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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 2: Feral
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-
5 years earlier
It was ten years before the beating returned.
This time, under the hooves of galloping horses.
When Elain woke with a foreign heartbeat pounding in her chest, she'd gone to the forest expecting to find the red-haired boy grown into a man.
What she found instead was a restless wind. Animals fleeing from the tremors in the earth. Panicked birdsong that warned of flames on the horizon.
By her return, the riders were already outside the wall, Autumn Court banners raised proudly from their flagstaffs. An emissary was admitted into the temple, and Elain and her fellow priestesses were sequestered away. She knew little about the words exchanged between the High Priestess and the Autumn Court emissary.
All she knew was that it would not be the last time she saw Autumn banners advancing towards their wall.
And she was proven right a year later, when the Autumn Court emissary returned.
This time, with an army.
-
The forest was dying.
Its soil was saturated with blood. Its branches lay heavy with ash.
Each night, Elain watched the roots of the ancient trees recede. And each morning she woke with a list of names that would not see another dawn. Most were soldiers loyal to the temple, lost to the endless violence and bloodshed the Autumn Court had thrust upon them.
That morning, Elain woke to a name she recognized.
Lucien Vanserra.
She'd always known he was there, waiting just on the other side of the temple walls. Enforcing the blockade that was strangling her people. She could still feel his heart beating, and some days she wasn't certain whether to find comfort or horror in his unending presence.
Today, it was horror.
"My lady," her attendant, Mrs. Laurent, said in a gentle, if correcting, tone. "The High Priestess wishes for you to enjoy your leisure in the sanctum."
Elain didn't release her hold on the iron door handle that led down a long hall to the temple's interior gatehouse. They had all been instructed to keep away from the exterior walls, and she had no business heading in that direction save for the name still sticking to the roof of her mouth.
"I wish to enjoy some fresh air," Elain said pleasantly.
"There is smoke in the air, my lady. I'm afraid it will have a poor impact on your constitution."
Smoke from the pyres of the dead they burned each morning. Elain and the other priestesses were kept guarded from the state of the war, but she knew the lists of casualties on both sides.
They were losing. The temple had no proper army, and the only reason they had not already caved to Autumn's assaulting force was because of the protective forest that limited their advance. The temple backed into the forest, surrounded on all sides but at the front—where they were protected by a high, defensible wall. Its wards would protect them for a time, but it was not sustainable.
She looked to the double-set of doors where she knew her fellow priestesses were waiting, her sisters Nesta and Feyre among them. There, she would sit in a room devoid of windows while a musician strummed a harp in the corner to disguise the sounds of battle. All day long, they would complete menial tasks to pretend that life was normal, and there was no army at their door.
As if they could simply squeeze their eyes shut and forget that people were dying.
Elain could not forget. The names haunted her, as if the forest expected her to intervene.
Lucien Vanserra.
The boy of fire with a name like the sea. Despite what the wind had promised, they had not seen each other again. And if he was to die today, that injured boy in the forest would be her last memory of him.
But she could still hear his heart.
He was not dead yet. And why would she be given this knowledge, if not to do something, anything, about it?
"Forgive me, but I must do this," Elain said to Mrs. Laurent, before yanking open the iron door. The elderly woman yelped in alarm, lifting her skirts to hurry after Elain as she raced down the hall to the temple's gatehouse.
Two guards stood watch at the entrance. They stiffened at her approach, wary at the sight of her identifying robes and the attendant giving chase.
"Is everything alright, Lady Elain?"
The guard who spoke was the eldest of the two, one she recognized from his years in the temple guard. He ought to be close to retirement, but resigning during this conflict would be a stain on his honor.
"I wish to speak to the High Priestess," Elain said.
"She is on the ramparts. I will send someone to—"
"That's okay, I will go to her."
The guard looked uncomfortable. "Lady Elain, it's too dangerous."
Elain lifted her chin. "I am not asking."
A tense second passed where the guards look to each other, then to Mrs. Laurent. They knew this was unwise, and would surely court the High Priestess's wrath, but they did not have the authority to say no. When she sensed that they would not stop her, Elain pushed though the doors of the gatehouse and climbed the interior stairs that led to the ramparts. From there, it was a short walk to the curtain wall that faced the frontline of battle.
When the Autumn Court first arrived, they'd assembled a blockade outside of their archer's reach and had erected wards of their own to prevent winnowing. Their camp spanned for miles, from one edge of the surrounding forest to the next. Their intent was a war of attrition; by burning the temple's farmland and cutting off all supplies from being run in and out of the temple, the priestesses would be starved and left with no choice but to surrender. Today the High Priestess had again sent out her meagre army—troops with no alignment to one of the seven courts, sworn only to carry out the Cauldron's will—in an attempt to break the blockade. But through the smoky haze of battle, Elain could see how vastly they were outnumbered. The pyres of yesterday's dead still burned, raining ash over the men clashing swords.
Years ago, Elain had run through those fields while her outstretched arms brushed through endless furs of dandelions. They used to sway and ripple in the sun like a sea of gold. Now those beautiful fields were churned to mud beneath the stampeding soldiers.
Never had she mourned for a simpler time than she did in this moment, frozen in her horror while she watched men kill each other over nothing.
And through all the crashing sensations, the shouts of battle and the screaming land, she could still feel that heartbeat in her chest. Saying, here. I am here. Find me.
Elain's fingers turned white from her grip on the parapet as she searched and searched through the thousands of men, trying to find any identifying feature. It was years since she'd seen him. All she had to go on was red hair, and most of the men wore helmets.
"Elain? What are you doing here?"
She turned to see one of the archers lowering his bow, his lips parted in shock.
"Graysen?" A delighted laugh escaped her, and she rushed for a hug on instinct, forgetting the weapon still grasped in his hands.
"Careful." Graysen held out a hand, implying she should keep her distance as he carefully unnocked the arrow, returning it to the quiver on his back. "The tips are poisoned."
It was so strange to see him with a weapon. Stranger, to see that he held it with ease and confidence, as if he had years of training when she knew that couldn't possibly be the case. Graysen was the son of a scholar and was similar in age to Elain. They grew up playing in the temple together, and the sight of his blue eyes had always fluttered her chest.
Once the arrow was safely tucked away, Graysen opened his arms. Elain rushed into them without hesitation, observing on her way that he grown quite considerably since she'd last seen him. As a boy, he'd been charming, but as a man filling out a temple guard uniform… Suffice to say, the heat coursing through her was less dignified than a flutter, and she quickly escaped the embrace for fear that her legs may cease working.
"What are you doing here?" She asked.
"Earning extra rations for my family," he said with a small shrug. "As a watchmen, I don't need to leave the walls. Not yet, at least."
He took a step toward her, a small smile across his lips. "Don't think I didn't notice you evading my question. I know you aren't supposed to be here."
She gestured toward the battle. "I needed to see it."
His brows sloped with concern. "Why?"
"I…"
Elain had long understood that she experienced the world differently than most people. The High Priestess said that she had been granted a rare gift, but she was told people outside the temple may not be understanding of its… eccentricities. It left her floundering for an explanation. How could she express how deeply this war impacted her without explaining how she was connected to the earth? Her heart was buried in the forest, its system of roots an extension of her veins. Through it she could hear all, see all. The worms writhing in the soil, the fires scorching the fields, the men soaking in their blood.
Their death was her death.
But she couldn't explain it more than a grimace and a stuttered, "I wanted to know how bad it was."
Graysen look out at the battlefield and heaved a long sigh. "It's looking fairly dire. The High Priestess needs to reattempt negotiations or this temple will be bowing to the High Lord by summer's end."
She couldn't help herself from asking, "Do you know what their initial demands were?"
He looked to her in surprise. "No. The High Priestess didn't tell you?"
Elain huffed. "She tells us nothing."
"She's only protecting you," Graysen said softly. "It's for the better, Elain. The things I've seen… I can't sleep through the night anymore."
I can't either, Elain almost admitted. She wondered if one day soon, she would wake with Graysen's name on her lips, too. The thought weighed in her bones, her body too heavy to lift all the grief she carried inside it.
"Archers at the ready!"
The booming command knocked them both out of their thoughts. Graysen scrambled for his bow.
"Get back!" He hissed at her as he nocked an arrow and drew it taught. "It's not safe for you here."
Ignoring him, Elain rushed to the parapet, feeling the rough stone bite into her chest as she pressed in closer, angling herself over the wall. Below them, an Autumn Court rider had come within range, his silver sword singing as it cut through the air, leaving bodies of men in the wake of his black steed. The beat in her chest matched the horse's gallop, racing as the man drew closer.
"Aim!"
The horse leapt over a ditch in the field, and the rider gracefully absorbed the impact, every motion perfectly synchronized between beast and man. As if they were one fluid, combined unit. The only indication that it was a bumpy ride was the red braid whipping wildly across the rider's back.
Elain knew there were seven Vanserra sons, each of them with red hair. She also knew the trait was not exclusive to their family. And yet, she knew it was him. The same way she knew the names of each of the soldiers whose bodies would be stacked on tomorrow's pyres.
It was Lucien Vanserra riding below her.
Lucien Vanserra who was in range of Graysen's arrow.
Lucien Vanserra who's fleeting heartbeat was pounding in her chest for the last time.
"Fire!"
"Noo!" Elain screamed, moving before she could think. Graysen shouted as she threw herself forward.
She heard the snap of the bow as they collided, felt the sting of the arrow whip past her cheek. Graysen's body recoiled, then the world was tipping, and the two of them tumbled on the stone floor of the rampart.
"Elain!" Graysen grabbed her by the shoulders, giving her a hard shake. "What do you think you're doing?"
Her vision blurred. "This is wrong."
"This is war," he seethed. "And it's clear it's no place for you."
She thrashed away from his grip, struggling to her feet as she tried to get back to the rampart. To see if he was alive.
Graysen caught her by the arm. "Wait. Your cheek. Let me see."
It was no easy battle, this clash of wills. Elain trying to resist the hand on her arm, the thumb at her chin, fighting to return to the parapet. Graysen was stronger. He forced her eyes to meet his, and then that prodding thumb was at her cheek.
She hissed through her teeth. "That stings!"
"That's why you shouldn't jump in front of arrows," he chided. "As I said, they're poisoned. We'll need to get you the antidote just to be safe."
"Fine." She pushed him away. "Go get the antidote. I'll wait here."
"So you can jump in front of the next arrow?"
His tone was light, but Elain didn't think he was charming anymore. It must have shone on her face, because Graysen sighed.
"Elain." He released her arm to tuck a stray hair behind her ear. Those blue eyes were searching. Pleading. "I know you have a big heart. But this is war. If we don't kill them, they'll kill us."
When all he received for his efforts was a glare that she hoped could put even Nesta and Feyre's to shame, Graysen dropped his hands and stepped away.
"I'll go get the antidote. Wait here."
She was at the parapet the moment his back was turned, balancing on the very tips of her toes to see as much of the battlefield as possible. She spotted the black horse bolting across the charred farmland, his movements erratic with no rider astride. Her heart sunk, but she could still feel his heart beating, and that told her he wasn't dead yet.
But if he was hit—if Graysen's arrow was what knocked him from his horse, then the poison would kill him before he had a chance to recover.
Graysen returned at that moment, a corked vial in hand. "Here you go." The red liquid swished against the glass as he extended it to her. "Go back to your room and take half the vial. See how you feel, then take the rest if you need it."
Before, Elain would have tried to brush her fingers against his. They'd always used any excuse to touch under the guise of innocence. But she made a point of avoiding him as she accepted the bottle. Her nod of thanks was placid, her smile strained.
"Thank you, Graysen."
He could tell this had changed something between them. There was agitation in his voice when he asked, "Can I come by your door later?"
"I'm not entertaining callers this evening. Another time, perhaps." The skin around his lips was growing tighter and tighter. Elain tucked the vial in her skirts and gave him one last nod. "Farewell, Graysen."
She could feel his gaze burning her as she fled to the nearest tower. The journey to her room felt far longer than before, but the seconds hadn't been ticking away from Lucien's life the same way they were now. Poison, but what kind? Would it be slow acting? Would he be dead before she could find him?
They had been standing on the farthest side north of the rampart, bordering the forest. Which meant that, when she'd last seen him, Lucien had been close to the forest's edge, too. Close enough that perhaps she could find him.
In her bedroom, she threw together a haphazard satchel of supplies. Torn bed sheets for bandages. Honey and wine. The leftovers she'd stashed from breakfast, intending to pass them to Mrs. Laurent so she could give them to her child.
Anything else, the forest would provide. She would always trust in that.
-
As close to the battlefield as she would possibly dare, Elain cupped a primrose in the palm of her hand. She raised it to her mouth and blew. The petals caught on the wind, lifting like a boat at sea, and the wind filled its sails just the same.
Knowing the flower would be carried precisely where it needed to be, Elain took her time laying the path in the forest. One at the forest edge, as visibly as she could place it. Another just a few steps away. So on and so forth, until she was deep enough into the forest that she felt they would be safe.
Then, she waited.
Hours passed. She grew worried he had not seen the primrose, or that he was not able to follow the trail. Was he too injured? The poison too strong? She couldn't feel it much herself, but it was possible it was only the bowstring that struck her.
The only thing that saved Elain from completely losing her mind was the heartbeat still strong and steady in her chest. It wasn't the rhythm of a dying man.
Nor a man in any hurry, apparently.
When an intruder finally parted the mist, she held her breath, and the forest stilled. Telling herself it could just be a deserter, or a solider looking for somewhere private to relieve himself, did little to squash the thrill jolting through her.
He's here, that heartbeat told her. He's coming.
She heard him first. The uneven, limping steps. Too heavy for the fox-like boy she'd met all those years ago. But then he emerged, one hand pressed to the wound in his abdomen, the arrow still sticking out the back.
Elain sucked in a breath, and at last the forest breathed again.
He was not anything like the crying boy she'd met ten years ago. Even injured. Even smeared with ash and blood and battle-grime, he was something regal to behold. Tall, in a way that complimented the pride he wore so plainly, even then. His frame had broadened, honed to a warrior's strength, but there was still a leanness to him.
It was his eyes, though, that captured her. As if someone had rigged a snare beneath the undergrowth, as soon as their eyes met, and she witnessed the humor and intelligence and fiery heat contained within the two molten pools of russet, she was caught.
"Well, I'll be damned," Lucien breathed, bracing himself against a nearby tree for support. "I thought I was hallucinating when I saw that flower."
"You're really here."
She wanted to touch him, to prove to herself it was true, but his answering smirk encouraged her to keep a healthy distance.
"I really am. And what's stopping me from taking you as my prisoner?"
Elain eyed the arrow at his side. "I can name a few things," she said dryly.
He laughed, though it was more of a pained wheeze. "Please, enlighten me."
"Well, besides the arrow still sticking out of you, there's also the fact that it's poisoned. And only I know where to find the antidote."
That sharp russet gaze cut to the satchel at her hip. He gestured to it with a blood-stained hand. "I'm willing to stake my chances that you stashed it in there."
Ignoring that he was right, Elain tipped her chin and added, "I'm also the only one who can navigate these woods. Kill me, or take me as prisoner, and you'll be trapped here until the end of your days."
"I see." The smirk didn't abate, but it did shift into something less piercing. "Then I take it that means I'm at the will of Elain Archeron. Did you lure me into these woods so I would bargain for the antidote?"
It hadn't occurred to Elain that she could bargain. Her only intention had been to help him—but what if she could help him and end the conflict between their people?
She considered this, then said, "I'll give you the antidote if you swear to answer all of my questions truthfully."
"What's this? You're not bargaining to have your wicked way with me?" His eyes swept her from head to toe, and the resulting swoop in her stomach was so much different than the innocent flutter she'd always felt around Graysen. "A shame, but very well. If all you seek is answers, I can oblige those terms."
"You have to swear it," Elain insisted. "Swear you'll be truthful."
Lucien held her stare. "I swear to answer your questions truthfully in exchange for the antidote."
A gust of wind encircled them, lifting the loose leaves from the forest floor. Grits of dirt scraped against her skin. Lucien shifted, covering his wounds protectively as the forest stirred to life. Far below the soil, the roots pulsed with the weight of their promise.
Her vision went hazy, filled with the mist that crept from the shadows. They whispered to her, and she spoke their words aloud for his benefit. "By the will of the earth, we are tethered. To forsake this vow is to forsake one's life."
When her vision cleared, she saw that Lucien was staring at her, the color drained from his face. She liked to think that had more to do with the blood still pooling between the gaps in his fingers, but there was a wariness to the way he watched her that hadn't been present before.
"I get the impression," he said. "That you take your vows quite seriously."
A hysteric, partially-relieved laugh escaped her. "Are Vanserras not men of their word?"
"Not typically, no."
With one arm braced against the tree for balance, Lucien started to lower himself to the ground. Low, grunted exhales escaped his clenched teeth with each gradual movement. Elain hurried to him, already drawing a knife from her satchel.
"Turn, so I can see your back," she instructed.
With reluctance, Lucien twisted, revealing where the arrow exited his lower back. He was fortunate it hadn't pierced anything vital.
"I'm going to cut the arrowhead off," she said, as gently as she could. "Then we're going to have to remove—"
"Just do it," he snapped.
Elain arched a brow. She delved back into her satchel and fished out a wine bottle, swishing it in offer. "Want a swig of this?"
He snorted. "Is this one laced with sleeping drought, too?"
The bottle was out of her hands before she could answer. He popped the cork with an efficient sweep of his thumb, and then the bottle was tipped down his mouth, throat bobbing as he chugged the contents.
"Don't drink it all!" She snatched it out of his hands, making an effort not to study the liquid gleaming on his lips. A path of it trailed down his throat, tracking a clean path through the ash caked to his skin. "I still need it to disinfect the wound."
Lucien grunted, but he didn't complain as he turned his back to her. She tried to be as careful as she could, keeping one hand on the arrow to hold it still while she sawed with the other. His body tensed with each jerky motion. She knew he was trying to hide the agony, but there was no way to disguise his sharp, uneven breaths. The way he fisted his fingers in the dirt until his knuckles turned white.
"Your questions," he said tightly.
A distraction. He wanted a distraction. Elain could give him that.
"How do we end this conflict between our people?"
He let out a wet, raspy laugh. "We already told you how."
"I haven't been privy to the negotiations," she said over the sound of her sawing. "I don't know what you've asked us for."
"The seer," Lucien gasped. "My father won't give up until he has the seer."
Present Day
A person's fate was like a river.
That was how Elain viewed it. It had its intended course, but the journey could still be shaped and changed depending on what was encountered along the way. Some people forged a dam, others dug branches to divert the river's path.
Certain outcomes could be avoided, others were absolute. The difference wasn't always clear to Elain. She didn't know if she was on a path that could have been avoided, or if only smaller aspects of it could be changed.
If she'd had a choice, she would have preferred to chart a course that didn't include being restrained on an ox-hauled wagon.
Lucien was perched on the bench across from her, already consuming the narrow distance between them as he leaned forward. "You're finally awake."
Beneath the rope bound tightly around her wrists, Elain's skin flamed with a terrible itch. She shifted, testing the tension, and went slack when she realized there was no slipping out of them. Not yet, at least.
"I don't remember going to sleep," she said, voice sharp in accusation.
She saw nothing but cruelty in his smile. "Sleep drought." He chuckled, practically brimming with self-satisfaction. "I learned that trick from you."
Had he? As a son of Autumn, Elain was inclined to believe he'd been versed on all matter of trickery before their paths had ever crossed. She would not be blamed for this.
"Last I checked, sleep drought is meant to be used to help people."
Lucien's eyes darkened. "I am helping you. You just don't see it yet."
"Really?" Her flesh burned, chafing against the rope as she thrashed her arms forward, as if to strike him. He didn't flinch, and she didn't make it far enough to graze his skin. "Because this feels more like a kidnapping than a rescue."
"Call it whatever you want," he growled. "I'm taking you home."
"I have no home!" If she couldn't strike him with her hands, then she would do it as well as she could with her eyes. She imagined they were daggers she was using to slice through him. "The Autumn Court made sure of that."
"And you've done your best to ensure the same for me." His voice was rougher than the coarse gravel tipping the wagon to-and-fro. Had it always sounded like that? Another casualty of her habit to round people's edges in her mind. There was nothing familiar about the way he vowed, "I'm putting an end to it."
As the wagon dipped and bounced over the path, Lucien weathered her glare. He didn't return it, he only stared at her with unreadable eyes as she cut and cut and cut at him with all the hatred she could muster. If she could only find a trace of remorse, if he would only tell her that he had not come for the reasons she believed, she would stop.
"Are you going to fight me the whole way?" He asked, sounding bored with her theatrics.
Elain smiled. If he thought she was still the wide-eyed fawn he'd met in the forest all those years ago, then she would show him the wildcat he'd truly put in chains.
"Believe me," she said. "I have no intention of making this easy for you."
He raised his brows, something distinctly challenging about the gleam in his eye. As if he wanted her to fight. As if some sick part of him enjoyed watching her struggle. Maybe that same rot seeped inside her at some point, because she couldn't deny the thrill that sparked in her chest.
She turned to the driver, pitching her voice high. "Help!" She cried, shaking the cart from how fiercely she writhed against her restraints. "Help me! I don't know this man. Please! Whatever coin he's promised—"
"Shut your wench up!" The driver shouted at Lucien. "If she keeps screaming like that, I'll dump you both in the woods."
Yes, yes! The woods were her domain. Even the ones on the continent sung to her. If she could get to them, nature would aid her escape. Lucien would never be able to find her again.
Elain sucked in a deep breath, prepared to scream. She would shatter the driver's earbuds if that's what it took. But a firm hand clamped down on her mouth, and she was nose to nose with the face that had haunted her dreams for years.
"Don't make me gag you, Elain," he murmured. "I've missed hearing your voice."
She didn't know if she believed him. Perhaps there was a time when she might have, but that girl was lost to the forest. Stripped into nothing more than a haunting tale of what happened to girls who allowed sons of Autumn to lead them astray.
Why then, did she still search for softeness in him?
I swear I've seen it in you before, she thought sadly. From the other side of her thoughts, his mechanical eye clicked, clicked, clicked. I think you could be more than the violence your father bade you to be.
Slowly, testing to see if she would scream again, Lucien lowered his hand. He remained close, his warning clear. Should she try the same again, he would follow through on his threat.
"What happened to you?" She whispered.
There were many ways to interpret her question, equally many ways to answer.
"You left," he said.
You betrayed me, is what she heard.
"To your eye," she clarified.
His eyes had the unnerving ability to pierce straight through her. Not like a blade. There was nothing cutting in his expression, only knowing. Like her body was made of glass that he could peer straight through, reading every thought in her head before she spoke it. The steady click and whir of his false eye did nothing to diminish that sensation.
"You left," he said again.
"He took it," she filled in. A chasm threatened to tear open in her chest, and she just barely managed to keep it stitched together. "Didn't he? Was it punishment for letting me escape?"
Lucien didn't answer, and she knew that meant she had guessed correctly. There was no gloating over a truth so horrible, but she didn't want him to see her pity, either. The safest thing to do was look away.
The wagon continued its bumpy journey through an unknown valley. Its driver and the tireless ox kept their backs to the cargo, determined to ignore the situation they had clearly been paid off not to question. That left the stars as Elain's only true companion, watchful from their place amid the clear night sky. She cast her eyes to them, hoping they might spare some guidance, when she caught a feint song on the wind.
A memory. An echoing ballad of The Primrose Players. That's when it all began to make sense to her.
"Was the story of the exiled prince true, then? Were you sent to fetch me so you could restore your honor?" She risked a glance in his direction. When she found it infuriatingly blank, she added, "I'm mostly surprised that you convinced someone to write a song about you."
"I suppose there's solace in knowing I'm someone's muse, if not my wife's." That word. Wife. It was like a continual elbow to the ribs, and Lucien cast her a goading smile as if he knew it. "The Primrose Players were seeking passage to the continent, same as me. We hitched a ride together and I suppose they found my story inspiring. Though I'll admit they took some artistic liberties."
"Well, there's nothing a poet loves more than a tale of betrayal," Elain said tartly.
Lucien cocked his head. "Remind me again, who betrayed who?"
"Last I checked, only one of us is being bound and dragged across the continent."
"And yet," he said. "Only one of us abandoned our marriage vows. "
"You speak as if there was ever any merit to them."
When Lucien recoiled, she knew her words dealt a harsher blow than she intended. A crack burst through his perfect armor and for a second, nothing more, she saw a hint of anguish rippling across his face.
Then it was gone, and his voice was but a cool ember as he said, "I've honored every vow I've ever made to you, Elain. Can you say the same?"
Huge shout out to the organizers of @elucienweekofficial. I haven't participated much in the preamble but it was fun to follow along. The sheer effort and care put into this was staggering. You guys rock.
On the eve of battle Lucien wakes up to find himself tied up and taken prisoner by Elain. He begrudgingly follows her on a wild goose chase through the Middle. He doesn't know why he's there, or what she wants from him, considering she has spent the last six months ignoring him completely, he assumes the worst. Can Elain convince Lucien to have faith in her when...they can't speak or make a sound the entire journey?
Chapter One - Heartbeat
Preview:
A savage part of him mused that perhaps some of the gossip that the middle Archeron was a bit of a ditz could be true. He could not reconcile why she would be flower picking in the most lawless, dangerous land in all of Prythian.
Summary: Lucien’s heart stopped the day his wife’s heart did.
Or at least he wished it did.
Because Lucien’s heart still remained beating while Jesminda’s heart continued to beat in another person’s chest. Dr Lin’s Jane Doe, they called her.
Gods, he hated her.
Why did she get to live when Jesminda did not?
Rating: M, some smut
Read on AO3
A/N: *peeking from behind the door* yes, I’m coming out of my very long writing hiatus for @elucienweekofficial I just felt like I couldn’t not! Especially with how perfect this fic premise fit the Day 1 prompt: Heartbeat. Literally😅
This will be a two-parter, with part 2 being posted for the day 6 Scars prompt.
Disclaimer: I am personally very pro-organ donation but if you’re not, that’s fine too. This is just a silly fic. Please don’t take it too seriously.
Now that’s out of the way, I hope you enjoy!
Lucien’s heart stopped the day his wife’s heart did.
It stopped when the container truck slammed into their car on the highway and ripped her away from him. He remembered the exact millisecond her heart stopped. Even through the hospital walls, his all too keen fae hearing could track the fading beats and with it, his heart stopped beating with hers.
Or at least he wished it did.
Because Lucien’s heart still remained beating, and he was cursed (or blessed as some naive fool would call it) to walk about this world alone to keep pieces of their lives together alive.
All while Jesminda’s heart beat in another person’s chest. Dr Lin’s Jane Doe, they called her. A name Lucien could never forget.
Gods, he hated her.
Why did she get to live when Jesminda did not?
***
Lucien tilted his head up to the ceiling. Eyes closed, his long breath shuddered every step in and out of his body.
He hated Tithe Day. It was an antiquated custom that should have been left behind when society entered the industrial revolution, or maybe just when wheels were invented. He never understood why Tamlin never abolished it. Even if it had been greatly streamlined, meetings with the High Lord were only required if the people failed to make the tithe after three consecutive years, the kneeling and pleas for another chance were demeaning and humiliating, excessively so.
They were such a pain to watch and Lucien was only on the fifth family for the day. His eyes met Andra’s across the room, who gave him a small shrug. The male didn’t necessarily agree with the practice but neither did he find an impetus to transit to a differently flawed tax system. A necessary evil, he would end up saying, as Tamlin nodded in agreement at the back.
Lucien swallowed back a scoff and turned back down to his tablet, mindlessly scrolling down the list of her families they had to get through today. Mother’s tits, there were so many-
Like a yarn still attached to the spool, his gaze was helplessly pulled towards the doorway, towards the Archeron sisters shuffling somewhat begrudgingly into the room.
Feyre, Lucien’s brain supplied automatically in recognition of his friend. It would mean that the ones next to her were Nesta and Elain; the latter of which had his thoughts gradually seeping away from his mind.
Ba-dum, ba-dum-
A honey blonde mop, a shade lighter than both her sisters’, whose tight curls perfectly frame an oval face. Though her lips never stopped muttering to her sisters, her face tilted a degree towards his direction, chocolate brown eyes widened to orbs. Chocolate brown locked with russet.
-Ba-dum.
Time unwound between heartbeats. In the span of a blink, the world righted itself and Elain’s face relaxed back into neutrality. The moment passed as if it never happened.
Lucien turned his attention back to the tablet as the trio bowed to the High Lord. His eyes narrowing at the description next to their names. The Archerons fell behind the requisite payment by just a hairline three years ago and got caught in a web of compounding interest, culminating in their appearance before the High Lord today. The initial amount was so marginal it was unfortunate, really.
Nesta, as the oldest, spine rigid and dignified, made their plea case. A worked installment plan to catch up on their late payments within the year. It should have been a simple case primed for dismissal. Except for the fact that Feyre snubbed Tamlin’s attention at an event once, a flat rejection that played jump ropes on the line of propriety and humiliation.
Tamlin’s lips curled unpleasantly, a curt rejection poised at his lips.
“You’re blessed with the earth elemental gift, aren’t you?” Lucien’s voice rang across the hall, cutting in before Tamlin could say his piece. He would pay the price for undermining the High Lord’s authority later but for now, the courtier could mediate. “Quite the green thumb.”
Elain blinked twice, caught off guard at the question. Next to her, Nesta narrowed her eyes while Feyre frowned.
“Yes,” the middle sister nodded briskly, her mind made up in an instant. She lifted her chin and focused her gaze at Tamlin, a perfectly calculated mix of deference and reverence designed to play to the egos of powerful men. “Would the High Lord be in need of such services?”
They did, in fact. Their garden, a sentimental keepsake from Tamlin’s long passed parents, had fallen into disarray in neglect over the past few months after their previous landscapist unceremoniously quit.
At a cock of Tamlin’s head, Lucien replied affirmatively and they quickly came to an arrangement. A month to restore the garden and whatever additional time required to lay the necessary spellwork to maintain its upkeep. A debt to be repaid all while protecting delicate prides.
It was only after they left that Lucien realised he had met his match. That was a battle of words and wit won by charm and smiles.
***
If one (mostly Andras, that teasing prick) asked him if he was snooping, Lucien would deny it to his grave. He just so happened to be walking through the corridors where its long stretch of windows overlooked the gardens. The exact same gardens which prim and upright Alis seemed to be berating Elain.
“As skilled as you may be, punctuality should be the most basic courtesy you show the court. To be late on your second day! Heavens above!” She exclaimed.
Elain stood by dutifully as the estate’s facility manager continued to lecture her. Never giving excuses nor defending herself. At the end of it, she sincerely apologised and promised never to let it happen again. That, at least, softened Alis’s anger, who at last left with a final ‘Just don’t do it again’.
Lucien made his way over after Alis left, stopping just behind their new landscapist, kneeling by a bed of dying roses. He asked with an amused smile, “Tough luck with Alis already on your second day?”
Elain flinched at the intrusion, just barely and quickly subdued, but a flinch nonetheless. She replied with a practiced smile, “Unfortunately, it seems. Although I do hope to get back into her good graces soon.” She gave a pointed look at the green glow bathing the sad looking plants and the steadily receding marks of soil rot.
Lucien didn’t buy the act. He held back a frown, his nostrils flaring at the burst of fear that Elain had momentarily emitted. Russet eyes tracked the stilted movement of delicate arms and narrowed at the wrapped bandage around the exposed slit of her wrist. He caught it mid air, long fingers gently circled the back of her hand and brought it closer to him.
He asked sharply. “What happened?”
Their linked hands trembled. Lucien didn’t know who was the one who did — her in pain or fear or him in barely controlled anger?
Elain’s other hand joined theirs, albeit momentarily, to extricate her hand from his and protectively held her injured wrist to her chest.
She shrugged in a suitably convincing manner of dismissal. “I was mugged on the way home last night.”
“Mugged?” He echoed, barely hearing himself over the blood rushing in his ears, “for what? What did they take?”
Her jaw clenched, relaxed and clenched again, fingers sweeping featherlike caress along the back of her wrist. She replied, “My father’s watch.”
Lucien dragged his gaze across her wrist, still cradled against her chest, up to her eyes, where shadows seemed to haunt deeper within its recesses. A hurt so complex Lucien couldn’t unpack. It chased away the edges of red crowding his sigh and left sympathy in its place. In that moment, he did the only thing he could: as gently as he could muster, he took that injured hand into his own and engulfed it with a healing warmth.
“Thank you.” Elain said, smiling gratefully after he released her hand. It was the first time he had seen the female smile with zero reservation.
It stole his breath away.
Lucien straightened his back, clearing his throat. Elain, too, turned her attention back to the sad looking flowers and bathed it with a green glow.
“If it’s alright with you, I can walk you back from now on.”
Elain blinked, surprised by the offer. “You don’t have to.”
“I know.” He shrugged as he slipped his hands into his pockets, “I want to.” The notion of letting Elain walk back alone in the dark after what happened wrangled something within him. Unacceptable, it hissed at him.
“Let me know when you get off. I’ll drop you a text later so you have my number.” He said when she didn’t object.
She cocked a brow and asked with humour, “and how would you get my number?”
Lucien found himself unwittingly smiling. He returned smoothly, “Nothing wrong with using official records for personal reasons.”
A giggle escaped her, a melodic chime ringing in the air. She stood up, wiping the dirt off her hands on her apron. Nodding in satisfaction at the bed of roses that now looked much less sickly than it did before. She lifted her phone from her pocket and handed it to him. “Or you could just give yourself a missed call right now. You know, just to avoid any abuse of authority.”
He bent over slightly to drop the phone back into her hand after following her suggestion. His lips drew close to the pointed tip of her ear. “There, no more abuse of authority. Purely,” he paused, delighting in the tiny goosebumps raised, “personal.”
The tip of her ears stained pink. Elain twisted her body back to her plants, muttering in a voice so unclear it might have been undecipherable if not for his fae hearing, “I’ll see you later then.”
A lightness settled in his chest. It felt hard to keep the smile off his face.
“See you later, Elain.”
***
Twilight is a time of beauty. A mix of pink, orange and blue splashed across the sky. As temporary as it was, the view served as a reminder to look up, to forget worldly concerns in that fleeting moment, and take in the gift nature offered.
Lucien had spent just a little too long looking at the twilight sky today. Occasionally, he sneaked glances at the partner of his walk, someone whose beauty rivaled even the best of nature’s offering. It wasn’t an awkward silence per say. In fact, it felt too comfortable. One where words weren’t needed to fill the gap.
Their shoes clattered on cobblestone, their shoulders occasionally rubbed against each other’s. A little girl ran up to them then and thrusted a basket of stalks of daffodils with red ribbons tied to them.
“Flower for your date, sir?”
Lucien and Elain exchanged glances. A light danced in those chocolate brown eyes in a silent message agreeing to play along. Lucien passed some bills to the flower girl and ran his fingers along the bunch.
“This one!” The girl piped up, her grin wide enough to split her face, and picked up a particularly fresh looking stalk, “perfect for the pretty lady.”
“Excellent choice,” Lucien agreed with a pointed look, “very pretty indeed.”
Someone who looked like Elain must be no stranger to such compliments but still, in the orange glow of twilight, Lucien spotted the rose dusting over her cheeks.
“Do you like receiving flowers, Elain?” He murmured after the flower girl had proceeded to hunt for her next sale. He raised his hand to brush a stray strand away from his face.
“It could be considered contrived to give flowers to a landscapist.” She remarked, even as the look in her eyes was warm.
Lucien considered her words. “What about giving flowers to Elain? Not Elain the landscapist or the earth elementalist. Just Elain.”
A smile plays on her lips and she admitted, “Then, Elain does like flowers. They’re pretty.”
A pure and honest answer. There was no pretense in seeking a deeper or more philosophical reason to her love for flowers. Just an appreciation for the simple beauty in a world where it was so easy to get caught up in its ugliness.
Elain bumped into his shoulders as Lucien came to a halt. He turned around to face her. With a flick of his wrist, he sliced the long stalk, halving its length. He tucked the flower behind Elain’s ear, pushing back the same stray lock he brushed away earlier.
His eyes drank in the sight before him and inadvertently took a step back in appreciation.
Elain reached her hand out and froze him in motion. Hands delicately gathered his long auburn tresses, and rested them on one shoulder.
“Why are you being so nice to me?” She asked, her question stained by a quiet caution. With that red ribbon that had now unwound and somehow floated its way to her hand, she deftly tied the red ribbon around it.
Lucien hummed. “Do I need a reason to?”
There is a reason for everything. Her pointed gaze said and she was right. Wanting to be a good, decent person was a reason. As was simply wanting to get into her pants. Equally real and valid.
The trouble was Lucien himself didn’t quite understand the reason behind his own behaviour.
***
With a few phone calls and a cup of tea with a law enforcement captain later, Elain’s mugger was put behind bars, and her father’s watch back on her wrist three days later.
“Will I still be seeing you later?” She asked tentatively after Lucien had broken the news and returned the watch to her.
There was no longer a reason to keep walking her back and he should say no to keep things clean and uncomplicated. The proverbial “not shitting where you eat” and all that.
Only, “of course, we have our running tab of ice creams that you owe me,” was what came out of his mind. Logic taking a backseat.
If only the small grin Elain gave in return did not make his heart skitter.
The walk from the High Lord’s estate grounds to her home quickly became the highlight of his days. It was too often derailed by little adventures — detours with strolls by the river, dinners talking about anything and everything, a trip to the freaking planetarium. The clock shifted right for when their walks came to an end each day.
Spending time with Elain was effortless, something more than just acquaintances, almost fringing on a lifelong friendship.
Unfortunately, today was a day he would not get to walk Elain home. His diplomatic role in external relations had him playing courtier at the annual Seven Courts meeting and the networking dinner reception thereafter. Lucien usually relished at such events; flitting around the crowd and solidifying the much needed intercourt ties, or simply forming much more personal ties; ones that end with clothes lying askew on the ground and bodies pressed together.
Tonight was not turning out to be one of those nights. His mind played tricks on him: of a phantom achingly familiar melodic chime of laughter followed him around, chestnuts in the canapés reminiscent of tight locks of honey brown, floral arrangements of an assortment of flowers that somehow all smelt of jasmine and honey.
Lucien stepped out onto the balcony overlooking the estate garden and released a long breath. He rested his elbow on the railing and scrubbed his face with his hand. He should really at least make sure he fulfilled his official diplomatic duties for the evening.
A small movement in the painstakingly restored gardens drew his attention like a moth to a flame-
“Why are you still here?” Lucien half demanded, the air around him still shocked from the disappearing embers of his winnow.
A green glow extinguished into the night. Elain blinked up at him, not expecting the sudden intrusion. The space between her brows creased, “I’m fine tuning the maintenance array. Why aren’t you at the meeting?”
“The meeting?” Lucien asked, amused. “That ended hours ago. What time do you think it is now?”
Elain looked up at the now darkened sky. She flicked her wrist to read the time on her watch. Rosebud lips formed an ‘o’ before curving upwards into a sheepish smile.
“Oops?”
Surrounded in the dark lush green of her garden, with dirt smudged on her temple, and the moonlight which glided off her cheeks and chased the beaded sweat down her jawline, Elain Archeron was the most beautiful fae Lucien had ever seen.
“C’mon,” he said gravelly. He paused to clear his throat, “if you’re ready, let me walk you back.”
“Alright,” she nodded, unaffected as she spooned sheets of paper into her hands, “let me just grab my stuff from the office and we can head off.”
“Did something happen at the event?” She piped up after they entered her small office.
“Hmm?”
She tilted her head, eyes narrowing in concern, “You look bothered by something.”
You. You are what’s bothering me. Lucien nearly blurted out. You, with your stupidly beautiful eyes and annoyingly luscious hair and freaking dirt smudged face.
Elain continued to eye him silently. She wound her arms to the back to undo the apron and slide it over her head, a sliver of smooth, alabaster skin peeking out as she lifted her arms.
She froze her hands above her head, nostrils flaring at the change of scent he had unwittingly emitted. “Lucien?”
With a speed that would astound even his toughest Vanserra instructor, Lucien crowded Elain into the wall behind, a hard thigh wedged between her legs. His hand caught her twin open palms and pinned them in place, his other hand a light caress against her cheeks, thumb wiping away the dirt that had been taunting him.
“You had some dirt there.” He panted raggedly.
Elain advanced an inch, her legs now flushed against his thigh. The slightest movement surged lightning down to the one part of his body commanding the most blood flow right now.
“Where?” She challenged, leg snaking around his thigh.
His hand caught her thigh mid movement and tightened his grip, settling her leg around his waist. “Do you really want to know,” His voice dropped an octave, “Elain?”
Pupils blown wide, the sweetest scent permeated through the narrow space between them.
“Yes.” She breathed.
Their lips crashed together. An explosion of movement, everywhere. His tongue against hers, her fingers entangled in his hand, his hand snaking beneath and up her shirt, leaving its trail of goosebumps.
His teeth scraped across her upper lip. “Elain,” he pleaded. A desperate bid.
“Yes.”
Buttons scattered to the ground as Lucien littered kisses down her neck and chest. Experienced fingers unhooked the bra in one smooth motion and the garment joined the buttons. He closed his mouth around a nipple, relishing in the whimper emanating from the writhing female.
Lithe fingers eagerly undid his belt and shoved downwards to grab-
He hissed, “Elain.”
“Yes, Lucien.” Her hands sandwiched his face to force his gaze to hers. Sobriety rang clear even within the haze of lust in her eyes. “Yes.”
Pants and panties yanked downwards as Lucien plunged deep within Elain in a single thrust. She gasped sharply, leg squeezing tightly around his waist.
Yes, she trusted him. Yes, she wanted this, she wanted him.
Lucien trembled in inaction as he let her adjust to him. Russet eyes were equally beseeching. Yes, he wanted this. Yes, he wanted her more than he could imagine in his wildest dreams.
Twin heartbeats hammered to the skies as they moved against the other. Light blinds with every thrust, pleasure building closer and closer to the precipice, until he follows her over the edge, world shattering, stars bursting.
Yes, yes, yes.
***
They laid, sweaty and sated, on the ground. The aftermath of their joining left them limp and entangled but just ridiculously happy. Lucien could hardly keep a lazy grin off his face as he idly drew circles with his fingers on her stomach.
“Stop it!” Elain giggled at the ticklish sensations, swatting his hand away.
He playfully obliged and directed his attention upwards towards her chest. He twisted his upper body to hover over her, head lowering to give her breasts the tender loving care he had decided they wholly deserved.
He pressed his lips to a scar at the centre of Elain’s chest. “Where did this come from? Looks serious.” He murmured.
“It was. A heart transplant, from a multiple vehicle accident on the bridge linkway between Winter and Spring that sent me veering off a cliff four years ago.” She covered her hand over his, finger tracing over the scar slightly. She sounded faraway, her mind falling into the depths of a trauma sequestered deep in her mind. “They said it was a miracle I survived.”
Bella rang faintly in Lucien’s head. He should’ve been so terribly grateful that she survived, especially when one car accident had already taken so much from him. If only his darn mind could stop racing.
A multiple vehicle pileup on the bridge linking Summer and Winter four years ago. There weren’t that many accidents with such a description. Identical to the one he and Jesminda were in.
He choked. “W-which hospital were you in?”
Elain frowned, not expecting his response. “Winter General. Why do you ask?”
Lucien withdrew his hand, his entire body extricated itself. The instant loss of heat was stark but Lucien barely felt it over the sound of his heart beating thunderously in his ears. Elain felt miles away.
“What was your doctor’s name?”
Somewhere still so far away. A deep continuous frown. A distant reply. “Dr Rebecca Lin. What’s going on, Lucien?”
Dr Rebecca Lin. Dr Lin. Winter General. Four years ago. Multiple vehicle pile-up. Dr Lin.
It all came crashing down.
He whispered, more to himself. “Dr Lin’s Jane Doe. You’re Dr Lin’s Jane Doe.”
Concern merged with frustration and wariness. “What are you talking about?”
Lucien wanted to burst into a hysterical laughter. Of course it had to turn out this way. The gods were not done fucking with him yet apparently. He exclaimed, “It’s you! You’re Dr Lin’s Jane Doe. Winter General, October, four years ago. On the worst day of my life.”
Finally, their eyes meet across the room. Wild russet against stricken chocolate brown.
Her voice was a dangerous calm as she asked, “what are you saying?”
“Jesminda’s heart beats in your chest. You live when she died.”
He couldn’t be here. Not now and definitely not with her.
Lucien gave one last look at Elain. Her mused hair, swollen lips and undeniably devastated eyes. A picture of vulnerability.
A part of him rammed at him, screaming at him to hold her in his arms and never let go. He squashed it mercilessly. How could he when Jesminda died while she lived? How could he ever face her in the afterlife if he did so?
Lucien did the only thing he could. He winnowed away.
A/N: ignore the cliffhanger. Did you spot the Bridgerton S4 reference?😌
Summary: Everyone knows Earth is lost to humanity, a wasted rock destroyed by nuclear war five hundred years before they fled to the stars.
Or, that's what Elain Archeron believed right until she crash landed on Earth's surface.
Notes: Massive, important, MAJOR thanks to @chelseamorninggirl and @limeandorange for letting me bounce this fic off of them, and for reading whole chapters of it and giving me their thoughts. It wouldn't exist without your encouragement- thank you.
for @elucienweekofficial | Read on AO3
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The station sirens blared to life, rousing Elain Archeron from another restless sleep.
It was the third time that week, unusual by the standards of the Station. Pulling a pillow over her face, Elain tried to slip back into the dream she’d been having, but the noise was only muffled.
Wah. Wah. Wah. Wah.
Rhythmic and unyielding, a warning to remain in her cabin for the time being. Elain sighed, tossing the pillow to the cold, metal floor. She blinked against the offensive red lighting up the otherwise peaceful dark of her space until she didn’t have to blink against the light. What was going on?
It was tempting to ask her sister Feyre, who seemed to know all the gossip albeit unwillingly. Feyre lurked in the maintenance halls, hiding from her responsibilities and so she could focus on the one thing that gave her real purpose and joy—art.
There was no room for art on The Station.
Elain sat up, legs dangling off the raised platform her bed rested on. Reaching toward the metal plated wall, she pressed a button to lift the shade from the porthole just above her window. It was the only one she had, a view into the vastness of space. Below, Elain could see the ruined husk of the planet Earth, abandoned centuries earlier for space travel—at least at first.
No one knew if it was space travel or simple biological evolution that brought about the beginning of the end for humanity. Had someone contracted a disease on some far-flung planet? Or had a planet, filled to the bursting with a population that seemed like it couldn’t die, finally brought about its own destruction? Everyone seemed to agree it was technology taken too far, but the disease had spread too quickly and had killed so effectively that by the time anyone realized they had a full-blown pandemic on their hands, all that was truly left was evacuation.
Elain peered closer against the tempered glass. To her, Earth was something mythological. A pristine blue and green sphere, the mother of her species—home. As a girl, she and her sisters had run about The Station pretending they were living in those lush jungles and swimming in the salted oceans they so often read about.
Humans weren’t meant to live in space, of that she was certain. Some had certainly adapted. Nesta, for example, seemed to have been built for the cold, dark expanse of space. Most people agreed. Nesta was powerful, overseeing secretive missions deep into space as humanity pushed ever forward, looking for another planet they could call home. They were, after all, the only species in the known universe that did not have a planet to call their own.
Humans were everywhere, living in the most populous cities and the most remote outposts. It was said humans could adapt to anything, often with a sneer of disgust. The other races loathes humanity for the way they’d kicked open the galactic door at gun point, demanding equal trade access, the right to settle colonies and worlds, and the right to defend themselves with force. It took other races centuries to accomplish what humanity managed in fifty years.
The galaxy was afraid of humanity. That’s what Nesta said, anyway. Better to let them be, Nesta would add, brow arched and arms crossed, as she reflected on their status in the universe. Nesta was so close to a council position—the first ever for humanity—though Elain secretly hoped she didn’t get it.
That was more selfish than anything. Nesta wielding one of the most powerful position in the galaxy was a major coup, and it would mean she and Elain would never have another meaningful conversation again. Nesta didn’t know how to switch between gears—she was either Nesta, the woman only Elain truly knew, or she was Ambassador Nesta, a woman even the most feared races in the galaxy didn’t dare cross. While other ambassadors were often lambasted on the net, everyone tiptoed around their critiques of Nesta.
She was ruthless, and her hands were stained with blood. Everyone knew it.
Elain turned from her window and her musings as the blaring ceased and darkness flooded through the room again. Her ears rang with the echoing wah’s even when she closed her eyes and tried to go back to sleep. The clock on the nearby stand read four twenty two am—local donjon time. The whole galaxy was centralized around the founding galactic civilization and their stronghold—donjon. Their language was the standard, common language, their year was the standard year, their time the standard time.
Humanity called their city The Donjon based on its appearance—it seemed to look like the protective keep of a medieval fortress, nevermind that it sounded nearly identical when spoken in their native tongue. The name had stuck over the years since, and now most colloquially referred to the city as Donjon, much to the irritation of the people living there previously. Humanity is so disrespectful! Net pundits would scream, eyes purpling around the sockets. But all these centuries later, the name was still around and so was humanity.
Deciding it was better to just start her day early, Elain let her bare feet the cold metal sheeting of the floor. Having been cleaned the day before, she could see her distorted reflection peering back up her, just as she could everywhere else she went. There was no privacy aboard The Station—not even from herself.
There was also very little water. Water had to be imported, and not every world needed water or relied on it the same way humanity did. Often, a world would have drinkable water for them, but absolutely polluted to humans. In the early days, Elain knew it had been a major source for concern—how did you establish colonies both on planets and in space without access to a constant source of water?
The answer had been synthetic, like so many other things. H2More, they called it. It was like water. Good enough to satisfy the human body, and easy to replicate in factories to be bottled and sold all over the galaxy at reasonable costs. People who’d tasted real water reported H2More tasted wrong, though they could never quite articulate how. No one could even describe the taste of water to begin with, so how could something reportedly made of the same compounds—along with several extras to compensate for living in space—taste wrong?
Elain had never had actual water, so she couldn’t say one way or the other. Most of her life had been spent on The Station—known as Tuscon, the former city on Earth—or on Donjon on occasion. Elain didn’t care for space travel, which often left her feeling sick to her stomach due to the high rate of speed they had to move to get from one planet to the next.
It was good enough to brush her teeth and wash her hair with, and she didn’t have to ration it like she’d heard they’d done back in those yearly years, and that was good enough for her. Life was small on The Station, but it was simple and navigable. The larger galaxy was chaotic, loud, and confusing, which worked for someone who could establish order, like Nesta. But for Elain, her little life felt like enough.
She parted her hair into two waist length plaits, slid a little chapstick over her lips to help with how dry the air was, and slid into the white belted jumpsuit everyone wore on The Station. Her name was embroidered just above her heart: Elain Archeron, Astrobotanist, and she wore it with pride. Her vegetables, fruits, and herbs might be grown with synthetic sunlight and synthetic water, but what came through was real.
It was more science than anything. Elain wasn’t expected to feed The Station, which imported the majority of its goods from other worlds, but to find the right conditions in which once extinct produce could return to the wider galaxy. She’d been working on bananas for the better part of a year. No one in living memory had eaten a real banana, though every human had tasted banana flavoring.
Whether that was the truth of a banana or merely someone's memory, no one truly knew. Elain wanted to be the first to find out, though growing bananas in a lab in space was proving to be quite more difficult than she’d first imagined when she’d applied for the research grant. She’d had good luck growing tropic fruits—she’d managed little mangoes, one teeny papaya, and one half-sized pineapple that had been so acidic, the fruit had ripped apart Elain’s mouth as she’d eaten it.
Though, that hardly stopped her. Elain would have eaten it even if it made her mouth bleed. Nothing had ever tasted so sweet, so…so…alive. She could recreate the humid conditions, the heat, the volume of light, and yet…her trees resisted. It was as if they knew she was attempting to trick them into giving up something they otherwise wouldn’t.
As if this continued pursuit to see what she could grow regardless of if she should, was offensive to the plants themselves. Bananas, a fruit so ubiquitous on earth that they were mentioned in passing in so many written documents, almost as an afterthought, seemed determined to thwart her.
Not for you, stargirl.
How did Elain explain that she had roots in her fingers tethering her to the planet below her? That if there were a chance to return, Elain would have taken it without a backward glance at the stars above? She wanted to feel the sun warming her skin the way humans were meant to—her sun, on her soil, on her planet. No red suns, twin suns, blue suns, or any other type of suns that existed and provided light and warmth to other species. Her sun.
Shaking her head, Elain laced up her boots, grabbed her keycard so she could access the other parts of the ship, and left her gun behind. Technically, all personnel aboard the ship were required to carry a standard issue firearm everywhere they went but Elain rarely did. Soldiers patrolled the corridors and that was enough for her.
She wasn’t the only one up. A light murmuring down the bright, sanitized halls betrayed the cafeteria, which was busier than usual despite the early hour. There weren’t lines yet which was lucky, but if she’d waited Elain knew they’d have cleared out all the tofubacon before she got a chance to get any. Elain added toast with a packet of jam, a scoop of eggs, some sour ro fruit along with a packet of salt to cut through the tartness, and a little carbonated water. She scanned the crowd, found a familiar head of golden blonde hair, and plunked her tray at the same rounded table.
“Alarms got you up, too?” Arina grumbled, pushing the same neon yellow eggs around her tray without enthusiasm.
Arina Novak, Archivist.
“I was dreaming about forests again,” Elain admitted, resting her elbows on the metal surface as she ripped apart her bacon absently.
Arina ran both hands over her bare face. Like Elain, she’d pulled her hair back, though she used a series of small ponytails to create two large bubble braids that hung down either side of her back. It was a popular style on the net, and it looked rather pretty on Arina. Arina, in Elain’s opinion, reminded her of the sun, or what the sun ought to be. Maybe that had been why Elain had been so drawn to her as a little girl.
It wasn’t just her gold hair that caught even under the harshest, most artificial light. It was her grassy green eyes and her brown skin, the same as the soft soil Elain often sifted through her fingertips. Arina seemed the living embodiment of a planet Elain was homesick from, as though she’d been crafted from the missing parts.
Though, Elain looked for Earth in everyone she met. The iron blue of Nesta’s eyes were a stormy sea, the freckles that dotted Feyre’s nose little pebbles for skipping across a lake. Earth was everywhere as a reminder, and never so clearly than it was in the beautiful Arina.
Arina, who spent her days preserving what she could of humanity. The work of her colleagues was to digitize what they could, while others preserved what existed in the here and now. But Arina took the oldest records and carefully preserved them, either by copying them exactly onto new paper, or restoring the documents so they could live on. The majority of these artifacts, once restored, sat in museums on planets that did not belong to humanity and could only be seen if a person had the resources to travel to wherever they were.
Where else would they be housed? Humanity had no home, which meant no place to keep their cultural heritage. Arina often complained about this to Elain, who privately wondered what the benefit was, overall. Did it make other cultures appreciate them more? Make their case for a new planet to colonize greater? Elain could have asked Nesta these questions if she’d wanted to, but never did.
“I wish I was dreaming about forests,” Arina grumbled, finally forking some food into her mouth. “Everytime I close my eyes, I see fire.”
Elain sighed, chewing thoughtfully. “Afraid of losing your work?”
Arina didn’t answer. “What if we got out of here for a while? Took a break, saw a…I don’t know, a beach? Someplace new? What if we spent six months in Noctus Prime—”
“Why?” Elain interrupted, brow wrinkling. “You want to leave?”
Arina turned toward the large, open windows at the far end of the cafeteria. All Elain saw was the emptiness of dark space, peppered with the occasional star here and there.
“We’re rotting out here, Elain,” Arina said with an urgency she hadn’t heard from her friend in the two decades they’d been friends. “Nothing changes on this station and nothing ever will. Don’t you want more than all this?”
Elain looked down at her half-eaten tray. Not really. Once, maybe, she’d dreamed of seeing more of the universe back when she’d been a little girl, but now…
“Doesn’t it suck seeing Gray every day?”
Elain recoiled as though Arina had struck her.
“Why would you say that?” Elain asked, willing her bottom lip not to tremble. “I barely see him at all.”
That was true enough. After Graysen had ended their engagement, he spent more time off The Station than on, traveling between worlds as a diplomat, same as his father. That had been eight months ago, and Elain was doing better. She didn’t cry herself to sleep at night, though if she were honest, she did spend a lot of time trying to keep herself busy so she wouldn’t obsess over the what-might-have-been.
“You used to want more than banana’s, Elain,” Arina tried, her tone just a little too sharp. Elain scowled, eyes narrowing.
“If you want to travel off world, you don’t need me for that,” she snapped, petulantly.
Arina’s hand shot across the table, fingers encircling her wrists. “I want you to come with me. There’s whole worlds out there to grow bananas on. Worlds that Gray wouldn’t dare step foot on.”
That was, partly, what Elain was afraid of. Neither of them needed to vocalize that outloud, given they were both well aware of Elain’s unspoken fears. Even if Gray came back crawling, could she ever trust him again? It had been nothing personal, he’d said, as if their engagement was merely a business transaction that had run its course. He simply needed to put his career first. Maybe someday, blah blah blah, Elain had stopped listening by that point. Empty platitudes meant to make him feel like he wasn’t the bad guy for letting things get this far.
Pretty lies to obscure the fact he’d broken her heart.
“What about a weekend on Noctus Prime? On the Gold Coast?” Arina cajoled, betraying her hand. Elain’s eyes narrowed again.
“You’ve already purchased a flight, haven’t you?”
“Two days from now,” Arina admitted without an ounce of shame. “We can extend it, if we want, but come for a couple days and relax. Get away.”
“Fine,” Elain conceded, ignoring the soft fissure of pleasure she felt at Arina’s obvious joy. It was nice to have a friend who loved her like Arina did.
Arina beamed and Elain basked in the warmth, a moth drawn to the soft glow of her smile.
They parted ways not long after, shifting topics to The Station and all the gossip Arina had. Unlike Feyre, who happened to know things because she was often in the room where things happened, Arina had a trustworthy face. People just told her things because they trusted her, and Arina often immediately told those things to Elain, knowing Elain would never betray her secrets.
The lights in the halls began to warm, mimicking a sunrise on a faraway planet. As Elain walked down the halls, boots smacking softly against metal, she wondered what time it was on Earth. Was the sun rising somewhere below, too?
It was a question she wondered every morning as she walked the halls to her own station—a massive space divided into multiple smaller rooms that were supposed to mimic the biome they wanted to grow in. Elain took one last breath of dry, filtered air, before scanning her key and stepping into her own little lab.
The warmth was a kick to the stomach, the humidity physically weighing on her as though it were its own form of gravity. Elain would never be used to it, though some part of her relished it. This was what the world might have felt like, at least somewhere.
She spent the morning doing her checks, working from a tablet to input data like she did each day. The amount of water needed to be measured, along with soil density, depth, and acidity. Each day Elain measured the length and width of her trees and each banana leaf coming from each branch. She charted the different colors as she observed them, any little spots, any trimming she did, and everything in between.
It took her all morning to complete. Elain wanted to be through so her research could be replicated someday, once she succeeded. The whole galaxy could eat bananas for all Elain cared—that would make them easier to obtain.
She was about to start mixing her feed for the soil to encourage a little more growth when the station seemed to shudder. Elain paused, looking toward the door, but nothing happened. No sirens began wailing, no lights flickered. It was as if something merely knocked into The Station and kept going.
Elain shrugged and continued about her lab, supposing it was likely a piece of floating rock, or junk, merely bonking into them as it continued onward in its neverending journey through space. Elain barely looked up when the station rocked again, though the lurch caused her to dump some of her fertilizer onto her shoes.
“What is going on—”
Another crash, this time violent enough to send Elain careening against the far wall as though she’d been thrown by an invisible hand. Groaning, Elain attempted to rise to her feet, but another lurch kept her pinned to the floor.
The lights overhead shut off with a loud, whining click. A moment later, the sirens began blaring. Wah. Wah. Wah. Wah—
Louder than they’d been that morning, a full-blown warning that something was wrong. Outside the lab, Elain could hear loud voices. Someone was shouting as Elain made her way to the door of her lab.
Someone was firing plasma shots, too, she realized. “What’s happening?” she demanded, as if someone was going to materialize and tell her.
“Get back inside!” A soldier from the hall barked, hitting the red button on the wall to manually shut the doors to the lab from the inside. Elain didn’t move from the little window, feet rooted in place. It seemed unreal. Smoke curled down the hall, obscuring her view. The soldiers in the hall were pushed back as bright red bolts of molten plasma screamed toward them. Some fell, and Elain watched that, too.
This wasn’t a meteor or debris. This was an invasion.
Why?
Who?
The second part of that question was answered almost immediately. Emerging from the fog was a sight Elain had only ever seen on the net—a male Teryx, tall and imposing, his brown skin glistening even in the otherwise dark and adorned with blue, whorling inked tattoos over his shoulders and biceps. They were said to be marks of conquest, given their race was prized warriors above all else.
He paused in the middle of the hall, rolling his shoulders to reveal two massive, leathery wings on either side of his body. Elain ducked, but not quick enough—those vivid yellow green eyes saw her.
The locked door crunched beneath the male's power, his long, strong fingers prying the two sides open with ease. Elain remained where she was, taking note that he seemed almost human with that shock of dark hair, his square jaw and strong, curving nose. The Teryx came from somewhere within The Cosmic Web, their homeworld unknown and uncharted. How they managed space travel was its own mystery, theorized endlessly by pundits on the net.
The Teryx didn’t join politics, they had no interest in being part of any Galactic Alliance, and if they were concerned about their image, they never attempted to correct it. It had been a good century since anyone had seen one of them in the wider space, though on occasion someone might find a Teryx male in some far-flung outpost, taking work as a bounty hunter or otherwise doing something that concerned only them.
Elain had never seen a Teryx female, though she knew the rumors—that the males kept them enslaved in caves, forced them to breed, and cut the wings of every young girl so she couldn’t escape. Though, until that moment, she’d never seen a Teryx male either.
He was terrifying. Pointing his weapon directly at her—a strange mixture of a gun and a knife—he said, “Out. Now.”
Elain shook her head back and forth. “I’m not going anywhere with you,” she whispered.
The male’s eyes narrowed, lips pressed in a firm line. He held the gun a little firmer in his hand. “Now,” he said again, his soft voice a lethal threat.
Elain had a split second to make a decision. Who knew what would happen if she went with him. There was a booming black market trade for slaves in which humans were valued rather highly—nevermind females. For all she knew, he intended to round them all up and sell them for as much as he could manage.
And that was the kindest future she could imagine. Every other alternative was far, far worse. There was a stack of ceramic pots on the table just behind her. With speed Elain didn’t know she possessed, she reached for one and smashed it against the male's face before darting around him.
The roar of anger he emitted scared Elain to the bone, urging her legs on faster. Delving into the smoke and chaos, Elain relied on her emergency training.
Everyone living on The Station went through it four times a standard year. Given how long she’d been there, Elain had gone through it a bazillion times—enough to know the path blindfolded in the dark. That was lucky, given the lack of light, save for the flashing red overhead, was the only illumination in the smoky dark. The floors lit up the path to the shuttles was all but useless given Elain couldn’t see her hand in front of her face.
She choked, coughing against the smoke, as she made her way through the twisting turns. The closer she got, the louder the screaming, the shouting, and the sounds of gunfire. Were they firing bullets or plasma rounds, she wondered? And would they strike her?
As it turned out, no. Soldiers wearing masks yanked her through a chokepoint, not bothering to see where she fell as she came through. It didn’t matter—Elain could hear Nesta’s voice cutting through the hysteria.
“Elain? Where is Elain?”
Elain scrambled to her feet and flung herself at Nesta, colliding into her chest with relief. “We need to get out of here—”
“We need to take them out while they’re distracted,” Nesta interrupted, eyes steely.
“Nes—”
“One of them has Feyre,” Nesta said again, teeth clenched. “They took Feyre, and we have to get her back.”
Elain looked over her shoulder, catching sight of vivid gold in a sea of gray. She reached out for Arina, yanking her hard to keep them together.
“You’re sure?” Elain asked as Arina gasped for air, hands braced on her knees. They were lined up for evacuation but it was going slowly. People were panicked, screaming for children, for lovers, for friends and the orderliness had broken down. If they didn’t hurry, not everyone would make it out before they were breached and more prisoners taken.
“There were two Teryx,” Nesta said, pulling Elain deeper into the hall and further from where the evacuation ships were. “They were…are…huge. One of them lunged for me and she appeared out of nowhere with a knife. Stabbed the bigger one right in the stomach, which should have sent them running.”
“What happened?” Elain whispered, so easily able to imagine what had happened.
“The other one,” Nesta’s eyes clouded over with burning hatred, “he laughed. Said, ‘There you are, darling. I’ve been looking for you,’ like it was a joke, and then…”
Nesta shook her head, the crown of braids atop coming slightly loose. “He swallowed her up in a cloud of smoke. Like magic.”
Elain’s steps stuttered for a minute. “Magic?”
“Some kind of tech, probably,” Arina interjected, having finally caught her breath. “There’s no such thing as magic. And if you blow up their ship, you’re going to blow your sister up, too.”
Nesta didn’t seem to be listening, two pistols in either hand as she made her way toward a fleet of fighters. Most were gone, encircling the terrifying, onyx ship in the distance. Had a bevy of lasers not been firing from its canons, the ship might have looked like a dark void. It seemed to absorb all the light around it like some kind of terribly devourer from legend.
“Are you listening?” Arina pressed, her own gun strapped to her thigh. “If you blow them up–”
“I just need to board,” Nesta interrupted, turning to face Arina down. Elain didn’t know how Arina withstood that look, and after a moment it seemed Arina couldn’t either. She backed down, palms held upward in surrender.
Another body boarded the small fighter. She was a familiar figure to Elain and Arina, though for different reasons. Another archivist, and Nesta’s only friend Gwyn stepped aboard, pushing a gun into Elain’s chest without a word.
“You pilot,” Gwyn said, plopping into the co-pilot’s seat. “You two—buckle in.”
Arina moaned softly, eyes closed as she took a jump seat across from Elain. The two snapped in the harnesses as Nesta jerked away from The Station. She shouldn’t have watched—Nesta took off like a bat out of hell, yanking Elain forward by her navel before pressing her back against her seat.
“I’m going to be sick,” Elain whispered.
“There!” Nesta shouted, tilting the aircraft sickeningly on its side. The cannons from Gwyn’s guns recoiled, causing their own little fighter to lurch from the energy. Not that it stopped Nesta, laser focused on her prey. They whipped around enemy fighters flying ships that melded with the space around them, appearing just in time to send another fighter ship crashing into the void.
That was going to be them if Nesta wasn’t careful.
Elain wondered who’d taught Nesta to fly like she did. She was a natural, maneuvering through the sky and debris like she had some sixth sense—like she’d been born for it. Nesta had always been good at everything she tried, and even better when she put effort behind it.
And that wasn’t enough to stop what was coming for them, all the same. The dark ship at the center of the invasion seemed to have its own wings, unfurling like a terrible dragon. Nesta attempted to move further afield, but gravity was dragging them toward that gaping maw.
Alarms inside the fighter began to ring.
“What now?!” Elain demanded as Nesta and Gwyn flipped switches and pushed flashing buttons to no avail.
“I’m not letting them take Feyre!” Nesta swore. “We’ll never see her again.”
“This is a suicide mission!” Arina argued, unstrapping herself as they yanked forward. “We need to bail—now.”
Gwyn looked at Nesta. “You’re right,” she said before Nesta could argue. “Nes, it’s over. C’mon.”
Nesta only had seconds to decide. Looking up at Gwyn, she finally nodded. “To the pods. Now.”
There were two pods, big enough to sustain life for seventy hours for two individuals. Arina went in first, Elain second. As Elain sat, knee to knee with her friend, Nesta looked into the pod.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“Nes—” Elain scrambled, but Nesta slammed the hissing door shut and began the countdown launch for the pod.
“Sit down, Elain!” Arina tried, but Elain was banging on the small window.
“Nesta!” She screamed, palm aching from the force. “Nesta, they’ll kill you! Nes—”
The pod launched into space and once again, Elain was slammed against a hard, unyielding surface. Arina groaned, too, having taken an elbow, or perhaps a knee, to the gut.
“Elain, you—”
Something smashed into the side of the pod, sending it careening wildly out of control. Elain smacked her head against the unyielding metal wall once, twice.
And then one final time before the stars all winked out.
–
“Another day in paradise,” Jurian commented as Lucien rolled his eyes. That’s not what he would call their current circumstances. He’d come to the resistance a good five years earlier with a friend, and while many others had abandoned the cause, Lucien had remained.
Even in the sticky, muggy weather in the ruined suburbs of Chicago. He supposed he ought to be grateful the ground wasn’t radioactive like so many other cities that had once existed. It had merely been torn apart and left to rot until nature took it over.
And now he lived there, even in the dead of summer, the middle of winter. The weather was decent for about four months out of the year, and he lived for those times. Looking upward at the towering oak trees swaying beneath the moonlight, he wondered what life might be like among the heavens. It was the dream of little boys, not men. There was nothing in their universe besides Earth—how long had they searched, only to find nothing? There were rumors, of course, of aliens appearing in this place or that. Someone claimed a whole group had crashed in Ft. Lauterdale. What a horrible place to be introduced to humanity.
No, this was all their was. Lucien sighed, thinking of his father, the governor of the entire territory. It was a huge swath of land that had once been different states within a United States—a place Lucien only read about in textbooks. Now it was simply The Middle, and had become the most prosperous region in the massive empire that now was The Imperium of the Americas.
Lucien sighed, pulling his shirt from his sticky skin and tossing it over his shoulder. Beron might have declared the resistance dead, but it seemed lively enough to Lucien. People were working, as they always did, in the camp Jurian had taken over from a previous group. It wouldn’t be hard to find them, even as they dug far below the ground to create shelters that could protect them from radiation, and the vast array of new weaponry that seemed to come from the stars every other month.
He glanced upward again just in time to see a shooting star streak across the sky. He wasn’t the only one watching. Everyone, it seemed, had craned their neck to take a look. He heard a child announce they ought to make a wish, and for some reason, Lucien decided to do it.
Send us something that can help, he breathed, eyes fluttering shut for a moment. Anything. Anyone.
The star should have arced along the curve of the planet, not…continued plummeting. “Meteor?” Lucien heard himself say, ignoring everything Jurian had just told him.
Jurian shook his head no. “Could be junk.”
They’d found a lot of debris that had fallen from their gravitational orbit, leftovers of a space age that was long gone. Unfunded by a government more concerned with immediate profit and stripping the remaining minerals from the planet than they did about learning anything new. Lucien often wondered what would happen once there was nothing left to take. When the earth had given up all her secret spoils and humanity was left wretched and abandoned.
Why?
“Could be good for salvage,” Lucien offered, well aware he wouldn’t be getting sleep that night.
“We need to move fast,” Jurian replied, wiping sweat from beneath a mop of brown curls.
“Let’s go now.”
–
Eris was interrupted by his father.
“The Tuscon was attacked.”
“The research station?” Eris questioned, setting his tablet down on the side table. “For what purpose?”
“It’s unclear. They had a lot of projects, and the station is rubble.”
“Who?”
“Teryx,” Beron replied. “Debris is raining down just outside the city. Go out there, clean it up, and ensure no one else finds anything.”
Of course Beron had come to deliver instructions. Beron cared as little for space as Eris did. Their home was on Earth and had been since the dawn of time. Eris had little interest in traveling off world like his father so often did. He’d heard there were grand civilizations out there and he simply did not think anything could be better than what humanity had already constructed.
Even if humanity was a fractured species at the moment. What did the aliens make of that, he wondered?
Eris nodded his head curtly. It was a direct order, and Eris always obeyed. He’d cleaned debris up before. No one was to know the full scope of what was happening in the galaxy, mostly to keep the interests of the wealthy, well…wealthy. Humanity still needed food, still needed weapons, and those things were best found on Earth.
Beron turned and left Eris’ townhouse, leaving Eris to send a flurry of messages as quickly as his fingers could type. This was a problem for the morning. Eris was tracking his youngest brother, who was back somewhere nearby, living like a filthy caveman if he knew Lucien. And he did. Lucien would be scrounging, and Eris didn’t want to have to drag him back home.
Again.
It had simply become an embarrassment for them all. Lucien, brother by his mothers blood only, had always been difficult and unafraid of Beron. He’d left for the resistance as a teenager and only returned when Eris found him, often knocking him unconscious and dragging him home.
Only for Lucien to vanish just as soon as someone took their eyes off him.
Eris sighed, crossing his legs. A ruined space station, the Teryx coming out of deep space, and now debris was raining from the heavens.
Eris had warned his father this secret wouldn’t last, and when the populace on Earth realized they’d been lied to and essentially enslaved, there would be no need for Lucien’s rebellion. The people would revolt all on their own.
He doubted they’d care much about Eris’ own forced participation when they were lining him up for the guillotine. It was simply too much work to try and control everyone’s perception. Beron still cared.
sharing a song from my Elucien playlist for @elucienweekofficial bingo, and I've gotta say I've been singing 🎶I hear your heartbeat to the beat of the drums 🎶 all day because that magic in Lucien's pants IS in fact making Elain blush
All of my fics and art are running behind (typical), but I have been saving something for a while.
I was doing a deep dive, paying extra close attention to Elain's state and actions during ACOWAR, and I noticed something about the scene where Elain and Lucien have their first conversation after Hybern.
In honor of "Heartbeat" Day, here's my theory about the scene when Elain tells Lucien she can hear his heartbeat through the stone:
When Feyre and Lucien arrive back in Velaris, they go to the House of Wind, where Nesta says this about Elain's current state:
“She will not leave her room. She will not stop crying. She will not eat, or sleep, or drink.”
(Also of note, within days of Lucien's arrival, Elain is doing all three)
Feyre goes to speak with Elain, who is obviously distraught, and determines it's too soon for her to see Lucien. Lucien overhears the conversation and is visibly devastated. But he agrees to stay away from Elain.
That night, Elain still remains in her room during dinner.
But the next afternoon, when Feyre returns from the Prison, Elain is suddenly out of her room, standing in the family library. Elain talks about all of the things she can hear, including her sisters' heartbeats if she listens carefully.
Feyre pulls Nesta aside. Nesta says Elain came out of her room of her own volition and she found her there, at the library window. They try to figure out a trigger for the behavior.
And who should walk in but Lucien? Lucien who has dutifully stayed away from Elain as Feyre asked. Feyre and Nesta remain hidden and shielded while he asks if she needs anything. Feyre slips into his mind.
Lucien thinks: He just wanted a walk—and a few books. It had been an age since he’d even had free time to read, let alone do so for pleasure. But there she was. His mate.
So, we know Lucien wasn't seeking out Elain. They go on to talk, Lucien actually introduces himself, they talk about Hybern briefly, we get some of Lucien's thoughts on Elain (the most beautiful female he'd ever seen) and the bond. He sees something spark in her eyes as their gazes meet. She says she can hear his heartbeat through the stone, which is different from being able to hear her sisters' if she listens carefully.
Then Elain eventually withdraws into herself again.
Elain, who hasn't left her room in months, suddenly does so of her own volition. And she goes to the library, where her mate just so happens to be heading for a book. And they talk for the first time. He was surprised to see her, but she didn't seem to surprised to see him.
I don't think there's romantic intention on Elain's part at all. She is still very much in love with Graysen (🤮) at this point. But I do think she may have had a vision of Lucien going to the library. And I do think she wanted to meet him.
Not only is this interesting in and of itself, but it's like a deliberate subversion of what Feyre's decision that Elain was not ready to meet him yet. Elain decided she *was* ready and she makes a choice to meet her mate, who'd respectfully kept his distance for her wellbeing.
I think it's a perfect illustration of the dynamic I see for them going forward: Lucien waits. Elain chooses.
🎨 By me: a silhouette of how I imagined Elain standing at the library window, looking out into the afternoon sky. (Not new art 😅)
I don't have any elucien to post right now but I do have a concept to share.
Modern AU Elucien. Etsy witch vibe for Elain. She and her current boyfriend go to the creepy house that's been abandoned for the last hundred years because they think it could be cool. Elain is a little put off when Graysen pulls out a ouija board and gets even more pissed when he breaks the rules and rips his hands away before properly ending communications. She does what she can to mitigate things but ends up with a new personal poltergeist. Lucien Vanserra. One of the former residents of the house. Elain takes it upon herself to dump her dumbass boyfriend and solve the murder of the cute ghost so she can help bring him some peace.
as a swiftie and elucien stan, this song immediately reminded me of them, the collapse of both their worlds, lucien’s fear of disappointing elain and do not wanting her to hate him.. and elain’s journey of healing and self-discovery. for heartbeat day, i made this edit with all my love, because i truly believe elucien will become one of ACOTAR’s most beautiful love stories and i’m so ready for themm <3
🎨: esvvell comm by theseersgarden & wendigoldd brielyasmin jacqueillustrates / comm: amandapearls_& mayreadsbooks27 majuandrad imlouise_art mistilteinnart jiflorentina flavie5dub sad-scarred-sassy artcraawl
We all love a good Vampire AU (I know I do) and I thought it would be a fitting twist on the "heartbeat" prompt this week! Stay tuned for more art from me this week and make sure you check out @elucienweekofficial for tons more art, moodboards, playlists, fanfiction, etc!!
