A ringing started in Cassian’s ears, the entire world falling away as he took in the blank expression on his mate’s lovely face.
He felt sick. He felt numb. He felt…
“No,” Azriel was saying carefully, his brows knitted together. His brother had taken care not to sound utterly outraged, as Cassian might have done. But he sounded gutted, nonetheless. “No, Nesta, we didn’t. We would never do that to you. Why do you think we would?”
To his growing horror, Nesta turned her attention back to her meal, as if this were a perfectly normal conversation they were having, and not one that was upending every iota of peace that he’d thought they were trying to reconstruct.
“You pushed us so hard to pass the qualifier,” she explained. “Our training was built around yours. Why wouldn’t you want us to perform in the Rite as well?”
“Because the Rite is barbaric,” Azriel answered, almost aggressive in his tone. “Especially for—”
His voice cracked, a little, and he fell silent, turning his eyes back to Cassian. He had rarely seen such emotion painted so blatantly on Azriel’s face. Nesta, too, turned her attention back to him.
“I assume if we had not argued, you would have found another way to get me to Illyria. Though, perhaps you knew who I would turn to, and took advantage. I cannot blame you for that. Though, I do wish you’d spared them.”
“What – no.” Cassian declared, placing his hand on the table. “No, that is not what happened. We had – I had – no knowledge of what was going to happen to you. Do you understand? None. If I’d known, I’d never have…”
Nesta furrowed her brows, and his eyes fixated on the healing cut above one of them, the faint bruising that still existed under her eyes from the hit she’d taken to her nose.
No Pairing (One sided crush) | Rating: G | Word Count: 840~
Summary: Nyx goes to the Spring Court for the first time.
A/N: A little something I whipped up for @nyxlinweekofficial. Y’all think he gets it from his mama but he’s his daddy’s son.
Summary: Nyx visits Spring for the first time.
Other notes: One-sided crush, Nyx is in his twenties.
The first time Nyx stepped into Spring, it was with his Aunt Nessie. Uncle Cass was away at the camps and he begged his mom to let him go in his place. He’d studied the courts in school but Spring was the most mysterious of them all. The only info he could get was from Uncle Lu but Uncle Lu lived in Day. The only reason his mother agreed was because he gave her the saddest eyes. That, and his dad was with Uncle Cass at the camps.
“You stay with Nesta.” His mother said sternly.
“Yes mom.” He tried to not roll his eyes.
“He knows what will happen if he doesn’t.” Nesta gave him a look that made him stand straighter. “We need to go before we’re late.”
His mom grabbed his aunt's arm. They stared at each other and he knew they were talking in their heads. It was annoying.
“Can we go?” He asked impatiently.
His mother pursed her lips. “Change your hair.”
“What?”
“The color. You look too much like your dad.”
“Mom seriously?” He liked his black hair. “I’m an adult. I can take care of myself.”
“It will be fine Feyre,” Nesta put her hand on his moms shoulder. “Tamlin knows better than to try anything.”
“I’m hoping you won’t see him.” Feyre muttered.
“Ryder knows I am bringing Nyx.”
Ryder was the emissary for Spring, from what Nyx gathered. His mother sighed again.
“Any sign of trouble you both leave immediately.” She stared pointedly at Nyx.
”Yes mom.”
She stepped to him and hugged him tight. “Just be careful.” She kissed his cheek.
“I will.”
Nesta winnowed them to the edge of the estate. Nyx blinked, the sun brighter than he expected. It was autumn in Velaris; here the grass was a beautiful green. The trees still had their leaves. The bushes on the path to the manor were well maintained. The flower beds in the distance in full bloom. It was beautiful.
Nyx sneezed.
“Oh not you too,” Nesta crinkled her nose at Nyx. “Are all Illyrians allergic to Spring?”
Nyx sneezed again. “I don’t know. Aunt Lainy’s flowers don’t make me sneeze.”
Nesta handed him a handkerchief. “Maybe you can just smell the bullshit from here then.” He laughed and wiped his nose.
“Lady Nesta!” A male at the top of the stairs called out, drawing their attention.
He was a stout male, light brown hair pulled back into a ponytail. He descended the stairs quickly to greet them. He bowed his head to Nesta, then turned to Nyx.
“Lord Nyx, I presume?”
Nyx bit the inside of his cheek. No one had ever called him that.
“Yes.” He held out his hand. The male blinked but shook it.
“Ryder, court emissary.” He turned to Nesta. “It’s a shame Lord Cassian couldn’t make it.”
”I am sure he feels great regret.” Nesta replied blandly. Nyx bit his cheek harder. ”Shall we? I hope to make this visit quick.”
“Of course, follow me.”
Nyx followed behind them up the stairs. The inside of the manor was bright; white walls and checkered flooring. He could feel the stares from others as they passed by. He was used to it. If he wasn’t being mistaken for his father, it was his wings that earned him looks. He gave a little wave at a few of the people staring, making them look away in embarrassment.
Ryder took them around a corner and Nyx froze. Up ahead at the other end of the hall was a blond male. Even from a distance, he could see the way the green tunic clung around his arms and chest. Nyx tried to not look at the male’s trousers but as soon as he thought it he did. That stood talking to another male like he wasn’t anyone important, even though Nyx knew in his bones he was.
Nesta pulled him out of his trance by turning around and ushering him into a room.
“Get in here,” she hissed. “Your mother will kill me.”
“Sorry,” Nyx felt his cheeks grow warm. “Was that-“
”Tamlin, yes.” Ryder answered. He looked nervous. “No need to worry, he will not be joining us.
Nyx, to his surprise, felt a little put out by that. He shoved it down and stood next to his Aunt while they discussed an amendment to a trade. It was quick, as Nesta promised. She signed a paper and Ryder escorted them back out. Nyx didn’t see the High Lord on their way to the front door of the manor. Nesta bid Ryder a good day and held out her hand to Nyx.
“Do you think mom will let me come back?” He asked, taking it and looking into the windows. Still no High Lord.
“Maybe.”
Just as they winnowed, Nyx swore he saw piercing green eyes from a corner window watching them leave.
He was definitely going to con his way into coming back.
After a series of heated dreams and strange visions send Elain to The Human Lands, the bond she's been pointedly ignoring for years suddenly becomes too overwhelming to push aside. The close proximity and the mission at hand bring her and Lucien closer, even with new enemies and danger behind every corner.
Elain had died.
Or at least, she felt like she had. She wondered if her powers had eaten her alive, crushing her into dust and nothing else.
It had to be death, true, genuine death. Not like whatever had happened in the Cauldron.
There was no her anymore—nothing but an anguished emptiness where she’d once existed. Pain radiated at the absence of the most important part of her.
Void and agony.
The bond was gone, and Elain felt like she was nothing but ashes in the wind.
There, on the rocky ground of a castle long forgotten by the world, Elain rested on bruised and bleeding knees, her nails broken on the stone, and cried like her chest was being ripped wide open. She’d been screaming, her voice nothing but a ragged, torn cry now as the darkness swallowed her whole and night fell.
The emptiness in her chest was unending, the pain unbearable, as though a limb had been rended entirely from her body. It was raw. She was in agony. She was in shock.
Lucien was dead.
Lucien was dead.
Lucien was dead.
Night fell, then the sun rose again, all feeling gone from Elain’s skin, body, soul. Her eyes blinked against the dim, gray light filtering through the windows, her chest a depthless chasm of nothing as she dragged herself from the floor.
“If anything happens, go to Jurian and Vassa,” he’d said.
“I love you, Elain. Always.” She turned and vomited on the damaged stone.
Barely feeling anything, she winnowed, closing her eyes and letting the darkness take her, never leaving her knees. Her hands caught in the dirt, her clothing snagging on branches and shins bruising on roots. She threw up twice more as she winnowed blindly time and time again, the seasons and light changing around her, but she couldn’t care.
Finally, her body stopped her. The ground under her was cold, the pine needles bunching between her fingers. She knew where she was when she heard the door open, heard the gasp and the footsteps as she kept her eyes clamped shut.
She smelled the sharp steel and pine of Jurian and the sweet embers of Vassa, head spinning and stomach clenching violently.
Lucien was dead.
Lucien was dead.
“What?” Jurian’s horrified gasp ran through Elain’s ears and she realized she’d said the words aloud. Vassa’s delicate fingers brushed across her cheekbones, through the hot tears that had begun again—or never stopped.
He would never be here again. These walls would never hold his spirit, his laugh, his joy. He’d never walk these halls, never see her garden, never teach her in the courtyard. Lucien would never be here again.
He’d never be anywhere.
The ground rose up to meet her as Elain let the darkness take her under, only the feeling of her friends’ hands upon her skin and the aching chasm in her chest left to keep her company.
+++
When Elain woke, she was blinking into the darkness, her eyes somehow dry and scratchy yet already filled with tears again. There was no reprieve, no moment where she might forget that he was truly dead—that the bond was truly gone.
In the hallway, she could hear voices, a light limning the doorway.
“It’s been a day already.”
“...needs to eat.”
“…word to her sisters…”
“...said she’ll come…”
She didn’t want them to call her sisters. Wanted instead to plead with them to leave her be, to let her vanish into the nothingness that she felt swallowing her whole. Even her time after falling into the Cauldron hadn’t felt so fathomless, so inescapable. Elain had never actively wished for death, but perhaps now…
“She can’t stay like this.”
“...don’t understand what a broken bond can do to a fae.”
A broken bond. That’s what it was. The words twisted inside her like a knife, grinding her bones to dust and her hopes to ash.
She squeezed her eyes shut again and fought the scream clawing its way up her throat, biting down so hard on her lip she felt blood.
A bond she’d taken years to acknowledge, to accept. All that wasted time…
She turned over just in time to grab the wastebin beside her bed and vomit into it. Very little came up, nothing left in her stomach to heave. Nothing left of her.
When the voices died down, Elain crept to the door, head swimming and eyes dim and fuzzy. She paused, turning back only to grab what she wanted from beneath the bed before padding quietly to the room across the hall. She felt like her body might viscerally snap in two at the smell of him, the scent still crisp in his room, his sheets still rumpled from the morning they’d left.
It seemed like so long ago. It seemed like just yesterday.
She barely managed to drag her feet to the bed, tugging the worn, green fabric around her shoulders, wrapping herself—shrouding herself—as she lay down in the bed that still smelled of his skin, of his light.
In front of her, her arm caught her eye.
The vines.
They were still there, the tattoo still twisted across her skin. But where the leaves had once spun in a verdant pattern now lay only gray. Though besides color, the tattoo itself seemed unchanged, the leaves looked lifeless—looked like she felt. She brushed her fingers over them.
I like having something of you on me permanently.
“You have all of me forever, Elain.”
The tears began to fall in earnest again. Great, heaving sobs rang from her chest until the noises were more animal than human. She would never have that time with him again, never feel him wake against her back, his lips brushing light and hot over her skin.
She was here in his bed, in his jacket, alone.
The vision had finally come to pass.
He had left, and it was so much worse than anything she'd ever imagined.
+++
Through the haze, the first thing she noticed was the crisp smell of pears.
Feyre was here.
She registered the dip of the bed at her back, the light weight of her sister’s hand on her shoulder.
Elain must have fallen asleep, the bright light of the sun cracking through the curtains and drawn blinds. The door to the hall was open, and though she couldn’t see them, she could sense Jurian and Vassa just outside. She could smell the salt of their tears.
“He’s gone,” Elain whispered after a time. The words cracked out of her like firewood in a hearth, brittle and sharp.
“Lucien or Koschei?” Feyre whispered back, the warble of tears unable to be masked in her voice. She knew the answer, at least partly. Elain heard the sharp intake of breath in the hall, the shuffle of Vassa into Jurian’s arms. She didn’t want to resent her friends. She didn’t want to begrudge them this.
“Both,” she croaked. Then let sleep take her under once again.
+++
Vassa and Feyre’s voices drifted in and out as Elain slept. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d eaten, the last time she drank.
Fae could die, she thought wryly. How long might it take to starve?
Was there an afterlife? Would Lucien be there waiting?
“It's been days,” Vassa said.
“Perhaps I should winnow her back to Velaris.”
Elain didn’t want to go back to Velaris. Couldn’t stand the thought. She gripped Lucien’s satin sheets in her hands like they were the only thing left to tether her. She wasn’t going back there.
Distantly, it occurred to her that Vassa was speaking while the sunlight poured in.
The curse was broken.
Elain closed her eyes and prayed she wouldn't wake back up.
+++
Time was passing.
When Elain woke again, the view was different. Bright yellow, gossamer curtains did nothing to block the dappled sun streaming in through the trees outside.
Sometime in her endless sleep, she’d winnowed to their cabin in Spring.
The bed beneath her still smelled of Lucien, smelled of her, smelled of them both. Though everything had been washed, the scent of their mating, their bond, was everywhere in this cabin. She wondered if she’d ever run out of tears to cry, the hot streaks running down her face and into the pillows they’d shared.
For the first time in days, weeks maybe, she tried to stand, her muscles spasming beneath her as her legs nearly collapsed. If she’d still been human, she’d be dead now, her body consuming itself in her negligence. Instead, she sat back onto the cushioned mattress, her eyesight spinning and her stomach empty and begging. She sat there until she got dizzy, trying to focus on moving her toes until her body gave out under its own weight and she tucked herself back into the bed, nose in the sheets and tears drying on her cheeks.
+++
There was a scraping at the door.
A huffing.
At first, Elain thought she’d imagined it, wondered if it might have been in a dream. But it kept on, every so often, a soft but insistent scratching that she thought might be driving her slowly insane.
She stood, finally, legs shaking like a fawn’s, and made her way out into the cabin. Dust motes floated, catching in the rays of sun that shone through the windows. It looks so…domestic, so much like home, that it nearly tore new holes into her heart to see it. Everything was as it had been, clean dishes drying beside the sink, a book laid out and earmarked on the table, her shoes and his sitting neatly beside the front door. The sob took her aback, the shock of it hitting her chest so abruptly and painfully that she sucked in a deep, agonized breath.
In response, the scratching at the door grew louder.
She stumbled to it and flung the door open. The sunlight burned, her arm shielding her eyes and her body slumping into the doorframe. When her vision adjusted, she could see him, the great, matted beast. He had stepped a good bit back from the door, pacing the yard now, huffing in concern and discontent. His eyes caught hers, big and curious and not full of any malice, but instead, worry.
She staggered outside, body barely holding her as the tears started again. What had brought him here now? Where had he been when they’d needed his powers?
“He’s gone.” The words were inhuman breaking from her chest, coarse and nothing like her voice at all. How long had it been since she’d spoken? How long had it been since she’d done anything but scream and cry and rage against this horrible fate?
Tamlin’s eyes widened, the bright green of them painted in shock as though he truly hadn’t known. Maybe he hadn’t. Maybe he’d heard her cries and come here to check, leaving his exiled existence to make sure that something horrific hadn’t befallen them.
He’d find no reassurance here.
“He’s gone,” Elain gasped again, her voice painted suddenly in something more akin to rage as she staggered two more steps into the yard. Into their yard. The impossibility that he’d never step foot here again nearly broke her in two, the scream fighting past her clenched teeth and breaking into the air.
“He died,” she screamed, and the pain she felt reflected in the High Lord’s animalistic eyes, the hurt so clear that she reeled. The word burned her lips, made the acid barrel up from her stomach while the tears burned her eyes.
Her legs nearly gave out, nothing to hold her up anymore as her body finally started to do what she’d been begging it to, giving out beneath her. Giving up.
“He’s gone,” she whispered this time, the clearing silent except for her ragged breaths.
She felt rather than heard Tamlin step closer, the power of him a startling buzz around her. She closed her eyes, hands bunched in the dirt. She could barely see through the blackness taking over her vision. The tears, her constant companions, falling again in earnest.
She said the words that roiled in her stomach, echoed in her empty chest. Spoke them to no one. Spoke them to Tamlin. Gave them a place in the world where they had never been supposed to belong.
“He left me.”
She was dizzy, the finality of it falling like stones around her as she collapsed to the ground, finally accepting that her broken heart and her broken body had endured enough.
Maybe it would be peaceful. Maybe it would be like falling asleep.
She felt a brush of fur in the darkness, the stirring of a cold nose beneath her arm. The darkness took her under violently, but she welcomed the abyss.
+++
Elain woke a few times, light passing and body aching, her face pressed into something that felt like warm furs. Distantly, she remembered Tamlin had been there, but other than the shifting of light and the occasional stirring of warm broth at her lips, she wasn’t aware of anything else.
She assumed her sisters had come, had found her. Had Tamlin led them there somehow?
In the meantime, Elain dreamed.
Some good, some nightmares. Some where she replayed Lucien’s last moments over and over again, the water in her eyes and nose, the agony in his as he said goodbye. Sometimes, Elain dreamed of being human, of being trapped in a mortal body again. Two years ago, she’d have considered it a dream and not a nightmare. But now, each time, she found herself half-lucid in a cold sweat each time.
She’d long been on the road to accepting what had happened to her—what she was now. But not until Lucien had she really considered what she might be capable of, all the things she might one day do. He’d opened her mind to so many things, made her feel like a wonder instead of a dangerous mystery.
She’d wanted to spend the rest of their lives exploring all she could do with him.
When Elain woke again, she felt stronger. She was in front of the fire in the cabin in Spring, a pile of blankets both above and beneath her, though she was still in the pale blue dress either Feyre or Vassa had changed her into back at the manor. The fire was going, and Elain’s curls were plastered to her cheeks and neck with sweat as she sat up.
For the first time, her vision didn’t swim when she rose, her body feeling shaky still, but more capable. Beside her, a pitcher of water sat.
She hadn’t realized how thirsty she was until she was blindly reaching for it, ignoring the glass beside it and lifting the pitcher itself to her lips. The first graze of cool water against her tongue triggered some instinct in her mind, some urge to live that she’d been ignoring for….whoever knew how long. She drank the entire pitcher in one go, her stomach protesting violently but her body immediately feeling better. How long had it been? How long had she been lost to the world of sleep? Of grief?
When she was certain the water wouldn’t come back up, she tried to stand. The once-pretty blue dress was rumpled and stuck to her skin, wrinkled and covered in sweat. Another version of Elain might have been appalled.
The cabin was still the same, everything just as she’d left it. But she could smell him here, scent twisting with hers and the faintest bit of Lucien’s. It was cut grass, honeysuckle, and petrichor. She could smell hints of a wet coat, the dirt from the woods, brushes of broken pine branches. He’d been here, though it was clean inside. And he was gone now.
Elain walked cautiously to the shut door, remembering how she’d raged and collapsed the last time. She brushed her tangled curls back as she opened the door, startling when she did.
Tamlin was gone, but he’d left her something.
There, on the doorstep, a dead chicken. Freshly killed, if the blood was any indication. Beside it, a spot sat where there had once clearly been another. How long had he been leaving her food?
It had been ages, but Elain’s muscle memory took over. When they’d been poor, but before they’d been entirely destitute, she’d prepared them chickens to eat when Feyre or Nesta had been able to barter in the market. She stepped outside into the bright midday sun, feeling strange as the warmth passed over her sallow skin.
She let her body work without her mind, plucking the feathers thoroughly and then going inside to retrieve their sharpest knife and cutting board. She lost herself to the process, the meticulous routine of prepping and cleaning and seasoning and cooking. Before she knew it, the sun had arced across the sky and the cabin was filling with the smell of roasting chicken. Elain was exhausted, covered in feathers and blood, but for the first time since Lucien died, she’d felt the urge to do something other than wait for death to take her, too.
She slipped into the bath while the chicken cooked, peeling the dress from her body and leaving it in a stiff pile on the floor. She kept her eyes clenched shut while she washed, unable to face the memories in this tub, the ghost of his lips on her shoulder and neck. Instead, she chose to quickly wash and get out, drying herself.
By the time she slipped into a sleeping gown and robe, the chicken was done roasting and she was exhausted. She barely had the energy to carve and plate any, let alone feed herself much. But even the few bites she managed left her feeling better, her stomach adjusting as she slowly ate the chicken. By the time she finished, there were tears on her face again, the knot in her throat almost painful.
She couldn’t even point exactly to why. Obviously, the grief she felt was insurmountable, but these felt like tears falling for a different reason. This would be the rest of her life if she let it be—quiet, alone, never more than just okay. She knew she would never feel real joy again, would never know what it was like to love and be loved.
She thought of her sisters, her nephew, of Jurian and Vassa. She thought of all the people that she cared for, and those that they cared for. And the thought of seeing any of them again with the person they loved while she walked the world alone hurt her so deeply she gasped with real, physical pain.
She could, in theory, stay here at the cabin forever. No one knew where it was except for Tamlin. Despite her half-lucid wonderings on if he’d gotten her sisters and brought them here, Elain felt confident that Tamlin wouldn’t actually give her away.
It was a concern for another day.
For tonight, she plated the rest of the chicken she’d cooked, cut carefully, and set it outside the front door of the cabin. Then, she collapsed into the bed, falling into the first dreamless sleep she’d had in ages.
Things went on this way for the next week. Each day, Elain would wake, find a fresh kill on her porch, and spend the morning prepping and cleaning it. She’d cook it with whatever was available—which wasn’t much, but she wasn’t ready to venture into the town yet. She’d eat what she could, then leave the rest out for Tamlin. Every morning, the plate was empty, but she hadn’t seen him again.
She tried to occupy her time during the day, but it was hard to feel anything, to find interest anywhere. The most she could do for the first week was wander about the cabin like a faded ghost, living amongst Lucien’s things, reading his books. She couldn’t bear to tidy anything up, to change the way anything had been when they were here together.
The highs were few and far between, oscillating between the bare minimum and just keeping herself alive. But the lows were violent and frequent. When she’d finally worked up the motivation to try making herself tea, she’d found the contraceptive tea still in the cabinet. She’d thrown it through the window, cracking it wide open, then cried on the ground for the rest of the afternoon. If Tamlin had missed his dinner that night, he hadn’t let her know. But still, she’d woken the next day to a repaired window and a fresh kill on the porch.
She’d wondered more than once why he bothered—why he would go to so much trouble. Was it simply because he was Lucien’s friend? Was he grieving too?
She supposed, from what she’d heard and Seen, Tamlin had experienced plenty of grief and loss himself. Even if some of it had been self-imposed. Still, they’d reached a point of wordless understanding. Elain wasn’t too dense to understand that he’d saved her life.
Another week passed, then faded into a third. She finally went into town—a rough, quick trip where she could barely stand to look anyone in the eye, let alone haggle. Her accounts were still in place from when she’d been there before with him.
She was sure Feyre could track her spending, could find her if she wanted. She hoped she understood. Hoped those brief moments of losing Rhys in the war were enough that she’d know Elain wanted to be alone, that she couldn’t come back.
No one came to the cabin, and the routine persisted. The plates were licked clean with her addition of vegetables and herbs, different seasonings and fruits that she’d begun adding. Eventually, she tried making bread again, her hands sore and clumsy and unacclimated to the hard work of kneading.
Days passed this way, then weeks. The seasons changed, the hot sun of summer warming the cabin and leaving Elain in need of new clothes. She’d ordered more, tailored some of her own, emerging in the privacy of the forest in shorts and cropped vests, keeping herself cool as the summer head and humidity held her like a blanket.
She’d given up on hope that the ceaseless void in her chest would ever shrink to something manageable. Instead, she’d learned to live around it, to feel it like a living, breathing thing inside her. She acknowledged its presence, felt it quake and swirl with sadness at night when she still cried in the dark. But she’d made a tentative understanding with it. She’d live with that grief forever where he’d once been.
Grief was the price she paid for loving him, for receiving that beautiful, perfect, patient love in return. It was a gift in the midst of all the agonizing pain, to know that she’d been seen and loved so deeply. It didn’t hurt any less.
She began to tend the remnants of the flowers that had once been there, the beds a weeded mess. She took the time to prune them by hand, tenderly loving each plant for the first time in months. She woke one day to more supplies—wooden planks for beds, hammers and nails and shovels and buckets. She spent days under the sun, backbreaking labor leaving her body stronger than it had been, the sun leaving freckles marked on her skin.
She bought seeds in town, bought trowels and watering cans and fencing to keep the wildlife away. Finally, once she’d pruned and planted and set everything the way she liked, she found herself sitting among the beds. Many of the older plants were there, simply gnarled and weathered. They’d not gotten the care they needed, and they’d adapted to stay alive.
She understood.
For the first time in months, she reached into the well of her power, cracking open the door on the magic she’d been holding painfully down since the day she’d felt the bond slip from her chest. It nearly overwhelmed her, rushing through her body like a dog excited to see its owner after a time away. It was enough to make her sob, great heaving pants as the tears covered her cheeks. For the first time in ages, they weren’t tears of grief.
She greeted her magic like an old friend, apologizing for shutting it away as though it was a living thing like her. She supposed, in ways, it was.
She let it play, frolicking through her veins, noting that horrible emptiness still in her chest that she’d learned to live around, to live with, and then moving softly around it, almost as though it was acknowledging and caressing it too. Then, it danced down her arms, flitting to her fingers and sparking lightly across the tips. Elain reached down to touch the withered plants, the ones who had managed to survive under the worst conditions, the most neglected, and she made them something healthy and beautiful again. Flowers and leaves spruing up, bright and vibrant beneath her hands. She almost thought she could hear the sigh of relief.
Thank you for remembering us, thank you for coming back.
Occasionally, Elain could feel Tamlin’s eyes on her from the woods. He never showed himself, but she knew he was there, and they still shared a meal apart each night. One day, just as the seeds began to sprout from the ground, she called out to him.
“You can come out, you know. I know you’re there.”
At first, there was no response, no rustling of bushes. After a few moments though, she heard him. She didn’t turn, didn’t stop what she was doing in the garden beds. But he approached, great padded paws thumping heavily on the ground beside her.
When she turned, he was curled in a spot of sun nearby, not too close. He looked better, fur sleek and shining, not dull and matted. His eyes were closed, but they somehow appeared less tired than she remembered. For the first time, the High Lord didn’t seem as haunted as he’d been.
“You look better,” she mused, pulling at the weeds and adjusting the soil. The berries would be coming in soon, and she could maybe find a way to make a pie.
“I could say the same for you,” the voice rumbled back, strange and otherworldly, as though it had not come from his mouth. Elain paused. How long had it been? She did feel better, though the loneliness and sadness was just as fresh as if it had happened yesterday.
She was better in some ways, and she was just the same in others. Having a purpose again had helped her move forward, but she would never move on. Having accepted that, in a way, made it easier. She would never escape the grief that Lucien had left behind, nor would she ever want to. It was a reminder of all she’d lost, but also of all she’d had. It would hurt forever, but she would remember everything about him for just as long. The way he’d loved her, the way she’d started to become the very best version of herself while he poured support and love into her.
The very least she could do for herself in his memory was keep treating herself with kindness. He would have hated thinking she’d be miserable forever, and forever was a very long time.
“Thank you,” she said after a while. “You didn’t have to do all of this. But I appreciate it, and I haven’t told you.”
The air was quiet between them, and she turned to look at him. His eyes were still closed, a sense of peace over him just as she felt one over herself. Strangely, it felt almost as though Lucien was there, too. Like he was only right around the corner, ready to stroll in confidently and kiss her on her cheek.
“No one deserves to be alone in their grief.”
She’d forgotten she was waiting for a response for him, startled when she got it. The words rang around him. He knew how it felt to be alone in grief, and he hadn’t wanted the same for his friend’s mate. For his friend.
From then on, Tamlin didn’t hide in the woods. He was still more creature than man, never changing back, never entering the house. But he would sit with Elain while she gardened, or pace the woods after he hunted. They didn’t talk much, but Elain didn’t mind. She liked the silent company. He watched as she healed the plants, then made more. More time passed, the heat of summer becoming nearly insufferable, but still the days found them in the now sprawling garden.
One day, Elain asked if he had any parchment so that she could send word to her sisters and Vassa. He’d brought it back the next day, and she’d labored over the two short notes for hours, settling eventually on identical ones, short and sweet.
I am in Spring. I’m still not ready to see anyone, but I am safe.
Elain
It wasn’t flowery, but it was the truth. She hoped it would ease their minds.
The replies came nearly instantaneously. Feyre’s more insistent:
Come back to the Night Court, Elain. Let us care for you.
Elain’s response was swift, as well, leaving no room for argument.
I need to be alone. I love you all.
Vassa’s response nearly drew the tears forth from Elain’s eyes again.
You will always have a home here, whenever you’re ready. We miss you, and we miss him, too.
Love always,
Jurian and Vassa
She did miss them, but she needed more time.
Summer passed, the days long and the nights short. Some nights, Elain still woke crying, clutching the ring to her chest as she came into lucid thought. She raged and she cried, she healed and she mourned, each day marking another without her best friend. But each day she became stronger, too. Each day she tried to become someone who loved themselves, who would have made Lucien proud.
She’d had a complete backslide one week when she realized that she was losing some things. The way his voice sounded in the mornings, the exact russet shade of his eye. What it had felt like for those brief but perfect weeks where he’d been such an integral part of her. She’d bought a journal and begun writing, staying awake for three days while she meticulously wrote down every single thing she could remember about Lucien. When she shut the book, placing it lovingly on the shelves where the other literature he’d treasured lived, she felt a little lighter.
Eventually, she asked Tamlin to help her with her magic. He agreed, so long as she made him a promise too.
In the mornings, he taught her how to harness the power, how to dive into that well. He’d finally changed back into human form, looking far less intimidating than she’d remembered from the war now that she knew him. He wasn’t as good a teacher as Lucien, wasn’t as patient, and more often than not, the two of them had tempers running hot between them.
They never apologized, simply coming back again without acknowledging the blow up. Still, they slogged through basic uses of magic, then more complicated ones. She wished more than anything that it could be Lucien here, but while Tamlin trained her, he talked. It wasn’t much at first, but when she would ask things about Lucien, Tamlin seemed more eager to share. He told her his favorite memories of him, the good and the messy and the hilarious, the sad and the angry. Soon, it became their ritual, and Elain learned the things she hadn’t had the chance to about her mate before. It was painful, but it felt like a gift, too.
In the evenings, they would eat dinner then go to the Spring manor, and Elain would hold up her end of the deal. She’d agreed to restore Tamlin’s mother’s gardens to their former glory. Little by little, she was healing the roses and the shrubbery, coaxing the maze and adjoining gardens back into something beautiful.
Sometime, in the time since she and Lucien had been here together, Tamlin had begun to repair the manor. Sometimes, when she’d come, there were people there working on it, restoring it to how it was before. Tamlin looked content as he beheld the house while she worked. She was happy to see her friend healing, too. And though the use of her magic each day left her absolutely exhausted, she was falling into bed at night feeling like, despite everything, there was still a place for her in this world. One she could carve simply for herself.
Fall was slow to come to Spring, the air barely changing to something more brisk in the evenings. Still, it was a nice reprieve. She was nearly done with the gardens at the manor, and the manor itself was functional again. Tamlin had told her he was reinstating staff, that he was making plans again. He’d reached out to the other courts formally, despite his chagrin and embarrassment. He’d been shocked when Elain had told him she was proud of him.
The sun was on its way down in the late afternoon as Elain finished the last of the rose bushes. She’d received a letter from Helion earlier in the day, inviting her to come back to Day any time. She would politely refuse for now on this, too, though she knew she should make an effort. The thought of seeing Lucien’s features on Helion’s face broke her heart all over again, and she needed to find a way to put that into words that wouldn’t hurt him, too. She wanted to see them all, wanted to see everyone, but she wasn’t sure when she’d ever be ready again.
She dusted her hands off, rising from the ground. She was at the center of the maze, the fountain in the middle still valiantly pulsing water, though the bowl was cracked and leaking onto the ground. Without thinking, Elain placed a hand on it, willing the crack to close and the stone to heal. Beneath her fingers, the stone sealed shut, the water pooling fully once again as the fountain burbled on.
The vision hit her like a gust of wind, slamming her body back as the images flashed in front of her eyes. It had been so long, she felt like she was gulping lungfuls of cold air down, breathing again for the first time.
A bloodied hand on the cracked, stone floors, cracked and shaking, a flare of light.
A flash of copper, a field of wildflowers.
“Powers meant to heal unfold.”
Hands of life
But borne of force
Heal the rift
And stay the course
To heal. It was her the prophecy ended with, not with him.
She gasped as she came to, a garbled scream on her lips as Tamlin tore around the corner.
“Elain?” His eyes were frenzied, worried as he took her in, looking for injury. She couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, her mind teetering on the edge of the knowledge she’d been near for months.
“I think—” she couldn’t say the words, couldn’t even speak them for fear of the crushing disappointment if she was wrong.
“What did you see?” It was as if he knew, as if he could sense it on her, that hope growing in him, too.
“I think I know how to bring him back.”
His eyes widened then retracted, as though he was trying to bite back that same hope. “What can I do?” he asked, instead.
“The lake. I need to go to the lake.” She’d barely finished before he grabbed her arm and they were winnowing, the warm breeze so different from the sweeping dark she was accustomed to. They landed on the rocky shore, right at the castle's deserted gates.
“I could have done that,” she whispered, already looking up at the castle ahead.
“You need to save your power until you get inside,” Tamlin responded.
“Is this…” She paused, looking at Tamlin looking at her. He seemed so certain, so hopeful, like he knew what she was thinking of trying.
“I watched you heal the flowers. I’ve been thinking about it for weeks.”
He’d thought of it before her, had imagined there might be a chance. Elain wasn’t mad he hadn’t told her—she understood. She had needed to understand on her own, to come to this by herself. And Tamlin had been waiting, ready to help.
She stopped suddenly, throwing her arms around his neck. Tamlin stood, stiff as a board, his rigid body stiffening even further momentarily before his arms slowly wrapped around her back.
“Thank you,” Elain whispered, that smell of warm rain on hot earth pouring over them. “I don’t even know how I can thank you, Tamlin.”
“Don’t.” She couldn’t see his face, but his words were gruff. “There’s no thanks necessary. You’re my friend, Elain. It was the least I could do.”
He was wrong, she wanted to tell him. It was so much more than the least he could have done. He could have left her to die, could have taken the revenge he’d wanted years ago and inflicted it on her. But he’d stayed, his love of Lucien and his disappointment in himself at letting him down forming into something new, a friendship that Elain would treasure for as long as she lived.
She stepped back, letting her arms fall, the nerves suddenly taking over all else.
“Would you like me to go in with you?” he asked.
She beheld the castle, somehow even more dilapidated than it had been months before, the stones crumbling as though whatever had held it together had finally given up.
“No. I don’t know what I’m doing or how long it will take, so I should probably go alone.” She left no room for argument. Tamlin gave a single nod, squeezed her shoulder, and stepped back.
“If anyone can do it, Elain, it’s you.”
The tears stung her eyes, the pressure of what she was about to attempt weighing heavy on her as she lifted her hand to wave.
“I’ll see you soon,” she whispered, and Tamlin was gone.
The halls of the castle were just as she remembered, damp and dark and cold. There was no life left here, no magic keeping sconces lit or the castle running. But Elain could feel that strange humming still as though her magic rose in answer to something other.
She retraced the steps that she’d seen so often in her nightmares, the last ones they’d taken together before the end. She fixed her chin up high, pulling her shoulders back. She would be brave. She had walked in here last time with everything on the line. This time, there was much less to lose and everything to gain.
She felt sick as she entered the throne room, the rubble still everywhere, cracks in the floor, untouched, as she’d left it. The air shimmered around her, the strange, ancient magic of this place something that she didn’t even attempt to understand. She walked to the middle of the room, heels of her boots echoing on the ground. When she reached the middle, to the place where she’d last seen him, she fell to her knees.
She brushed her fingers over the ground softly, rocks and rubble catching on her fingers.
“The first time I saw you, I thought you were the most beautiful male I’d ever seen. Though, I’m pretty sure I would have called you a man back then.” She smiled wryly.
“For so long, I was so lost. Everything had been taken from me, but worse than anything was the freedom of choice. My humanity had been stripped, my dignity erased, my engagement publicly ended, and my future in Night with my sisters decided for me. I’d barely come up for air before the war, and then everyone seemed to settle in. Somehow, in it all, even though everyone thought I’d recovered, I was more lost than ever. No one ever saw me.”
She pressed her fingertips harder to the stone below, the buzzing of the magic swirling beneath her as though in song.
“Except for you. You always saw me. Every time you walked into that house, you saw me.” She was crying again, the power in her surging as if in response.
“You always saw me,” she whispered again. “And I waited so long, wasted so much time, being afraid. Afraid of being hurt, afraid of having something else taken from me. But you never wanted to take, only to give. And you’re so determined.” She laughed wetly through her sobs.
“So determined and patient and kind. You never wanted to take from me, but you did. You took my heart, my soul—took everything I was when you left. And I’d given it all willingly. And I’d do it all again for that time.” She brushed her wrist over her cheeks, rubbing away the tears and sniffing.
“But if you can, just one more time, I need you to try and give it back. I need you back, Lucien.” Her voice warbled but she pressed on. “It was never a choice I needed to make at all. You taught me that the choice was always mine, that I always had the strength to do it alone. And I can do it all alone. But I don’t want to.”
She pressed her palm flat against the ground, the shards of rock digging into her skin. She closed her eyes, brows furrowing as she dove deep and sharp into that well of power.
“Please, please come back to me.”
Elain felt the magic roar through her, from that well inside, deep and fathomless. She felt it coursing through her, violent in its ferocity. She pushed through, feeling it pulse from her hand and into the ground. Now, with this power she didn’t fully understand roaring around her, she could better feel the magic of the castle. It was different from before, and not entirely unfamiliar.
Elain gasped when she felt it, that too-familiar light, that warmth and heat and spice and sunshine as it radiated up through the floors.
Lucien.
A sob broke through her chest as she funneled the magic to meet his. She threw her other palm to the stone, too, pushing harder, harder, until every bit of her was roaring into the rifts below them, a blinding light coursing from the floor and engulfing her completely as she willed the magic to heal, to bring him back to her.
He’s alive. He’s alive. He’s alive.
With a final push, the light so blinding that she couldn't have opened her eyes even if she wanted to, she thrust the rest of her magic forward until the darkness swallowed it whole, a vacuum pulling everything forward and out until suddenly, Elain was left, gasping for breath, on the ground once more.
As she collected herself, eyes squinting in the dark after the burst of light, she was crushed to realize that she couldn’t feel his magic anymore.
“No.” The whispered word itself gutted her, ruining any hope that she’d had and reducing it to nothing.
But then, she felt it.
In her chest, that place that had felt so empty and dead and wrong, filled with a crackling sensation. It was slow at first, just a tingle, and then it exploded into life. Like the cracking of a whip, the bond snapped back into place, the golden tether so bright and strong it took the breath entirely from her.
Suddenly, she could breathe again.
Elain was on her feet, body spinning trying to find him. Her forearm burned, the skin prickling as her bargain tattoo flared back to that verdant green and the sobs turned into those of joy as she began to run.
Flashes came to her as she tore through the dark halls, the familiar, warm, female voice that had haunted so many of her visions filtering gently through.
He waits for you. Your mate.
Rows upon rows of wild flowers flared through her mind in the setting sun, the oranges and purples of the sky shimmering with new stars. She hit the open air and winnowed, barely registering the change as it deposited her, feet still moving, onto the ground in Spring.
She was sprinting, the air still warm around her, fireflies illuminating the high stalks and stems of rainbow flowers as she raced through them.
She could feel him—could really feel him—for the first time in months. The cry burst from her as the realization sunk in. And then, there he was, standing on the other side of the field, gripping his chest, copper hair glinting in the setting sun.
Elain felt it the moment he saw her, chest erupting in an overwhelming flurry of emotions as he began running too. The plants caught at her dress, but nothing was stopping her as the gap closed, closed, closed.
The last few steps, she was flying, pitching herself into his open arms as the breath rushed entirely from her lungs. She was sobbing into his hair, too busy taking in greedy lungfuls, her arms so tight around him that he couldn’t disappear again if he’d wanted to.
The bond sang within her, love and light and joy exploding like sparks as they left no room between them. She had so many things to say, so many questions, but all she could manage was to breathe him in, hold him close.
He had come back to her.
Nothing but the sounds of breaths between them, her fingers twined in his hair, his gripped tightly in the folds of her dress. She felt whole again.
Lucien drew back slightly, the sight of those eyes—one russet, one glittering gold—started her tears anew as he beheld her with awe.
“You found me.” The words were quiet, hoarse with the same tears Elain shed. They were filled with happiness and wonder and everything Elain felt mirrored back.
It felt as natural as breathing to press her lips to his, her body still cradled tightly in his arms. Kissing him again was like breathing life into herself, everything she’d learned to live without, everything she’d mourned, replaced and whole again.
“I will always find you,” she whispered.
A sob worked its way from Lucien, too—disbelieving and ragged—ripped from his chest as though he couldn’t believe it either. Elain leaned in to kiss him softly, needing to feel that he was real beneath her, that this wasn’t a dream.
He kissed her back until she was breathless,
“Now take me home, mate.” The stars glittered to life as the wildflowers swayed around them, and Lucien did exactly as his mate asked.
This is a continuation of this story. But it can be read as a standalone. Wrote this after having a few drinks so it might not be as good. But, here is a fluffy piece. Hope you enjoy this :)
________________________________________
It’s been almost a month since Solstice night. A month since Azriel decided to let Gwyn in. And to be completely honest, he has never felt better.
On the surface, nothing’s changed. Every day, they train with the other priestesses, then have breakfast with Cassian, Nesta, and Emerie. After that, Gwyn heads to the library while Azriel works in his room. He even started attending the evening service, thanks to Nesta dragging him to it. Then it’s back to work before dinner with his family. At midnight, he trains with Gwyn.
The routine is the same, but something has changed.
It’s in the quiet moments. Their hands brushing when they pass each other, their faces leaning a little too close when they talk. It’s in how Gwyn instinctively grabs his hands and massages them after every sparring session, and in how he tucks her hair behind her ears when she tells him about her day.
It’s the littlest things but they mean the most to him.
Today is Gwyn’s birthday, and Azriel has been planning for it for months. He knew exactly what he wanted to give her. But ever since Solstice, a part of him worries it might not be enough.
Last night, Gwyn stayed over at the House of Wind with Nesta and Emerie. Meanwhile, Azriel, already on edge about the gift, woke up in a foul mood. Cassian, once again, had refused to sleep alone.
Throughout the night, Azriel had to keep pushing Cassian off him. The idiot kept mistaking him for Nesta and pulling him in for a cuddle.
After the hundredth shove, Azriel gave up. Sleep wasn’t going to happen. He decided to start his day early. At precisely 3:54 a.m. Great.
Still, if there was a silver lining, it was time. Now he had more of it to prepare Gwyn’s gift. Maybe, just maybe, he could even bake her a cake.
Determined, he marched into the kitchen with a mission. To his surprise, the House had already laid out all the ingredients he’d need.
He grabbed the flour and started making the batter.
________________________________________
Several hours and three failed attempts later, Azriel had completely lost track of time.
The first cake? A disaster. He’d accidentally used salt instead of sugar. He only realized his mistake after the House hurled a pan at his head, knocking him straight into the bowl. One taste confirmed it. It is going straight to the trash.
The second? Too dry. There’s no saving it. Attempt after attempt failed. But this time, finally, it felt right. All that was left was the decoration.
With shaky hands, he picked up the piping bag. He knew exactly what he wanted to draw. He wasn’t Feyre, but he was sure Gwyn would love it only if he didn’t mess it up.
Slowly, carefully, he began decorating the cake. He was so focused, he didn’t hear the soft footsteps behind him.
“What are you doing, Az?” a voice whispered, just behind his ear.
“Mother, save me!” he yelped, clutching his chest in mock horror. His shadows rushed towards Gwyn in a playful greeting. Those little traitors, once again, forget to warn him about Gwyn.
Gwyn stood wrapped in a blanket, her hair a wild tangle. She wore Pegasus pajamas the House had conjured for her, paired with bunny slippers Azriel was fairly certain were cursed.
She looked ridiculous.
She looked absolutely breathtaking.
He had to pause just to take her in.
“What? Why are you looking at me like that?” she asked, a crease forming between her brows.
“You’ve got drool on your face,” he said, deadpan.
She yelped and scrubbed at her cheek. Azriel just smiled, soft and unbothered, which, of course, only made her glare at him.
“Well, not everyone can look as pretty as you do when they’re sleeping, Shadowsinger,” she snapped.
“You think I’m pretty?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.
She rolled her eyes. “You didn’t answer my question. What are you doing here?”
That’s when it hit him. He’d forgotten about the cake. If she saw it now, the surprise would be ruined.
But it was already too late—she was walking toward it.
He squeezed his eyes shut as she approached. A second later, he heard it—a gasp.
Fuck. He’d messed it up.
When he opened his eyes, Gwyn was standing over the cake, her hands covering her mouth, eyes wide. She wasn’t breathing.
Azriel panicked. “Gwyn?”
She didn’t respond. Didn’t even blink. Her face had turned pink, and her shoulders started to shake.
Then he realized, she was trying not to laugh.
This little devil, he thought to himself.
“Is that supposed to be me?” she managed between gasps.
Azriel glanced at the cake. He’d tried to draw Gwyn slicing a ribbon. But… yeah. It hadn’t exactly turned out like the image in his head.
“You might be a little disproportioned—”
“A little?” she wheezed. “Azriel, my head is bigger than my body!”
She wasn’t wrong. He’d spent so long perfecting her face that it took up half the cake. The body? Basically, a stick figure. With some very muscular arms that he’d just started before she interrupted him.
“Well, I—” he sighed. “I think you look good.”
She burst out laughing again, and Azriel couldn’t help but join her. They leaned into each other, laughing so hard they could barely breathe.
“I really do appreciate the effort,” she said between breaths. “But you should probably sign up for Feyre’s art classes.”
“I will. But only if you promise to be my muse.”
“I promise,” she whispered.
And then, with a wicked grin, she swiped frosting from the counter and smeared it on his nose.
Azriel’s eyes lit up. Right now, in this moment, he had never felt happier.
________________________________________
“So… is the cake my only gift, or is there more?” she asked, tracing the scars on his hands as they sat on the kitchen counter eating the cake he had just baked.
“Greedy little thing,” he whispered, kissing her forehead and pulling her along with him.
“I do have something else for you. I was planning to give it later, but since you asked so nicely…”
They reached his room. He opened the door and let her inside. It looked just as one would expect from Azriel, dark, clean, bed neatly arranged. Azriel guided her to sit on the bed, then disappeared into his closet.
A few moments later, he emerged, hiding something behind his back.
“Close your eyes, Gwyn.”
“Is that really necessary?” she pouted.
“I’m afraid so.”
She groaned but closed her eyes. Azriel stepped closer, cupped her face, brushed his thumb across her cheek, and kissed her nose. Then he gently laid the box on her lap. “Open your eyes, Gwyneth.”
She did and stared at him first, eyes wide. Then she looked down and opened the box. Inside was a necklace. A beautiful, delicate locket with twin constellations etched onto it.
“Azriel… this is beautiful,” she whispered, tracing the stars. “What do these represent?”
“These two constellations are what the stars looked like on the days we were born,” he said.
“It’s to remind us that our paths are always intertwined.”
She smiled, eyes shining. “I like that,” she said. Looking up at him, she whispered, “Put it on me?”
He nodded and took the necklace from her. She turned around, and he gently brushed her hair aside. His fingers grazed the back of her neck, and she shivered. He smiled to himself, clasped the necklace, then leaned in to kiss her nape before turning her to face him again.
“Happy birthday, Gwyn,” he whispered.
They stood there, lost in each other’s gaze. He leaned in pressing little kisses across her face. “I have one more gift for you.” He cupped her cheeks. “Do you want to see it?”
Gwyn nodded.
Azriel walked over to his desk and pulled something from the drawer. When he returned, he looked nervous. His shadows coiled anxiously around him.
“I had Feyre draw this for me,” he said, voice rough. “I’m not sure how accurate it is, but... If you don’t like it, you don’t have to keep it.”
“Azriel, I’m sure I’ll love it,” she said gently, cutting off his nerves. He handed her a painting.
She pulled the cover back and everything stopped.
It was a painting of two girls, arms slung around each other, smiling like the world hadn’t touched them. One had copper hair and teal eyes. The other had black hair, webbed fingers, and those same teal eyes.
Gwyn and Catrin.
Tears filled her eyes as she stared. Feyre had brought Catrin to life. What could have been, what should have been.
Without a word, Gwyn threw her arms around Azriel.
“Thank you, Azriel,” she whispered, her voice shaking. He only hugged her tighter.
After a moment, Azriel broke the silence.
“You know, I could’ve drawn you both,” he said, grinning into her hair. “But let’s be honest, Feyre did a better job than I ever could’ve.”
Gwyn laughed. The sound never failing to make him happy.
“Don’t worry, Shadowsinger. I’ll talk to Feyre. You’re going in her next class.”
Before he could reply, they heard Nesta calling for Gwyn. Azriel pressed one last kiss to her head. “It’s just the beginning of your day, Berdara. Go have fun with Nesta and Emerie. I’ll see you tonight.”
“See you tonight, Shadowsinger,” she said with a smile and disappeared down the hall.
________________________________________
Two days later, Azriel found himself sitting cross-legged among a group of children in Feyre’s art class.
Azriel already knows Truthteller and Gwydion have a pull towards each other, so he assumes that's why he feels so drawn to Gwyn and wants to be around her more.
But it's actually their mating bond he's feeling!
Azriel: Wow, I want to be around Gwyn all the time now! Silly Truthteller.
