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LonelyBarricade
@the-lonelybarricade
They call me LB! (She/her) I write fic and simp over Separatist-Apologist 😌 Feysand/Elucien shipping trash and Archeron Sisters Stan ABITD banner commissioned by the amazing @cauldronblessed and @moonpatroclus AO3 | linktree | Buy me a coffee
I came home from work, took a nap, got up and wrote this...So you aren't allowed to be mean to me about it.
Happy Elucien week yall!
Elain made it to her rooms before the tears that had been stinging the corners of her eyes spilled over and made a mad dash down her cheeks. Her hand played idly at her chest, where until just a few moments ago, the beautiful rose pendant had rested, burning against her skin as if someone had thrown the damn thing in the fire before presenting it to her. As if it knew that wearing it was some kind of betrayal.
Mistake. The word rang incessantly in her head; mistake, mistake, mistake. Each new iteration of the word ringing out like a cursed bell, a fresh wave of tears cresting over her bottom lids with every new toll. A sob bubbled up from her chest and she shoves her fist in her mouth to stifle it before it can escape, afraid that it might awaken anyone in the house and alert them to her distress…that it might alert him to her distress. At the thought she bites down on her fist so hard she’s surprised she doesn’t taste blood.
Stupid. She had been so stupid. Of course Azriel would be too noble to rise to the occasion and defile sweet innocent Elain. Nevermind that she had practically thrown herself at him tonight. She knew he wanted her, or at least the version of her she had carefully curated to entice him, but of course that image had backfired on her in the end. Azriel saw her as some dainty, delicate little thing to protect, to save, to prove himself worthy. Not someone to love. Not really.
No one ever saw her as someone to love. Not even Greyson.
She runs to her bed and flings herself on top of it, burying her face in the pillows so she can cry freely without fear of discovery or threat of pain. She knows it’s a little dramatic, but she feels like she’s earned the right to be dramatic tonight.
It wasn’t fair! Was she really so impossible to love? She tried so hard to be exactly what they wanted her to be! She was soft and quiet and made herself small and agreeable. She had practically made herself into a mirror, reflecting back to all who looked at her exactly what they wanted to see from her…and it wasn’t enough. It was never enough. She was never enough, no matter how much she tried.
She was so wrapped up in her misery that at first she didn’t notice it, the soft steady thumping had more or less become a background noise to her anyway, easily ignored since dinner when her ears had adjusted to the rhythmic almost drumlike sound. But eventually she was made aware that the thumping was…louder…more incessant. Her sobs pause and she lifts and cocks her head, concentrating. Yes there can be no doubt, he was standing right outside her door.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
She holds her breath, waiting, though she knows he won’t intrude on her privacy. A part of her wishes he would, an ugly animalistic part of her, and an easily ignored part. “Go away” she snaps at the door. “I don’t want you.”
Thump. Thump. Thump.
He doesn’t say a word, but the heartbeat tells her he hasn’t moved.
She hiccups. “Pervert” she says loud enough that she knows he can hear her.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
The sound is soothing at least. Steady, like a metronome, and grounding. She lays her head back down on the pillow, forces herself to listen to the steady rhythm.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
The despairing thoughts in her head begin to settle, and then quiet.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Her hiccups and sniffles turn to steady, even breaths.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Her tears dry up.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
She feels exhaustion settling over her. The restlessness and anger and frustration leaking away to make room for it. Her eyes grow heavy.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
“I hate you” she grumbles, her body sinking fast into sleep. She doesn’t know if he hears her.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Her heart is now beating in time with his. It’s the last thought she has before her dreams claim her.
She knew he wanted her, or at least the version of her she had carefully curated to entice him, but of course that image had backfired on her in the end. Azriel saw her as some dainty, delicate little thing to protect, to save, to prove himself worthy. Not someone to love. Not really.
No one ever saw her as someone to love. Not even Greyson.
So many things that I love happening here - first that Elain was very intentionally putting on a mask around Az to seduce him and her self awareness around the failings of it but also!!!!
No one ever saw her as someone to love
NO ONE EVER SEES HER!!
And the fact that the sound of his heartbeat stopped her tears 😭😭😭 ITS JUST DISPLACING THEM ACTUALLY BECAUSE NOW IM THE ONE IN TEARS
“I hate you” she grumbles, her body sinking fast into sleep. She doesn’t know if he hears her.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Her heart is now beating in time with his. It’s the last thought she has before her dreams claim her.
Love me. Love me. Love me.
I will. I will. I will.
STOP IT oh my god 😭😭😭 A half-hearted "I hate you" ALWAYS hits, but especially like this?? AS HIS HEARTBEAT IS LITERALLY LULLING HER TO SLEEP? SOOTHING ALL HER DEEPEST INSECURITIES??
Summary: As far as Elain knew, in all of her ten years of collected knowledge, she was the only person who frequented these woods. She'd never seen footprints before. Not ones this recent, not ones that the forest guided her to.
That curious sensation in her chest grew stronger. A stumbling beat. A beckoning.
Go, the rustling leaves called to her. Go see.
She had never seen him before, but Elain knew at once who he was. What he was.
A Vanserra.
Or: That time an eerie meet cute in the forest changed their lives
A contribution to @elucienweekofficial Day 1: Heartbeat.
Read on AO3 ・Series Masterlist
-
15 years earlier
The forest called to her again.
In her dreams, windows blew open in a gust of protest. Trees clawed at the glass, possessed with the intention of crawling inside to drag her from bed. Their murmurings pitched from a gentle whisper into a chant.
Elain. Come to us. Elain.
It usually wasn't this insistent.
She stirred from sleep, hair a tangled wreath upon her head as she peered into the dim room. From her bed, she could see a bright blob of moonlight waxing nearly to its peak. It passed behind a midnight cloud before blinking back into the sky, as though winking at her. By its silver light, she could see that the brass latch of her window was still firmly secured.
Wind howled on the other side of the glass, but the room was otherwise undisturbed.
Her heart, however, was not.
In her chest, there was the usual steady rhythm. One she didn't take much notice of on a regular day. But on that early morning, under the light of the knowing moon, it was joined by a restless pounding. The hail of a war drum. She pressed a hand to her chest, marveling at the peculiar sensation, the way it pulsed through every vein, hooking them as if to manipulate her body by its strings, to draw her from the bed.
Elain obeyed. She always did, when the forest called.
No one would be walking the halls of the temple at this hour, but Elain crept silently out her window even so. She enjoyed the thrill of jumping from the ledge to the wide tree branch, feeling the swoop in her stomach as it swayed beneath her weight. She knew she wouldn't fall. The same way she knew that if she angled her head to the right, she would catch the silhouette of a grey owl with its wings spread across the swelling moon. Its cry pierced the air, masking the sound of the leaves crunching under her feet as she dropped from the tree.
The forest told her these things. It had since the moment she was young enough to understand them. Before then, too.
Her tutors still spoke with a shudder at her habit of crawling towards the forest edge the second their backs were turned. They feared they would lose her to the mist, that she would disappear into the hazy underbrush and never return. It wouldn't be the first time such a thing happened.
Those woods are cursed, she'd been explained when she was older. Too curious for her own good, they said. The trees disorient wanderers to feed on their souls.
At present, Elain tipped her head back to inhale a deep breath of the damp, loamy air. It felt clean in her lungs. Fuller than the breaths she could take in the temple. Her mind felt cleaner, too, all the details of the world so much richer. The chirping insects, the writhing soil, the dancing wind, all of it pulsing, bursting with life.
How could anyone get lost here? She often wondered, following the signposts the forest left for her. A stack of rocks, a croaking frog, a pointing branch. All of it as clear as if she were guiding her fingers across an atlas in Nesta's personal library. Turn right. Go straight. Turn left.
Then, the signposts became unusual. A set of footprints in the soil.
Elain paused at these.
As far as she knew, in all of her ten years of collected knowledge, she was the only person that frequented these woods. She'd never seen footprints before, not ones this recent. Not ones that the forest guided her to. That curious sensation in her chest grew stronger. A stumbling beat. A beckoning.
Go, the rustling leaves called to her. Go see.
At the bottom of a mossy knoll, slipping past a trickling creek, Elain saw what the forest was leading her towards.
A boy.
She had never seen him before, but Elain knew at once who he was. What he was.
A Vanserra.
There was no one in the temple with hair that color. It was braided in a loose tail down his back, though pieces of it escaped haphazardly, sticking to his clammy skin. He didn't stick out in the forest like she thought another person might. With his fox-like hair and his guarded posture, he looked like any cornered animal she might have found crouched in the sea of bluebells.
"Hello?" She called, keeping her volume hushed. The nesting birds didn't like when she raised her voice, and it was still too early for them to wake.
He lifted his head, and she saw that his russet eyes were red-rimmed, shining with tears. Snot ran down his nose, but he quickly wiped it away on his arm. His tears kept flowing, despite his efforts to mask them behind a glower.
"Who are you?" He bit out.
Thorns were never efficient deterrents to Elain. She didn't mind occasionally pricking her finger to admire a flower in bloom. Enduring the bite of stone on her skin if it meant feeling the earth beneath her feet. Tensions often ran high among the priestesses, and she'd developed a habit of meeting sharp teeth with an open palm.
It's why she didn't falter in her approach, even as the boy drew back his lips. The scent of copper stung her nostrils as she grew closer.
Elain stiffened. "You're hurt?"
"Go away," the boy sniffled, dropping his head into the knees he held bunched to his chest.
She waited, but the boy seemed intent on ignoring her. Elain recognized her youngest sister, Feyre, in the proud set of his jaw. She was too stubborn to admit when she was hurt, too.
"I'll go get help," she suggested, taking a step back towards the temple.
His head snapped up. "No!"
"No?" Elain tilted her head. "Why not?"
"They won't help me. Not my people, or yours."
She needed a moment to digest this answer, thinking through what she knew of the Vanserra family. They did not get along well with the temple. The High Priestess made no secret of her dislike, and Elain tried to recall the reasons why. How they were cruel. Scum of the earth. That they should rot at the bottom of the Mother's Cauldron. Though she had never been told why those things were said about the Vanserras, she thought the boy might be right. The High Priestess would insist on sending him back to his home on the other side of the dense forest that separated the seat of Autumn from its sovereign temple.
If they weren't willing to help, then Elain would just need to do it herself.
Check his back, the wind whispered, affirming her decision.
Elain crept along the dense carpet to find that his tunic was ripped, stripped away to reveal raw, angry flesh that had been torn into criss-crossing ribbons. Her breath hitched.
"Who did this to you?"
The boy didn't answer, his stare a sullen anchor in the undergrowth.
"What's your name?" She tried asking instead.
He glared at her. "Why should I answer? You never told me yours."
"Elain," she said, pulling a practiced smile across her lips. The scholars at the temple said pretty smiles helped alleviate tense conversations, and she would ascribe this one as such. "My name is Elain Archeron."
"Archeron," he repeated, practically spitting the word. "Go back to your temple, Elain."
"But you're hurt. Why would I leave you here?"
The boy looked at her as if the answer should be obvious. "Because I'm a Vanserra."
"Okay," she said, not letting her smile fall. "Which Vanserra?"
Not that it made any difference to her. She didn't know one Vanserra from the other, and regardless she would help him. She just thought it would be nice to know his name. He maintained his tense silence for a heartbeat. Then another. And then, Elain sensed a change, like a breeze rattling the leaves. Like a cracking branch.
The boy's expression faltered.
"Lucien," he said, voice dropping into a whisper. Like this was a secret he intended to keep from the forest itself.
"Lucien," Elain repeated, testing the new word with the same eagerness she approached most novel things. "I like that name. It sounds like…" She thought for a moment, replaying the sound in her head. "Rushing water. Or a crashing wave. Don't you think?"
Lucien looked bewildered. "What?" He dismissed the question with a shake of his head, replacing that momentary curiosity with yet another dark cloud. "Do the priestesses even know you're here, Elain?"
She had dealt with her sisters' sour moods frequently enough to recognize when someone was being intentionally difficult. It was a good thing she'd become accustomed to it.
"No," she said, coming closer to inspect his wounds. "But I gather your father doesn't know you're here, either."
"No, but I'm doing what he asked."
"And what is that?"
"Getting out of his sight," Lucien grumbled, ducking his head. "These woods seemed like the safest place to be."
Given what was said about the woods, and how gravely adults heeded those warnings, Elain took that to mean Lucien's other options of places to be must have been abysmal indeed. It had to be, if his wounds were inflicted on him there.
"I don't know much about healing yet," Elain admitted. "But I can run back to the temple and take supplies from the infirmary."
"Why?"
Elain was confused again. "Because you're hurt?"
"You don't know me," Lucien said, and he sounded a bit distressed. "You don't owe me anything."
"I know your name is Lucien. Like the sea."
His lips flattened. She didn't think he liked being compared to the sea. And she could understand why it could be an odd comparison. With his red hair and firey demeanor, water should be his opposite. But when she held her breath and listened, she knew that second beating in her chest was the sound of the waves crashing to shore. A proud, unstoppable force.
A lighthouse, guiding her here, to this moment.
She smiled at him, trying to shine that brightness back. "And I think that we owe each other kindness."
Lucien only huffed, bowed over his knees once again. Resigned to Elain's plan, or just whatever fate the forest had in store. Usually those things were one and the same.
"Wait here, Lucien. I'll be back soon."
"No one ever makes it out of these woods alive!" He called back to her.
Elain only laughed. She would prove him wrong soon enough.
-
"You came back?"
Elain beamed, which only seemed to sharpen Lucien's frown. "I told you I would."
He eyed the basket swinging from her elbow, russet eyes narrowing. In the time it took her to sneak into the palace and gather her supplies, a flush had swept across his cheekbones, gleaming under the soft moonlight.
"I'll have to be quick," she said. "You're starting to become feverish."
Lucien scoffed. "How do you know the first thing about treating wounds?"
"I don't." But the forest does.
Stalks of bluebell tickled her exposed knees as she knelt beside him. Nesta would scold her for wearing a nightgown in the unattended company of a boy, but Nesta wasn't there and Lucien was hardly paying attention. He looked like he was barely keeping himself upright.
"Drink this," Elain said, offering him a leather flask.
His fingers were shaking, but he had enough strength to snatch the flask from her hands and give it a distrustful sniff. "How do I know it isn't poisoned?"
"Because it would have been easier to leave you in the woods."
Lucien's nose wrinkled as he took another whiff. "What is it?"
"Willow bark tea."
She leaned closer to him, expecting he would retreat. His eyes only flicked to hers over the flask, monitoring each motion, each breath. The forest used to watch her like this too, when she first entered its mist as a curious intruder. Now she knew to keep her eyes on his, letting him read her intention as she slid her fingers into his hair.
Soft, she thought, absently spreading her touch to admire the thick tangle of silk. Like dipping her fingers into sun-warmed water.
"Drink." She tapped her other hand to his wrist, helping to guide the flask to his bloodied lips. "This will ease the pain of what comes next."
They held each other's gaze. Red and brown. Colors of the earth, clashing to determine whether it was easier to be soft or rigid. To fight the pain or yield. She understood why he resisted as staunchly as he did, because the moment he stopped, she watched the fear set in.
"It will be okay," she soothed, watching his throat bob around each determined swallow.
Lucien blinked at her in the aftermath. His scarlet brows drew a crease in the middle. "What… else was in the tea?"
"Shh." Elain hummed as she took the flask from him, setting it aside. She pressed a hand to his chest, feeling the strong heartbeat that she could hear in the back of her mind. It was slowing now. "All will be well, Lucien."
The look he cast her was stark with betrayal. His weight was beginning to slump against her.
"What did… you give me?"
"Sleep drought," she said, hushed. Like the voice her mother once used for singing lullabies. She stroked her fingers through his hair. "Just enough to knock you out, I promise."
His hand covered hers. She was sure the grip would have been crushing, if he had the strength for it. But all he could manage was a squeeze, a soft raking of his nails that was overall pleasant. She'd never minded thorns.
"I won't forget this," he swore.
"That's right." Elain began rocking him, imagining they were a ship lost in a sea of bluebells. "You will live to remember this, Lucien. And perhaps one day, you will thank me."
Elain waited until his body went limp and his heart became a slow timekeeper in her chest. Then she laid him down on his stomach, opened her basket of supplies, and began tending to his wounds under the instruction of the wind.
-
When Lucien finally woke, the afternoon sun was at its peak. Its dappling light filtered through the trees, shining over his body in warm clusters. Elain watched him stir from her hiding place in the trees.
He groaned as pushed himself up, and she winced to imagine how doing so would pull on those terrible lacerations at his back. She'd spent the early hours of the morning cleaning and packing his wounds, and though they were now dressed, they would still be tender.
Half of her was tempted to drop down from her hiding place and insist he put aside his pride so she could continue treating him. The other half knew that he would never agree after she had tricked him into drinking a sedative.
Surely, someone from his home would help him? If he could make it home, that was.
Elain held her breath as Lucien craned his neck to assess her work. He sent a searching hand over his shoulder, feeling at the bandages and the sticky poultice just underneath. A disgusted sound rose in the back of his throat, and he withdrew his hand to sniff at his fingers.
Would he smell the honey and yarrow? She wondered.
With a grimace, Lucien wiped the residue on his sleeve. She ducked behind the tree when his gaze pivoted, searching the clearing for any sign of his fraud healer. Only once she heard him shuffling through the remains of the basket did she allow herself to peek again.
Lucien quickly discovered the food and water she had left for him, but—as she suspected—his trust had vanished. With a huff, he cast her offerings aside.
"You want to help me, priestess?" He sneered. "Show me a way out of this Cauldron-forsaken forest."
I already have, she thought, removing the primrose tucked behind her ear. With an open palm held to her lips, she blew a gentle breath and watched it float into the air. Her timing was precise; it took only seconds before the flower was swept into the wind, coasting back-and-forth before it landed atop his crown.
Lucien immediately grabbed at the foreign object, crushing it in his first before he saw that it was not a bug. His tension relaxed, but rather than dismiss the crumpled flower, he continued to study it. Did he see that it was unlike any flower in the woods—all except the one Elain had tucked in the hollow of a nearby tree?
He tipped his eyes up, trying to track the flower's origin, as if it may have fallen from the trees overhead.
Keep looking, she urged him. Keep hold of that curiosity; it will be your salvation.
At last, he saw it.
Another primrose, its bright petals catching light from the dark cavity that had become its pedestal. Lucien went to it, plucking it from its intentional hiding spot with a scrutiny that she could tell was just bordering on a revelation.
With a frown, Lucien returned to the basket. He flipped it open, discovering the handful of other flowers just like it.
Well done, she wanted to say. You've discovered the source. But do you understand what I'm telling you?
Lucien's eyes were narrowed on the basket, then on the flower in his hand. He grumbled something under his breath, too low for even her sharp hearing to decipher. The forest must have heard, but it did not see fit to carry his words to her.
She almost laughed. Curse me all you want. I am the reason you will walk out of these woods.
His sharp eyes swiveled to her, and Elain quickly ducked out of sight.
"I'm choosing to trust you, Elain Archeron," Lucien announced. She bit her lip and gathered the courage to sneak another glance.
A smile was creeping at the corner of his lips. He was looking directly at her, and though she knew she was caught, he did not demand she come out of hiding.
He raised the primrose between two fingers, pointing it at the next flower she had laid for him. Just three trees away from the last one he had found, balanced on a branch. Then another, tucked under a rock. And another, all leading east.
A path of primrose, laid to guide him home.
"I won't appreciate being made twice a fool," he warned.
"Refusing my help will make you one," Elain called back. "If you're twice a fool, then that's twice I'll have had no hand in it."
She was surprised to find this made him laugh. Doubly so, when he finished chuckling to himself and smiled at her. A full, genuine smile that was so unlike the ornery glares she'd come to expect from him that it stunned her to silence.
"I hope we meet again, Elain."
Lucien turned, his gait stiff with pain as he followed her path from one primrose to the next. He didn't glance back at her, despite the uproar of birdsong and the chattering leaves. The sounds had no meaning to someone like him, but to Elain, they were an echo of the promise she could already feel pounding in her chest.
We will.
We will.
We will.
Present Day
Elain swallowed down the cold night air, raw against her throat as her lungs struggled to take in more, to expel it faster as she pumped her arms in tandem. She wasn’t wearing the right shoes for racing down a cobblestone alleyway—her ankles threatened to twist as she took a turn too sharply. She couldn’t afford to stumble now. She had to escape, had to—
“Clare?”
Elain whipped her head in the direction of the washroom door. A barmaid stood in the frame, one hand braced on the handle while the sound of music and raucous laughter flooded behind her.
Water dripped from Elain’s face. An odd sight, she was certain. She released the pooled liquid still cupped in her hands, listening to the water splash against the porcelain. It was how she grounded herself back in the moment. The caress of air against her wet face, the cool porcelain against her fingers.
Real. This was real. The alleyway, the chasing, the sore throat… she placed a wet hand against her neck, swallowing to ensure there was no pain.
All she could feel was her hammering pulse.
And the second, steadier heartbeat echoing underneath.
"I thought I saw you run in here." The barmaid clicked her tongue in a sound of pity, tossing a washrag over her shoulder as she rushed to Elain's side. "Did one of those drunken swines say something to you?"
As Elain began to shake her head, the barmaid caught her face between both sets of plump hands. She cooed and tutted under her breath, squishing Elain's cheeks together while she conducted her inspection.
"You're too pretty for a place like this," she said on a sigh. "It was bound to bring trouble eventually."
Elain maneuvered out of the barmaid's grip as gently as she could. "There's no trouble to be had. I was just taking a moment of respite."
There was something about a lie that could never sit comfortably on her tongue. They were like flightless birds stumbling from her lips, always a graceless plummet that drew everyone's attention.
"Mhm." The barmaid's eyes narrowed. She took a step back to re-examine Elain, paying close attention to her flushed cheeks. The damp around her face. She pursed her lips. "You're not pregnant, are ye? If you are, I can help."
"No." Elain waved away the suggestion with perhaps too much conviction. "Absolutely not. I've not—I'm not… There is no person like that in my life."
The barmaid snickered. "Well don't go around sharing that, duck. What good is a matchmaker who can't find herself a match? I'd tell people my husband died at sea." She grabbed the washrag off her shoulder and tossed it to Elain. "Now, clean yourself up. Innkeeper was asking for ye. Something about unpaid coin."
-
It was a busy night at the tavern. A group of traveling minstrels had just docked at the large port town, and that always drew crowds to the local drinking holes. Elain had been drawn, too, unable to resist her curiosity when she'd seen the fliers.
The Primrose Players were on stage, enrapturing the crowd with their story told through ballads, lutes, and fiddles. They were detailing a prince's journey across a treacherous sea, but she'd stopped listening when she felt that unmistakable sensation in her chest.
A second heartbeat. A battle drum.
A warning.
I'm coming for you.
It wasn't the first time she'd felt that pull over the years, but it was the first time it had been strong enough to send alarm bells peeling through her skull. She'd rushed to the bathroom when she'd felt the vision encroaching, and now she didn't know what to do with herself.
She'd been running in the vision, and she knew exactly who she was running from. But if she ran now, would she be careening herself straight into that destiny, or avoiding it?
"Clare!"
Elain turned to see the Innkeeper waving her down from behind the bar. With a sigh, Elain wedged her way through the crowd of people until she stood at the other side of the bar. Before the Innkeeper could open his mouth, she placed a stack of coins on the counter.
"Payment for yesterday, today, and tomorrow."
The Innkeeper fanned out the coins on the bar, counted the total in his head, then grunted his acceptance.
"I should be charging more, ye know." The coins scraped the wooden counter as he swept them into his apron pocket. "Do ye see how busy it is?"
"And how many are paying you in advance?"
His silence was the closest to agreement she would get. But seeing as how she'd be staying at his inn for another two nights, she decided to sweeten the deal by offering, "How about I add a free fortune telling?"
There was a staggering slap as the Innkeeper dropped his wet washrag on the counter. "I don't need yer quack fortunes," he said through a snort, focused on his task of rubbing the rag in wide circles. She wondered if he wasn't cleaning so much as dispersing the sticky residue across a wider area. "Just don't go scaring off my customers with bad news, witch."
Because Elain believed in the importance of regulating one's temper, she managed to excuse herself from the conversation with a deep breath and a tight smile. It also helped to imagine taking one of those tankers of watered-down ale and dumping it on his head.
Patience, she reminded herself. Causing a scene over a petty remark was not in her best interest.
On the other side of the tavern, The Primrose Players continued their story of the exiled prince, traveling the world in search of a way to reinstate his place by his father’s side. His ship finally made port, and it was there he would encounter the object of his desires. A quick glance around the crowd showed the most tavern-goers were transfixed in the story.
Having no interest in competing with the players for coin, Elain settled herself in a quiet corner and signaled at the barmaid to bring her the meal included with her stay. After dinner last night, she knew the Inn's stew was as cheap and watered down as the ale, but it was food.
She was halfway through her meal when a woman approached, her eyes wide and hopeful.
"You're the matchmaker?"
Elain forced herself to swallow the tough cut of meat she'd been grinding between her teeth.
"Yes," she said, wishing she had a napkin to wipe off the grease on her hands. "That's me."
"Please, will you tell me if I'll find a husband?"
The woman thrust her hand forward, not the least bit bothered by the mess. Elain still took the time to wipe her fingers off on her dress before she took the woman's hand.
Doing this always reminded Elain of the forest she'd walked through so long ago, as if by touching the woman's hand, she was transported through its mist. At once, the tavern faded. The music of The Primrose Players reduced into a distant hum. There was nothing here but the raw presence of nature.
Elain shut her eyes, listening as birds flitted overhead, darting from tree to tree. They sang to her as they passed, telling of the present, the future, the past. The wind swept her forward, taking her by the hand.
What do you want to know?
…Does this woman find a husband?
The birdsong tapered. Elain opened her eyes and saw a magpie perched before her, its head tilted to the side as it watched. She took a cautious step forward. The magpie shot into the air, letting out a call that was answered by another, further down the path. Elain followed as it darted through the trees, returning to the large nest where its mate waited.
The flight was short. This would be coming to pass in the near future.
"You will," Elain said, though her voice sounded so very far away. "Keep your heart open, and you will find him soon."
The woman dropped her hand, but not before Elain saw a primrose sitting in the hollow of the tree where the magpies nested. When her eyes rested on it, she heard a voice, bubbling up from a distant, forgotten memory.
I hope we meet again, Elain.
Her breath caught.
"What is it?" The woman asked, sounding stricken. "Did you see something bad?"
Elain was still staring vacantly at the spot the primrose had been, though the forest had vanished. There was only the crowded tavern and the minstrels still telling their story on stage. Her gaze had fixed on one of them, a player in a bronze mask whose only job seemed to be clapping and dancing along to the others.
"Not at all," Elain said, still waiting for the mist to clear from her vision. "I saw a future of mirth."
The woman followed Elain's gaze and made a knowing sound in her throat. "I see now. You're caught up in matchmaking of your own."
"Huh?" Elain frowned. "What do you mean?"
"That charmer in the fox mask." The woman shot her a conspirational grin. "Have you two been eyeing each other all night? Explains why he asked me to give this to you."
A primrose, as bright and delicate as she'd always known them to be, was cupped in the woman's palm. She extended it to Elain with a smile, and Elain shrank back as if she'd been met with a pointed blade.
The women's smile fell, but Elain no longer cared for keeping a pleasant image. There was no time for an explanation, let alone a goodbye. Her chair made a horrible screech as she scrambled to her feet, and she knew she was turning heads as she raced for the door, but it was already too late.
He would follow.
No matter where she went, he would follow.
Her only hope was getting a head start. With two heartbeats racing in her chest, Elain raced down the cobblestone streets of the small town, listening to her ill-suited shoes slap on the stone as she searched somewhere to run, somewhere to hide. Night had fallen, and most shops had already closed their doors, but there had to be somewhere to go. A horse, a ship, an unlocked cellar?
Elain turned down a dimly lit alley, feeling each of her great, gasping breaths saw down her throat. She wasn't used to running. It had been years since she last needed to.
Another break-neck turn at the end of the alley brought her to a dead-end. Elain swore under her breath. She'd go the other way, then. Whipping around the corner without looking, she crashed—hard—into the warm, tall body of the fox-masked player.
His arms stretched out to catch her from stumbling. The fox-mask was gone, leaving nothing to hide the smile already stretching his full lips. His scarlet hair was braided back from his face, the same way he'd worn it the last time she'd seen him.
In many ways, he was the same. Only older. Sharper. Wiser.
The scar across the left side of his face was new—new to her, at least. As if an animal had clawed his skin from brow to jaw. The russet eye she knew from memory had been replaced with a mechanical one that clicked and whirred as it focused on her.
She wanted to touch it. She wanted to scream at him. To weep in pity, to claw a matching scar on the other side of his face.
But most of all. Most of all. She wanted to pull this second heart out of her chest and give it back to him. It was too much of a burden to bear them both.
"People at the tavern tell me you're a fortune-teller." He smirked. "I've been looking for someone who fits that description."
Elain tried to shake away his touch, but his grip was iron-clad. "You shouldn't look for people who don't want to be found."
"But how can a fortune-teller be caught if she doesn't want to be?" Lucien leaned forward, exactly as warm and imposing as she remembered. His voice was a caress on her neck as he whispered, "Does that mean you missed me too, wife?"
According to all known laws of aviation, there is no way a bee should be able to fly. Its wings are too small to get its fat little body off the ground. The bee, of course, flies anyway, because bees don't care what humans think is impossible.
Happy day 1 of @elucienweekofficial !!
@the-lonelybarricade and I decided to work from unchosen prompts leftover from voting- so today is Day 1: Bee Movie AU. Don't pretend you don't just adore Luciens little bee-wings!
Huge sexy thanks to @laxibbeb for hearing us pitch this to her and both enthusiastically agreeing AND continuing to remain our friends. We love you- this is gorgeous and so are you.
LBBBB!!! What was your favorite commission from the first elucienweek you’ve started doing them and what was your favorite fic from the last year’s elucienweek?
💬 2 🔁 131 ❤️ 503 · @elucienweekofficial Day 7: Tension/Healing (pt. 2!)
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Suprise! @separatist-apologist and I are so obsessed with thes
I think this is one of my all time favorites!! 🥰
For fics it's HARD to choose just one but I really adored Birds of a Feather by @clockwork-ashes 😍
LB!! You had mentioned three people that were influential to you when you were first introduced to the fandom, do you remember the fanfics they wrote?
Absolutely I do!! And I can more or less walk you through my progression from "I'm reading this for the feysand, elucien just happens to be in it" to "Where's the Elucien??"
It started with:
Turn Your Ghosts Into Mine by @separatist-apologist and @highladydawn which is a practical magic AU told through all three sister's perspectives with all three couples I would say having more or less equal page time. I told myself I was reading this for the Feysand, but I did find the Elucien charming
THEN A Christmas Prince by @separatist-apologist so I was THERE because it Feysand so OBVIOUSLY I need to read it. But MB always gives Elucien charming little subplots in her stories and I was very endeared to the way Lucien instantly fell for Feyre's sister
So I thought... okay... What's the harm in exploring that curiosity a little more? So I read
Exile by @separatist-apologist which has feysand POVs so it's basically like reading feysand... right?
They Say I Did Something Bad by @separatist-apologist who put a feysand subplot in the background specifically for me so how could I NOT read it??
Reason Comes on the Common Tongue by @highladydawn which is Elucien only, but it's a oneshot so what's the harm, really?? Except the harm was that I immediately needed more, so then I read all of Icarus In Armor in like a day
And then, from there, I think I read all 2 million+ words of MB's Elucien fic because I was in too deep to ever claw myself out of this hole
Wow! It's Snow, back from her hectic two day vacation to annoy you with another question!
What made you an Elucien shipper? What's intrigues you about their story/dynamic/potential?
SNOW WELCOME BACK!
When I joined this fandom I had heart eyes for feysand only and was mostly indifferent to all other ships/characters. When I read that Elucien were mates in acomaf I just casually assumed that was the end game, and I was actually pretty surprised to find that fans were so divided about it online! It wasn't something I even really questioned until I got here.
I also found the divisiveness quite intimidating, which also warded me off of really investing in Elucien. But then, I started reading fics by @separatist-apologist and @highladydawn — and actually, they TRICKED ME by putting feysand in their fics so that I would come for the feysand, and stay because the Elucien!! THE ELUCIEN!!
And that was game over for me. I started writing La Vie En Rose which jumped from a 30k spinoff to an 80k (and still counting) BEAST and I was done for. Feysand who?? Feysand bby im just kidding i didn't mean it
Oh yeah I was supposed to answer what intrigues me - it's the potential!! I love where they're at right now with this angsty limbo where Elain's trying to pretend he doesn't exist and they're creating this big bubble that's about to burst because the elephant in the room demands to be addressed one way or another!! And I think when it does, they're going to REALLY push and challenge each other in ways that I think will be compelling
LBBBB!!! Between the two of them, who initiates kisses and how often do they engage in PDA?
STARS HI!! Ohhhh I don't know why this one feels tough!
I feel like they aren't a heavily PDA couple because they're too classy but there are exceptions!! And those exceptions come down to the fact that they love to play and push and needle each other, and I think the "taboo" of not being inappropriate in classy setting would be thrilling to them. So the PDA is subtle and teasing and sneaky (think a hand sneaking to a thigh under the table), and I think usually initiated by Lucien because he can't keep his hands off her but!! she's a little vixen and she knows how to surprise him at the worst moments 😏
Hi!! Out of all the pieces you've created for past elucien weeks, would you tell us which one was your favorite to work on? 👀
Hi LB!!
Out of all of them, I think this was my favorite, but also one of my most challenging ones! I had never really done a stained glass piece, nor did I know how to really achieve that look. It took several days and a ton of references, but it was also very relaxing and methodical in its own way. I had fun trying to blend spring and fall colors and themes between them. I hope maybe next Elucien week I can attempt something like this again and see if I can do better!
Summary: As far as Elain knew, in all of her ten years of collected knowledge, she was the only person who frequented these woods. She'd never seen footprints before. Not ones this recent, not ones that the forest guided her to. That curious sensation in her chest grew stronger. A stumbling beat. A beckoning.
Go, the rustling leaves called to her. Go see.
She had never seen him before, but Elain knew at once who he was. What he was.
A Vanserra.
Or: That time an eerie meet cute in the forest changed their lives
My contribution for @elucienweekofficial. Chapters will be posted daily!
Read on AO3 (link coming soon) or click the links below to read on tumblr!
We’re so excited to see what you’ve all been working on, and to spend the week celebrating Elain and Lucien as a community!
Ahead of tomorrow, make sure to familiarize yourselves with our Event Guidelines. In particular, here are some things to double-check when posting your work:
Make sure to tag our account @elucienweekofficial in all of your submissions
If you’re posting a fic to AO3, make sure to add it to our Elucien Week 2026 collection
If you’re posting any art to Instagram, you can add our handle @/elucienweekforever as a collaborator to have your art appear in the grid. Otherwise, please tag our account so we can add it to our story!
Lastly, this is a very busy week and we’re only a small team of volunteers, so please be patient with us while we work diligently behind the scenes to reblog, tag, and collate all your amazing works into our masterlists. If we miss anything, please assume best intentions and kindly reach out to let us know - we’ll get it fixed asap!
A submission for @elucienweekofficial Day 1: Mates
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All knights who attempted to pull the Master Sword from its pedestal were given the same warning.
The Sword would only select a master who was pure of heart and strong of body. If a wielder of insufficient strength attempted to draw the sword, it would drain their life force. A fool who didn't yield would be a dead one.
If you feel your strength waning, let go, the captain of the guard cautioned. Don't kill yourself trying to be a hero.
Every person who touched the sword before Lucien seemed to bow to its power, collapsing onto the pedestal like puppets whose strings had been yanked from somewhere deep below the earth.
Lucien was therefore surprised when he laid his grip on the sword and felt… nothing. There was the resistance of the stone, groaning against the blade—Cauldron, it was really wedged in there—but aside from the physical exertion of trying to pull the damn thing out, there wasn't any otherworldly sensation to hint that his palm was wrapped around anything but an ordinary hilt.
It was when Lucien felt the stone give that he started to second-guess himself. There'd been plenty of instruction about what to do if the sword rejected a knight's attempt, but no one told him what to do if it fucking worked.
No one expected he would pull the sword, least of all Lucien. It was a joke that he was even attempting, a goading from Tamlin after his own failed attempt, because wouldn't it be funny to see Eris's face if you pulled that sword instead of him?
Only there was nothing funny about the look on Eris's face.
They were all given the same warning, after all. It wasn't just that if a knight failed to pull the sword, it could kill them.
It was that if a knight succeeded in pulling the sword, it signalled the return of Calamity.
The look on Eris's face wasn't envy. Lucien would become a hero of legend and outrank his six older brothers, sure, but he was also the harbinger of the end of times.
As the Chosen Hero, the wielder of the Sword that Seals the Darkness, Lucien would be responsible for standing between Prythian and ruin. No pressure.
But even that responsibility would come second to his new, primary objective:
There are so many ways to participate in Elucien week, and not all of them involving creating content! A huge piece of what makes Elucien Week so special is the engagement that happens between the community and the works that are being shared.
Likes, kudos, comments, reblogs, and shoutouts all help Elucien Week content get circulated to everyone's dashboards, and is also a really easy way to support the hard work of our creators.
So whether you plan to post content or hunker down for a week of Elucien content heaven, we encourage you to grab a BINGO card and try to complete 5 in row. Or if you want to really challenge yourself, try to complete them all!
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"Light mode" Bingo card also available below the read more!
MB MY LOVE. This is now the fourth Elucien Week we've run together - out of all 4 of the Elucien Week trenches we've been in together, what moment has stood out to you the most and why is it helping me choose graphics?
1. That time you had to talk me down from starting a major fight with someone pre-elucienweek like I was your horrible boyfriend and you were my lovesick girlfriend "this isn't you I know the real you"
2. Our first elucienweek when we began introducing games as part of the countdown in an attempt to get people excited (and it worked!)
3. The year we collabed with @velidewrites and @laxibbeb for the dress up dolls and they made Lazy Town Elucien
4. The I Survived t-shirt you made me with the ball pit for elucienweek 2024
5. Asking you if we could finally do elucienmonth and you making it happen this year, despite how difficult it would be
I get all the Elucienweek credit, but I shouldn't. It should belong to you. You are, and always have been, the architect of the event- and every event we've ever run together. I ask does a SpongeBob themed countdown card and you make it. You work so hard, and I hope you know how much I appreciate you and see you
And I don't know why,
but with you I'd dance
in a storm in my best dress
Fearless
Fearless - Taylor Swift
Maybe I took today too literally, but this has truly turned out to be one of my favorite things I've drawn. I'm so proud of it!
Thanks @elucienweekofficial for motivating me to do lots of creative stuff this week. I am honestly having so much fun and loving seeing everyone else doing the same!
Energy runs high as the warmest time of the Year slowly comes to pass.
This is a celebration which begins with the rise of the Sun. Time has come again for the longest day of the year. The night is short and forgiving.
As the sun shines at its peak and the emotions run high, it becomes apparent that Midsummer is a celebration of fertility and love.
Fairies of Autumn may venture into the plentiful forests of the Court in search of the legendary blooming ferns. Those elusive flowers are rumored to appear only for a single night of the Year, and it is now upon us.
This is the time for fairies young and old to let loose the inhibitions and struggles of their existence and choose instead to surrender themselves to the depths of magic which surrounds the Court.
EVERYONE SAY THANK YOU LAXI!! She always knows exactly what the Elucien girlies need (Elain and Lucien getting freaky in the ferns) and without her, this year's Elucien Week wouldn't look nearly as good as it has!! YOU ARE A BLESSING AND WE LOVE YOU!!!
