Love on Ice: An Illustrated Semi-Modern Elriel Fanfic
Yes, you absolutely read that right.
Together, @chachachai17 and I have been working tirelessly to create something wonderful for not only our friends, but also fellow Elriels.
What happens when you put an artist and a writer together? You get an illustrated fanfic.
@chachachai17 has created so many incredible pieces of art to go along with the chapters. She is a wonderful friend of mine, and I’m sure some of you have already seen her beautiful work. You will be SPOILED. 💖
A few things to note:
I have permission from Charlie to be posting her artwork.
This fanfic and Charlie’s artwork will be posted on my Ao3 account ( obsidian_witch ) and my tumblr! Charlie’s artwork can also be found on her tumblr ( @chachachai17 ) and her twitter ( @cha_chachai )
Chapter 1 will be posted tomorrow.
Blurb and Cover Art for the fic below 💖
A few months before Prythian’s Annual Ice Dancing Competition, Elain Archeron’s partner Lucien Vanserra drops out of the competition, leaving Elain to scramble for a replacement. Desperation drives her straight into the arms of Azriel, former ice dancer turned star hockey player. Teaming up with her teenage rival is certainly not her first choice, but Azriel’s skill, precision, and grace, coupled with the undeniable chemistry between them, may be Elain’s only shot at winning the gold.
a/n: sapphic playlist to read along to, if you’d like 🧡💛
word count: 896
The sun shimmers atop the rippled surface of the Sidra, glittering gold undulating between soft pinks and peachy oranges, mixing with the aquamarine blue of the painted houses and the warm magentas from storefronts below. The two of you remain quiet as you take in the wonderful vista from atop the small balcony, held up on oxidised copper, pale blue and a little patchy in places but tinged with an almost mossy green, artfully curved into bars that swirl and wrap around to form a railing.
Her sundress flutters in the late evening breeze, the floppy straw hat she’d chosen sitting pretty atop her gently curled hair, forming soft ringlets of golden brown, like the tops to the perfectly baked goods she makes. Small wildflowers are tucked behind her elegantly pointed ears, left over from your lunch in her carefully cultivated garden—picking a few of the unplanned but not unwelcome flora that had cropped up in the grass.
She opens up the wicker basket, pulling out something swaddled in pale cream cloth, setting it down between you, carefully revealing the contents to be two slices of pie. The pastry looks perfectly flakey and crisp, with powdered sugar dusting its surface, sun-dried raspberries lining the circumference. The cross-sections appear a mix between a spongey and custard-like texture, rhubarb baked into the main body of the pie.
“I made this yesterday,” Elain pipes up, raising a slice from the fabric, perching it upon her dainty fingertips, offering it up. Your heart flutters a little as it usually does around her, your lips helplessly curving into a smile as you lean forward across the chequered picnic blanket. It’s easy to bite into, teeth and tongue able to effortlessly pry it apart with little effort, slightly crumbly on top but soft and plaint in your mouth.
You hum, hand coming to cover your mouth as you chew, pulling back a little, swallowing. The setting sun sparkles in her cocoa eyes, like melted chocolate that swirls as it sinks into gently simmering milk. Rosey lips soften, curving to reflect your own as matching grins broaden your mouths.
“You like it?” She asks through her laugh, eyes crinkling as her cheeks warm with an apricot flush, rounding as the corners of her mouth lift upward, smiling with her slightly uneven teeth. It has your own smile broadening, eyes gleaming with affection as you manage a nod. “It’s perfect,” you reply through your smile, meeting her twinkling gaze. “Just like you,” you murmur, vaguely aware of how her hands have lowered the slice, making room for the two of your to gravitate toward one another.
Her lids lower a little, lashes obscuring some of the fascinating colours of her irises, but then her head is tilting a little, and you’re only a few inches apart.
Your lips tingle with heat as they settle against hers, soft and plush, and you’re almost certain some powdered sugar has gotten between you. Maybe she’s just that sweet.
Your hand raises, cupping her jaw as you kiss her, feeling how she pushes against your touch, mouth slanting against your own as she copies your movement, her thumb brushing the crest of your cheek, middle and forefinger tucked behind your ear. Lips stretch out, smiles playing on soft, sugared mouths as you pull away, keeping close.
Elain blinks, smile fading a little before widening into a sunshine-filled grin that has your heart aching, throat tightening.
“What?” You ask, voice lilting with laughter at her smile. “You’ve got sugar on your cheek,” she whispers over your mouth, thumb stroking over the area. The two of you crane together, mirth ringing between you as your stomach flutters.
“I should’ve known that’d happen,” you mumble, fingers gently wrapping around her wrist to ply it away. Her laughter is still prominent as you swipe the tip of your tongue over the pads of her digits, removing the sweet powder she’d so carefully dusted the pastry with. “That tickles,” she laughs softly, watching as you move to her thumb, sliding it over your lower lip as she presses down a little.
Her flush deepens as you press a soft kiss over her skin, observing with a quiet heat that has your skin warming.
“I love your hands,” you murmur into her palm, raising it higher until her fingertips could brush your brows, nosing at her skin. “They’re so clever.” Her flush deepens, neither of you really able to look away. “So good at making things,” you mumble into her palm, feeling the slight roughness that’s begun to surface from the incessant pruning of the plants in her garden.
“I like yours more,” she says breathlessly, leaning closer again, making your eyes twinkle as she pulls away, cupping your jaw. “Why’s that?” You reply, so eager to press your mouth to hers again. To feel them. To taste them. Taste her.
“You’re so gentle with them,” she answers, feeling as her words take shape on your lips, so, so, close. “I love it.”
Your mouths push together, slow, soft motions echoing between you, lips parting to feel the other, flicking gently—as she’d wanted. Elain makes a small noise, breathy and hot as she applies more pressure, opening a little wider, food forgotten as a new appetite is stirred within her.
Elain found the library exactly where Tamlin had said it would be, down the west corridor past a set of double doors with tarnished brass handles.
Leather, dust, paper, and the particular mustiness of neglect filled her lungs the moment she stepped inside. Shelves stretched upward, floor to ceiling, somehow remarkably intact despite the ruins surrounding them. Strange, how books survived when empires fell.
She pulled a thick volume from the shelf nearest the window. "Cultivation of Seasonal Blooms," read the spine in faded gold lettering. Elain carried it to the desk that sat in a pool of morning light and opened it carefully, the pages crackling with with age.
The day passed as she moved between the library and her garden plot, referencing techniques from the book and applying them to her newly planted rows. The weather held fair, a constant feature of the Spring Court, even in its abandoned state. Some magic still lingered here, maintaining the climate if nothing else.
By late afternoon, Elain had gathered three more books and positioned them near her garden tools. Her fingers were stained with soil, her hair tied back with a simple ribbon. The work was consuming, methodical, and entirely her own.
She first noticed the eyes at dusk.
A slight movement at the edge of the formal gardens caught her attention. Elain straightened, one hand shading her eyes against the setting sun. Nothing seemed out of place. Then she saw it again, a flutter of movement that disappeared as quickly as it had come.
"Is someone there?" she called, keeping her voice steady.
Silence answered her. Then a small creature stepped from behind a stone bench thirty feet away. It stood no taller than Elain's knee, its skin the color and texture of tree bark, the two bright eyes peered at her from a face that seemed more plant than animal.
A lesser fae. One of the many species that had once inhabited the Spring Court, that had supposedly abandoned Tamlin's lands along with everyone else.
The creature observed her. Unblinking. It deliberated, then bent to touch a withered rosebush beside the bench. Its gnarled finger pointed at Elain, then back at the bush. The meaning couldn't have been clearer had it spoken.
"The roses," Elain breathed, taking a tentative step forward. "You've stayed all this time, trying to keep them alive?"
A single, emphatic nod.
Elain gathered her tools and moved cautiously toward the bench. The lesser fae retreated a few steps but didn't flee. As she approached the rosebush, she saw it was nearly dead, its stems brown and brittle. Only a single branch showed any green.
She knelt and began to work, cutting away the dead wood and loosening the soil around the roots. The creature watched from a safe distance, occasionally making a soft clicking sound that might have been approval. When she finished, Elain looked up to find three more of the creatures had joined the first. They stood in a semicircle, watching her with unblinking eyes.
"Let me guess," she said, a hint of wry humor coloring her voice. "There are more gardens that need tending." She already knew the answer before asking.
The largest of the creatures nodded. It pointed toward the eastern side of the grounds, where Elain knew formal rose gardens had once been a highlight of the Spring Court.
"I know what it's like," Elain said softly, "to be overlooked. To be the quiet one everyone forgets still has a purpose." Her fingers brushed soil from her skirt. "I'll help you.
The creatures conferred among themselves with more clicking sounds. Then, as if by agreement, the smallest one approached Elain. It extended a tiny hand, offering something.
Elain held out her palm. The creature dropped a small, oddly shaped seed into it. The seed seemed to pulse with a faint inner light.
"Thank you," she said.
The creatures retreated, blending so perfectly with the vegetation that they seemed to vanish entirely. Only when Elain looked very carefully could she detect their slight movements as they departed.
She examined the seed in her hand. It didn't match anything she'd seen in the gardening books. Something rare, then. Something important to these beings who had remained hidden but present all along.
The Spring Court wasn't as abandoned as it appeared. The obvious signs of habitation, the manicured grounds, the polished halls, the courtiers and servants, those were gone. But other presences remained, unseen until now.
Like her. Present but not noticed. Here but not acknowledged.
Elain gathered her tools as darkness fell. Tomorrow she would begin work on the rose gardens. The tasks ahead were substantial, perhaps more than one person could manage, but she wasn't alone after all.
As she walked back to the manor, Elain caught sight of Tamlin watching from an upper window. Their eyes met briefly before he withdrew from view. Another presence, seen and unseen. Another layer to this place she was beginning to understand.
The strange seed would need special attention. Elain made a mental note to check the library for more obscure botanical references, whatever grew from it might reveal more about the hidden life of the Spring Court and, perhaps, about her own place within it.
Day 1 / Day 2 / Day 3
Happy @elainarcheronweek everyone! For Day Two: Sister and Friend, I wrote a short one shot about Feyre and Elain travelling the continent like they wanted to in book one. I liked writing this story, I resonate a lot with both Feyre and Elain! I hope you enjoy this!
Pairing: elriel (if you squint)
Rating: sfw
Word count: 3.3 k
Elain Archeron adjusted her floppy hat and sighed. They were late.
She couldn’t even be mad, not really.
A few months ago, her sister, Feyre, and her brother-in-law, Rhysand, had approached her with a proposal she couldn’t refuse. At first, she’d been wary when she saw the two of them walk toward her with two big smiles on their faces. But as they talked, her wariness turned into delight. She’d accepted readily, squealing and clapping her hands like a child who had been given her favorite candy.
Now, two months later, Elain was waiting in front of the carriage that was supposed to take her, Feyre and her nephew, Nyx, to the coast. From there, they’d get on a ship that would take them to the continent.
Elain remembered a conversation with her sister a few years prior, where they’d decided to travel the continent together. She’d be the first to admit she’d forgotten all about that, what with the war and Feyre’s pregnancy. But it appeared her younger sister hadn’t forgotten it, and for her birthday this year, decided to give Elain this precious gift.
The three of them would go by themselves at first, and Rhys would join them after a couple of weeks. He’d claimed he had to look over the finances, but Elain knew it was just an excuse. He’d never leave Feyre and Nyx for more than a few hours, but he wanted to allow his mate and her sister bond, to give them a chance to build a relationship their childhoods denied them.
Nyx, or Nyxie, as he was lovingly called by his family, however, was still too young to be away from Feyre for weeks, which meant he’d have to come with them, consequently meaning Rhysand wouldn’t see him for two weeks. It came as no surprise, then, that they were late. He was probably soaking up all the love his mate and their child had to give him.
Elain’s heart clenched at the thought. She yearned for a love like theirs, to create a family as beautiful as theirs. But it wasn’t her time, not yet. Soon, she would have all of it. She just had to be patient.
She sighed and leaned against the carriage door. Elain glanced up at the sky, her hat shielding her brown eyes from the sun’s blinding light, hoping to catch Feyre and Rhysand in the sky. The warmth kissed her cheeks, and she closed her eyes, bathing in it. It was a quiet morning, the occasional chirping of birds in the distance the only sound. The sweet perfume of her flowers reached her nostrils, and she inhaled its scent. Elain let out another sigh. It was such a peaceful moment.
She snapped her eyes open as a thumping sound came from a few feet in front of her. She heard, more than saw, Nyx let out a happy gurgle. Elain couldn’t help the smile that broke out on her face. She loved her nephew more than anything else in the world.
Nyx saw her and started squealing excitedly, babbling, “tee, tee”, which Elain knew meant auntie. She headed towards them, her arms out to grab Nyx. After peppering him with kisses, Elain settled him in her arms, his head gently laying in the crook of her neck, she finally turned toward her sister and brother-in-law.
Rhysand was the first to plant a big kiss on her cheeks, followed by Feyre who tried to hug her around her son. “Hi, Elain. Sorry for being late.”
She waved her apologies away. “It’s no matter, I understand. Is everything ready now?”
Feyre nodded, just as Rhysand helped put their trunks on the second carriage, a smaller one. They chatted a bit more, with Rhys holding and kissing and cuddling his son and mate. Elain looked away at that, giving them their privacy.
It was then that she noticed three other figures. She huffed out a laugh. The sound startled one of them, the female one. Nesta, her older sister.
Elain approached them, a bright smile on her face. “Hi, Nesta.”
Nesta smiled back at her.
Ever since she’d started training with Cassian and her friends, Nesta had become happier, healthier. She’d gained some weight, her skin had a healthy glow to it that made her devastatingly beautiful. Though the biggest change in her older sister were her features. They were no longer sharp and severe. No, now they were graced by soft, bright smiles, the crinkles around her eyes proof of it.
“Elain,” Nesta greeted her. She gestured to the two Illyrian males flanking her sides. “We wanted to wish you and Feyre safe travels. We didn’t want to interrupt the two love birds, though”. The second part was accompanied by an affectionate eye roll. Elain smiled, just as Cassian snorted.
“That’s bullshit. You were trying not to cr—ouch!” Nesta elbowed him in the stomach, effectively stopping him from continuing. Yet Elain knew what he meant to say.
She turned to look at her older sister. Feyre and Elain had asked Nesta if she wanted to come with them on their travels, but unfortunately she and her friends, along with Mor and Cassian, were to start a training class for the other priestesses and had to decline the offer. Elain knew it ate away at Nesta, that she felt like she was disappointing her sisters once again, no matter how many times Feyre and Elain assured her that it wasn’t the case.
The relationship between the three sisters had improved since the day Nyx was born, since the day they had almost lost Feyre and Rhysand. It was what had brought them closer, the freight of losing one of them for good gave them the push they needed to form the relationship they always should have had.
“I wish you could come with us Nesta, but,” Elain rushed to add when she saw Nesta’s face fall. “I understand why you can’t. What you’re doing is admirable, the help you can offer these women is nothing short of amazing. I’m proud of you, I’m proud to call you my sister.”
A faint blush dusted Nesta’s cheeks, deepening the more Elain spoke. Elain saw Cassian’s hand land on the small of his mate’s back, offering her a small comfort.
Elain glanced at the other male. Azriel. He was already staring at her, an intense look in his eyes that made her own cheeks flush. She quickly looked away, a strange fluttering in her chest. He’d always had that effect on her, since the first time she’d laid eyes on him, when she was still engaged to Graysen.
Elain shook her head, willing those thoughts away. Today was about her and Feyre— and Nyx— not anyone else.
Her younger sister and her family had joined them, Nyx now latching onto his uncle Cass— or, as he called him, Unc Cashy. She probably was biased, Elain knew, but she firmly believed that Nyx was the most adorable baby in existence.
Several minutes later, Elain and her younger sister waved their family goodbye as the carriage moved forward. Feyre had Nyx on her knees, her hand wrapped loosely around his tiny wrist to make him wave at his father and uncles and aunt. Elain could have sworn Rhysand’s eyes were shining with unshed tears.
As their figures became smaller and smaller, Elain turned to face her beloved sister again. “Thank you. For this trip,” she said.
A small graced Feyre’s lips. “There’s no need. I wanted to do this, with you.”
Flashes of their childhood blurred Elain’s visions, making her recall those winter nights that the three sisters spent cuddled in that too-tiny bed, seeking a warmth not even the fireplace could offer. Those scorching hot summer nights, when sleeping was rendered uncomfortable by the inevitable sweating, and the fights and ugly words that ensued. Their rumbling, aching bellies when Feyre was unable to hunt any animal, and the money too scarce to afford anything other than stale bread.
A knot formed in her throat, and no matter how many times she tried, Elain couldn’t seem to swallow past it.
“I’m sorry, you know,” she whispered.
Feyre inclined her head inquisitively. “What for?”
Elain swallowed again. “For the way your childhood was. You were the youngest in our household, yet we forced you to be the adult. I’m sorry you were never allowed to be a child, I’m sorry we never taught you how to read. You deserved better, and we—I disappointed you.”
Quietness enveloped the carriage, Nyx’s babbling the only sound to be heard.
When Feyre at last spoke, her voice was barely above a whisper. “You don’t have to apologize. I’ve already forgiven you. I spent years of my life resenting you and Nesta for not helping me enough, even when I begged you to. I always felt like I didn’t belong, and I resented you for that too.” She shook her head. “I’m ashamed to admit I hated you for how close you were. And I blamed you for it, because if I didn’t have to focus on making sure there was food on the table and enough wood to warm us during the coldest nights, then maybe I could become a part of your bond too. It was all I ever wanted.”
Elain’s sight became blurry, and she felt a lone tear run down her cheek. It was soon followed by countless others, yet not a sound came out of her. She’d learned through the years how useful silent crying was.
“I’m so sorry. The way we treated you, I– It’s my biggest regret. I wish I could have a good enough reason.” The guilt was clear in her words.
Feyre smiled faintly. “I appreciate your words, though unnecessary as they might be. As I was saying, that’s how I felt. Becoming a mother gave me a whole new perspective.”
The High Lady of the Night Court adjusted her son in her arms as she reached forward to grab her older sister’s hands. “Elain, you and Nesta were not responsible for me, for our house. Our father was. He was the one who failed me, failed all of us. Should you two have helped me out? Perhaps. But it wasn’t your job, it wasn’t your role. I took it on when I saw he wasn’t going to move a finger, and I would have appreciated your help, but I can’t, I refuse to imagine my Nyxie taking on a role his living parent should do.”
Elain had to hide her wince at Feyre’s words. It stung hearing her be so harsh to their father, though he deserved it.
While Nesta was doted on by their mother and grandmother, Elain had been pretty much ignored by them. They’d always speak to her with a condescending tone whenever she talked about her garden and plants, always dismissing her as she tried making herself heard. She remembers spending sleepless nights silently crying in her bed, trying to conjure up ways to make her mother love and listen to her.
She never succeeded.
Yet her father never once made her feel wrong or stupid, always made her feel like she was more than just a pretty face, as she’d once overheard her mother call her. The sweetest memories of Elain’s childhood were of sitting on her father’s knees, telling him all the new things she’d learned about plants, of the best way to grow orchids, and how to get rid of ivy. He’d ooh and ahh at the right times, and in turn would tell her all the flowers he’d seen on his travels to the continent, and promised her he would one day take her to see them.
He never did, and now, he never would honor his vow to her.
But her father broke more than one promise. Feyre was right, their father had betrayed them the moment he gave up. He had failed them in the most painful way a parent could fail their child. She remembered the hours staring at her father, willing him to get up, to do something, anything, and the feeling of betrayal churning in her stomach. Elain had tried to make excuses for him. She’d tried to remember those moments in the garden under the sun, her father, his kind eyes so much like hers, reassuring that all would be well, that the next time her flowers would bloom, as his thumbs wiped away her tears. Yet none of the warm memories she recalled helped lessen the blow he’d dealt her.
Elain’s father had always been the one person on her side, until he wasn’t. Until he decided to let his shame wrap around him.
“You’re right,” Elain nodded to her sister. “But that doesn’t mean I couldn’t have helped you. I wasn’t there for you, and I’m sorry. Like I wasn’t responsible for your well-being, neither were you of me. And yet you embraced it.”
Feyre nodded. “Perhaps. But I don’t resent you for it, and you shouldn’t beat yourself up.”
Elain smiled gratefully. She closed her eyes, hoping the rhythm of the carriage would lull her to sleep.
“I wasn’t there for you either, when you needed me the most.”
Feyre’s words made her eyes snap open. She opened her mouth, confused, but her sister went ahead.
“After what Graysen did I– I wasn’t there. I was focused on the war, and then Nyx and I never asked you how you were doing. If you needed help.”
“Oh,” was all Elain said. “No, don’t. They were more important than a break up.”
Feyre shook her head. “That doesn’t mean I couldn’t focus on you too.” She settled Nyx on her right knee, shifting her body so her left side leaned toward her older sister. “And it wasn’t just a break up. After what happened with Tamlin I–saying I was devastated doesn’t do it justice. Yet no one told me there were more important things to worry about.”
Feyre leaned back in her seat, watching Elain as she waited for her reply. Nyx looked up at his mom, a toothless smile breaking out on his face. She smiled softly back at him, her index grazing his soft cheek. He let out a giggle, his little wings fluttering behind him.
“You’ve always been there for me, Feyre. Even when you weren’t physically there, I could feel you in my heart. We’re sisters.”
She wasn’t ready to talk about Greysen, not yet. She’d gotten over him, rarely thought of him anymore, but the memory still brought her pain, and shame, at times. She’d thought he was the love of her life, but Elain had soon realized the ugly truth of it. No matter how many years passed, Elain was certain she’d never forget the pure hatred and disgust that had marred his features when he broke their engagement, when he’d seen the undeniable proof of her new being. It was the most heartbreaking, humiliating day of her life.
Feyre seemed to read this in her eyes, because she nodded and turned her attention to her son, who was delighting himself with tugging on her hair. Elain smiled at the sight, before casting her eyes on the view outside. It was now midday, the sun high in the sky, its heat almost scorching. The leaves on the trees were a bright green, blatant proof that spring was in full bloom. Closing her eyes in hope of some rest, the movements of the carriage rocked her to a quiet sleep, Nyx’ babbling and Feyre’s soft whispers in the background.
-
They didn’t travel the entire continent. No, that wouldn’t be feasible, the High Lady and High Lord couldn’t postpone their obligations for that long. Still, Elain’d been mesmerized by the dances and art, the peace that reigned over the territory. She’d acquired many unknown seeds, praying the Prythian climate and terrain would make them sprout. Feyre had promised her they could finish the tour some other time, but Elain had assured her she was content with things as they were. She’d hinted she might return with someone else, to Feyre’s surprise. Her sister had been delighted when she told her who, exactly, she’d travel the rest of the continent with.
Now, two weeks after they’d come back to the Night Court, Elain was getting ready for the welcome back party Nesta had insisted on throwing them. She’d been pretty adamant about it, too. It had stunned her two sisters, and the rest of their family too, really, but Nesta wouldn’t budge.
The lilac tulle dress she opted to wear hugged her curve nicely, but not tight enough to suffocate her. Summer was nearing, and with it the damp heat. Nuala had helped her braid her golden-brown hair in a crown plait. It wasn’t a hairstyle she usually wore, but Elain found she liked it with the gown she was put on.
Voices reached her pointed ears.
As she reached the bottom of the staircase, they became clearer and louder. She could hear Cassian’s booming laughter at something Nyx did, followed by Nesta’s reprimand. Her sister was anxious, Elain knew. She wanted everything to go smoothly. As the sitting room came into view, Elain could see Feyre and Rhysand sitting together, the High Lady’s back to his front, the Illyrian’s arm draped across her shoulder in an intimate, possessive gesture. They were looking in the same direction, to Cassian standing in front of the fireplace. Nyx was on the floor, his back to her, and she could see his wings flapping swiftly behind him. To her shock, her nephew started floating in the air. She almost cried out, but something poked her shoulder.
It was a shadow. Elain scanned the room until her eyes settled on its owner.
Azriel was on the other side of the room, near her. He shook his head, a small smile playing on his lips. His ease made her relax slightly, and when she realized Feyre and Rhysand weren’t at all worried, she loosened up.
She gave Azriel a small of her own, noticed the way his eyes darkened as they fixed on her mouth. Elain felt a flush creep up her neck, and glanced away.
Nesta was already looking at her. Elain smiled and walked toward her, her arms already out to embrace her sister.
“Hi, Nes. Thank you for this,” she said.
Nesta smiled, tense. “I hope you like it. I’m not as good at this stuff as you.”
“It’s perfect. I love it, really.”
“If my mate didn’t try to injure my nephew, and subsequently destroy the decorations I spent a lot of time putting up, I’m sure it’s going to be a great night,” her sister said, throwing a faux glare in Cassian’s direction.
He chuckled. “It’s normal play for Illyrians. He’s going to need to learn sooner or later, and at least now all of us are here.”
Indeed, Amren and Mor were both in the room. Amren was reading a tome next to the shelves, while Mor was lounging on a chair.
Nesta huffed. “That doesn’t mean that I like it. I rather Nyx be in one piece, thank you very much.”
Feyre laughed. Nesta looked at her, saw the ease and contentment painted on her face, and smiled too. The first real smile of the night.
Elain sat in a chair near the shadows, and as she watched her family talk, laugh, and bicker, she couldn’t help but let a smile of her own come out.
When she’d seen this image, years ago, it had been impossible to believe they’d ever reach this level of lightheartedness. That they could all sit around in the same room and not tear each other’s throats out.
In the years since she was turned Fae, Elain Archeron had had many visions, some of them proving true, some that never saw the light of day.
As a shadow played with her hair, tickling her neck, she sent her thanks to the Mother for letting this one come true.
Elain wouldn't trade these days with her family, free from the shadows of impending doom, for the world.
(From Hope Springs Eternal by @offtorivendell)
Eternally honoured to collaborate with @offtorivendell and draw a scene from her Elain-centered fic, which you can read on Ao3 and here on tumblr. We dedicate this to our book club pals and to one of our forever ships, Hannah Bellinger & Fox Thornton from Hook, Line, and Sinker by Tessa Bailey ;)
Just a short fluff piece I wrote for @elainarcheronweek
Word Count: 409
Elain crouched down and watched the tray of sugar cookies baking in the oven. They still had five minutes to go based on the timer, but Elain couldn't help it. She wanted to make sure they were perfect, so her dark brown eyes stayed fixed on the still pale but nearly done cookies.
Elain found blissful contentment in baking, which led her back to the land of the living. When her fiance, Graysen, abruptly ended their engagement with no more explanation than saying that she'd changed and that he no longer knew her, she fell into a depression and shut herself up in her room. Her heart was broken, and she felt hollow and no longer wanted to interact with the outside world as she grieved for her lost relationship and future. That was until her roommates, Nuala and Cerridwen, decided to take matters into their own hands.
Every day for a week, they would barge into her room after work, disrupting her solace and coaxing her into the kitchen. They would talk mindlessly about the latest gossip in town for an hour while drinking cocktails, then their discussion would shift to what dessert they would make for the day. Nuala and Ceddriwen were obsessed with sweets, and every day they made a homemade dessert. "A dessert a day keeps the blues away," they said. Though Elain never uttered a word while they prattled on, she listened and grew ever curious about what dessert of the day they would make, until one day she couldn't resist joining in the fun of gossiping and baking.
The timer pinged and Elain put on her oven mitts. She opened the oven and the warmth from it flushed her skin as the delicious vanilla scent drifted into the kitchen air. She pulled out her flawless heart-shaped cookies, which were golden brown at the edges just like she intended, and carefully transferred them to the cooling rack. She was just about to melt chocolate to drizzle on top of the cookies when the door to the apartment opened. Nuala and Ceddriwen rushed into the kitchen carrying bags of groceries.
"Hey, you started without us, but these smell delicious, Elain!" said Nuala, inspecting the cookies.
"Don't worry, there is still more to make," Elain said with a lovely smile.
"But first, are you ready for some Margaritas?" Ceddriwen said, pulling out a new bottle of Tequila.
Elain burst into joyful laughter. "With you girls, always."
This little fic is dedicated to all of my book club friends who correctly recognised the superiority of Hannah Bellinger and Fox Thornton (from Hook, Line and Sinker, by Tessa Bailey) in the March Madness ship wars, and voted accordingly. The rest of you? You're all completely wrong, obviously… but I still love you, don't worry.
A huge thank you goes to @gopeachllama for being my beta; I'm so incredibly thankful. Sorry that I dragged you into a three day discussion about a single sentence; I'd promise that it wouldn't happen again, but it would probably be a lie. And @wingedblooms, as always, thank you for your invaluable advice.
As an added bonus, make sure you check out the gorgeous artwork of this fan fic, linked at the end of the post, by the one and only @livlochan. Liv, I was - and still am - absolutely honoured for the chance to work with you. Your art is a joy, and you are a gorgeous human to boot. Everyone, please give her some love on Tumblr and Instagram.
Read it on AO3, if you prefer.
Word Count: 1866
TW: mentions of canon poverty and trauma.
Disclaimer: this is an Elain centric, post canon one shot that delves into the possible memories of her hypothetical reaction to manifesting a power that involves assisting plant growth after experiencing poverty and food hardship while growing up, and how she failed Feyre at the time, as well as an explanation as to why it - potentially - wasn't as simple as "well why didn't Elain plant vegetables." Background Elriel.
I'm not claiming that Elain did in fact try to grow fruit and/or veg, we won't know until her own book, but there are valid reasons as to why it might not have been as simple to try as people think, or even worked if she had made an attempt. I urge people to read this with an open mind, and understand that sometimes you need not only solid knowledge, but the privilege of knowing you have room to make mistakes and waste food in the process of learning, which Elain and Nesta didn't necessarily have. This obviously doesn't absolve them from everything else they did - or didn't - do, as an FYI.
*
Dawn bloomed softly across the townhouse garden as Elain Archeron weaved through the dappled patches of sunlight, her heart and hands singing with life. She felt the probing, whispering reach of the individual plants against the well of her magic—they were cheeky little things, really, just like people, each with its own personality, depending on species and health and age—the early blooming clematis that lived on the wrought iron archway was already full of a vivacious humming and just about set to flower, whereas the twin banks of rose bushes calling to her from the walk were yet a gentle sigh, ever increasing as the days grew longer, that would peak with a riotous chorus of colour and scent and song come June.
It was a brisk March morning in Velaris, the kind wherein the strength of Old Man Winter’s grip on the world was beginning to fail, making way for the warmth and bounty of spring proper. As Elain slowly made her rounds to the different beds of plants, wrapped tightly in a soft, cobalt shawl, she could feel the latent magic of the earth awakening as the sun's rays graced the soil, touching it, drawing forth its life-giving threads of power to entwine with the surrounding roots even as it began its task of burning away the layer of mist that hung in the chill air. The slow unmasking of her garden, a constant dance between light and dark, of life and death circling each other since the dawn of time—that would continue so long as the sun was destined to rise, a rhythm woven into the very fabric of the universe well before she or her sisters had ever graced the world—was something that Elain had always loved to watch. Even as a human child.
Passing by the bird bath, which currently served a lone robin, the only one either brave or fool enough to test the still-icy waters, Elain smiled at the sky, rubbing her hands together as she felt the sunlight caress her face. Her ability to make her magic, herself, one with the land, to monitor and help, and even borrow from, if necessary—though only sparingly, and then in times of trouble—was the greatest gift she was granted by the Cauldron. It allowed her the ability to not only nurture new growth, from strengthening the roots of a sapling to encouraging the first blooms of a rose, but also, brilliantly, to aid in the decomposition of old life, allowing the earth to reclaim what once was and begin anew.
She rarely shared the latter aspect of her powers with others, for even her own sisters had been a little… taken aback when they found out the full extent of her magic—in truth, even she had to admit that it was a little grotesque—but he had never worried about the implications, or been put off. After she had confessed to him what she felt when she opened herself to her wellspring of not just life, but death, too, in a way, dreadfully afraid of the potential consequences, he had, with his usual quiet constance, simply asked her what a bloom would be without the aid of a little blood and bone, and her shoulders had seemed to lighten in an instant. He was correct, and of course of all faeries, it would be he—he, who felt and heard things others did not, could not, comprehend—who understood. The world would stop turning without the old making way for the new, and in helping the life of the realm, she was required to get her hands a little dirty, both literally and figuratively; if she had to encourage the rot of death to give the land the strength to support new life each year, then so be it. Her role changed with the seasons, feeding and nourishing in spring, then breaking down, a lumbricid turning the soil, in autumn—each process vital to the yearly rebirth of the earth. She was more glad than she could ever admit to, having been blessed with a power so attuned to her innermost wishes and joys, especially after Nesta's Cauldron powers had weighed so heavily on her, even though it had taken some getting used to.
When she had first realised what she was capable of, there had been a bitter resentment that rushed through her, swamping any happiness that she may otherwise have felt at having such a constructive power under a wave of unrelenting regrets. Why had her human self not been able to do such things? Elain simultaneously felt like both the betrayer and the betrayed, of and by her body, that she had such an ability now, when she did not need it to contribute food to the table as she desperately had then, all those years ago. It was a discordant bridge between her human and fae selves, and the sour notes had taken much time to fully resolve.
Acceptance had been work. It had been hard, because she had tried so hard, with the singular, sad potato that she'd managed to save from the cook pot the winter she had turned fifteen, determined to make a stand for the first time in her young life. From the depths of her memories, grounded in the stolen mornings she had spent amongst the gardens and greenhouses of their old estate, Elain had remembered the head gardener setting the potatoes out—to chit, the kindly old man had said—and this one did sprout much as she recalled it should, but there her luck had run out. The plot of land on the edge of the forest that housed their cottage hadn't been able to support much in the way of new life, in fact, it could barely support the native plants that scrounged the meager nutrients that their poor soil could provide after the towering trees are their full and, after planting the two halves in the best spot she could find, only a few small, green leaves had broken through the soil before some sort of beetle infestation had made short work of her hope of providing, in some small way, for her family. The next year, the two saved and planted potatoes didn't even manage a single leaf between them, and in the years that followed, there had been no spare potatoes to even make an attempt.
The weak promise of food in the future meant nothing when their bellies were empty in the here and now. Winters spent scrounging and starving soon disabused all three sisters of the idea of leftover food. Scraps didn't exist to create compost, even if she had known what to do with them to realise her dream of rich earth and a thriving plot.
She had tried to beg seeds and starts from the farmers that brought crops to the local market, but they were understandably, if disappointingly, protective of their own income, and seed lines were a closely guarded trade secret. But the problem with their soil would still have existed; while it may have been able to support a few flowers during the best growing conditions of the year, bearing fruit that matured enough to harvest was another thing altogether.
So yes, she had experienced an internal crisis, felt renewed shame at her former failure, when her new powers manifested in such a way that highlighted her past inability to contribute to the table, to lessen Feyre's burden as the sole hunter and provider. Elain had many regrets from her youth—would do it all differently, be a better sister, if she had the time over—and they had all come crashing home the first time she had accidentally caused a rose to sprout a new stem, then bud and bloom heartily in under a minute as she held and inspected the plant…to deadhead it, of all things, and understood what it meant.
Heaving a sigh, Elain finally reached the small vegetable garden at the side of the townhouse. It was her pet project, and really all she could manage now, given the current state of her waistline. She was nearing her eighth month of pregnancy, which was moving along nicely, according to the town healer she had been seeing throughout, but her rapidly expanding middle made digging and weeding and planting more than a wee bit difficult, and she still had over two months to go, if all went according to plan. She hadn't been without help, of course. Her sisters, Nuala and Cerridwen, and him, of course, had all made themselves useful in her garden over winter; even little Nyx had helped, though the latter was more in essence of spirit than function.
Elain wouldn't trade these days with her family, free from the shadows of impending doom, for the world.
Squatting in front of the broccoli, something she had developed a particular liking for over the course of her pregnancy, she knelt—as gracefully as she was able—and placed her hands on the ground, letting her fingers eagerly bury themselves in the loose layer of topsoil as her woolen shawl slipped down her arms. Quickly, she righted the garment, knowing that she would hear about it from her fussing husband if he saw her putting her health at risk; to his credit, it was cold outside, and she often neglected to remember the weather when she was intent on her garden. They worked well as a team, each looking out for the other and anticipating what they may need. This morning he had come up behind her as she had been braiding her hair out of the way and simply placed it over her shoulders with a gentle kiss to the top of her head—give a fae male a pregnant wife and they would dote and nest more than she had ever seen in humans; they truly were a different species. He had spent the previous afternoon weeding for her, knowing she could not spend as long on her knees as she would have before, and she rode the fresh wave of contentment the memory triggered, heart singing, as she sent fine tendrils of her power into the ground, gilding the surrounding roots with a little magical nourishment under the golden light of dawn.
Thankfully, she could manage to give the entire vegetable patch a boost from her current position at the side of the plot, otherwise she would certainly be exhausted before she'd made it inside for her morning tea, let alone begun the work in her apothecary. The spark in her veins was echoed by a fizzing thrum from the nearby plants as they took up the melody flowing from her hands, building to a crescendo backed by fluttering leaves and rustling stems. Feeling that the garden would benefit no more from her assistance, Elain sat back on her heels as she withdrew her power, and raised her eyes to the dormer that looked down upon the kitchen garden.
Noting movement in the shadows on the other side of the window, she beamed.
*
Click here to see the matching art for this fan fic, thanks to the brilliant @livlochan.
If you enjoyed this, please consider reblogging. 💜
