#᭥ ⠀⠀🥀 ⠀ ྀྀ ⠀ ⠀⠀threads ，⠀ 𝑒𝑙𝑎𝑖𝑛⠀:⠀⠀ she ⠀ had ⠀ always ⠀ been ⠀ so ⠀ full ⠀ of ⠀ light.

[seraphseye]

ヽ ⠀⠀* ₍   𝐠𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐩 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐬,   accepting.  ╎   ♔.     ❛ is something wrong ? ❜ … from @luposcainus, to elain.

𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐘𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐈𝐒 𝐔𝐒𝐔𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐘 𝐓𝐎𝐎 𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐃 𝐈𝐍 𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐃 , all too much at once , and tonight is no different. another sleepless night plagued  by  nightmares , of tossing and turning and thrashing against bedsheets until she wakes up entangled in the silk fabric and her lungs burning from the lack of air , damp tendrils of honey clinging to her forehead. the first rays of morning  sunlight are just barely beginning to poke through the clouds , though she doesn't expect anyone else in the house to be awake for a little while longer yet. that's fine with her ; elain has no desire to wake the rest of the house just to seek comfort in the company of somebody else , to find a distraction from racing thoughts. everyone already so much on their plate , already  worry  and  fuss  about  her  too  much , and she doesn't wish to give them more of a reason.

the shakiness of her hands is undeniable as she lifts a mug of tea to her lips , still warm enough that the glass burns against her palms , gentle in their touch and littered with a constellation of tiny scars from her years of gardening. when the mug is lowered , she catches the figure in her peripheral mere seconds before he speaks. panic sets in before she can make out who it is in the dim lighting , but she believes the voice to be familiar. the girl stares at him with squinted eyelids before it clicks somewhere in her brain , ⸻ the  wolf  prince. elain's seen him a handful of times , though she certainly hadn't expected to be seeing him in their kitchen before sunrise . . she assumes his business with rhysand must have been something important for him to be so early , early enough that he must've arrived before she'd ventured downstairs , but she does not pry. ❝ i'm  sorry , you just startled me a little bit. ❞ a beat of silence as she allows the rapid pitter—pattering of her heartbeat to slow down. a quiet exhale of air she'd unknowingly been holding. ❝ . . but no , i'm alright. i couldn't sleep , is all. ❞

[seraphseye]

𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐘 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐇𝐄𝐑 may be high fae now , something different than what she had been born as in the mortal lands ⸻ down to the points of her ears , sharpened cheekbones , the ethereal glow of her very skin. but one part of her remains so painfully human : her  heart. elain doesn't ever foresee a future where such a thing changes , no matter how hard she might hope for it. there had once been a time where elain never thought she would heal from her wounds , from the rejection she'd faced from who was supposed to be the love of her mortal life. even so many years later , the words manage to play on a loop in her head ; you belong to him. i don't want it. take that ring off. i am not marrying you. not  you , never  you. she had blamed lucien then , as if he himself had forced her into this bond , had managed to sway fate itself. elain had never paused to consider that perhaps he had never wanted this just as much as she didn't , that he'd had his own wounds that felt as though they will never truly heal. the words do not leave such a gaping hole in her chest where a thriving heartbeat is , at it once did , but she fears she will die before she ever truly forgets the way graysen had looked at her as though she were a monster.

the space lucien had provided her with , despite her being cruel enough to barely acknowledge his existence , had been what she seemingly needed most. space away from the bond , space she needed in order to come to terms with this new life without having to worry about a mating bond on top of it all. he had not felt entitled to her time  or  her  heart , had not forced his way into her life as if it would provide some magical cure , and elain owes him more thanks for that than she will ever be able to convey with all the words and time in the world. even with those around her constantly urging her to just give him a shot , convincing her that he was a good male ⸻ something the middle archeron sister had never doubted in the slightest , though there had been fear there , initially. fear that if she allowed herself to see how much of a good person he was , that an already bruised heart would no longer be able to deny the pull , the ancient ache in her very soul that longs to be one with his. accepting the mating bond , accepting him , would mean accepting this new body and this new life , accepting  everything  that  had  been  taken  from  her.

for so long , that was not a reality she was ready to face. elain knows , now , that lucien should not have been hurt in her efforts to deny fate and destiny . . yet , she fears that if given the chance , she would not have changed her decision. it was only in his absence , when the bond had been reduced to nothing but a dull whisper in the breeze , that elain had been allowed to bloom once more. she is selfish , this she knows , though it is a statement that everyone else who sees her as something soft and fragile as porcelain would deny. perhaps lucien might be the first person to see her for what she truly is.

❝ i'd have to agree. motherhood makes her glow , ❞ though it should come as no surprise to her. feyre has been a caretaker since they'd allowed her to venture off into the woods to go hunting for the first time , to provide for them. it seems only natural for her , to elain , though she despises it. she's at least grateful that this is her son , not older sisters who should be capable of taking care of themselves ⸻ that she has a family , both chosen and through blood , that all adore and cherish nyx with all of their hearts , and that her and rhysand are bringing another babe into a family filled with so much love. there is perhaps some part of her that is envious , if only because if she were still mortal , she'd be cradling grandchildren at this point . . but if being made is the price she had to pay in order to be here , to be an aunt to feyre's children , to go on strolls through the city of velaris with her sisters and her nieces &. nephews yet to come , she  would  not  change  a  single  thing. elain still has all the time in the world to live before she settles down , before children of her own will make their way into the world , and such a thought does not sadden her the way it did not too long ago.

❝ while i have yet to visit them myself , i can't say i'm disappointed , either. from what i've heard , they are . . slow to accept change. nesta seemed disgusted enough by their customs to tell me all i need to know. i think training with the valkyries instead will be good for him , to learn the importance of strength not only physically , but mentally as well. and of course cassian and azriel will be there to make sure the girls aren't too hard on him. ❞ the thought alone is enough to cause a bout of warm laughter , soft and melodious enough that it might be some magical song in itself. elain does not flinch away when he reaches for her , nor does the smile at her lips dwindle. lucien is not someone she needs to fear , and something in her heart , even  beyond  the  mating  bond , knows that to be the truth. the reassurance is still something she needed , gaze flickering across his face as if searching for some underlying deceit in his words , any inkling that he might resent her as much as she feared he would for her harsh treatment all that time ago. but she finds none of that , his words genuine and true.

some part of her almost wants to bask in the closeness now , in the warmth that radiates from him , but he respectfully retreats from her space before she can consider such a thought for too long. ❝ i wouldn't want to pull you away from your celebration . . ❞ though her heart swells at his words , at the idea that he'd put so much thought into where she'd be staying ⸻ that he'd known the gardens would make her feel most at home , most  in  her  element. the near childlike excitement that flashes across her face is hard to contain despite her best efforts , ❝ but i must admit that i'm very interested in seeing the gardens , and the pegasuses. back in the mortal lands , they're rumored to be only a mythical creature , a fairytale. ❞

lucien has never truly known what fate would have of him, he would have chosen a nymph as free as the winds that carried her, he would have chosen a life lived far from his family. the youngest son, never to inherit, never to rule, never to bring notice with powers or gifts. but bit by bit, through blood and death - he had lost the things he’d chosen. the nymph at the hands of his brothers, a life in a neighboring court, a dwindling number of brothers until there are only the two. even his power as grown, the sun fonder of him now than he even realized. the gentle rays seem to follow him as he moves with elain, the woman fate has decided was to be his. but he’d never felt right with that, the demand that a cauldron had placed upon them, a tradition that neither would have chosen. he has had centuries now to mourn jessaminda, but she only decades. he never wished to press her, never wished to assume.

enduring the separation became easier as time went on, not from lack of desire — but simply forgetting what it felt like to not ache for her.

it was made simple by her one request, space. so space he had given. he’d traveled most of the known world around them, he’d gone from sea to sea and across it a few times. sometimes he even went back to the autumn court, eris now to rule it — their mother safely installed where no harm will ever befall her again. sometimes he even retreated to the spring court, to walk the forests he’d spent decades with. but not matter the affection he bore the places or the high lords, he was never at home as he had once been. until he was claimed, by his father, the man who he has known only as a solar court lord for so many years — to now reside here. to one day, to become its own leader. though he does not relish the thought, to lose a father when one has only just found him. but the day court, for all it’s vague discomfort of being in the spotlight — he’d found it was suitable to rest there. the dwindling of himself unnoticed by those who had not known him for long. the magic making him thrive, but his spirit lessening in the great distance between him and the woman fate chose.

but lucien knew the difference between what gods and fate would decree, and what mortal hearts would choose. and he would be chosen. he would be — desired. not endured. he did not know how she had faired, he hoped well. he hoped that in the time and space between them, she had thrived like the blooms she tended in her gardens. flowers - he’d discovered, always made him think of her. no matter the kind, no matter the color, something about the strength of the seemingly fragile things to burst from hardened soil and demand to live. to turn their faces to the sun and soak it up, to take the torrents of rain and anchor their roots deep to withstand and flourish. for all the things he has thought about elain archeron, never has he thought less of her for the rejection of the decreed bond between them.

he’s dressed simply, the natural tones he favors but the styling of the day court. his hair not straight as it had once been, but locc’d and adorned with golden cuffs and jeweled beads, with sparkling threads of autumn colors winding their way through his dark auburn twists. there is light in his eye that had not been there before, a beauty in his features as the sun casts them in it’s warm glow, the smile easy even as she pulls her hand away. he will not be upset by such action, it is enough that she has come. even as emissary - to know that the one thing his mate has asked of him, space, he was able to give her. enough that now - she comes here voluntarily to celebrate with him.

‘ please, there’s no need to apologize. after nyx’s birth i can hardly blame them for staying close to home. i’m surprised they waited this long for another in truth - motherhood seems to suit feyre. she sounds well in her letters. azriel informs me of nyx’s progress, i cannot say i’m disappointed that he’s declined illyrian camps in lieu of training with the valkyries. my brief time in the illyrian mountains left me .. unsettled. they are slow to change, but enough of politics — ‘ a blush to steal across golden skin, how easily he slips back into the mindset of a diplomat. to plan out and think of the connections between simple events and places and people - to speak on them in a way to guide ones thoughts to his own point of view. but elain is the diplomat between them now, and he the heir of this court. a court with its own machinations and schemes.

there is a flash of concern as he senses that flicker of apprehension, he reaches again — clasping her hands in his, meeting her gaze unwavering — there is no doubt of his genuine meaning as he speaks.

‘ elain — you are always welcome, not merely as emissary of a fellow solar court, but as a friend. while i know i have been much absent these past years — please know i have never felt anything but warmth towards you and your family. that you came to celebrate with us — it means more than i possess words to express. but please, if you are made uncomfortable by anything — do not hesitate to bring it to our attention. either i or — my father — will be glad to offer whatever remedies we can. ‘

a reassuring squeeze of her hands before he steps back, realizing perhaps he has crowded her space. a pause before —

‘ would you like to see your room? when feyre wrote of you coming — i thought perhaps you’d like the room nearest the gardens? the views in the evening are particularly beautiful. they’re .. less formal than other courts, but they’re beautiful. and the pegasus like to settle in them for the evening when they’re not hiding out in the stables. ‘

[seraphseye]

ヽ ⠀⠀* ₍   𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐮𝐬𝐭𝐲 𝐭𝐨𝐲𝐛𝐨𝐱,   accepting.   ╎   ♔.     ❛ how are you holding up ? ❜ … @rotenthings, cassian to elain.

life moves on for those around her in a blur , and she cannot help but feel as though she is stuck in a pocket of time that everyone else has long since left behind. some part of her will always long for the life left behind in that of the human lands , will always mourn for the loss of love ⸻ the   loss   of   choice. an iron band adorned with pearls and diamonds still circles her ring finger ; a permanent chain linking her to a time she can never return to.

on any other day , elain would be out in her garden , breathing life into the very earth through the gentleness of hands that have come to only know the   world's   cruelty. however , the pitter patter of harsh rain against the windows is enough of an indicator that it won't stop anytime soon. she's never cared about getting her hands dirty , but the last time she'd returned from gardening with a chill settled into her very bones , drenched , &. covered in mud , she'd gotten so sick that her throat felt as though she'd swallowed glass every time she spoke. instead , elain stands in an apron that has certainly seen better days , traces of flour in the ends of curls , kneading dough against the kitchen counter. she'd spent so long rotting at the edge of a window , frozen , that all she can do now is constantly be on the move. if she can't keep herself busy , too many thoughts swarm her all at once. in a world she feels she has yet to find her place in , it's the best she can do.

❝ hm ? ❞ lost within her own thoughts , she doesn't truly hear the words , though her mind manages to catch up and process the question. focus shifts from the task at hand to the male in front of her ; corners of lips tick upwards into a blossoming grin , the company more than welcome. ❝ oh. i'm . . i'm   doing   good. ❞ something in her smile turns sad &. the light doesn't quite reach her eyes , though she supposes it probably hasn't since she'd been made. gaze averts down to the countertop , chestnut tendrils falling just far enough to obscure the side of her face ; she prays to whoever will listen that it's enough to disguise the crack   in   her   mask , no matter how faint it might've been. when her gaze meets his once more there is nothing but warmth within mousy hues. ❝ what about you , cassie ? how are you doing ? ❞

[seraphseye]

𝐄𝐋𝐀𝐈𝐍 𝐃𝐎𝐄𝐒𝐍'𝐓 𝐊𝐍𝐎𝐖 𝐇𝐎𝐖 𝐒𝐇𝐄'𝐒 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐔𝐏𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐎 𝐆𝐄𝐓 𝐔𝐒𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐎 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐘 𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐂𝐄𝐏𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄 𝐇𝐀𝐒 𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐋𝐘 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐃 , in the way that thirty years have passed since she'd been submerged in the cauldron and yet so little time has truly passed. were she a mortal still , she'd be halfway through her fifties already , golden tendrils turned a light grey ; she'd be a mother , and more than likely , perhaps a grandmother too. her  life  would  be  simple ,   and  she  would've  chosen  a  life  as  such. yet , there is no longer a deep sadness that trails behind her like an overbearing shadow at such thoughts , there is no mourning left to do that she has not done already. against all odds , despite the fear that there would never be a day where she didn't miss her mortal life , elain is okay with this. okay with just how far she's made it in this lifetime ( of which she has lived so little of in comparison to all the time she has left ) , proud of the progress she has made in these last thirty years.

her transition had never been easy , but she supposes neither of her sisters' had been , either. even if the stars had always intended for feyre to end up in the night court , if it was always fate's plan to have her made . . nesta had fought tooth and nail against destiny , something  elain  had  not  been  brave  enough  to  do , but she had begun to settle in and the sight always made her heart swell. feyre was high lady , had a mate , a son with another babe on the way , the inner circle ⸻ nesta had the valkyries , and had been given a mating bond that she actually desired , one she felt content in. elain would never resent either of her sisters for finding their place in this world , in this court , just because she had not yet.

time had been kind to her and her mind. she had healed , though she had done so as silently as she possibly could. her sisters had shielded her from the world long enough , had saved her from everything they could . . it was not their job to protect her from everything eating away at her insides , too. it was with their help , and rhysand's infinite knowledge and connections , that elain had been able to get a better grasp on her abilities , too , so she might be able to truly utilize them. so she doesn't wake in the night from a godawful vision and not know what's real and what isn't. rhysand had always been kind to her in this time , and when her high lord and lady told her that they required their diplomat to venture to the day court when lucien was declared heir , there had been no pressure from either of them. her brother—in—law had offered to go dress shopping with her , and when he'd found her anxiously picking at her nails the morning of the celebration , he'd placed a hand at her shoulder as if in silent reassurance , a look in his eyes that conveyed it'll  be  okay despite the zero words truly spoken between them.

SO HERE ELAIN ARCHERON STANDS , as lost in the bustling crowd of people as a stray dog would be. she's excellent at hiding it though , at convincing herself that she belongs in this world until her confidence conveys such a thought , until  she  begins  to  believe  it  herself. she stands adorned in a flowing gown of white robes , golden flowers embroidered into the skirts , and white lace that falls at her shoulders to loosely frame her arms. pearls dangle at the edge of the fabric to match the ones weaved into the hair at the back of her head , braid framing a makeshift crown around her skull , and matching the pearls at her ears ⸻ a solstice gift from lucien from so long ago that she imagines they've probably been long forgotten. an engagement ring from a lifetime she will not return to , similarly adorned with a pearl , sits abandoned in her bedside drawer. something she could not will herself to get rid of , but something she has not reached for in months , nonetheless. elain can feel his presence before she even truly spots him ; when her gaze does finally land on him , already parting the crowd to move towards her , there's something deep and ancient within her that begs her to meet him , to not turn on her heel and flee. she  obliges.

❝ lucien , ❞ the single word a whisper lost to the wind : the first sentence spoken between them in decades and the best she can manage is his name. she's sure her heart skips a beat within her chest as a large hand grabs hold of her own. the golden thread woven between their very souls , dust—covered and entangled in ivy , soars to the surface as if new life has been breathed into it ; a bond that she has spent so long attempting to ignore , though it would seem the mating bond would never be able to ignore him. the magic in her blood seems to sing as lips press against the back of her hand , and for just a moment , she allows herself to selfishly memorize every feature of his as though lost in a trance. despite all of her training to harness her ability , lucien had always been the one thing she could never truly see. the most she could muster was brief glimpses here and there , enough to let her know that he was doing alright without her. it would seem that , in denying their bond , the cauldron had punished her by rendering her power nearly useless when it came to him. as if to tell her that she couldn't spy on him without accepting the connection between them , as if pushing her towards him. he has always been beautiful , with his long auburn hair , with sun—kissed skin , eyes of verdant green and russet gold. but he glows here in the day court , as if every atom of his body acknowledges that this is where he belongs.

it occurs to her that she's unsure whether or not this makes him some sort of prince , if he has any titles besides heir ⸻ thirty years of being fae and she still has so much to learn . . . she dips into a clumsy curtsy , head bowed for slightly too long as she allows herself a moment to collect her thoughts. when elain so bravely straightens out and glances upwards to meet his eyes , there is no sign of the girl he had watched get spit out of the cauldron. there is none of the weariness in her eyes , her skin does not itch with the desire to shrink further into herself as if he won't be able to see her then , in the way she would so many years ago whenever he'd been near. instead , a warm smile blossoms at her lips , like  the  first  flower  to  bloom  in  spring.

❝ i assure you , this is a warm enough welcome. ❞ hand is retracted not out of disgust or fear , but to simply wave it dismissively in the air between them. elain can feel the nervousness begin to creep its way into her chest , and she toys with the fabric of her gown as she clears her throat. this is a diplomatic mission , and she doesn't need to let her personal feelings get in the way. ❝ feyre and rhysand send their apologies for not being able to make it themselves , though i imagine you've heard it enough from them . . they still wanted to show their support for you , though , and their loyalty to your father and this court. ❞ lips part as if to speak , though the words get stuck in her throat. the seer has to swallow them back down and try again. ❝ i  hope  it's  alright  that  i  came  instead. ❞

fae exist for centuries. most fae find partners they love, companions they enjoy, and many realise that an immortal age is a long time to spend in any one company. and find mixed companies most enjoyable. the noticeable exception are those blessed by fates or sciences, to have mates. a mate is never guaranteed, and most are content without it. so lucien, after the loss of his beloved jesminda - had resigned himself to a life of isolation. if grief so deep could be left in her absence, then - she must have been the one fated to be his.

but that belief changed when elain archeron emerged from the cauldron, he knew. his life as he had known it was over. and worst of all, so was hers. it was not that he knew her as his mate ruined her, but that she had been broken and remade in an image she had never desired to fit. and when he shed those shimmering enchanted chains and gone to her, when he’d said the stupidly plain words - you’re my mate - he’d not believed it. people like him didn’t get mates. he was the youngest of the autumn sons, he would never inherit, he was not even welcome in the court of his youth, and after the events that remade the archeron sisters, he was no longer welcome in the spring either.

whether he considered himself a fugitive from happiness, or merely an untethered immigrant, he had eventually found a home. he worked for the night court for over a decade, their trials conquered and feyre’s family safe. nesta with a mate, elain - with a future she chose. and she did not choose him.

it was not shocking she did not choose him. he wouldn’t have chosen himself. but he realised, as the years dwindled by, that he would have chosen her. if he’d been allowed to know her. to find her in a less fated way. the fates declared her his by every primal biological fiber of his being. yet that declaration was what damned them.

while still friendly, he’d begun to excuse himself from events. to find his own sort of life. even if it was still mostly in isolation. the further away he was the less he ached. the less he noticed how insubstantial he felt. decades had passed now. his father’s identity revealed, his mother freed from the abusive chains of beron. eris risen to power. lucien can set foot in that court again. he made a grave for jesaminda over a hundred years after her death.

he has been eroding. even as he’s declared heir of the day court. even as he trains powers he’s hidden. even as he feels himself strengthen. there is a lessening within him. a shadow that threatens to eclipse him. yet he barely notices. because when has he ever been … whole? how do you know what you are losing when everything has been ripped from your hands?

but he is surprised as he enters the solarium, a midday festival in his honour. or so his father excitedly has told him. centuries of fathering crammed into a few years. but lucien doesn’t begrudge him that. but he does wonder - surprise apparent across his usually carefully held features — elain archeron stands among the visitors. the only attendant from the night court. feyre due another child. rhysand unable to leave her. he’d written them assurances. sent an enchanted bird that sang a naiads refrain for a lullaby.

the sun favours her. following her the rays seem to catch in her soft waves of hair. his eyes cannot help but following her either. one of brilliant forest green, the other a gleaming gold — he tries to force his gaze away. he cannot because - all at once, what has been eroding for centuries. feels full with startling clarity. as if a light that had been extinguished has been lit to full illumination. as if a desert within him has been deluged and becomes a lush oasis. what he has been less without, flourishes.

a hand to his racing heart, fingers curl at the erratic beat. he finally moves. not away as he’d intended, but towards her. towards the woman he’d sworn he’d give space to. each step breaking the promise he made her, the only thing he’d allow the bond within him… you will be a good mate by giving her what she wants - to be without you. he dips to a bow, long auburn hair sweeps half hiding his features. the sun has deepened his skin, he is healthier here, he is older than the stupid fae who’d run at her claiming her when she grieved who she had been. but as his fingers brush hers, lifting her hand for a kiss —

he knows the worst thing of all.

somewhere, and all the years of absence. despite the lack of communication. only bare facts shared by mutual friends. only the path of her life to follow from afar. he knows this, that he would still choose her. and he does not deserve to know that feeling, he does not deserve to feel the gentle brush of her fingers, or the taste of her hand where his lips press chastely. but fate has robbed him of that choice, of the ability to even try.

‘ lady elain - your presence is a most welcome surprise. had i known — i’d have arranged for you to be met with proper welcome. ‘

composure he manages to find as he rises from his bow, eyes raising to meet hers - fearful almost at what will lay in hers. ever the courtier his voice is controlled, polite and warm, belying the racing heart and palms that seem to have suddenly decided sweating would be the appropriate course of action.

elain && lucien starter // @dealsindemise