivities, there's no mistaking him.

Lucien Spellcleaver.

He keeps his hands tucked neatly behind his back, his eyes firmly forward on the painting before them. But Elain doesn't miss the way his fingers seem to flex, the bob of his throat as he swallows, and she certainly doesn't miss the way a smirk tugs up the left side of his lips at her continued attention. Since making Lucien's acquaintance and through their continued interactions, Elain has begun to suspect he's more scoundrel than lord, all teasing smirks and snarky remarks. He finally turns to meet her gaze, his eyes practically glinting beneath the light of the chandelier, one russet and one gold.

“You look lovely this evening,” Lucien tells her, Elain swearing he sounds almost breathless as he says it. “That color suits you.”

Elain is glad for her own mask to hide the blush that crashes across her cheeks, but she ducks her head nonetheless. “Thank you, your Grace.”

She turns back to the painting, if only to break the intensity of his stare, the spell that seems wrapped up in that gaze, curling around her chest like a golden thread and tugging her into him. Perhaps, if she stares hard enough at the painted wildflowers, her face will stop being the same shade of pink as her dress. Thankfully, Lucien seems content to simply stand beside her, barely a hairsbreadth keeping their arms from brushing together.

“Thesan has good taste,” Lucien breaks the quiet to comment. “Clear from this evening's masquerade as well. Are you enjoying the festivities, my lady?”

“Yes. I have particularly enjoyed the music.”

“And yet I have not yet seen you grace the dance floor.”

“Perhaps, I am still waiting for the right partner,” Elain dares to say, turning back toward Lucien only to find his stare already pinned on her.

His hand reaches forward in the space between them, his fingers skating down Elain's arm before curling around her wrist. Elain just barely swallows down the gasp at that simple touch, her heart beginning to pound between her ribs. She feels frozen, unable to move or look away as Lucien pulls her hand closer to him, as his fingers unfold her dance card. She watches him scrawl his name, expects him to drop her hand once he's finished, but instead, he merely lifts her hand higher, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. His lips linger against her skin far longer than is proper, a fire practically burning in his eyes, but still Elain doesn't move, doesn't breathe.

It's only when Lucien finally releases her hand, when he finally steps away and vanishes back into the ballroom and amongst the ball’s guests, that Elain releases a quiet, gasping breath. She runs her hands down the skirts of her dress, trying desperately to calm her thundering heart, and when she looks at her dance card to see which dance Lucien has claimed, she finds his name written in large, looping letters diagonally across the entire booklet.

A scoundrel indeed.

~ * * * ~

Today

The carriage jerks beneath them, jostling lightly as the horse tugs them down the road. The silence is suffocating, the air tense and thick enough in the tight space that Elain feels like she could choke on it. She keeps her eyes firmly out the window, watching the shops, the houses, the people that the carriage passes.

She doesn’t dare to look at the other faces of her family, least of all her mother. The ire radiating off of Eleanor Archeron is palpable and stifling and has Elain’s whole body tensing in anticipation. And it’s not even directed at her. Nesta’s fingers are twisted tight enough in the skirts of her dress that Elain can see the white knuckles even in her periphery. Elain’s own fingers twitch with the desire to reach out, to squeeze Nesta’s hands in soothing comfort, but there’s no saving her older sister from what’s coming, not after what’s happened, what Nesta did.

Elain still can’t even wrap her head around it. She had known, of course, that there was something between her sister and Cassian MacLeod. He had practically followed Nesta around wherever they went, and Elain can still remember the night their mother had thrown a stack of letters from him into the fire, can still remember hearing Nesta cry through the wall their bedrooms share. But she never thought Nesta would do this, never thought she’d take things so far so as to lay with a man unwed.

The carriage finally pulls to a stop, and the footman has barely pulled the door open before Feyre is rushing out, clearly just as desperate as Elain to escape the cloying mood trapped within the carriage. The rest of the family clambers out in stoic silence, and finally, with a soft sigh, Elain slips out of the carriage. Nesta hesitates at the bottom of the front steps, so Elain steps around her, giving her sister the moment she clearly needs and following her parents inside their home.

But once they’re all inside, once the front door has closed with a too loud snick the echoes like a death knell, all hell breaks loose.

Elain supposes there is some benefit to them having to dismiss their staff. There’s no one to see the rage burning across their mother’s face as she whirls around on Nesta. No one to hear the slap that rings out in the front hall as the back of Eleanor’s hand strikes across Nesta’s cheek.

“You stupid girl,” their mother seethes, already raising her hand again despite Nesta’s flinch. “What were you thinking?”

“Mama, please. I didn’t—”

“Do you have any idea what you’ve done? Everything I have done for you. All that work I put in. And for what? For you to spread your legs like a common whore, and for some filthy factory rat of all things?”

Feyre steps closer to Elain, looping their arms together as they stand tensely, awkwardly, while everything unfolds, but Elain can’t watch the way their mother explodes around them a moment longer. She swallows hard and averts her gaze, focusing on the shadows that stretch across the floors and walls from the sun spilling through the windows.

“I hope you’re happy,” their mother continues. “You’ve always been a disappointment to the Archeron name, and now, you have thoroughly ruined it. You’ve ruined us all. You’ve ruined your sisters. Is that what you wanted? Perhaps, you can teach them the proper ways to pleasure a man for when they end up on the street trying to rub pennies together.”

The words are enough to draw Elain’s attention back, to spear straight through her chest. Despite the cruelty of their mother’s words, there’s no denying the underlying truth to them. Elain doubts the Mandrays will keep quiet about what happened this morning, that word will quickly burn through the ton like a wildfire. She’s sure that the next time they go to the market, everyone will stare, will look down their noses, will whisper and gossip about the Archeron girls.

She’s sure that no respectable gentleman will want to go anywhere near them.

That thought has Elain’s heart twisting tightly in her chest, pain blooming surely enough that it takes everything within her not to press her hand against the ache. It has her stomach roiling until she thinks she might be sick, until the taste of bile starts to tickle the back of her throat. She thinks of Lucien, of the way he had danced with her all night at Thesan’s masquerade ball. Of the way he called on her almost every day before her mother sent the staff away and put an end to any and all callers. Of the way he found her in the market just the other day and teased her about her ribbon selection.

Lucien. A Duke’s son. Someone who will need legitimate heirs, and not someone whose honor will forever be questioned.

Eleanor lets out a long sigh, holding her hand to her head as if this whole conversation is tortuous and sickening to her. Their father, doting as ever, rushes forward. He curls an arm around his wife’s waist, murmuring gentle words before he leads her away up the stairs.

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Feyre demands as soon as they’re alone.

Nesta crosses her arms across her chest, glancing away from her sisters and swallowing hard. “I didn’t know he was going to do that. I didn’t… I didn’t know he was going to ruin us all.”

“But why would he do that?”

“I don’t know, Feyre,” Nesta snaps, her voice exasperated. “It’s not like I asked him to do that. He’s an idiot.”

“But you care about him, and I’m quite sure he cares for you. I saw—”

“It doesn’t matter anyways.”

“Who will marry us now?” Elain whispers, cutting off her sisters’ arguing, her eyes beginning to burn with the familiar heat of tears.

“Elain…” Nesta begins, her voice gentle, but it’s as though she doesn’t quite know what to say.

Elain knows it’s silly, knows that her sisters never quite felt the same or understood, but she had looked forward to what her future could hold. She had looked forward to finding a husband. Ideally, a love match, but she would also be happy with a man who was simply kind. She had looked forward to tending to a house, to being the mistress of a manor. She had looked forward to being a mother.

And most recently, Elain couldn’t help but imagine what it might be like to be a duchess. Imagine small, running feet and shocks of bright, red hair. Imagine a certain Duke’s son with a child on his shoulders and offering her that roguish smile of his. Imagine his arms around her as securely as the night at Thesan’s masquerade ball.

Elain scrubs at her cheeks, at the tears sliding down across her skin, and turns on her heel. She ignores Feyre calling her name, making her way up the stairs and to her bedroom. She closes the door firmly behind her, crumpling into her vanity chair and sniffling quietly. The ribbon she had gotten earlier in the week still sits there, and almost absentmindedly, Elain traces along it with her finger.

If she closes her eyes, she can still perfectly imagine that day, can still remember walking through the market, the sights and the sounds of the ton soaring on the late summer breeze around her. Lucien had all but followed her into the ribbon shop, offering another of his roguish smiles and a flourished bow. He hadn’t been fazed when Elain teased him about a gentleman in a ribbon shop, insisting he was merely looking for himself, in need of something to tie back his hair with.

There was no stopping the lightness that flooded through Elain’s chest, the warmth that twined around her heart, the quiet laugh that was pulled past her lips, as Lucien held up different ribbons and asked for her opinion on each one. Elain had settled on the ribbon with gold stitching and suns woven into the lace, telling Lucien it complimented his hair and eyes well. In retrospect, perhaps she shouldn't have been so surprised when the exact same ribbon had been delivered to her the next day.

Elain’s fingers curl tightly around the ribbon, frustration beginning to spark through her veins. It burns away any numbness, any anguish, over the events of the day. It’s unfair. It’s entirely and completely unfair, and Elain refuses to tolerate it for another moment. She will no longer sit idly by. If this is to be her life, her future now, then she at least deserves to do one last thing.

With a quiet huff, Elain pushes back up to her feet, her determination solidified and her resolve hardened. She throws open her wardrobe doors, digging around the back until she finds a dark colored cloak, pulling it on and making sure the hood covers her hair and casts her face in shadow.

It’s with slow, deliberate carefulness that Elain pulls open her bedroom door, making sure the creak of the wood can’t be heard. She glances both ways down the hall, ensuring it’s all clear before tiptoeing her way toward the service stairs and following them down to the kitchen. The kitchen is quiet and dark, just as Elain expects, no one in the family stepping foot down here even with the staff dismissed. It makes it all too easy to unlatch the back door and slip out of the manor all together.

The sun has already started to set, strokes of pinks and oranges and purples painted across the sky above, blending with the wisps of clouds. The entire world is washed in soft light, glinting off the leaves and flowers. The light and late afternoon breeze turns the field just behind the manor into a rolling sea of gold, turns the willow tree Elain can see a little further ways up into a glittering fountain.

Hiking up her skirts to avoid getting mud on the hem, Elain begins her trek through the field. She keeps to the trees rather than the main road, tucking her chin down so the shadow cast by her hood hides her face any time she passes by anyone else. But soon the large, gravel pathway comes into view, winding up to the large estate that looms before her.

Three stories worth of tall windows stretch far to Elain’s left and right. The center of the estate juts out slightly further than the east and west wings, columns and beautiful arches only adding to the elegance. With the light of the fading day hitting and reflecting off the white bricks, the entire estate seems to glow as though it’s an embodiment of the sun itself.

Elain takes a moment to breathe deeply, to roll and square her shoulders. The walk here has done little to soften the resolve that hardened her spine, that fire of determination still blazing through her veins. But there’s no denying the spark of nerves low in her gut, the flutter of butterflies in her chest. Still, if Elain’s future is to be what everyone says it will be, if everything she’s ever wanted really is no longer within reach, then Elain intends to take this one thing that’s just for her.

With a decided nod, Elain makes her way up the gravel pathway toward the estate, veering off to the right before she reaches the front door. Lucien had mentioned how he loved to watch the sunset over the water from his room, so she’s quite sure that means his rooms must be in the western wing.

As Elain winds around the side of the estate, trying to figure out how she’ll identify which window is Lucien’s, she finds the man in question lounging in the grass beside the lake’s edge. He’s dressed casually, merely a pair of pants that hug the thick lines of his thighs, and a simple, white shirt tucked into the waistband, the laces around the neck loose and teasing a sliver of golden skin and collarbones. His red hair hangs around his face and shoulders, strands dancing in the breeze and whispering across his cheeks.

He has a book opened in his hands, and he doesn’t seem to hear Elain as she steps closer, so she awkwardly clears her throat, drawing the attention of those beautiful russet and gold eyes.

“Elain,” Lucien exclaims, closing his book and scrambling up to his feet. “How are—I heard about what happened. With your sister.”

“Word certainly travels fast around the ton,” Elain sighs, fiddling with the skirts of her dress. She was hoping Lucien wouldn’t know, that she would still have the benefit of ignorance on her side if only for tonight.

Lucien steps closer to her, his hand raising up into the space between them before he hesitates and drops it back down to his side. “And are you alright?”

The question takes Elain by surprise, and for a moment, she can do nothing but blink up at Lucien in confusion. She should have known. Should have known that Lucien was too much of a good man to judge her, to cast stones the way she’s sure the ton and its gossip machine have been doing as soon as the Mandrays stepped out of that church.

“As well as I can be,” Elain finally answers. “Now that my season is ruined. Now that I’m ruined.”

“You’re not ruined, Elain,” Lucien assures her, a frown tugging down his lips.

“You’re being kind, but you don’t need to lie to me. I’m not stupid. I mean, what sensible man will want to marry me now?”

“I’m sure there’s a man who would be very honored to call you his wife. Quite confident in fact.”

“Stop being kind,” Elain huffs, crossing her arms across her chest. “But it’s alright. I’ve accepted it now. It’s actually why I’m here.”

“All you have to do is say the word,” Lucien tells her, taking her hands in his own. His touch is surprisingly warm, surprisingly gentle the way his fingers curl around her own. “And you know that I will help you. Happily.”

“I’m glad to hear you say that.” Elain steps closer still to Lucien, biting her lip and peering up at him from under her lashes. “Because I could use your help. Now that the whole ton will think I’ve laid with a man just as Nesta has, I figured I might as well make it a reality.”

“Elain,” Lucien begins, taking a step back from her.

“I just want one thing for myself. One thing that I want, that I choose, that can’t be taken from me.”

“I get that, I do, but I do not want to be the one that ruins your honor. Don’t you think it best to wait until you are wed?”

“You aren’t listening, Lucien. My honor is already ruined, and no one is going to marry me.”

“That’s not true. That’s what I’m trying to tell you. Elain, I—”

Before Lucien can finish speaking, Elain crowds back into his space and surges up onto her toes, crashing her lips against his. It’s a bit awkward, merely a press of lips, but excitement still cascades through Elain’s entire being, fueling her and begging for more. After a moment, Lucien starts to relax, his hands moving to cradle her jaw before they’re sliding down her neck to her shoulders, gently pulling her away.

“Elain…”

“Don’t you want me too?”

“I can assure you that’s not the issue here.”

“Lucien, please.”

Lucien sighs softly, lifting a hand to push up and through his hair. “How can you ever expect me to say no to you when I would gladly do anything for you?”

“I don’t,” Elain tells him matter-of-factly, pressing her body fully against his until her breasts press against his chest, their hips aligned flush together.

“Fuck,” Lucien mumbles beneath his breath. “If we… just promise that after, we can talk. Properly. About this.”

“Of course.”

It’s a lie. Elain has every intention of leaving after tonight, of walking away from Lucien completely. No matter what she wants. No matter the way her heart quakes and shutters at the idea. But she simply can’t stomach it, the idea of dragging Lucien down with her. She could never mar his future with the dark, roiling clouds that are now firmly casted over her own.

After tonight, Elain will ensure that she doesn’t stand in the way of everything that Lucien deserves, that’s his birthright as the son of a Duke.

But Lucien doesn’t need to know that.

—

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