Close to Her Chest
This is the first writing I have ever put out into the world, so please be kind ♥︎
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Elain x Azriel
Our story begins shortly after The Incident on Solstice. I'll do my best to be canon compliant/adjacent but it's been a while since I reread the whole series. I'm not sure how far I'll take this piece, but the only way to begin is to begin.
I'll add any pertinent tags below.
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Even in the dark of winter, Elain found it easier to breathe beneath the sky. The chill of the air had a lessened effect in this new Fae body of hers, leaving her numb but not immediately frozen to her core as it would have before.
More often than not, she found herself slipping silently out into the gardens once the family had taken their leave from the dinner table. She couldn’t stand the flickering firelight of the townhouse sitting room for more than a moment. Having to listen to her family, her friends, happily chattering away while she herself was all but decaying inside… it was enough to drive her mad.
Only a week ago, in the dark of the longest night of the year, the crackling fire in the hearth had been a comfort. A muted backdrop to what Elain had thought would be a pivotal moment in her life, the moment that she chose to take control of her fate.
But now the angry popping of the logs was just a taunting reminder of the silence that fell after.
This was a mistake.
For months, there had been a static building between her and Azriel. It was palpable in the air, clung to her skin after the briefest brush of their hands, was alight in the gazes they exchanged across a crowded room. And yet somehow, it seemed only she alone had sensed it.
That much was clear now.
This was a mistake.
In the aftermath, the pendant lying on her breast burned as though it was discharging all of that pent up static into her. When her trembling fingers unclasped it, placed it gingerly upon the lingering pile of Solstice gifts, Elain felt the static leave her. And ever since, there was nothing but numbness in its place.
This was a mistake.
Wandering amongst the burlap covered plants, her fingers trailing carelessly through the dusting of snow, the numbness of her heart now echoed in that of her skin.
Distantly, she could still hear her family talking and laughing together. Azriel had been noticeably absent from all gatherings this past week, and her stomach dropped at the thought that she was keeping him from enjoying time with the people he loved.
As if the embarrassment and shame around her behavior on Solstice wasn’t torturous enough, the sudden onslaught of guilt at the thought of depriving him of his family sent her knees out from under her.
A sob escaped her lips before she could bring an ice-cold hand up to muffle the sound. Elain had never wished for the ability to winnow more than she did in this moment.
If only she could disappear into the night, stepping out somewhere far from this cold garden path, maybe then she could grant her family a bit of reprieve from the burden of her presence.
A frozen gust of wind whipped around her, and all at once the now familiar sensation of her Sight sparked through her veins. As she felt herself slipping further from her body, Elain’s last coherent thought was a morbid hope that maybe no one would find her out here.
Maybe she could simply drift away, out here in this cold and desolate garden, surrounded by the corpses of the plants she had nurtured and cared for all year. It felt poetic somehow, because unlike her plants which would return vibrant and alive come spring, the feelings she had nurtured quietly within herself for the last year had little chance of surviving the final weeks of winter.
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A week had passed since Solstice, and Azriel had barely slept at all. Immediately after receiving the order from Rhys to stay away from Elain, he had been sent to Illyria to gather intel on the rising unrest amongst some of the more isolated clans.
Having done all he could there, he flew now towards the townhouse. The sun had set already and he knew that his family would be finished with their meal, gathering in the sitting room for the evening.
As he circled lower over Velaris, his shadows began to rise around him, suddenly twisting and pulling against his skin, as if urging him to hurry. They led him not to the front door of the house, but instead deep into the frozen gardens. They whispered She is there! She is there!
Understanding immediately who they meant, he landed rapidly amongst the rows of covered bushes and trellises.
It took mere moments to locate her, and what he saw sent the chill of the night straight to his heart.
Elain, beautiful, lovely Elain, was lying along the edge of the garden path. She had no coat or cloak, no gloves or even a scarf to keep her warm. The snow had formed a halo around her, and as he approached he could see that she was lost in a vision, the whites of her eyes barely visible under her dark lashes.
She had clearly collapsed here, her legs curled beneath her, her hands resting haphazardly in the snow by her shoulders. He couldn’t tell how long she had been like this, but it was long enough that her lips were blue and a slight frost had gathered across her skin.
Azriel summoned a thick wool blanket with his shadows, and hurriedly wrapped it around her as he gathered Elain into his arms. Placing a scarred hand against her face, he leaned in, cocooning his wings around them, desperately willing the heat of his body to warm hers.
“Elain,” he whispered, not wanting to startle her, “Elain, please come back to me. Please open your eyes.”
Her pulse was sluggish, and though he could see her faint breath misting from her parted lips, she did not stir.
In a moment of rash indifference, not caring for what consequences may befall him, Azriel felt himself slipping into shadow, and stepping out in the middle of the sitting room.
“Azriel?”, Feyre was the first to acknowledge him, the others turning in surprise at his sudden appearance.
“Azriel, what-“, Rhys started, before his eye caught on the small figure clutched in his arms.
“I found her in the garden, nearly frozen. None of you noted her absence? No one thought to check on her?”, he was nearly growling now, and still Elain did not move beyond the shallow rise and fall of her chest.
“How long has it been since any one of you has seen her? How long had she been out there alone?”, he continued, simmering rage barely contained in his words.
He stalked over to the fire, his shadows piling on more logs and stoking the flames higher, and knelt before it. In truth, this was the closest he had been to open flame since his hands had been disfigured. While he had slowly grown accustom to sitting in those chairs closest to the hearth, kneeling here within arms reach was another trial all together.
But in this moment, he did not fall back, refusing to release his hold on the slowly thawing form in his arms.
“Everyone, out, now”, he vaguely heard Rhys command, drowned out by the boiling blood rushing in his ears.
“Azriel-”, it was Feyre, gently approaching and settling onto her knees beside them.
He couldn’t form a coherent thought, couldn’t speak aloud the words that threatened to spill from his mouth, lest he reveal the utter distaste and rage at their complete disregard for this most precious being in his arms.
Before Rhys could speak again, before he inevitably tried to take her from him again, Azriel once more placed his hand against her cheek. It had warmed slightly, a soft pink pallor now spreading across her skin.
Elain.
Elain.
Elain.
At this point, he wasn’t sure if he was merely thinking the word or speaking it aloud, reverently, like a prayer to whatever gods might be listening. He no longer saw anything but her face, felt nothing but the steady beating of her heart, and no one, not even Rhysand, could tear him from her in this moment.
Elain suddenly sighed, her eyes fluttering fully closed, as she shifted her body closer, curling against him. As her hand slowly found its way up his chest to the bare skin of his neck, he released a breath and clutched her tighter.
Her fingers were still icily cold, but they were brushing gently through the hair at the base of his scalp. Relishing this close contact, he would have been content to remain here with her in this moment forever. But the fact was that they were not alone, and even as he kept his eyes on her, he could feel Rhysand and Feyre’s on him.
“Elain”, he breathed, barely more than a whisper, tears of relief threatening to spill free from his eyes.
At that, Elain’s eyes opened again, still slightly hazed from her vision but once again warm and so richly brown they were nearly molten.
“Azriel?” It came out as a whisper, her hand stilling against his neck, as her brow furrowed in confusion.
Azriel, let her go now. Let Feyre check on her. Rhys spoke directly into his mind now, the words a clear command.
He spoke back, You can’t order me to do that, the words an echo of those he had uttered only a week prior, when Elain decides she is ready to get up, she will, and lowered his mental shield into place. If Rhysand had something more to say, he could say it out loud, in front of his mate.
“I found you, in the garden”, He dared to brush his thumb across her cheek, “You must have had a vision and collapsed. You had no coat, and were half frozen by the time I got you inside.”
At that her eyes cleared a but more, as if remembering what she had seen. Her fingers resumed drifting through his hair, and she whispered, “Oh…”
“Elain? Are you alright? We’re so sorry, we didn’t realize you had gone outside. I thought you had gone up to bed and-“, at Feyre’s voice, Elain started and pulled away from him, knowing now that they were not alone here.
She couldn’t quite get herself upright, so Azriel reluctantly rose and set her into the nearest armchair, taking just one more moment to tuck the blanket around her shoulders, before retreating. Her eyes tracked him across the room, and he suddenly couldn’t remember a time he had felt so empty, the absence of her leaving him feeling hollow and cold.
Rhysand once again tapped against his mental wall, and he acquiesced this time, bracing for what was sure to be more reprimand and orders.
We will speak about this later. Rhys’s voice sounded flat in his mind.
Fine. He replied, before slamming the shields back into place, shoving out his High Lord more aggressively than ever before.
Elain looked to Feyre then, a numb mask slipping over her face as she asked, “Can you take me to my room please?”
Feyre nodded only once before casting a look over her shoulder towards him and then her mate. Uncertainty shone in her eyes, but she grasped Elain’s outstretched hand and winnowed them away.
Before Rhys could start in on him, Azriel too took his leave, disappearing into his shadows, no sure destination in mind.
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Authors note: I always felt that the both of them would be utterly miserable and despondent after Solstice. Poor Elain, suffering yet another rejection, not understanding where she had gone wrong. The feelings of loss and confusion consuming her, similar but somehow worse even than after Greyson. And Azriel, questioning where his true loyalties lie, rebelling against that sense of owing Rhysand for taking him under his proverbial wing as a child, torn between doing what he was conditioned to do and what his heart is begging him to.
I have many thoughts as to how their story could play out. This fic is acting as a sort of writing exercise as I work up to starting my original story that I’ve been mulling over in my head for nearly a decade. If I can keep it together enough to continue, this fic will probably find its way over to AO3 eventually.
Expect to find angst, secret meetings, chance run ins, pining, hidden trysts, and overdue confrontation amongst other things in subsequent installments.
