Chapter Text
Elain
The morning air was thick with humidity as Elain knelt in the soil. Beyond the gardens of the River House and the flowing Sidra, was the bustle of Velaris. The city teemed with the chatter of merchants, the excitement of visitors, and the cries of laughter.
But no laughter was quite as beautiful as that of her nephew. At the most mundane moment, the smallest thing, it would burst forth in momentous glory from the winged toddler. It filled the expansive house with its own light like a shooting star. No room was left unaffected; in fact, the entire court seemed enraptured by the child of Night with eyes that twinkled with stars.
On days that they spent together, he clung to her, his little fist wrapped in her dress as her fingers combed through his raven hair. Thoughts drifted far from a boiling cauldron and ripped wings, of shrieking and the clashing of swords, of the blood-drenched hands that came when she stabbed the King of Hybern.
Behind his blue eyes was youth. Eyes that had no idea of the trials and tribulations it took to get to the present moment. They didn’t know of the lives lost along the way, the deafening snap of her father’s neck, or how Feyre had screamed as Rhys died. It was simpler to marvel at the starlight of his eyes and tell stories of love and adventure, not the past they endured. So, Elain told him stories of three sisters that loved one another regardless of fights or conflicts, of a father who whittled wood by a fire, and... an emissary that she could no longer ignore.
Nyx was her confidant. In an court of friendly faces and gentle cosseting, he was the only one who listened. Granted, he didn’t exactly have much to respond with... but that didn’t hold her back from talking to the one-year-old that could do little more than giggle at her endless ramblings.
She talked about everything, from complaining about the chill of the colder months to how her morning glories were growing brilliantly, yet her forget-me-nots weren’t as successful. She even laughed as she spoke of one night when Cassian stole so many scones that she had to bake another batch the following morning.
She also told Nyx of the dreams. Dreams that left her holding the space near her ribs like a delicate flower, leaving lingering memories of sleep which clung to her until she forced herself out of bed.
Regardless of her lack of control over where she lived, Elain was content with the routine she’d perfected within the Night Court. Mornings were spent up to her elbows in soil, pulling life out of the northern Prythian valley. By the time she shuffled inside the River House, the sun would be midway through the sky.
Afternoons were monotonous affairs in the comfort of the kitchen with a cup of tea. By then, her mind would become too loud in the silent house to not read the day away, doodle awful renditions of flowers, or wander the cobbled roads of the city. She spoke to many, smiled good-naturedly, and laughed when appropriate. It lacked real emotion but cut through the silence, her only constant companion.
By night, she was seated at a table noisy with battle strategy or news from other courts. It was usually her first time encountering more than two people at once, and she’d remain reserved, as she felt was expected of her. It was a contrast to who she'd been before. At the table, around the highest authority of the Night Court, she could forget how much time she spent alone, but not how she didn’t fit into their warrior mold.
Nesta visited when she could in between training with the Valkyries and attending meetings at the Court of Nightmares. Elain had yet to demand they bring her along again. Not since last year when Eris spun her sister around the throne room, acting as the perfect distraction. Elain stood on the sidelines. Perfectly poised. Perfectly useless. Cerridwen and Nuala helped her on occasion in the kitchens or with braiding her hair. They were good company, but quiet, often speaking in hushed whispers to one another. Feyre was usually cradling her child around the house or bringing him to her studio, but when the High Lady had her wildly popular art classes with the citizens of Velaris, Nyx was passed along to Elain.
It was just enough to keep her from asking for more. More of her sisters and their company. More than convalescent hours spent in the gardens with only herself to joke and speak with. More of an immortal life that she did not ask for but was stuck with. Days spent watching her nephew, cultivating new gardens, and above all, tucked away in a place where she was somehow always alone.
“And how was your day, Elain?” A routine question, nothing more than a superficial inquiry from the High Lord of the Night Court.
Elain looked to Rhys. He wasn’t her brother-in-law; that was too human a term — he and Feyre were mates. Their whole love story was tied together in a pretty bow now that they were happily mated.
She heard the tale of their secret mating ceremony many times. Knew it well enough to repeat to Nyx as she eased him to sleep.
Rhys sat to the right of Feyre, who was bouncing the baby on a knee at the end of the table. A fine cut of lamb, along with roasted potatoes and crisp seasoned vegetables from her garden, decorated their plates. Crystal glasses were filled with ruby wine beside it. It was only the three of them tonight. The happy royal family, and her.
Elain shifted under his intense gaze. A glint of interest there, but not enough to claw into her mind to see her thoughts. Or at least, she hoped.
“It was nice, a bit humid. The plants didn’t seem to mind much when Nyx decided to roll around in the bed of roses,” she said with a lilt to her voice. A fond smile was directed at the bouncing baby.
“The roses?” Feyre gasped, a motherly look of horror taking over her features. She held her baby up, searching for scrapes along his skin and wings. Nyx squealed, arms outstretched, hands grasping for his mother. “He was rolling around in the dirt? What about the thorns?”
Rhys chuckled, giving his mate a once over. “You’re worried about a little dirt? You battled the Middengard Wyrm while drenched in blood and sh — other bodily fluids.”
Feyre cut him a glare and hugged Nyx to her chest. “While you were busy preening, if I remember correctly.”
Elain shifted in discomfort. His chuckle was low, not at all meant for the dining room with his mate’s sister in company. But when had that stopped him before?
“I am the most handsome, most cunning, most intelligent High Lord, am I not?” he purred, shifting closer to her sister. “Not all of us are as breathtaking as you, Feyre darling.”
Elain quickly looked away, attention set on her plate. They continued their overly flirtatious sneers and jabs while she ate.
The wild youngest sister fell perfectly into place within the life of a fae. It had been destiny to be here — being mated to a High Lord proved that. Feyre was made to live out her immortality with her family she found amongst the stars... the other family. The one that didn’t include her and Nesta. Then Nesta carved out her own future with the unrelenting force of a queen. Found her Valkyries. Wielded the power of silver flames and could burn the world if she saw fit.
Elain stabbed a forkful of green beans. It sat uncomfortably in her mouth when she took a bite. The cooks crafted their meals to perfection. It would have been a wonderful blend of spices that made the typical fae salivate the instant it touched their tongue. Elain found it to be too much. Feyre had said the food was better above the Wall, and Elain could admit that she was right. Yet, it was the blandness and simplicity that gave her the most comfort. A memory of what she had... before.
Both her sisters fought and killed for the lives they wanted. Where did that leave Elain, other than hurt, isolated, and wishing for the bland mortal food? The human lands were no longer a home with the life she had stripped from her. And her father was gone.
Too sweet, too delicate... too broken to help. She offered. She offered. When faced with finding the Troves she wanted to find a way to help, no longer content with sitting by as others fought and died. It could have been a balm to sooth her fears of training her magic. And yet... they didn’t want her.
Her grip tightened on the fork she used to pierce the meat. She cut into it and took a bite, not fully tasting it as she swallowed. On the third cut, she plunged the fork into the meat so forcefully the fork screeched across the plate. She cringed at the harsh sound. Rhys and Feyre looked up, alarm in their eyes when they realized she was still there.
Elain cleared her throat, eyes determinedly not on the couple. “He had a lovely time playing in the flowers. He was fine,” she assured her quickly. “I made sure the grass was clear of all burrs and thorns. We had a picnic. He was a bundle of joy the whole time!” She hated that she had to speak at all. The mention of Nyx’s adventures today was long forgotten, but she had to say something.
Feyre bit at her lip and sighed with a smile. Elain’s heart stuttered at the sight. So young. Her sister was so young... already a mother and a ruler at twenty-three.
“I hate to ask you again... but will you watch him tomorrow? I know I said I would bring him with me to the studio, but Mor asked if I’d do some research for her since she’s still away in Vallahan, and Rhys,” Feyre looked towards the male in question, an earnest expression of sympathy on her beautiful face, “he’ll be busy in a meeting while I’m gone.”
With Lucien. Their weekly meeting. The bond thrummed at the thought of her mate.
“Of course.” Elain nodded, hiding her resentment behind her glass. Bad idea. Her nose wrinkled, face pinching at the too-sweet wine.
They didn’t notice her distaste. Feyre’s attention was back on Nyx who suddenly squealed, throwing his mashed-up green beans across the room. She let out a tired sigh as he giggled and flapped his wings excitedly at the mess he had made.
Rhys smirked, removing the mess with a snap of his fingers. “Glad to hear he’ll be in a less colorful environment. Cauldron knows how much of a mess he’ll make if you let him near the paint again.”
A lethal shine took to her sister’s eyes. Rhys didn’t fold, amusement sparking as he met her stare.
Elain risked another sip of wine, grimacing as she tried not to focus on the taste. Ignoring their silent conversation, her attention shifted to the balcony doors. Outside, a deep blue and purple sunset painted the sky, freckled with glittering stars whose light reflected in the Sidra below.
Her knee bounced in anticipation. Soon. Just a little bit longer until the sun would set and she’d be able to escape to the sunlit sanctuary of her mind. And the company that awaited her…
Like her, the sun always knew when he appeared in her imaginary world. It was only in that space, the one where he could not possibly exist, that she allowed herself to open the gates, entwined with vines and buds, and step into the light.
When it was just them, things were different.
He was a reflection of who she used to be. Who she dreamed she might become again.
What she saw most nights was a creation of her subconscious... what she imagined him to be. He wasn’t the hesitant, stilted version she saw on his visits; he was lively, funny and witty, and everything that Feyre had promised when she told her he was a good male. Why shouldn’t she let herself enjoy the dream version of the male she was forever tied to, when the real one couldn’t even stand to be near her?
Excitement fluttered in her stomach. She finished eating quickly and swallowed the last of the wine for good measure, hoping it would help her sleep, and grant her access into her sunlit world.
By now, Rhys’ gaze on Feyre was predatory. Unspoken words passed between the couple, an all-too-common occurrence. Long over the little trick, she sometimes liked to imagine the things the two daemati said. Most of the time she knew she was way off, but now, as Rhys gazed at her sister like he might make a mess of her, she thought she might be right. Elain flushed at the thought, at once berating herself and setting down her utensils and napkin in a rush.
“Good night,” Elain said briskly.
She hoped the disturbance in the room at her escape wouldn’t make her sister wish for her to stay longer, sitting at a table where she was clearly intruding.
Feyre smiled at her as she murmured a goodbye and turned back to her mate. Rhys didn’t give any hint that he heard Elain at all. Nyx babbled an unrecognizable string of words that drew a smile to her face as she climbed the stairs.
She prepared for bed, the effects of the wine making her steps falter slightly. A giggle tumbled out when she didn’t quite make it to the bed in a straight line. She wasn’t sure if it was the wine making her giddy, or the thought that she might see him, as she eagerly slid under the sheets. She tucked herself in, hands clasping the blankets, then pulled them up to her chest and closed her eyes, waiting for sunshine.
Waited.
Nothing.
She felt more like an idiot than actually comfortable. With a huff, she rolled onto her side, and shut her eyes. What felt like hours later, though it was probably only a few minutes, her body relaxed, and her mind turned sluggish. She welcomed sleep with open arms and a relieved sigh.
The world flipped, darkness giving way to a waking world and the feeling of peace. Confusion morphed into excitement as she took in the familiar field. She knew this place like the back of her hand. A blooming field of tulips with a meandering stream. Birdsongs carried over the meadow from the surrounding forest. The aroma of fresh grass and flowers hung pleasantly around her. The flowers, birds, bees, and even the fish. All of it under her control... except the sun.
The golden glow was beginning to emerge above the horizon, readying to illuminate the landscape. But he wasn’t here yet.
In the morning light she roamed through the field of tulips, humming as stems arched to form a path for her in their waist-high depths. Fingers reached to trace along flowers at her side as she went. Cup-like petals unfurled in her presence, blossoms turning their pollen centers towards her. Leaves lengthened, brushing gently at her skirts. The sun was unmoving through it all, stubborn in a dawn sky scattered with fluffy wisps of clouds. It was a reminder that all of this was a product of her imagination.
She paused at an orange tulip, its vivacious petals widening as it blossomed. It wasn’t the right shade. Yes, she could change the color easily, add an outline of ruby, but what would be the point? Nothing would be able to replicate the same flowing fire.
With a simple thought, the fragrance wafted upwards; she knew it wasn’t right, but close. So incredibly close to the familiar scent of him. The flower wilted with her disappointment.
The sun still hadn’t moved.
Every so often, she plucked a tulip simply for the sake of it. She could’ve collected them with a swirl of the wrist, but she enjoyed the satisfaction of breaking the stem and tucking them into the crook of her arm, just as she did when awake. Her selection was particular; she chose between the assortment of colors, selecting only the best. The oranges and purples just so happened to be more numerous.
When she decided that she had enough of the rainbow of blooms, she placed herself beside a bend in the stream. It reflected a pale pink light from the sun still tucked beneath the horizon. As it flowed there was a fantastical glittering on the surface.
Flats kicked off and skirts pulled to her knees, she sank her feet into the stream. There was no real feeling when the water brushed up to her shins, but she imagined it'd be refreshing. Trout darted away at the intrusion, their rainbow scales disappearing under the water. Sunfish schooled around her toes. Amusement bubbled in her when they tried to nip then swam away when she pointed and flexed her feet.
A feeling like stepping out into the first day of spring filled her as she began bending the stems of two flowers together from the bundle beside her. She grabbed a yellow one next. Then red, purple and orange. An exquisite crown came to fruition under her deft fingers. Soft looking petals gave fullness to the simple gift.
A thread hummed to life in her chest. She looked up, with a gasp of surprise. A heartbeat she could recognize as easily as her own grew closer with each anxious breath.
Finally.
She felt his approach in the way every muscle tensed. Every hair stood tall on her arms. Every treacherous beat was in time with his, as her blood pulsed through her veins at his proximity.
“Took you long enough,” she stated, trying to ignore the gentle warmth of the bond.
It only took her until finishing the second flower crown for him to show up. For the butterflies to begin circling around her. For several trout to take up refuge around her legs. For her to recall the names of all the perennials she’d planted at the River House.
His warm chuckle made every nerve light up; her heart thumped hard in her chest.
“You know I’d cross battlefields to get to you.”
A shadow cast over her. A tall, slender frame that held more grace than brutality. His presence was a standing stone behind her, a journey to a place she feared she never wanted to leave. This wasn’t Lucien, though. It was only an echo of the real thing. She had to remember that.
“And yet, you can’t seem to get here before me anymore,” she said without looking over her shoulder to hide the inkling of a smile.
Her attention was pinned on the petals of the crown she could only see the softness of, the slow stream, the chubby frog watching her with unblinking, empty eyes rimmed in yellow. At her sudden interest, it hopped, disappearing into the water.
They’d been in this position before. She’d turn and watch him watch her, his smooth arrogance gliding away into simple companionship. He’d sit on the bank with her, ask her about her flowers or new recipes she’d tried. It surprised her how easy it was to talk with him without all the complications of her waking life.
A short, amused chortle brought her back to the present moment.
“I didn’t realize you valued my company so much, lady. What is it that finally caught your attention? My breathtaking good looks or witty conversation?”
A bloom of amusement. She sat up straighter and threw back her hair. If he wanted to tease her, she’d let him, but... he’d have to wear a silly little flower crown while doing it.
“Maybe I simply wished for the sun to rise,” Elain suggested coyly.
She let herself look at him, a crown identical to the one she’d finished slid back from her brow. Sunshine shone through his hair, highlighting the varying tints of his red waves. It made his skin gleam like rich caramel.
An error in judgement... a moment too soon.
Lucien stood silhouetted, a glow around his strong frame as if the sun beams came from him. As if he was the sun.
He moved her crown back in place. Her chest tightened in anticipation of the possibility of the slightest touch... but it never came. He smiled wryly at her. Full lips perfectly curved to twist the scarred side of his face. She always liked his smile.
“Apologies, lady. I was held up, I’m afraid. Got away as soon as I could.”
Lucien bent, putting a hand on the ground to support himself as he sat. She was very aware of how close it was to her thigh. The muscles of his forearms were visible with the sleeves of his tunic rolled up.
She adjusted her skirts, laying the spare flower crown in her lap. “Hmm... and the three previous days?”
Three days. Three days since her last dream of him. If this was the real Lucien she could never stomach revealing so much interest in her mate.
Here she could. Here she knew he’d call her out on it.
He raised a brow. “Counting, are we?”
Her breath hitched when his knee playfully nudged her thigh. The light caught the metallic eye and a golden hoop in his ear. He wasn’t looking at her, his attention was on the circlet of flowers in her lap.
Some complex range of emotions washed over his face, his golden eye clicking with wonderment. There was a boyish upward quirk to his lips.
“I didn’t know you knew how to make flower crowns,” he remarked softly, watching her as if he was completely transfixed.
She turned her face slightly, hiding her blush with her curls. “Do you expect anything less? I spend all my time with flowers.”
His eyes glittered with amusement when they focused back on her. “Well with all the flowers here you’ll have enough to crown everything from a fish to a crow.”
There was a flutter in her stomach of a laugh. Not a mask of propriety, something rich and real.
She glanced away, eyes settling on the frog which was peering at them with a princely demeanour despite the fact it was more mouth than body.
“Think he’ll turn into a prince?” she asked, motioning with her head to the chubby creature.
He threw back his head with a bark of laughter. She analyzed him through drawn brows: the rich sun-kissed skin of his neck; the hint of his bare chest through his open collar; the joyful crinkle of his eyes.
“Is that what your human stories said would happen if you crowned a frog?” he asked after a moment, his mismatched eyes falling back on her.
Elain loved the flutter of wings in her stomach, the smile she couldn’t resist showing. She scoffed. “Of course not! They only turn into princes when you kiss them!”
His eyes locked with hers, forcing the breath from her lungs.
“And if you kiss a fae?” he asked.
Her pulse quickened at the suggestion. She was suddenly aware of their proximity. A hand was pressed into the grass behind her. Any lingering wittiness or crafty comments drifted away with the rushing current around her legs.
Her mouth suddenly felt dry. “I — that wasn’t part of the story.”
“Shall we see what happens if you crown one, then?” he suggested, voice lowering conspiratorially.
The bond urged her to move, grab him by the collar, and press herself against him. She didn’t. She didn’t even know if she was breathing. All she felt was a confusing mess of desire and nervous excitement.
He tracked her movement as she pulled her legs from the water, and tucked her bare feet behind her. The crown suddenly felt very real in her hands.
She could see the petals resting in his hair, the thick stems and colored blooms framing his face. It’d match perfectly with the forest green of his vest and the cream-colored tunic.
The gilded rotating elements of his eye clicked, his russet eye widening slightly as she raised the crown. She leant up on her knees to reach him properly and shuffled closer.
He braced himself on one hand as if he needed the extra strength to remain in place; it made her wish he’d reach for her. He was so close, she could see flecks of amber in his russet iris. She couldn’t stop herself from inhaling. Woodsmoke and apples, and something like sunshine. Perfect.
Slowly, she lifted the crown, resting it on his head. Never had she wanted to touch his hair more. This close she could pick out the tints of color, the subtle bronzed orange, and burgundy strands.
Sunlight gilded the cruel scar, the detailed carving of his false eye. There must have been so much pain when it was removed. Who had done that to him?
Yet, the only thing in those eyes was affection. The mere sight of him took her breath away.