Or: why Elain is such a wretch to her mate. ~500 words
The mating bond felt so much like love. That was the worst part of it all. For unlike her sisters, she was overly, unfairly, and entirely familiar with love. It resurged in waves through the tether of her golden bond, crashing against the cliffs of her heart every time he was near.
But she did not know him.
And if she did not know him—yet she felt this terrible, inconceivable way for him—she could not fathom the damage he could inflict upon her.
Grayson had nearly devastated her; his abrupt rejection had splintered the world into gnarled, piercing fragments with edges meant to bleed her dry. Heartbreak did not suit Elain, not when she had given the entire organ away in the first place, leaving her with absolutely nothing after he left.
If he, who wielded no magic in his humanly callused hands, possessed no ancient nor divine device within him, tying them irrefutably and eternally together, could wreck her fate—despite her inherited ability to foresee her fortune—then what could he do?
With magic and fate and destiny on his side, Lucien could be the end of her.
This very fact terrified Elain.
The fear multiplied every single time he stepped within her presence. For he was clever and smart, that much she had perceived of him from even the early days. (For what is love, but to know? To see to the very core.) Her attention and curiosity snapped like a notched arrow whenever he landed in Velaris, and it arced through the air whenever he entered the townhouse. Then that arrow would split into two when she felt him—the muddled, overwhelming emotions of shame and grief, grief and shame, festering at the sight of her. If he flooded the bond like the sea, she wondered if she made his end of the tether ache like an infected wound.
She knew she would only ever end up disappointing him.
Elain learned to hide her flinches. She learned that hate lives too closely to love—they slip their fingers together too often. She had seen it with her sisters and their mates. Hate simply would not do. Hate worshipped at the same altar of obsession and passion—a place Elain did not allow herself to enter.
Indifference would only do. Only indifference would keep him away.
Bright, glimmering Elain stifled the light inside. She filled herself with shadows, casting away the radiance that had once brought her happiness. Brought others happiness. She became an unrecognizable version of herself. A recluse. An unfeeling, unbreakable creature. A wretch.
Then he could not love her, for he could never know her.
And she could never have her mangled, fragile heart ruined again.
Even if she longed to speak his name, to invite him to dance, to speak and run her fingers along his clever mind, and above all else, to bestow a graceful smile upon his arrival, if only just once—to see, to see if he would return the same light.
To see if per chance, she had been wrong about it all.
After my headcanon yesterday, the possibility of an Elucien scene similar to the Feysand CON scene from Mist and Fury, I had this rattling in my mind:
"You'll need not to stand out," Rhys informed him.
"Of course," Lucien responded, without hesitation. This would not be his first time traveling to a place where the customs were different than that of which he was used to. He knew how to integrate himself, knew how to appear as if he belonged even with the scar on his face that drew unwanted attention.
Rhys paused a moment, clearly uncomfortable, before saying, "What I mean is you'll need not to stand out as it relates to your mating bond with Elain."
Lucien knew the shock was evident on his face, unable to compose himself quickly enough. Though it had only been moments since Rhys asked for his help, his mind has already begun planning for the trip, what to pack, the path they'd take, where they'd stay once they arrived but how had he not remembered the way females were treated by their mates on the continent? As property that belonged to them? Expected to be submissive to the males every command? And they meant for him to treat Elain with that same disrespect? Was Rhysand out of his gods damned bloody mind?
After centuries of practice, Lucien had learned to reign in the temper that was the unfortunate hallmark of being an Autumn Court male and rather than asking Rhys exactly that, he calmly began, "I imagine we'll be able to come up with a better way as I wouldn't want to put Elain in an uncomfortable situation, perhaps we could..."
His mate, however, did not seem to interested in showing the same restraint as she stood in front of him, hands on her hips interrupting him mid sentence.
"Is there a reason you can't be bothered to ask me my thoughts on it? Will you be yet another person who tells me what I can and can't do? What I should or should not be exposed to?" She threw a pointed look in the direction of Nesta and Azriel who were standing off to the side of the room and Lucien found himself glad to not be the sole focus of her ire for once.
(that's all I've got but it definitely makes me wish Sarah would give us either this or an Elucien Calanmai scene) 😂
Trying my hand at poetry and a splash of weirdness.
Big thank you to @gooseyjossip and @themadmorrigan for the beta, help, and suggestions. You guys are amazing and so extremely helpful. I think this would’ve lived in my drafts if not for y’all.
The years of hearing the thumping of a heart through stone, of giving into the darkness pulling her towards the south led her to make a bargain with Koschei- one that ended with her losing her own self in the process.
It’s in the moments of the waking day, where the sun has not yet risen, and the world still sleeps, where comfort is most easily found.
Breathing becomes easier. The world, and its myriad of problems, are smaller. There are no expectations to uphold or placating smiles to hide the exhaustion behind her eyes.
Does the bird consider why it chirps? Does it know it reveals itself to the stalking hunter?
Does the worm know why it tunnels through the soil until it reaches the surface during a storm? Does it think about what might happen if it can’t get back underground once the sun breaks through heavy clouds?
Oh, to be like one of those writhing creatures seeking moisture and life while drops fall from the heavens. Oh, to vocalize her life through song, to hear her voice carry above the wind and be heard.
To live without regard for what might come to pass - but to break away from her cage would be like spreading torn wings. A moment of freedom to taste the open air, to feel more than the coldness of her mind before the slightest falter, then falling towards the echo of a heartbeat in stone.
Falling.
Falling.
She’s no longer standing under a sea of stars. It’s dark as before, but this is lifeless. It surrounds her, the chill of the water is forgotten as she drifts atop its glass surface. Time is meaningless as she floats further into an endless abyss. Reflecting above the still waters are swirling, ebony clouds that churn with despondency.
Vines, like snakes, pierce her with their thorns. They constrict until she can no longer offer more than a rasping breath. The prettiest sister locked inside herself to only be gawked at. No longer seen. No longer heard.
A shell of opaque eyes and porcelain skin forever trapped by the echoes of the past and the future made known only to her.
Slow, forbidding notes long forgotten by time reach her from the waters edge. As the slow melancholic chords drone on, she is pulled further away. She does not see the figure there, can no longer hide from his enthralling heartbeat or visages of beautiful swans atop a pool of darkness like she had once done living atop those snow capped mountains. She is lulled by its dark beauty, mangled talons playing along the wind, tightening the hold on her mind as the depthless waters pull her under.
She feels nothing. Pain is meaningless. A blazing fire would only be an insignificant spark winking out of existence with the smallest breath. Light cannot reach her here. Not even he could awaken her now.
And yet, through unseeing eyes, she sees him step into the lake. Knows him by the long hair like simmering embers, the gracefulness of his gait, the pulling at her ribs like a tether. His golden light chases away the darkness like a beacon. Swans, long since stripped of flight, push him forward, bring him to her.
A single word. A name. A reverent prayer.
Elain.
Elain.
She thrashes. She fights against hands that reach for her. The sudden touch sears her skin and her eyes fly open. A smile, bright and beautiful like a spring day, greets her.
My mate. I found you.
The male she bargained away her life to hide from.
Beyond the mountains of Velaris the echo of a heartbeat, the chords of a song had called to her. She'd wanted the rest it offered. She'd wanted the escape of her mind. Her life. Her immortality.
She tries to pull from his grip on her shoulders. Around her the liquid night tightens its grip. The living flame does not extinguish. It pulls her closer to the water’s edge.
A scream as large hands lift her from the water. Not from her. The call of emptiness. It is the call of death as she is ripped from its grasp.
Vines fall away with the licks of flames. She can feel their warmth, but they don’t burn her.
Again the voice, bright like the first rays of sun over the horizon as it drives away the night, speaks. It smoothes her wounds, calms her racing heart.
She can no longer hear a heartbeat through stone, through the world. She no longer sees swans swimming beneath a sky of everlasting hopelessness.
She sees light. Hands kissed with the warmth of the sun hold her to a chest clothed in emerald green. It is a forest before the fall of rain, the crisp aroma of smoke and earth and citrus.
Life.
Her voice thick like tar, raspy as she manages one word.
Lucien.
It is why her skin is bathed in a buttery gold glow, why against all odds she sees more than a lackluster world.
And she understands why the birds sing, why the worms breach the surface for the chance to see the sky.
“I’m here- I found you…finally. Finally.” The voice, deep and melodic whispers into her dripping curls. “You’re alive.”
And as she allows her eyes to flutter shut and sigh against the warmth of him, of her living breath of life, she raises a hand to her chest and feels the steady thumping beneath her ribs.
a/n just a little drabble between working on my longer fics. wrote this in about half an hour and it resembles a think piece with my own interpretations on elain's perspective.
Elain Archeron hated Lucien Vansera.
She hated his manners. So attuned as to not cross her boundaries, to the point that he called her “my lady”. A title which made her thoughts wander into places no lady should go.
She hated how catching just a glimpse of his face a handful of times throughout the year made her ache for him to stay longer. She made sure that she shut her lips tight, partly afraid that she might blurt out an invite like she did before.
She hated how his clothes draped across his body, tailored and styled impeccably to his slim waist and across thick thighs, inciting a hunger unlike any she’d felt before. A need that sunk deep into her bones rather than crept across her skin.
She hated how easy it seemed for him to talk to everyone else but her. Happily taking the time to laugh with Rhysand and Cassian about sports games or catch up on life with Feyre, but resorting to nothing more than cordial conversation with ber.
She hated how her soul itself seemed to come alive when Lucien was near. As if that string on her ribs pulled more taut as the distance between them shrunk. A string that made her aware of every breath he took, the emotions he felt, his joy, his pain, even his longing.
She hated the way the sunlight would reflect from his golden eye, lighting up the room with a warm luminosity. In those moments, when their eyes locked, it felt like he saw her, but worse, that she saw him. Not just his physical appearance, but the very depths of his soul, their bond glowing brighter than ever.
She hated how he never masked his emotions. No, instead his expressions were clear as day on his handsome face.The crumble of his face when she would shed away from him. How his lips pursed together when he decided against asking her another polite question. And possibly worst, his acceptance as he turned away, just like he did when he left on his quest.
She hated how much she craved that honesty. For so long her vision had been clouded in delusions of a false reality, where her family was whole, she was engaged to a knight in shining armour, and the troubles in her human life were far behind her. Looking at Lucien was like breaching the rays of the sun after an endless night and that was the most terrifying feeling of all.
So yes, Elain Archeron hated Lucien Vanserra. Or at least that’s what she told herself.
The word is foreign and jarring to Elain, who had never heard of such a thing. Lucien senses her confusion rippling down the bond between them.
“What’s wrong, faun?” Lucien asks Elain, slightly amused as he nuzzles his face into her neck. His hot breath only adds to her flustered feelings.
“What’s an orgasm?” Elain responds, her voice hushed.
Lucien leans back to look upon Elain’s face, amusement dancing in his eyes.
“Maybe humans call it something different,” he says. Lucien lowers his voice to whisper, “It’s the peak of pleasure between lovers.”
Elain gasps softly at his words. Lucien returns to kissing up her neck and sucking softly at the spot under her ear.
“You mean,” she starts, “when the man, uh male, reaches completion?”
Lucien hums against Elain’s smooth skin. “In my experience, it’s equally pleasurable for all parties.” Lucien nips at Elain lightly with his teeth. “But yes, that’s what it is.”
“So I can have one as well?” Elain questions, curious as she’d never felt such a thing in her limited experiences.
Lucien pulls back from Elain's neck, a sly smirk on his lips. He cradles her face in his large hand, making her big brown eyes meet his. “My love, I hope you have much more than just one.”
Lucien had fallen asleep. Elain lay against his chest, legs tangled through his. Their bodies, contentedly weary and sweat-damp, stuck lightly to each other.
Mine.
Mine.
Mine.
She could feel the word humming through her veins and across every inch of her skin.
It was not possessive—not ownership. But something deeper. As if he were a place where she could belong. A home—her home. Where she could reside happily until the end of her days.
Everything in the universe could fall away, leaving them floating in the blackness of the void, and they would still belong to each other.
✨ Elucien Week 2025 ✨ | These Are The Hands Of Fate
@elucienweekofficial
Day 1: Mates 🧶 | AO3
I never saw you coming. And I’ll never be the same.
Summary:
When Lucien stepped into Hybern's throne room, he didn't know what to expect. It certainly wasn't a mating bond.
Mate.
The word swirled through Lucien’s mind like ink in water. A word he’d assigned to another. A word he thought he’d never use to describe anyone, ever again.
“You’re my mate,” he whispered to her before his mind convinced him otherwise.
Whispered, as if saying it any louder would render it untrue.
I am yours and you are mine, he didn’t say. But he knew it. Though the stampede of thoughts, feelings and instincts thundered through his mind, body and soul, he knew she was feeling everything he felt. Because he could feel her. How was it possible?
She was beautiful. Utterly, unearthly beautiful—as if the Mother had made her out of clay. He had known many stunning females in his life, but they all paled compared to her. Even now in this sorry state, in this grey and dingy throne room, with tears in her eyes, cold and soaked from the eddies of the Cauldron.
The Cauldron.
The proximity to its power made Lucien shudder—and she was in it. In the vessel where all life began—ending her mortal life and giving her eternity.
Then the bond snapped into place, like a puzzle piece lost to time. A burning cord formed around his rib. He could feel the magic swelling inside him, could see it with his golden eye.
Yet even before that he had sensed it. Had picked up on her scent even before she was brought into the room. He’d known something was happening to him a moment before they dragged her and her sister in, bound and gagged, wrestling with muffled screams.
Still, he sensed something about her.
Could it have been possible? That even before the Cauldron, she would have been his, and he hers? He didn’t have time to question it further.
The damn manacles that bound him, the wretched faces surrounding him, the dizzying and fraying balance of power in the room couldn’t stop him. All the demons in the bellies of hell couldn’t stop him from going to her. It was mind over matter.
He took her shuddering shoulders after placing his jacket around her. She was freezing and frozen, cringing away from him but too weakened to move. Fear leadened those doe eyes. Terror, uncertainty and confusion. Though for just a moment, her gaze flickered over him as she realised it, but she said nothing.
I can warm you up again.
I will care for you.
I can fix this.
I want to help.
So many things he wanted to say, wanted her to know. But there was nothing more he could say. He’d given her the word she needed already. It said everything and nowhere near enough.
So he stared, and she stared back. He took in as much of her as he possibly could, carving the lines of her face, the shape of her lips, committing chocolate and rose-pink to memory for as long as he could. Whether she did the same, he didn’t know. Couldn’t bear to consider it.
And then, as quickly as she came, she was gone. Winnowed away by a member of the Night Court, and he’d been too shaken by it to realise what had happened, to stop it. The roar in his throat burned hot and angry at her being taken away.
He knew in his rational mind that he had no such right to say otherwise, but the instincts, raw and soul-deep raged beneath his skin. She had been manhandled by Hybern’s guards, and now was being dragged back to gods-knew-where in the fucking Night Court.
How cruel the hands of fate could be, Lucien thought. How much more could they take from him? How much more would he let them?
The chaos continued around him, he barely had time to consider anything else.
She was gone. His mate was gone, in the hands of his enemies.
He never saw her coming.
And he may never see her again.
But he would never be the same.
Forgot to add! Fabulous dividers by the lovely @olenvasynyt 🍃
