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houseofhurricane · 3 years

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ACOTAR Fic: Bloom & Bone (14/32) | Elain x Tamlin, Lucien x Vassa

Summary: Elain lies about a vision and winds up as the Night Court’s emissary to the Spring Court, trying to prevent the Dread Trove from falling into the wrong hands and wrestling with the gifts the Cauldron imparted when she was Made. Lucien, asked to join her, must contend with secrets about his mating bond. Meanwhile, Tamlin struggles to lead the Spring Court in the aftermath of the war with Hybern. And Vassa, the human queen in their midst, wrestles with the enchantment that turns her into a firebird by day, robbing her of the power of speech and human thought. Looming over all of them is uniquet peace in Prythian and the threat of Koschei, the death-god with unimaginable power. With powers both magical and monstrous, the quartet at the Spring Court will have to wrestle with their own natures and the evil that surrounds them. Will the struggle save their world, or doom it?

A/N: This may be the most fanfiction-y chapter of Bloom & Bone yet... and I really enjoyed writing it. I hope you enjoy reading. You can find all previous chapters here, or read Bloom & Bone on AO3. If you'd like to get an early peek at chapter 11 and all future chapters, follow me on Instagram at @house.of.hurricane. Thank you for reading! ❤️

When Tamlin awakes at the sound of a rip in the fabric of the world, his first thought is that this must be a strange continuation of his dream. There, too, Elain Archeron had been in his bedroom.

His second thought, as she walks toward him, eyes wide in her moonlit face, glowing from more than the light and redolent with a new aura of power, is that she can surely smell his arousal. As soon as she speaks, there will surely be an awkward question about what caused this.

“What are you doing here?” he asks, pulling his blanket around himself in case she looks too closely. In the dream, she had not kept her distance, but Tamlin is never quite sure what the real Elain will do.

“I needed to leave the Night Court,” she says, her teeth chattering around the words. Shock. Exhaustion. “But they will come looking for me here. They think I betrayed them but I was only--”

Her voice hitches and Tamlin expects Elain to cry, but instead her hands ball into fists and she takes a deep, shuddering breath. Her teeth continue to chatter for a moment longer, then fall still.

“Lucien and I are working on a plan to rescue Vassa,” she says, her voice low and calm and yet ringing in his ears. The proximity of her body, her scent wafting around him. He needs to collect himself. If Elain is right, Rhysand will be here in minutes.

“What brought you here, then?”

“I asked -- I wanted to be someplace safe. Isn’t it true that mates can’t harm each other?”

“I will do my best to never hurt you,” he tells her. The words are ragged with meaning. “Which means we cannot stay here.”

“There are places I can go. I think I can take you. When I held the bone, you followed me. I think we will need weapons, though. And gold. And perhaps as much water as we can carry.” Her laugh is a little frantic and Tamlin wants to pull her towards him, this little female who comes up to his shoulder and still has grasped some magic he’s never before detected, but there is no time.

“Turn around,” he tells her, already reaching for his clothes and his armor as her skirts swish on the floor. Within seconds, he’s dressed and lacing his boots, filling a bag with gold and heaving his broadsword into its sheath on his back. In another minute, a dozen knives and daggers are variously strapped and concealed, ready for battle.

Then Tamlin sweeps Elain up in his arms and runs to the kitchens, waiting for the moment when she insists on being put down, but instead she looks around anxiously, as if she’s certain Rhysand will appear.

She does not speak until there is a stone jug in the crook of each of her arms, filled to the brim with water and sealed hastily with leather, and then she says only, “I hope this works,” takes a step, and wraps her hands around Tamlin’s wrists.

Around them is a sound like the ripping of some great tapestry, and his kitchens become a passageway with intricately tiled floors and giant doors filled with elaborate carvings. This place smells like no court or country he has ever known, unknown spices and flowers lightly scenting the air.

Before him, Elain is glowing golden, a sun on the horizon. She turns away from him to look down the passageway as if she knows this landscape and already has a direction in mind.

“You’ve been training,” he says, scanning each side of the passageway for threats. The walls curve off in the distance but all is still except for the low hum of this place, the vibration of Elain’s power in front of him.

“They can still find us here, if they decide to use the bone,” she says, as if he did not speak, then starts walking. Tamlin can’t help but follow, watching door after door pass by them. Finally, she stops and places her hand on a wooden door, closes her eyes, and nods. When she opens her eyes, she turns toward him, holds out her hand, and asks, “Are you ready to see another world?”

Tamlin takes her hands and follows her through the open door and into the dawn of a new world.

Elain has taken them to a marketplace, and though her eyes are alight with recognition, he doubts she knows the language, which is unlike any he’s heard on his short trips to the continent. Despite the early hour, the air is already hot and sticky and scented with the ocean, spices, roasting meat. Around them, people are laughing and arguing. They’re clothed in loose linen, their skin ruddy and golden and brown, and no one seems to be bothered by the fact that two pale strangers have appeared from some strange place they could hardly imagine.

“This world is at peace,” she says, shifting her shoulders to better accommodate the water she’s carrying. He takes a jug from her and holds it at his side, hoping she won’t let go of his other hand. He hopes she’s right about the peace in this world, because he’ll lose precious seconds if he needs his sword. The alley around them seems deserted, but that could change in an instant, especially as the day breaks.

“Tell me about your power,” he says, because of the thousand questions that whirl in his mind, this seems the most pressing, to learn what’s bloomed in her.

“I’m still learning. But I have an awareness of the character of the world. And at first I needed to navigate by going through the passageways, but now, if I concentrate and I know where I’m going, it seems I can move around on my own.”

“You’ve never been in my bedroom before.”

She flushes like a ripe strawberry, so that the pink of her dress looks almost pale.

“I tried to go someplace where I was safe. I’ve never tried to move places in our world before, only between worlds and the passageway. And I’ve communicated with the door, somehow. But I thought, if it were going to work, that the mating bond might act as a tether between us. That it might also let you travel with me.”

“You wanted me to come with you?”

He watches her swallow, the delicate working of her throat. When she looks up at him, the force of her gaze makes his breath hitch. The power concealed inside of her astounds him.

“I could tell you that the Night Court will go to your estate first, though it’s possible they will try to track Lucien instead.” She pauses, hitching the jug of water against her hip, liquid sloshing against her sleeve. Tamlin hardly breathes, worried the moment will be broken, that someone will notice them, that all hell will break loose, the way it always does.

Finally, Elain says, the words barely a whisper on her plump and rosy lips: “But if I am being very honest, I missed you.”

It’s all he can do to keep himself from kissing her. Instead, he feels himself beaming.

“I am very glad you could find me in our world.”

“Even if I interrupted your dream?” In a second, all that shyness has vanished, and she arches an eyebrow, almost flirtatious.

“The reality is better,” he says, taking the invitation in her tone, and is gratified to see her cheeks going pink again. “Would you like to tour the market?”

She nods, striding ahead of him, and Tamlin follows her mutely, not sure if someone overhearing their language would denounce them as strangers. Instead, he watches Elain’s delight at the bolts of embroidered fabrics in rich colors, the cheap jewelry that nonetheless sparkles brightly in the rising sun, the fragrant spices tucked away in glass jars. Tamlin doesn’t think she’s slept, but all signs of tiredness have vanished, as if this world has refreshed her just by its existence.

A group of young boys approaches her, with a platter of pastries, the scents of cooked fruit heavy in the air. When she stops, as generous with them as she always has been with the small and tender beauties she comes across, they begin, all in a rush, to declaim the virtues of pastries. Even if Elain understood their language, he doubts she would understand the force of the five voices that all tangle up in each other. And sure enough, she glances at him ruefully, until he hands the nearest boy a gold mark and they begin to shout and shove the platter toward Tamlin and Elain.

“This is too much for us,” she murmurs, and hands them each a pastry and gives each boy a little smile before the group scampers off, rowdy and joyous.

They manage to navigate the platter through the market without incident, making their way to another quiet alley, shaded by the overhang of the buildings on either side.

Elain settles herself on the ground, her skirt fanning out on either side of her, and holds out a pastry.

The taste of the flaky crust and the apricot and cinnamon inside, blended with spices he’s never tasted and has no name for, washes across Tamlin’s tongue. His stomach growls and Elain actually snorts mid-bite.

“I knew you were hungry,” she says, and he laughs, because he’d never have guessed when she’d arrived in his court that he’d one day be sitting in a universe completely outside of his own, squatting at the edge of a strange marketplace and watching Elain Archeron talk with her mouth full of food.

He wolfs down the remainder of the pastry in his hand and eats three more, pausing to guess at the fruits and spices, and when he looks at her, Elain is contemplating the last pastry on the platter, eyebrows raised.

“You should eat it,” he says, all gallantry.

“It’s my rightful pastry! I’d only eaten two.” Her tongue pokes out from between her teeth, a deep fuschia that makes Tamlin feel his heartbeat in every corner of his body. “I’m just not sure if I have room in my stomach.”

She continues to look at the pastry until he realizes she’s stopped really contemplating the platter and has moved on to thinking about other, more pressing topics.

“Will you tell me why your sister thinks you betrayed her court?” He’s not sure if she wants to talk, but surely this is the safest place to have this conversation, where nobody can understand what they’re saying.

“Lucien and I were working with Helion in secret, by night. Lucien was trying to determine the properties of the spell on Vassa, and Helion was helping to train me.”

“I thought Amren could train you.”

Elain’s lips press into a thin line, all the color draining from them. “Can you imagine what Amren would’ve done, if she’d had these powers? I think that’s all she thought of. I couldn’t get anywhere until Helion helped me, and then I pretended Amren had had some magical solution. Only of course I was too confident and Lucien and I were caught returning from the Day Court.”

“Where is Lucien?”

“I hope he went to Helion.” She pauses, shifting her eyes as if she’s worried about being overheard, though Tamlin could tell her that everyone outside is out of earshot, and the people in their buildings are still fumbling for their breakfast and smell close enough to human to hear their conversation clearly. “I assume you know the stories about Lucien’s parentage.”

“It’s an open secret, one Lucien’s friends do not discuss out of respect for his wishes.”

He hates the way she stiffens at these words and he reaches for her, letting his fingers hang into the air near her skin. He will give her the choice to draw near, in part because he already knows the pain of her rejection will be impossible and also that he will have to find the strength to bear it.

Finally, she leans into his knuckles, so that she can feel the warmth of her shoulder through the fabric of her gown.

“I think that Lucien and I are friends now,” she says. “But I am worried for him. Do you think I should have tried to bring him with me?”

“Helion will protect him. And Lucien is more powerful than he lets most people think.”

“Is there any part of him that isn’t hidden away?”

The question is earnest, and Tamlin’s mind goes to that moment in Hybern, previously unremarkable to him, when Lucien had beheld Elain and called her his mate. The quickness of Lucien’s mind, intent on avoiding disaster even when it meant carrying the burden of that lie for years.

“When he looks at Vassa,” Tamlin says, forcing himself to think of those dinners, which had gone from awkward silence to actual conversations, Vassa laughing and Elain going rosy over double entendres, and Lucien between them, relaxed and delighted as Tamlin had never seen him.

“Do you think they’re mates?” He can tell from the way eyes dart that there are implications to this question, potentially beyond his ability to handle. He reaches for the lone pastry on the platter, worrying the edges with his thumb.

“I don’t know if it’s possible for the High Fae to feel a mating bond with humans or lesser faeries. I have never heard of such a story, though of course among our kind, it is possible that such a bond would be an embarrassment and thought best hidden.”

“In a way, wouldn’t it be romantic if they weren’t?” There’s a harsh note in her voice.

“What do you mean?”

“They have the opportunity to choose each other.”

“A mating bond can be rejected,” Tamlin says, careful to keep his voice even. I hope you will not treat me as you did my sister, she’d said. He cannot force her, even though all of him, body and the ragged remains of his soul, thrills at Elain’s proximity, the softness of her skin and her wide, dark eyes, bright even after a sleepless night. A strand of wavy hair rests on the curve of her cheek, and he catalogues this moment in his mind, so that if she does reject him, he’ll be able to call her image to mind in an instant. He heaves a sigh. “You can reject our bond, if you wish.”

She turns toward him, the early morning light giving her heart-shaped face a glow. He’s not sure if it’s this world or her magic that makes Elain’s beauty almost unbearable.

“What would happen to you, if I rejected it?”

“I have heard that the pain is unbearable for the rejected male,” he says, doing his best to sound at ease, “but it could be that this is just a tale to push reluctant females toward their destiny.”

“And you would never risk the anger of the Night Court by forcing me.”

He extends his hand toward her, looks straight into those eyes that look like the heart of the earth, warm brown shot through with green and gold.

“I would never risk your happiness, Elain. I have ruined every good thing in my life, but Cauldron boil me if I destroy you over this bond between us.”

He’s about to lower his hand, to show her that he means it, when she reaches out for him, threads her fingers around his, and when she smiles, he could swear that nothing in any world could match her brilliance.

They pass the remainder of the day exploring the city, which is walled in by a great desert on every side. They do not speak of the mating bond. They hardly speak at all, worried that their language will mark them as targets to any careful observer, communicating instead through gestures and shared glances, the quirk of Elain’s pink lips that shows she’s amused, the bright flash in her eyes that demonstrates her delight.

As the afternoon stretches toward evening, Tamlin realizes that Elain’s dress is damp where it touches her body, that her face has gone blotchy with the heat. He stops them in the shade of what appears to be a university, if the amount of books in the hands of passerby is to be trusted, and tilts the water jug toward her until she’s drunk her fill.

“We need to find a place to stay the night,” he says, looking around to see if there’s an inn. “Or however long we need to remain here.”

“In three days, I’ll be able to reason with Rhys. We could try the Day Court but I don’t think Helion would form an alliance with your court so quickly, no matter what Lucien says. Especially if Rhys is breathing down his neck.” She lays out all these considerations matter-of-factly, no hesitation in her voice, and he wonders how often Elain has been watching the people around her while they’ve assumed she was only thinking of the garden. “There’s a risk, but we could sleep in the passageway. I think there are cooler places in this world.”

“We have enough gold to find a bed,” he says, feels his face heat when he realizes he didn’t use the plural. The brief fantasy he allows -- Elain in bed next to him, her silky skin against his own -- is exquisite.

He tells himself it is the heat of the day that makes her cheeks even rosier. He can only extend the dream so far.

Within an hour, they have found a shabby yet comfortable inn near the students’ quarters, and between them, they’ve gestured and sketched out what they’re looking for, a room and meals for the next three days. The proprietor mutters Terrasen under his breath as he turns away to fetch a key, and moments later, Tamlin and Elain are alone in the room.

Of course, there’s only one bed.

“I’ll take the floor,” he says, and Elain holds up her hand.

“You’ll take the bed or I’ll sleep on the floor alongside you. Or we could both sleep in the bed. I’m the one who endangered you.”

When he looks at her, Tamlin allows a fraction of what he feels, the heat beneath his skin, to enter into his gaze. Her eyes widen, deep and sparkling even in the fading light, and her long lashes do not so much as flutter with hesitation. There’s desire in her eyes also, the scent of her own arousal in the room.

“It feels like a spell sometimes,” she’s saying, the words almost lost in the heady thrum of his blood, “the way I think of you. The way your touch feels. More than love or desire. As if you’ve occupied my body.”

“Then you feel what I do,” he says, and his boots scrape loud against the tiled floor as he backs away from her. Any closer, and he will reach for Elain Archeron, hold her, claim her. He does not trust himself to do otherwise, alone with her, in a world where nobody knows them or how impossible it is for them to be together.

She presses her face into her hands, her exhale rushing from between her fingers. He swears he can feel it on his skin.

“I keep forgetting about Vassa. I should go back. Maybe I could go to Koschei and--”

He crosses the room without commanding his feet to move, intent on getting his hand on her. Not to hold or caress her, only to follow her wherever she goes, no matter the folly of her plan. His thumb lands on the crook of her elbow, the thrum of her pulse against the skin made rough by battle and the forests of his court.

“I think you need a plan to vanquish Koschei,” he says, “but I will go with you, even if it’s to our death.”

“The stories say that mates cannot allow each other to be harmed,” she says, her face still hidden by her fingers.

“I do not care about the stories. I only care that you are safe.”

He watches as her fingers press into her face, forming pink splotches around each nail. From here, he can see the little band of dirt under each nail, the way the garden has marked her, even a world away.

“All I want is to stay here with you, and let you claim me as your mate. But I am afraid that I would disappear, that I would only be the pretty girl in your gardens. All my life, I was supposed to be that person, and now, I think--”

She moves her hands away, and when Elain meets his gaze, her eyes are so wide and lovely, her face so completely beautiful, even mussed, that Tamlin knows he would give her anything she wanted, so long as she had breath to form the plea. It feels like a spell, she said, and he feels bewitched by her, the world completely shifted by her proximity.

“I do not trust myself,” he forces himself to say, the words raw against his throat, nearly growled, “I do not trust what I’ll become if I allow myself--” He wants to say to love you, but he does not trust those words either. They’ve proved treacherous before.

“I haven’t allowed myself to think of that,” she says, but her scent gives her away, the sweet musk.

“You’re lying.”

Her breath hitches, and his gaze sweeps down her body, the swell of her breasts under the close-fit bodice of her gown, they fall to the dip at her waist, the flare of her hips only partially concealed by the sweep of her skirts. The suggestion of her form enough to drive him wild, to make his cock strain against his pants, so hard it’s nearly painful.

“What would happen if I kissed you?” she asks. “Would that activate the mating bond? Or is it only food?”

“If you kissed me I would try to control myself,” he says, meaning it, even as desire rages in him. He forces himself to think, what was all that playing at war for if not a means of developing his control? He tells her, “I will never take more than you will willingly give. I will not force you to be my mate, whatever happens.”

“I will not force you either.”

He hooks his fingers at the back of her neck, under her hair. It’s damp and dusty from their day of walking, and this only makes him want to pull her closer.

“Why do you imagine you would need to force me?”

“I know you love my sister.” Elain says the words with the clarity of an oracle, and Tamlin wonders for a moment if she’s having a vision, learning some truth he cannot currently detect within his own heart.

“I loved your sister and it nearly split our world in half,” he says, trying to emphasize the past tense. He runs his fingers down the bony knobs of her spine, thrills at her small involuntary shiver even in spite of what he’s confessing. “I do not know if my love will ever be worth seeking. I do not know if you are right to trust me.”

“You abolished the tithe,” she says, and the spark of hope in her words makes him wish he’d always been a better male.

“I only canceled the next one. It takes funds to raise an army. There has to be a way to secure the Spring Court borders, and to compensate those who risk their lives.”

“You are listening to your people.”

“It is not such a grand thing, not to speak.”

“In all the stories I have heard, you’ve never listened to anyone. Not even Feyre.” She pulls away from his hand, replaces her neck with her fingers, which squeeze him in a stronger grip than she ever imagined he possessed. “Maybe we can be new people, Tamlin. But I think I do not want to be your reward for changing for the better. I don’t think either of us deserves it.”

When she lets him go and turns to the washbasin, he tries not to feel stung. Of course she deserves the right to turn away from him and anything he could offer. As much as he would like to believe otherwise, it’s the sensible option.

Still, through dinner and a night spent curled on the floor, he finds himself dreaming of that kiss, the feel of Elain against his body, wholly unique and lovely, the scent of her, the feel of her skin and the dust of another world.

The next day, they sleep late by unspoken agreement, Elain eventually agreeing to the bed. Tamlin had lain awake long into the night, the possibility of danger and the proximity of Elain leaving him alert to every sound.

Their breakfast is simple and delicious, a fragrant porridge thick with dried fruit and honey, and the little sighs Elain makes while eating it affect Tamlin bodily, though the proprietress only grins at them, says something they cannot understand but which approximates happiness at seeing good work recognized. Elain’s bright grin and his sheepish glance only illicit a knowing nod.

“She thinks we’re lovers, doesn’t she?” Elain murmurs as they walk out the door, laden with everything they held when they walked through the door.

“She’s probably never seen a faerie before.”

“There are fae here somewhere. I saw them on the door of this world.”

“How many years did you go without seeing one?”

Instead of answering, Elain bites her lip, considering the street before them, bustling with morning activity. Already, the air around them shimmers with heat.

“There’s something I should try today,” she says. “I need to know the organizational principles of the passageways.”

“How are you going to learn that?” He has a feeling that she’s trying to conceal her plan with the formality of her language, the serenity of her tone. As if he could not wholly pay attention to her at every moment.

“Promise you won’t try and stop me.”

He’s tempted to cross his arms and loom over her, force her to stay in this hot, safe world until they can return to his court. But the thought of fear on her face makes his stomach heave. He tried to contain an Archeron sister, once.

Instead he tells the truth: “I’m worried you’d slip off without me.”

She turns toward him, her hand extended.

“I will never leave you in a strange world,” she says, solemn, clasping his fingers before he even realized he’d reached for her.

His exhale sighs out of him, a weight released, before he realizes that the market is disappearing around them, a sound like the ripping of a tapestry is enveloping them, that they stand in the passageway once again.

Around them everything is the same as before: the carvings on the doors, the design on the tiles beneath their feet, the great arched ceilings lit with candelabras far above. They are the only thing that have changed about this place, more rumpled than they were yesterday, Elain’s dress dusty from a day’s walking and wrinkled from a night of sleep.

“You could have given me a bit of warning,” Tamlin says, when he’s satisfied they are alone in this passageway. His voice echoes enough, though, that anybody tracking them would hear.

“I’m looking for Koschei.” Already she is looking around, reaching out her hands as if to sense the air.

“I know a lake where you can find him,” he says, already frantic in spite of himself, in spite of the mettle he’s seen Elain display, the powers which shine out in her when she’s in this place.

“If I can find the world he came from, Lucien and Helion will be able to learn about his magic. They were beginning to work on a tethering spell before we were caught.”

“You realize that any world that birthed a death-lord is likely full of death-lords, don’t you?”

“Lucky for me, then, that I have a male with a sword at my side.” She bats her eyelashes and widens her smile so that it’s almost a grimace, before relaxing into a more serious expression. “I’m going to try and see if I can locate the world from here, without changing my location in the passageway. Hold on to me if you want to come.”

He grabs her wrist and watches Elain’s face. He wants to see her work the incantation. Instead, her eyelids flutter shut and he watches her eyes dart around below that thing rosy skin, as if Elain is dreaming, seeing the world she seeks. He can feel the effervescence of her magic, the brightness of it like a star inside her. As he wonders how she ever kept this power hidden, he realizes that the passageways have changed, that the carvings on the doors are different, less familiar, with larger figures who look more menacing, with teeth and claws and wings that make his beast form look like a puppy in comparison. His free hand is already halfway to his sword.

Elain walks directly to the door and places her hand on it. He follows her, ready to dive in front of her. But Elain only studies the carvings, presses her fingers into the wood and closes her eyes, then reaches for his free hand and presses it against the wood.

“This feels like Koschei’s power,” she says, “doesn’t it?”

He’s about to say that he feels nothing, only the grain of the wood, when the power of this world pricks at his fingers like tiny flashes of lightning. He did not touch Koschei, couldn’t even get close, but his power caused a similar sensation, a frisson in the air.

“This does not seem to me like a world at peace,” he says, trying to keep the pleading out of his tone. If she will only keep herself safe, he will give her whatever she wants. Including an eternity apart from him.

“Then maybe Koschei was right to escape. I think we should get a better look.”

“And if we’re killed in the attempt?”

“Then we died trying to save Vassa,” she says, and reaches for the doorknob, twists it before he can think of a worthy objection.

The world is flattened of all color, the sky and the hard grass-studded earth blending on the horizon. The clouds are thick and near, blocking the light and clotting the redolent air. But even through the thickness, power sparks. Tamlin cannot detect its origin. As if the world itself is powerful, the air a magical current.

“This reminds you of Koschei, doesn’t it?” Elain says. Her voice is a bell in the barren landscape. He scans the sky for any indication that they’ve been discovered.

“I understand why he would want to leave this place.”

There is no cover in the scrub, only endless wasteland, but Elain begins to walk and so Tamlin follows her. At every step, his instincts tell him to leave, to force her to take them out of this world, but he thinks of the desolate look on Lucien’s face when he stared at the spot where Vassa disappeared, screaming. The lilt in the queen’s voice, her teasing laughter, the recollection of those dinners that were almost comfortable drive him onward, keep him scanning this harsh world for any threat.

After hours of walking, stopping only for quick gulps of their water, Elain stops in her tracks, turns to him.

“What if this world is deserted?” The bleakness in the question matches the landscape.

“Didn’t you say that Helion and Lucien needed to know how Koschei’s magic worked in his home world? I think they could detect it from the atmosphere.”

“I thought if I could--” she says, but there’s a hiss behind her, and Tamlin has his sword in one hand and the other around Elain, pressed close against him as he whirls on the source of the sound.

Only the centuries of warrior’s training keep him steady as he stares at the bared fangs of the scaly creature, which extend above and below its jaw. Borne on wings, the beast is like some giant snake, its bulk writhing in the air. As it descends towards them, the hissing grows louder, becomes a rattle. Tamlin raises his sword and, not knowing whether it will help or harm them, flings out his magic, heaving the creature to another corner of this desolate world.

“Can you let it get a little closer to us?” Elain asks from his side. He realizes that instead of tucking herself into a little package of fright, her hands are out, her fingers working. Magic thrums in the air around her, the only lovely and familiar thing, except for Elain herself.

“Why?”

“I need to get a better sense of its magic,” she snaps at him, the tone unfamiliar and instantly endearing, even now.

Tamlin drops the shield of his magic, and the creature swoops toward them, gives a shriek. A globule of spittle falls from its tongue and lands on the grass with a hiss. He raises his sword higher, readies himself to strike, inhales to fill his lungs. The power emanating from the creature is like and unlike Koschei’s, brute force instead of the cunning precision that makes the death-lord impossible to overcome. But this magic, the breadth and scope of it, will be difficult to fight. Still, Tamlin keeps his sword held high. He will give Elain whatever she needs.

In the face of the talons, the fangs, the bulk and writhing length of the creature, he does not falter, he does not fear. He is a warrior and he will defend his mate, make it possible for her to save her friend.

He watches the slitted eyes of the creature and swears it is calculating. Perhaps there is a strategy in place, veiled by the depths of magic. Perhaps, like Koschei, his world-kin has been waiting for centuries to wreak vengeance on the High Fae.

Tamlin has no cunning plan. The only means of escape is through Elain, and she does not so much as blink as she studies the creature, one hand outstretched, one hand on Tamlin’s shoulder. As if she beckons it, death and danger and whatever answers they might provide.

He will not fail her. He knows this in his bones. He will go on long enough to let her disappear into the passageway, into her own world. There, she will free herself.

The creature swoops, ready for the attack, and the world disappears, reforms to the tiles of the passageway.

And then Elain’s hands are on him, around his neck. She presses her lips to his. Distantly, he hears his sword clatter to the ground.

She is soft against him, impossibly sweet against his mouth, her fingers tangled in his hair as he pulls her closer, his fingers cupping her shoulders, running down her spine to settle on her waist. He does not think she could ever be close enough to him. Something blooms in him with this kiss, green and growing under his skin, entirely new.

“You were ready to save me,” she whispers against his mouth.

“Of course I will always save you.” His arms are banded around her waist, moving with the rise and fall of her breath. He loves the feel of her, safe and alive, the thrum of her pulse below his fingers.

“It was stupid of me to let that thing get so close to you. The second you dropped your shield, I was so afraid you would be killed.”

“I only wanted to give you time,” he says, tucking her head against his shoulder. He wants to keep kissing her, but doesn’t want to startle her. It’s enough to hold her, after the weeks when he thought he’d never even see her again. “Did you learn what you needed to know?”

“That creature had more power than Koschei.” Her voice is terrified and also a little admiring. Part of him wants to shake her. Part of him understands the feeling, the terror that’s almost equal parts wonder. “But does that mean Koschei left because he was weak? Or does it mean that his power diminishes in other worlds?”

“Does your power fluctuate?” he asks.

“I’m more powerful here than anywhere. Even in our world. Sometimes it feels as if I could make a world from nothing, the sense of possibility is so complete.”

Tamlin runs his hand down her back, up and down against the soft fabric of her dress, warm from her skin. Only the slight scrape of her eyelashes against his tunic gives away the fact that her mind is working, the kind of tell that only a dedicated observer would note.

After a few minutes, in which Tamlin has lulled himself into a stupor, Elain springs from his arms, her eyes wide.

“We have to keep the bone from Koschei,” she says. “Can you imagine what he’d do if he could access its power?”

“You have to stay away from him,” he says, and it is an effort to keep his voice level. “All you will be to him is a weapon, Elain.”

“You were willing to defend me so that I could learn how to defeat him. You cannot mean to lock me up now.”

Already, he feels her straining in his arms, calculating the effort required for freedom. He loosens his grip.

“What would you have me promise?”

She looks up at him then, biting her lip, serious and rumpled and lovely, and it takes every ounce of control in Tamlin not to pull her toward him, not to lock his arms around her.

“I want you to promise that you’ll show me you’re worth trusting.”

He sucks in a breath and contemplates the whole of what she implies. That he will control himself, master the rage and the doubt and the self-pity that roar inside of him. That he will rule his court. That he will treat her with respect for her full self, her power and her wrath, her sweetness and beauty and poise and those moments of uncertainty. That he will free her from all that binds, even when doing so will tear at him. That she might leave him anyway, with every good reason.

“I promise,” he says, the words loud enough to echo in the halls.

Then she relaxes in his arms, rests her head against his chest, and Tamlin holds her until her breathing steadies and then slows. How strange it is, to find his mate after half a century, to know he could lose her at any moment, and to find himself somehow contented with that knowledge, to savor the way the light gilds her hair, the way, when her face relaxes in sleep, she looks almost stern, her brows drawn down and her cheekbones more prominent. He tucks her closer against him, savoring the weight, the softness of Elain’s body. At least, he tells himself, there is this moment with her, and then the next one. Put like that, each breath feels miraculous.

He wakes with a start sometime later, slumped on the floor, Elain curled up against his shoulder. She lets out a little moan at the movement, which forces him to slide her off his lap before she can detect the effect of that sound.

“Do you think we can go back to our world?” he asks. Rhysand could be waiting, but he feels ready for that fight.

“As long as there’s a real bed waiting for me,” she murmurs, scrubbing at her eyes. She reaches for him, and then they’re in his bedroom, the bed now perfectly made, sunlight streaming through the windows. Through the window, the garden is beautiful as ever, lush with the intermingling scents of blossoms.

Elain’s command over her power is growing, he thinks. There was hardly a sound at the transport, even fresh from slumber.

Now she’s boneless against him.

“Let me take you to your room,” he says, but she shakes her head.

“Melis tried to cut my throat there. Let me stay with you?”

“I’ll be on the floor.” He’s experienced far worse, in the war bands, then two nights on the floor, making sure Elain’s sleep is undisturbed.

But she reaches for his hand.

“Stay with me,” she says.

“You’re half-asleep. And if we are found--”

“Stay with me.”

Still, she does not open her eyes. He promised to be worthy of her trust, and so, when he lays her gently on his bed and pulls the quilts around her, he does not follow her. He pulls the curtains shut against the light, finds a blanket to pillow his head, and listens for the sound of her soft breathing.

“I will be here in this room with you, Elain,” he says, and lets himself relax.

Once they’re awake, the day passes in an idyll. No one from the Night Court has appeared, and so Elain goes to the garden for the afternoon and Tamlin decides to monitor the woods, with strict instructions to the servants to watch over their honored visitor. He will visit the village tomorrow, complete his rounds of the further towns over the next week. But today, he stretches his legs in his own world, the court he rules. He transforms into the beast and savors the heady forest air as it fills his lungs.

After an hour, he hears footsteps moving through the underbrush. He stops behind a tree and counts the sounds of striding feet, half-climbs the tree to get a better view and spots a familiar livery.

When Tamlin registers the sight before him, only the thought of Elain keeps him from lunging toward those footsteps, snarling and vicious and bent on death and destruction.

An army from the Autumn Court is marching through his lands. A thousand fae soldiers working their way through the trees.

If he rushes them, even with the High Lord’s power inside him, they will rip him to shreds. And so Tamlin slinks through the forest. Where the future should be, there is only a howling blank.

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selcier · 7 years

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Obikin Fanfiction Recommendations

I’ve been thinking about typing this up for a while now.

This is by no means an extensive or exhaustive list. These are simple a few fics that I remember vividly for various reasons. Many of theme are masterpieces in their own right without the added benefit of being fanfiction. And many are fics that I have read over and over again. These are also fics that have inspired me to to my own writing.

Please also keep in mind that these recommendations will include some constructive criticism. While I love them all, there are comments that I think need to be said in any recommendation. I’m not going to be adding warnings (those are in the links) but I want to give a larger picture of the piece besides fawning over how much I love it.

There are many fics that are not on this list that I actively read and love and I’m always looking for more! I have excluded works that I love but are in the beginnings of their development as a cohesive story. This list also does not include any tumblr ficlets. I love those too but they are more difficult to keep track of. If you follow me, I tend to reblog everything I love so you can find more that way. If you have any recommendations to send me, please do!

I have tried to tag authors when I know them on tumbr.

In no particular order:

His Face in the Rearview Mirror by starscry

The car breaks down a week and a half into his trip.

What a beautiful AU. Fast cars, sexual tension and a great retelling of TPM. I’m drawn to this fic for its detail and mood. I can feel the heat of the desert in every scene. I can envision Anakin’s upbringing in the descriptions. I desperately want them to justkissalready the entire time; there is a fantastic level of tension throughout the narrative. This is the type of short but fulfilling read I go back for many times. Its currently on hiatus but I’m crossing my fingers that starscry will finish it soon.

Fringe Believers and Hopeless Wanders by iiscos

A Jedi falls in love with a kind, but poor mechanic aboard the luxurious, ill-fated R.S.C. Terranova. A Star Wars/Titanic AU

This fic is definitely an inspiration for my own writing. Its paced fabulously with a steady rise of plot and tension. And while it follows closely to the original plot of Titanic, all the Star Wars details are fleshed out in loving detail. It also has the same feel as Titanic; a romance that doesn’t make any logical sense but that is captivating none the less. Unfortunately, this fic is also on hiatus it seems as the author seems to have moved on to other fandoms. However, keep in mind the original tags were ‘happy ending’ so I’ll go with that. :)

Favorite line: “ Obi-Wan in his formal Jedi robes, clean and simple against the lavish backdrop, searching for familiar faces in the dining saloon.” For some reason this image keeps with me. I liken it to the line from the RotS novel in which Obi-wan stands in the expanse of carpeting in Padme’s apartment looking lost. The parallels reduce me to a sobbing fool.

wicked thing by imaginarykat

There are rumours of yet another Sith Lord hiding among the Separatists. The Council sends Anakin to investigate. Anakin has a bad feeling about this.

or,

the story of how Anakin exists in a perpetual state of intense embarrassment, Kenobi is enjoying it a little too much, and everything is, generally speaking, a gigantic mess.

Ah yes. The opus of the Sith!Obi-wan movement. May we be forever blessed. This fic sucks you in from the very first moment. The insight the reader has into Anakin’s mind is a fabulous take on his character and I love the inanity he brings. Oh course, the whole plot is rather contrived; but that’s part of the fun. Fanfiction is for nothing more than indulging our every whim and a myriad of possibilities. I particularly enjoy that we’re meant to not fully understand whether or not Kenobi is using Anakin or not. And whether or not Anakin is already his apprentice or not. Unfortunately, the last few chapters have been lacking direction for me. But I’ve still enjoyed reading them and still look forward to experiencing the story with the characters. Not all obikin needs to be sadness and flames.

Favorite line: “His mouth opens to speak even though his mind seems empty of all thought; only one word escapes his lips, one that tastes of defiance and submission and fire all at once.“Master.” “ Hot damn yes. This is why I come here!

Ad Verecundiam by DarthSnug

Time Traveling Sith Lords seems like a matter for the Council, so Obi-Wan puts the man’s sudden arrival at the Temple out of mind. He has other things to worry about after all: his Trials, for one, and his former Master’s stubborn insistence that young Anakin Skywalker must be trained.

Then the Council approaches him, saying that their reluctant darkside guest is specifically asking for him, and in standard fashion, Knight Kenobi finds himself getting into all sorts of terrible trouble without much backup at all.

This is probably the least developed fic on this list. Only three chapters in, however, and I’m hooked. So far, it hasn’t gotten caught up in extraneous scenes or pointless divergences to the plot and I’m hoping it continues to do so. I’m enjoying, despite the fantastical nature of the canon divergence, the reality of the narrative. Characters have reasonable and relate-able reactions to outside influences. The Council is appropriately suspicious, Kenobi is appropriately obeying the Council’s orders-but-not-really. I’m excited to see where this is going especially as Vader is clearly not necessarily remorseful about his actions. He hasn’t turned into the good-guy yet. I think we all forget what a Sith is supposed to be canon. They aren’t just dangerous and handsome, they have ugly goals. I’m hoping that this fic explores that option.

Solider, Poet, King by @glare-gryphon

Second chances are very rarely given, but the Force smiles upon two of its favorite children and returns them to a time before their actions have met their consequences. Anakin Skywalker, also known as Darth Vader, seeks redemption while Obi-Wan “Ben” Kenobi, disillusioned with the Jedi Order and its Code, falls to the Darkness. Trapped out of time, Master and Apprentice must once again work together to stop Sideous’ plans from reaching fruition and bring Balance to the Force—all the while dodging the Jedi, the Sith, and their feelings for each other.

I admit, I’ve re-read this at least ten times. It came with me on the plane to Thailand, comforted me next to the fireplace this holiday season and was there for rainy days this spring. This is a fic I cannot gush about enough. The first time I read Chapter 1, I thought ‘oh this sounds interesting, if cliche.’ But then i was hooked. Glare, in all their writing, adds such a depth to the characters without distracting lines of exposition. As the reader, you’re desperately on Anakin’s side hoping that he finally gets his happy ending. And you feel Ben’s pain on having to live again. You want them to succeed. This is compounded with the spiraling-out-of-control relationship Padawan Obi-wan has with Qui-gon and the ongoing fight against Sideous.

I am worried that this fic has gotten too large and that there are too many spinning wheels to pull together in the end. But that hasn’t dampened my ability to enjoy it as it is. And I’m not sure if this is intended (although I certainly enjoy it), but there is an underlying strain of ‘wrongness’ about Anakin and Ben’s relationship. This isn’t a happy story, I think. I don’t want it to be happy.

Favorite line: “ Vader’s durasteel wrist is pinned to the stone by one of Adelfos’ boots, preventing the younger Sith from moving. His back is to Obi-Wan like this, but the Padawan can see Vader’s face through the man’s legs. Whatever Vader sees when he looks up into the man’s cowl, the shock hits him like a speeder. Blood drains from the Sith’s face and he’s trembling, mouth opening and closing like he’s trying to form words but doesn’t quite know what to say.” This line gives me chills every time. I love feeling Anakin’s surprise though the lens of Padawan Kenobi. Beautiful.

as good a place to fall as any by @glimmerglanger

Obi-Wan and Anakin are sent to find a rumored weapon from the Old Republic on a mission directly from the Jedi Council, taking them away from the front lines at a vital time. During the course of the mission, they find far more than trouble than the anticipated and stumble into a series of events that leads to unintended attachments, misunderstandings, a fierce love affair, bloody victories, and an eventual end to the Clone Wars…

I’m a big fan of a/o/b fics done well and this one is fantastic. While the dynamics are certainly part of the story, it is more focused on the emotional relations between characters in the backdrop of a war. Each chapter is almost a mini story with a full plot and satisfying ending. It does have that same feeling of a story arch in the Clone Wars where you know the main conflict will be resolved even as the over-arching conflict (Anakin and Obi-wan’s relationship) continues on.

And I can’t say enough about the tiny world building elements that glimmer adds. In the first chapter, they focus on the a/o/b dynamics as if it were any physical condition in a modern world. Its not sexualized from the stand point of the characters (until, well, it is sexual). And they way that Obi-wan addresses his crisis is so in character. He really struggles with his decision and is eventually overrun and guilty about his choices.

Favorite line: ““I don’t remember what that’s like, either,” Anakin said, and he sat up, scrubbing at his face. For a moment they sat, and then he reached out, and tugged on a strand of Obi-Wan’s hair. A cautious smile lifted one corner of his mouth. “I like seeing you like this.”

Obi-Wan snorted, wishing he had not removed his tunic. He could feel the blush on his skin. “Messy?” he asked, abandoning the cot and the intimacy, before it tempted him beyond his ability to bear it. Already his emotions were in a tumult, as they had been since he had thought Anakin would not breathe again. It was best not to think about it.” Urgh the pain and happiness rolled up in these scenes sends me to tears.

Admire the Foliage by the AngryAssassin

Anakin is left to his own devices on an unknown planet and naturally, he gets himself into trouble. Obi-Wan helps him out. Porn with a little tiny bit of plot.

I would call this porn with absolutely no plot whatsoever. But I don’t even want to tell you how many times I’ve read it. Be forewarned for plants, vines, tentacle bits, possible non-con, threesomes of a sort, voyeurism, and other nsfw things.

Thank you and have a great day.

Wake the Storm (part i of the Ouroboros series) by @bedlamsbard

Considering that he had picked up what was probably a Sith artifact, promptly passed out in the middle of a war zone, and apparently woken up twenty years in the future with Obi-Wan having taken up residence in his head, Anakin thought he was entitled to have a few questions.

This is the first fanfiction I had my husband read. Overall, it is not a full Obikin story but I love the undercurrent of tension. (Both between Old Ben and Jedi Knight Kenobi). And while the plot is based on a slightly outlandish theme, its pulled together tightly across multiple times and space. And when we get to see the interactions between Kenobi and Padme, my heart breaks every time.

Many times in fic, we take the idea that Obi-wan will leave the Order to be a given. Like it isn’t hard to give up everything you’ve ever known to seek out a different life. Like that isn’t a terrible decision to make. In this story, this idea is treated with the respect it deserves. Its easy for us, as readers, to make these decisions for the characters but it is much more difficult for them to choose. In this fic, we see Obi-wan struggle between being who he really is (in this case, Anakin’s friend), and who he really wants to be (a Jedi Master).

And we also see another version of that Kenobi who did not make such a decision and the ramifications of that. I’m torn between empathy and hatred of that version. But i fully enjoyed the exploration of one character who underwent such a drastic split.

Overall, this seems like it would be an exploration of Anakin (and I think it was intended to be one), but I see it more of an exploration of Obi-wan. And, of course, the sequel is every bit as thought provoking and well written.

Favorite line: “Obi-Wan leaned against the wall beside him, his face hidden behind one hand. “I saw what Vader left behind.”Again, the smell of sulfur and burning flesh, a sound that might have been screaming. Anakin’s stomach heaved again, making him clap a hand to his mouth, but there was nothing left to vomit up. After a moment, the Force impressions vanished.” Well, i have many, many favoirte lines. But this is from the second chapter. Every sentence is so well planned and full of nuanced. Be still my heart.

The Light You Leave Behind by laventadorn

Ahsoka has left the Jedi Order, and Anakin is haunted by the last words he spoke to her on the steps of the Temple: “I understand, more than you know, wanting to leave the Order.” But perhaps leaving does not mean walking away; perhaps, it means only taking a different path.

For Obi-Wan, things are even less simple. The darkness clouding the Force seems to whisper behind him; with Anakin gone, he feels half-blind. Does his way lie with the Order that has raised him, or with the two Padawans he has lost?

Because Anakin and Ahsoka have set out to learn what they can about the Sith - and to destroy them, once and for all.

This is another rec that is still in it’s infancy. But I’ve been sucked in to the pure feelings of this world in all the relationships and their dynamics. I would consider this, so far, a bit more on the gen side but the sheer stress between Anakin and Obi-wan and Anakin and Ahsoka is captivating. I especially love the way Obi-wan just holds himself back at every turn and how much the reader can feel his distress.

The last chapters were a bit more plot focused than the first few. I am not really sure at this point what type of direction this story will continue in. We seemed to leave behind the emotional tension to focus on moving the story along. That isn’t the type of story I normally enjoy but I’m hoping it returns to its roots a bit more in the future.

Favorite line: ““Well,” he said eventually, “that wasn’t what I was expecting you to say.”

Anakin’s forehead crinkled in clear confusion as his eyes cut toward Obi-Wan, as if trying to figure him out. He reached out in the Force, a tentative brush that Obi-Wan couldn’t bring himself to meet. He had to keep his shields shut tight or he might -

“I thought you were going to tell me you’re leaving the Order.”” Kill me know. Obi-wan, just kiss him already!!!

Finding Balance by moonstone

The Dark side clouds everything, even to eyes that should see through the murk with ease. Darth Sidious has miscalculated, drastically, and the waiting game for his enemies is now at an end, and Balance is at hand.

Another Sith Obi-wan here. But a bit different. In this, Obi-wan has always been a Sith, even when living with the Jedi Order. He’s been biding his time before creating his own Empire. I love how cold he is in this one. And how all the members of the Rebel Alliance are unsure of what he might do. Will he keep his word? Will he kill us all anyways?

I think, in this story, the relationship between Obi-wan and Anakin takes a bit of a back seat to to the world-building and overall plot development. In this case, i love that aspect. I want to see Anakin scare the shit out of people when he pulls up in a Destroyer, and I want to see them scramble for words when the Emperor ends up injured in their base.

Its a simple story and not overly complex. And I love it for that.

The World Undone by lilyconrad @writegowrite

Anakin Skywalker, proud symbol of the strength and purity of the Jedi Order, is the target of a strange and handsome Sith named Obi-Wan, whose only goal seems to be pulling Skywalker down into the dark with him.

This is an all-around great read. Very entertaining, a great host of characters, good plot, fun story, sufficient sexy scenes. I had a great time reading it and its a staple for the fandom.

I especially love the brutal nature of Kenobi in the beginning and the way he plays with Anakin throughout the story. I love seeing how their relationship evolves from enemies to sparring partners to friends to lovers. It is so, so satisfying. And also, Anakin is a joy to read here. You know that something fishy is going on in the background but have no idea what! I was glued to the screen in the scene when Anakin comes back from the Council. I think that this is a great additive to the story. I wanted to learn more about what was going on just as much as I wanted to finally see them make-out.

However I did miss that brutal quality as the story progressed. This is purely a preference and has no bearing on the quality of the story (because the quality is superb), but I felt it lost its Sith-like edges with the introduction of Anakin and Obi-wan’s back story. Suddenly, we were meant to sympathize with Obi-wan. I feel like that took away from his character as a Sith. Sometimes, I don’t want to apologize for the characters. I want them to be dangerous and awful in their own way; like a first testament god. But like I said, that was a matter of preference. I do feel like it is the prerogative of the writer to create the story they wan to see. After all, that’s why fanfiction exists. And I applaud the author for creating a dynamic piece that covers such a wide variety of topics, characters and stories.

#recom #star wars fanfiction #my list #fanfiction #obikin #my writing #star wars #recommendations

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