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bookofmirth · 3 years

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VEEY GENUINE QUESTION FROM AN ELRIEL SHIPPER VERY GENUINE. So I honestly don't see how Elain has ever acted or said anything that suggested she was romantically interested in Lucien, at least not right now? I guess I just don't really see why people ship them other than the fact that they're mates. Is that the only reason, combined with the fact that (with which I agree) Azriel doesn't seem to be in a place where he can enter a serious relationship? I used to be very neutral with these ships, but every time I reread the books, I just didn't see any real connection/potential between Lucien and Elain, but I have seen things that make me believe there is potential for an elriel relationship. Please let me know what people are seeing/what I'm missing! Just want a rational discussion without stupid insults and whatnot. you know, the thing half the fandom is incapable of :)

Hi!!! I hope I can help because I have lots of thoughts, but anyone else can feel free to jump on!

So you’re right that Elain hasn’t expressed interest in Lucien. This makes sense to me because why would sjm want to write a romance where the beginnings happen off page? Especially if she knew she was going to write Elain’s story eventually?

It also makes sense that Elain would have reservations about a mating bond, much like Feyre and Nesta did. The whole Elain not having feelings right now thing doesn’t trouble me. It’s been stated a few times that Lucien does, but that also makes sense because he knows more about her than she does about him because of having spent time with her father. (At least, theoretically, idk what the bond could have helped them glean about one another.)

I ship it because they complement each other in terms of their personalities and their interests, so I see a lot of potential for the kind of couple they could be in terms of just who they are.

Diplomacy: Lucien is good at keeping political alliances together. Elain is good at keeping the peace amongst families (less so with Nesta atm, but that’s generally been her “thing”). Let’s say they end up High Lord and Lady, they could divide and conquer any tough situation.

They both are missing a “home”

Elain has had to go from mansion to shack to mansion to the Night Court, always trying to make the best of wherever she is.

Lucien was kicked out of Autumn, isn’t comfortable in Spring or Night, so he made his own home with the Band of Exiles but since that’s like a roommate “just moved out of the parents’ house” situation you know it’s not for good.

They are both optimistic. They look for the good in any situation and are generally quite resilient. I think they would admire that in each other, given that they’ve seen so many people around them fall apart.

Lucien has had to watch Tamlin fall apart. Elain has had to watch Nesta fall apart. They know what it’s like to love someone and not be able to help them, and know where to draw those boundaries between helping someone and being a crutch or enabling them.

They’ve both loved and lost, meaning that they understand the importance of finding someone committed. (Graysen and Jesminda)

They’ve also watched someone be taken from them before their time (Elain and her father, Jesminda again). They can empathize with one another.

Elain needs someone who will let her be who she wants to be, but won’t let her become complacent. Right now, she’s smiling and saying everything is fine, but it’s really Not Fine. She needs someone who will challenge, OR will let her challenge herself.

Think back to ACOTAR Lucien, not current Lucien, and the way that he treated Feyre. He was sassy and sometimes rude but he never treated Feyre like a fragile human. When they ended up UtM he and Rhys were the only people to help Feyre.

So that connects to my previous point that right now, Elain needs more people to tell her “oh, fuck you”. She needs people to look beyond her nice little housewife-y smiles and to ask what she wants and who she is.

Lucien met Graysen and left him alone, for Elain’s sake. I can’t imagine the restraint that took, given the mating bond.

Lucien needs someone who will prioritize his needs, rather than what he can do for them. Right now, pretty much everyone around him values his political connections but little else. As much as people (characters, I mean, not us) like Elain for how “nice” she is all the time, they don’t see beyond that either.

The proper Jane Austen style-pining potential has me asdjhajksdhasd

Imagine Elizabeth Bennet, “well I didn’t like him quite so much until I saw his huge.... Day Court”. (Also just saying, but sjm has said she’s been rereading that book constantly.)

The constant longing in Lucien’s face 😭

Elain just wanting someone to love her for who she is and not their idea of her.

The Archeron mom was a biotch but she raised Elain to be the wife of a lord or someone important. Enter Lucien, her mate and someone important.

And Elain embraces that life. Gardening is domestic, but it’s also ladylike and useful. She wants something bigger, but that doesn’t mean she has to do a 180-degree turn and go completely outside her comfort zone.

She was born to run a large household and she could do that while also holding some power as a High Lady, or even mate of a High Lord. Idk enough about her yet to know whether she would want the title or not.

This is my headcanon but Lucien has learned a lot about the art of the bedroom and will be a great teacher.

Okay this is a lot and I think there are probably other reasons that I’ve forgotten. And even if that’s not convincing, that’s okay? Honestly it’s not until I sit down to write it all out that I can explain why I do or don’t ship something! It’s just a matter of personal preference, ultimately.

#elucien #acotar #ask #anon

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nanstgeorge · 3 years

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“little garden” implications

starting to think that “little garden” = fandom elain and this was sjm’s way of subtly tackling how she has been reduced to her hobbies and overlooked by characters & the fandom for her traditionally feminine characteristics. this has even led some people to determine her possible endgames (ex; lucien and tamlin) for the series just because she likes gardening. not because she has expressed interest in them, but because she likes gardening so that automatically means she must end up with someone associated with flowers.

im not opposed to elain somehow taking over spring court or ending up with lucien (if the story convinces me lmao) but there’s an issue with sticking her there just because it seems like it works. like elain residing at spring court has been a popular fan theory since the beginning of the series but every book that has been released only seems to disprove it even more? she has never explicitly said she wanted to live there, even chosen a life for herself at night court, but fans and the inner circle just took this idea and ran.

“But Elain.... The Sprint Court had been made for someone like her.” (Nesta)

“Elain in black was ridiculous. Yes, she was beautiful, but the color of her long-sleeved, modest gown leeched the brightness from her face. It wore her, rather than the other way around. And he knew the cruelty of the Hewn City troubled her. But she hadn’t hesitated to come. When Feyre had offered to let her remain home, Elain had squared her shoulders and declared that she was a part of this court—and would do whatever was needed. So Elain had let her golden-brown hair down tonight, and pinned it back with twin combs of pearl. He’d never once in the two years he’d known her found Elain to be plain, but wearing black, no matter how much she claimed to be part of this court … It sucked the life from her.” (Cassian)

i’d say that it’s arguable whether or not nesta truly has an accurate depiction of elain now that we have a more in-depth portrait of nesta’s mind and childhood. of course this was not cultivated by nesta herself, with much help from her mother, but elain is still a child to nesta. a child who is a bartering tool between her and her disfigured dynamic with feyre. a child who is a reminder of her own insecurities. essentially, this quote from acosf sums it up, “nesta made her own choices, but our mother laid the ground work.”

“Elain is pleasant to look at, but she has no ambition. She does not dream beyond her garden and pretty clothes. She will be an asset on the marriage market for us one day, if that beauty holds, but it will be our own maneuverings, Nesta, not hers, that win us an advantageous match” (Mama Archeron)

“It doesn’t matter what I think. Go back to Feyre and your little garden.”

Elain, sweet and oblivious.

Elain was like a dog, loyal to whatever master kept her fed and in comfort.

But to let Elain involve herself, jeopardize her safety—

“Look who decided to grow claws after all. Maybe you’ll become interesting at last, Elain.”

“Always defending sweet, innocent Elain.”

Challenge filled each word. Challenge—from Elain, of all people.

Elain stepped closer, brown eyes wide. Undoubtedly wholly convinced of her own innocence, her innate goodness.

Elain had accepted his death as inevitable. She hadn’t bothered to fight for him, as if he hadn’t been worth the effort, precisely as Nesta knew she herself wasn’t worth the effort.

It was inevitable, Nesta supposed, stomach churning. She was the monster. Why shouldn’t the two of them band together and shove her out? Even if she’d foolishly believed that Elain had always seen every horrible part of her and decided to stick by her anyway.

now onto feyre, who has always had a softer but different opinion of elain. this doesn’t mean it’s accurate to how elain is or was, but it’s safe to say that this was an opinion that wasn’t stemmed out of their mother’s mind. this is not to villainize nesta, but merely explain how elain was never made out to only be a “pretty face” to feyre. but of course it’s important to remember that she isn’t scotch free for how she acted in their childhood.

It wasn’t that Elain was cruel. She wasn’t like Nesta, who had been born with a sneer on her face. Elain sometimes just … didn’t grasp things. It wasn’t meanness that kept her from offering to help; it simply never occurred to her that she might be capable of getting her hands dirty.

Perhaps buried it a bit, but she was generous, loving, and kind—a woman I found myself proud to know, to call sister.

Elain mouthed my name but kept cowering, kept her head down.

Elain, who had been gentle and sweet.

I had not painted in years at that point, had not dared spend the money on myself … But Elain had.

She had looked at that cottage with hope; I had looked at it with nothing but hatred. And I knew which one of us had been stronger.

“She loves her garden. Always loved growing things. Even when we were destitute, she managed to tend a little garden in the warmer months. And when—when our fortune returned, she took to tending and planting the most beautiful gardens you’ve ever seen. Even in Prythian. It drove the servants mad, because they were supposed to do the work and ladies were only meant to clip a rose here and there, but Elain would put on a hat and gloves and kneel in the dirt, weeding. She acted like a purebred lady in every regard but that.”

nesta and feyre both have two different feelings regarding elain but they are similar in that they both believe she needs to be protected. it’s pretty clear when elain reminds them of how they only thought of her trauma when it affected them.

“Elain was right. We’ve become so focused on how her trauma impacted us that we forget she was the one who experienced it.” (Feyre)

quite honestly, it’s the inner circle members who are aware of elain’s potential and look at her as not defenseless compared to her sisters. this of course makes it’s quite ironic that she’s used as “pawn” to get nesta to stick her neck out. moving on, it’s specifically azriel, who is someone she chose to create a bond with and probably knows her best. cassian also may be someone who considers elain to not truly belong to night court but does shift his opinion on her overall character.

“Including Elain, who is more than capable of defending herself against the darkness of the Trove, if she chooses to. Don’t underestimate her.” (Amren, oops)

“Nesta was wrong, Cassian realized, to think of Elain as loyal and loving as a dog. Elain saw every single thing Nesta had done, and understood why.” (Cassian)

“I think she’s kind, and I’ll take kindness over nastiness any day. But I also don’t think we’ve seen all she has to offer.” (Rhys)

rhysand is also someone who slowly begins to see elain in a different light as well as feyre by the end of the book. in fact, it takes rhys expressing his opinion of elain, as someone who didn’t grow up with her, for feyre to see things differently. it takes rhys, who brings back up the first description of elain in the series, for feyre to recollect another element of elain.

“It wasn’t meanness that kept her from offering to help; it simply never occurred to her that she might be capable of getting her hands dirty.” (Feyre, ACOTAR)

“Don’t forget that gardening often results in something pretty, but it involves getting one’s hands dirty along the way.” (Rhys, ACOSF Bonus)

“Have you ever seen Elain act like that before?”

“No. I mean, she’s been brave when she had to be, but she’s never been confrontational.”

“Maybe she’s never been given a chance to be that way.”

“You think I stifle her?”

“Not you alone. But I wonder if everyone has spent so long assuming Elain is sweet and innocent that she felt she had to be that way or else she’d disappoint you all.”

in conclusion, elain is a character who’s journey is yet to be complete. the first real choice she had was to not hunt for the family but essentially, she’s been deprived of real choice and independence her entire life. besides being pretty and marrying well, not much has ever been expected of her until she left the garden of her childhood and planted her own. while she may have been turned against her will, elain found solace in dedicating her attention towards the garden in the archeron mansion, night court and all those who resided there. gardening and growing things is something she chose; not something that was inflicted upon her (such as a mating bond.)

elain does not belong somewhere or with someone because she gardens. we have seen countless times over that she can make her own place anywhere but she chose to make a home at night court.

#this is just a rant with quotes lmao #acotar #elain archeron #pro elain archeron #pro elain #anti elucien #a court of thorns and roses

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ladynestaarcheron · 4 years

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Invisible String - Chapter Two

ao3 - ff.net - masterpost

(tagging these cuties: @iammissstark @sayosdreams @ncssian @westrangecollectionkoalaposts @queenestarcheron @nessiantrashh)

thank y’all so much for your kind words!! so happy to hear people are enjoying this. here’s chapter two!!

---

Her predicament is not new, but it's still a surprise for Nesta when she realizes if she wants to leave, she can simply go. She defers to no one, and hasn't for a while, but her lack of communication with Elain means something else: no one is going to miss her while she is gone.

She'll have to be quick. Feyre will notice, eventually, but there isn't anything odd about the pair of them not seeing each other for a week or so. And since there isn't anyone randomly, infuriatingly checking up on her anymore...

It stings more than she admits to herself.

But no matter. It's almost all behind her now.

With clothes packed enough for fortnight (she's certain she won't be gone that long, but it never hurts to be prepared), Nesta boards her carriage and waits.

A quiet, busy sort of air about her when she walks the streets of Velaris is enough to ensure no one try and talk to her, but evidently, the same is not promised for carriage rides. She supposes the only task she has to pretend to focus on is reading a book, and that's not enough to deter the passengers from incessant conversation.

"Are you traveling, Lady?" one asks her.

Obviously. "Yes," she answers.

"Will the High Lady be joining you?"

Ah, that didn't take long. She supposes she should be pleased--she can answer honestly, the faeries will all be disappointed and bored, and they'll leave her alone.

Alas.

"So are you in need of an escort, Lady?" a pretty female asks eagerly.

"No," she says, sharply. "Thank you," she adds.

"Are you traveling about the Court, Lady?"

"No," she says, hoping she sounds cryptic enough that they think they are not allowed to question further, "I have business elsewhere."

Delighted looks are exchanged amongst the young faeries, excited to have caught real Night Court fieldwork in the act.

Something moves inside of her, but Nesta's not sure what. She's not jealous, of course. She's never desired a career in politics in her life, she definitely doesn't want to start one now under Rhysand, and she certainly doesn't care enough for the well being of the people of this land to do so.

She's angry, she decides. Angry that these people are so taken with the Inner Circle.

Yes, that must be it.

There are magical checkpoints she passes, once she shows her papers and proves she's allowed to travel through five other Courts to get to Spring--most people on the journey seem to depart into Dawn and Summer, and by the time Nesta reaches the southernmost part of Prythian, she is alone.

"Good afternoon, Lady," the footmale says, bidding her goodbye. He and the carriage are gone before she can answer.

There's no point in dallying any longer, so she sets off on her way.

Spring is not as constructed as Night. There are no roads here--at least, not in this part of the Court--and Nesta can't see any buildings at all. Just a dirt path she walks along, with endless, lush green hills, rolling on either side of it. Thick-stemmed flowers of all kinds dot the grass, with fat bees fluttering from one to the next. Songbirds whistle to each other in the fruit trees. The air is almost dizzyingly sweet.

Nesta likes it, she decides. The quiet, the warmth. But probably not too many libraries.

She's not wearing a watch, but she guesses a half an hour of her walk has passed when the first sight of civilization comes into view. A metal gate in the middle of a dying hedge, encircling a mansion--an estate. White marble, with any number of ornate windows and patios and balconies.

Beautiful, but eerie, for every step she draws closer, the quieter it grows. There's not the barest trace of people inside, and even the birds can't be heard up the steps at the gash-ridden oak door.

She knocks, more out of habit than anything else. Of course, no one opens it, so she pushes it on her own.

Black and white checked flooring spills out to several doors and a vast staircase. Sunlight falls limply onto nothing, for any decor has been shoved away.

A door opens on her right. Nesta turns.

They only stare at each other for a minute, not speaking.

Tamlin looks worse than she remembers. Same golden hair, same gem-green eyes, but...thinner, perhaps, in his cheeks. Paler. Hollow.

Quite the same image she imagines others see when she looks at her, she realizes with a start.

"What are you doing here?" he asks, voice...devastated? But why?

Oh, she says to herself, the thought hitting her, he thought I was Feyre.

"You owe me a favor," she says.

He raises an eyebrow.

"Because this is your fault," she explains. "My...Hybern. So you owe me."

"Do I?"

She doesn't back down from his stare, only nods once.

"And who else do you blame? Or am I the only one?" His words are careful but she doesn't understand what he wants.

"You're all to blame," she says. "You're all murderers. None of you did a good enough job keeping humans safe. It's not my place to judge which of you is the most monstrous. I'm content to hate all of you quietly."

Tamlin chuckles--low, dark. "Not your place to judge?"

"Do you deny your role in my murder?" she snaps.

The shadow-grin on his face fades. "No," he says.

"Then help me."

His shoulders tense. "What do you want?"

Nesta inhales deeply. "You struck a deal with him...to undo the mating bond. Between my sister and Rhysand."

Tamlin stops breathing.

"I want to know how to do that."

He doesn't answer her. Stays silent for a full minute, before she presses on.

"Tell me how to do that."

"You're trying to--destroy--whose?" He is desperate, searching.

Her jaw clenches tightly. "That doesn't concern you."

"You can't."

"You thought it could be done, obviously. That's why you were willing to give us to Hybern--"

"I didn't--"

"--so just tell me."

He glares at her, and Nesta wonders, briefly, if she should be concerned. But she's too angry to be nervous. Her world has been thrown off its axis too many times now and this is something she knows she can fix. She has to.

"Don't you think," he says, through gritted teeth, "if I knew of any way to undo a mating bond, I would have done it myself?"

Nesta doesn't bother stifling her eye roll. "But how did you think he was going to do it?"

"I don't know." He looks to the side, to the nothing that lays beyond the manor. "I don't know what I thought."

Nesta does not have time for his introspection nor does she care. She puts her hands on her hips. "Well, who can I go to, then?"

Tamlin looks at her, surprised, as if he'd forgotten she's still here. "I suppose...you can catch a Suriel."

A Suriel. Nesta remembers talk of one, during the war. Feyre had gone to find one. But that one is dead now, she knows.

"How do I do that?"

Tamlin loosens a frustrated sigh. "If I catch one for you, are we even? You'll consider our score settled?"

Nesta scoffs. "I will never consider our score settled. But rest assured, if you catch me this Suriel and it tells me how to undo a mating bond, I will never have any reason to come to Spring again."

His head tilts as he considers her words. "Fine," he says, grudgingly. He stalks past her, out the door and down the steps. "Follow me."

She does, off the path and into a deceptively quiet grove that leads into an even more forbidding forest, and she doesn't know for how long--she really should get a watch--until he finally holds out his arm and says, without turning around, "Wait here."

He disappears into a thatch of shrubbery. Again, she wonders if she should be nervous. Tamlin's a High Lord--this land's High Lord. Surely, if she's here with him, nothing will attack her.

And there is also the matter of...herself.

A sharp hiss escapes the spot where Tamlin crossed into, and then he barks out, "Come here!"

Moving a fair bit of bush aside, Nesta steps into a small clearing. There's a quiet stream. Tamlin, beyond it, with his arms wrapped around...a Suriel.

Hunched over, beneath a robe that might have once been very finely embroidered, the creature looks up at her with eyes filled only with whites.

"For this you have caught me, High Lord?" it--he? She?--says, its cold voice making her flinch.

Tamlin rises, letting go of the Suriel. "She has something to ask you," he says flatly.

The Suriel doesn't run once he lets it go--scared of him or her? It only straightens out the collar of its robe with long gray fingers that appear as though they have been broken more than once. "What is it, Eve-daughter?"

It knows she was human. Once, at least.

No matter. That's not what she has come for.

"I want to know how to undo a mating bond," she says, keeping her voice even. "Please," she adds.

The Suriel clicks its tongue. "Most would consider such a bond a dearly loved gift."

Nesta bites her tongue. It won't do her any good to snap at this creature. "Can you tell me?" she asks.

"But you don't like anything gifted from the Cauldron, do you? No...you prefer your gifts stolen..."

Nesta's heart stutters. Tamlin looks on, curious, but she forces herself to keep eye contact with the Suriel. "Will you tell me?" she says, trying again.

Another hiss. "I can't tell you."

"But you know who can?" she presses, guessing at its linguistic trickery.

The Suriel bites its yellowed teeth together twice. "An old friend of yours, I would say."

An old friend...Amren? But Amren is only High Fae now, surely she doesn't have any powers like this anymore...and Amren's not an old friend. Only a former one.

"Call upon the one your sister bargained with," it says.

"Which one?" There are a great many, she suspects. Each deal more foolish than the last, she's certain. If she's come all the way to Spring just for a Suriel to tell her to go ask Rhysand--

"Bryaxis."

Oh.

Well.

"Where is Bryaxis now?" It had not returned to that library after the war.

"It'll come to you," the Suriel replies. "Call upon it."

Call upon...the only thing that Cassian fears.

Fine.

"What's that in your bag, Eve-daughter?"

Nesta looks down. "Clothes."

"Could you spare any?" it asks, clicking its fingers together.

She blinks. But she remembers all too well what it was like to be freezing, and is still at the mercy of stronger Fae, and she meant what she told Tamlin: they are all monsters here and she's not any authority on who amongst them is the worst.

"Sure," she says, and takes out the cloak she had brought. Simple. Charcoal gray, with purple hem so deep it's nearly black. She steels her arms as she extends it, willing herself not to show emotion when her fingers brush its.

The Suriel rises to its full height--taller than Nesta, obviously, but taller even than Tamlin. It slips off the tattered robe and lets it fall at its feet. Nesta's cloak hits its knees.

"Well," she says. "Goodbye, then." She turns on her heel and heads back through the bushes.

This time, Tamlin follows her. "Where are you going?" he asks.

"Back to Night." Where else can she go?

"You missed the last cross-Court carriage of the day. I'm not winnowing you there."

Her steps only falter slightly. "Well. I packed for this. Where's an inn?"

"You can stay at my estate."

This causes Nesta to stop and turn to him. "What do you think this is about?"

He doesn't miss a beat. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"You are not coming with me to see Bryaxis. This is not about my sister."

He flinches. "I know that," he says, voice low, rough. "I...I let her go. Weren't you there?"

When Rhysand died, he means. "I don't care," she says honestly.

"You can stay at my home for tonight," he says again. "See Bryaxis in the morning."

Nesta thinks about it. Is staying in Tamlin's home worse than staying in Rhysand's?

No.

But she still doesn't want to.

"No," she says to him. "I won't come ask you for anything again. You can consider us square, if you like."

So for the second time, she turns and leaves him. This time, he does not follow.

When the sun sets, Nesta stops walking. This was a good idea, she thinks, even as her heart beats in her throat. It's good precisely because of her fear. Her fear of being alone in a strange land, at night, with no sense of direction, and no way to get back until tomorrow.

Because now, what choice does she have but to go to Bryaxis.

Hoping her walk has helped to summon some nerve, Nesta lays her bag down neatly at her feet and smooths her hair. She clears her throat.

"Bryaxis," she says, the stupidity she feels stronger than any scariness, "I call upon you."

She stands there, looking out onto flowing hills and nothing else, feeling foolish, at best.

Perhaps Tamlin had offered her a kindness. A safe place for the night. Then she could have taken a carriage back in the morning and swallowed her pride and asked Amren for help finding Bryaxis.

Her spine straightens suddenly--only then does she hear. Her body recognizes it before her mind.

"Nesta Archeron," it says, from behind her.

She does not turn to look, keeps herself focused on a spot on a distant hill. "Hello," she says.

"You have grown thinner," it notes.

"I can't be sure, but I imagine you look much the same." The words are out before she can stop them.

But--Bryaxis laughs. Dark, shivering, under her bones. But a laugh, all the same.

Not so terrifying, she thinks. Just...stare ahead. Don't turn around. She can do that.

"To what do I owe the pleasure? So far from...your home."

"The Night Court is not my home."

"Oh?" it asks, mildly interested. "So where would it be?"

She hesitates. "I...am from the south of the island."

"Is that your home?"

Nesta exhales slowly. The Suriel had called her Eve-daughter, had it not? Why shouldn't she be allowed to claim human lands as hers?

"But I believe you have a question for me, Nesta Archeron."

"I do." Nesta takes another deep breath. "I want to undo my mating bond."

"That's not a question."

"...can you undo my mating bond?"

"I can."

She almost wishes she could turn around. Almost.

"Will you?" she asks, and pinches her fingers.

"Neither you nor I come from the Night Court," Bryaxis says, "but we have both found ourselves residing there, have we not?"

"I...yes." Small talk with this demon...is that the price to say? To ensure her sister's happiness, get her to speak to her again?

"A special history of bargains in the Night Court. Your sister broke ours, you know."

Nesta stiffens. "You left. How could she fulfill it?"

That laugh again. "Perhaps you can fulfill it for her."

She hesitates, bringing her hand up to touch her hair. "What...would you like me to do?"

"Tell me why you want your bond broken."

Sucking in her bottom lip, Nesta tugs a lock of her hair out of its coronet. "It was only given to me to hurt me. Because my sister cares for him."

"Tell me why, Nesta Archeron."

She closes her eyes. Do it, she commands herself. Just--say it, just this once, and then it'll be over.

Eyes still shut tight, she nods slowly. "The bond...hurts me because it hurts Elain because she cares for Azriel. And it hurts me..." Just say it, you stupid girl. "...because I...care for his brother." Her voice cracks, barely a whisper on the last word.

Her cheeks heat up. There--she's admitted it. She's said it.

Oh, she--she hates this. Hates it so much. She hates him. For everything he's done to her. How he treats her, even though he makes her feel--how he makes her feel! Far too many ways!

Everything about him. His hair and his eyes and his skin and his arms and his stupid smirk and his vile tongue and every single one of his fingertips and his scent and his thighs and his shoulders and--

"There, Nesta Archeron," Bryaxis says softly. "That's it."

Nesta fists her hands together. "Will you just end it now?"

"Certainly," it says. Something cool reaches out and caresses her cheek. "Face me."

The touch is gentle, almost loving. Not scary. Not threatening. So she does.

The gentleness ends there--it all goes dark.

When she opens her eyes, the sun is rising...in the Night Court.

"Good morning, Nesta Archeron," Bryaxis says from behind her.

Nesta pushes up off the ground. She's dressed in one of the night-things she brought in her bag.

"I brought you to this place neither of us call home," it says. "Our bargain is done."

She reaches down to pick a cardigan out of her bag, but her arms are shaking. That same touch from before--gentle, sweet--picks it and helps her put it on.

"Thank you," she says, her voice coming out in a whisper. She tries to swallow, but it burns.

"You should go to the High Lord's house. They're all waiting for you." Bryaxis pushes her a bit forward. Not roughly, just enough to get her legs moving on their own again. "Call upon me again, Nesta Archeron...when you'd like."

Bryaxis' essence disappears. Without looking behind her, she knows it is gone.

Strange looks punctuate her on her walk to Feyre's home. The High Lady's sister, dressed in a nightdress, clutching a travel bag. All she wants to is get back to her apartment and shower off the past day, but if they're all waiting for her...she supposes it can wait.

She wants to see Elain, anyway. Wants to show her...how much she loves her. What she did for her.

Bryaxis had been kind, though. Had hidden most of the pain from her. Only the aftermath remains, like the hollowness she always feels after her cycle, or shaking after being sick.

She stops dead in her tracks and gasps violently. The hollowness...it's not hollowness at all. It's...wholeness. Because she's whole. She's alone.

The mating bond is gone.

A laugh--a real laugh, carefree and joyous--escapes her. For the first time in...she can't remember how long. Every step after is easier, lighter. And she is more eager to take it. Elain awaits. Elain and...

She practically skips up to the riverfront manor, not able to fully suppress the small smile on her face as she throws the door open. She starts to call her sister's name, but the sight in the front room cuts her off.

Elain is there, with Feyre. Elain lies in the latter's lap, shaking slightly. Rhysand sits behind Feyre, on the floor, his hand on her back. Her tear-stained face is still. Azriel sits on a chair, arms propped up on his lap and head buried in his palms. Morrigan sits on a couch by Amren, who stares blankly at the wall.

It is Amren who first looks up and sees her. She inhales sharply, which makes them all, one by one, look to her...and then to what she is staring at. Nesta.

Elain notices last, her face still at Feyre's legs. With their younger sister's soft cry, Elain picks up her head and turns.

She bolts upright. Nesta jerks back for her suddenness. She is wrecked.

"Nesta?" she breathes.

Nesta looks around. "What?" she says, uncomfortable and bewildered.

"You..." Elain reaches out a hand. She stumbles a few feet forward, and touches Nesta's cheek. Clammier than Bryaxis, and not nearly as gentle. "You're alive."

Morrigan rises next. "I'm going to find Cassian," she says, to no one in particular. "Tell him..." She gives Nesta a look of--fright?--and scurries out of the house.

Quite suddenly, Nesta comes back to herself. "What is going on?" she demands.

Elain draws her hands back towards herself, looking at her fingers, as if she thinks they are not real, either.

"Feyre, it's okay," Rhys says to her sister, who has gone very white.

"What is going on?" she says again.

It's Azriel who answers, standing up fast. Far too fast. "You...were...dead."

"I...what?" Nesta asks. "What are you--oh."

The bond...when it had...because she had not told them.

Oh.

Perhaps...this has not been her best thought out plan, she thinks.

"Well," she says. "I'm...I'm not dead." She looks to Azriel. "I...undid the bond."

Every one of them-like they're all puppets on a string controlled by one person-tenses at the same time. In any other situation, it would be funny.

But it's this situation. So all that happens is Elain, bursting into hysterical tears, and running away.

No, Nesta decides. Not her best thought out plan.

#nesta archeron #nessian #azriel #good news for all you bryaxis fans out there! lol #hope bryaxis is okay and we get to see them in acosf actually

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nightsofvangogh · 4 years

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LONELINESS IN SPRING

Hi everyone! I finished the last A Court Of Saga book and the representation of Tamlin broke me a little bit... So I made this fanfic, for anyone who understood what happened with him.

I originally wrote it in ny native language (Spanish) but it was a nosense because 95% of the fandom speaks English so I translated it for you to read it.

I'm very proud of this fanfic and I wish you enjoy it ❤️

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Silence reigned in the mansion. Or in what was left of it.

The hallways, plagued of remains of other rooms, were my only company. Another day. Tired and miserable.

I didn´t know how long had I been sitting there; maybe some minutes, maybe some hours or even days. I didn´t remember. It didn´t matter. I barely felt hunger or the pain in the opened wound in my side, only bitterness and the weight of regret.

Regret of the thousand actions that took me to my current situation. This was all my fault, and never, even if I could amend all my decisions, would mitigate the pain I had caused.

So much suffering to try to save my selfishness… shielding myself in my own battle.

I looked up and focused my eyes on the big window. The shiny stars could be seen through the dirty window panes and the clear sky. I couldn't remember if it was long after dark.

I thought about everything. I thought about nothing. I thought about her… about them… The only emotion that I was capable of feel for months emerged and the claws began to come out, but I stopped them. I didn´t want to cause more damage. I just hit my limit.

I sat there, concentrating on emptying my mind as the moonlight of the crescent moon filled my eyes. I also didn't notice when a red-haired man appeared next to me.

“How long have you been like that?”, he said directly and dryly.

I didn´t answer, I didn´t even have the strength to do it.

“Have you eaten something?”. Again, I didn´t answer. What was he doing here? why did he came back? did he came to end the violent discussion of days ago? “Anyway, I´ll take care of it”

I heard his footsteps walk away calmly. He had come out of grief. Out of pity. I disgusted myself.

The High Lord of the Spring Court reduced to… nothing.

I started with the already routine internal torture. Think about my mistakes and reflect on how I couldn't fix them. It had only been a few months since my life began to fall apart. All because of me, dragging everyone into my own misery.

When did it all begin?… Oh, yes… When I heard Feyre vomit up into the intestines and I never got up. Always too tired or haunted by my own nightmares. I wanted to think that she preferred to deal with it alone. How wrong were I.

Although whenever it happened to me, she was by my side. My sweet Feyre. How much pain I caused her.

But the bad things started when Rhysand used to her away that damn week every month. When I came back I always saw her healthier, more whole, more... happy.

I still remember her gaze when she saw me when she arrived. Disappointment was what her eyes reflected. And that was killing me.

And when she sent me the letter saying that she would not return… How were I suppoused to know that she had learned to read?

We never saw each other, not even in the moments I had free to see her. That's when I began to realize that I was losing her.

And not only her, I lost everything around me. Even if I did my best to keep things in place, not wanting to know that I just couldn't fix everything. Neglecting what I had to take care of the most.

I should have gotten up every time Feyre woke up sick of the past.

I should have caressed her more.

I should have taught her to read myself.

I should have listened to her when she needed to drop everything.

And thinking I ever told her that a woman could not be a Great Lady.

What was wrong with me? What on earth was I thinking about? How devastated did Under the Mountain leave us?

All of these thoughts poisoned my mind, even when I slept... If I even slept... Wow... I also couldn't remember the last time I did it.

I also thought about Rhysand. How much pain could have been avoided between the two of us if I had only tried to stop my family when they were going to massacre theirs. When I thought about this I felt the stench of his sister's and mother's blood. What a cruel ending. How unfair. But the younger me was even more terrified about his own father than of Rhysand.

Now I understood. And precisely that understanding was what destroyed me and destroyed everything I loved the most.

Would Feyre ever forgive me? And Rhysand? Was I condemned to die buried in my misery?

Silence reigned in the mansion. A deafening silence that made the bones and the empty spirit of a fallen Great Lord tremble.

#tamlin #acourtof #acofas #acomaf #acowar #acotar #feyreandrhysand #rhys x feyre #feyre archeron #feyre x tamlin #high lady feyre #nesta archeron #cassian #azriel #elain archeron #elain x azriel #rhysand

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drjackandmissjo · 4 years

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Watch me make ‘em bow one by one by

Feysand Masterlist

Feyre’s first time in the Hewn City, Rhys-less

“You don't have to go in alone.” Mor said with a grave tone. Her friend was willing to go straight into the worst place in the universe for her, in case she didn't feel comfortable.

Feyre’s heart constricted at the idea of putting the blonde in that position, even Rhys tried to limit her time under the House of Mist.

“I'm not going there alone. Do you think any of those Illyrians are letting me out of their sight unsupervised? I could try to tell Az to stay here and take you with me, but we both know he wouldn't stay put.” she laughed, fretting nonchalance although her heart was already racing and her hands were clammy, toying with her bracelets and rings to keep from shaking. Mor noticed, of course, as did the warrior behind her.

A year had passed since they defeated Hybern. A wonderful year of going to court meetings and patching years of damaged history and rewiring the mental links that kept people believing that the Night Court, her court, was wicked and cruel and violent and ruthless. Feyre worked hard, studied harder, to make sure they made their world a better place. As did Rhys and everyone of her new family. Her sisters were still adjusting, Elain better than Nesta, but slowly and neither wanted anything to do with official business. She was secretly glad about it, since it meant less conflict with her eldest sister who had an opinion, sometimes wrong or simply bad, about everything, and less pressure on the other, who was still learning how to handle her new powers.

Although maybe with Nesta by her side, Feyre would've been less nervous about the meeting.

Feeling a stroke of concern through the mental bond she had with her mate, she replied back with a calming and encouraging one.

Taking in a deep breath of the cold air, she looked up at her friend, :“Don't worry about me. I'll be fine. If something goes wrong I'll simply destroy everyone in that throne room.” she said, a wicked smile appearing on her painted lips.

Her whole outfit was picked for the sole purpose of flaunting her position as High Lady: a tight black bodice, sleeveless to reveal her tattoos that expressed her power over the court and completely backless, to remind everyone of her alliance with the monster Bryaxis; several layers of ruffled silk, rigorously black, that made her look like she was a walking storm cloud, ready to unleash rain and lighting, which she could do easily; a diadem made of onyx and silver, crowning her as High Lady, matching with a ring that signaled her imminent wedding with the most powerful of High Lords. Her eyes were lined with black kohl and lips stained blood red. She had hidden her wings, choosing instead to use Spring's powers to elongate her canines, giving her an extra cruel look. Even if he was useless as a ruined rag full of holes, she had to admit that Tamlin’s powers were quite helpful in more ways than one.

She looked powerful, felt nervous and was ready to kill. ‘Just a regular Friday, then.’ said her mate through the bond.

Mor still didn't look convinced, but patience was not amongst Feyre's virtues, so she simply waved at the other female, before turning to Azriel, who was dutifully ready. His bright blue siphons contrasted his dark clothing and his shadows circled around his body, whispering to him and following his command. He shoot them out before silently winnow away, to announce her surprise visit.

No one in the Court of Nightmares knew of this impromptu meeting, especially Mor’s father, Keir, who recently was causing some commotion. Voices travelled fast to the spymaster’s ears and were immediately reported. Rhys, who was in Winter to fix the dent in his and Kallias’ relationship, asked her if she was ready to terrorise them herself, and Feyre was rather glad of the opportunity to prove herself.

When one of Azriel’s shadows came back, she simply turned once more to her friend.

“Good luck. Don't kill them all in one sitting.”

Laughing, Feyre took off winnowing to her other formal residence.

@@@

The first thing she noticed, as always, was the cold wind. She could feel the mountain below, the life and depraved actions of the many vile creatures that inhabited the lower levels. She had appeared on the upper levels, on the mansion atop of the mountain, where she once had to stay once a month for a short period of time.

Slowly, she let a little of her powers run free, reach far into the core of the mountain. She made in tremble with a single thought and felt the panic rise fast in the minds of the Fae below her. Long gone were the days when she was the one afraid of them, a different life far away from the reality she now lived in.

A shadow patiently waited for her, leading her way as guards with stiff spines tensed and bowed at her as she walked past them, not giving a single glance to any.

When she reached the massive and heavy doors, she viciously smirked at the two other guards, that quickly opened them for her, pungent fear drenching their scents. Her Shadowsinger appeared behind her, manifesting easily out of his shadows with an unreadable expression on his stoic face.

‘Everything okay?’ he mentally asked her through the small opening she had left for him, knowing neither him nor Rhys would've let her go to the Hewn City without an emergency hidden signal for Az to read immediately.

Imperceptibly nodding, she sighed deeply before loudly complaining languidly to none in particular, :“It is rather humid in here.”. With a wicked grin, she used her Day wind, eliciting terrified screams and making cups and papers and skirts fly in a turbulent haze.

Genuinely smiling at the havoc she wrecked, the High Lady of the Night Court began to slowly walk towards the two equal thrones at the end of the room, deliberately taking her time and looking at everything and everyone. The high Faes parted on her wake and bowed deeply, averting her piercing gaze. She could easily feel their thoughts, scared and confused and silently begging the Cauldron for mercy.

‘Good.’ she simply thought.

A proud wave washed over the bond, encouraging her to keep going.

When she reached the dais off the two thrones, she casually glanced back: the inhabitants of that corrupted court were still bowing, some kneeled to the ground, all with low eyes staring at the ground. Azriel was still behind her, advert to any possible danger but looking extremely bored. She immediately spotted Keir, who was bowed next to the thrones but openly staring at her, challenging her.

Feyre had came plenty of times there with Rhys, to torment and rule beside him. But this was her first time alone, the most important of those visits. And Keir was trying to get on her nerves, to make her lose focus and slip.

‘He is an utter fool.’ she thought, sharing the message with the shadow singer, the corners of whose mouth tugged slightly upwards.

‘Show time, Feyre.’

Facing again in front of her and walking up the steps to her thrones, she called back :“Why don't you make yourself useful, dear Keir, and bring us something to drink.”, stressing her way of addressing him, the importance of the explicit delivery of the action clear.

She knew he had bolted upwards, offended by her words and speechless to reply, before she had even turned to the room. Indeed he was staring at her, pure hatred in his eyes as they burned with rage. She simply smiled sweetly baring her fangs at him, waiting for his move.

He had three possibilities, three paths laying ahead of him: retort back, commenting how he was not a squire rather rudely, and thus disobeying to a specific order from his High Lady; sending another to attend the task and, again, not completing fully her command; doing as she had politely asked, without commenting. He looked more inclined for the first choice, but he managed to regain composure, apparently remembering that she still had not dismissed them from their slouched positions and bowed once more, falsely and deep to the waist. His scent full of hatred.

‘Poor fool, he believes he's running the show!’ she thought to herself.

“Today, Keir. Unless you have something to object.” was all the attention she gave to the older male, before casting a broad glaze at the crowd beneath her. She was torn between leaving them like that for her entire stay, conscious that only few would dare defy her and ready to strike them down. Instead she simply said “Carry on with your usual stuff”, adding a dismissal wave of her hand that they might’ve missed and they quickly reverted back to their activities, the majority of their scents dripping fear.

She noticed some musical instruments on one corner of the room, undoubtedly the most acoustic place that guaranteed the sounds to be carried to all the four corners, behind stone pillars and to the walls. “Someone play.” she ordered and immediately a few inhabitants of the court of Nightmares began to stroke the cords of the harp and the piano, creating a smoothing melody that reverberated throughout the spacious area.

Pleased, she moved from her poised sitting position, sprawling on the chair like a cat on a couch, and began to stare at her black coated nails, the perfect picture of boredom.

Not even a minute had passed that she turned to her spymaster, who was casually leaning against one of the pillars of the ceiling, another picture of complete annoyance, were not for his hyper vigilant eyes. “If he's not here in a moment, break his fingers.” she said, loudly enough to be heard by all and elicit terrified gasps from the court.

The Illyrian warrior simply shrugged.

Unfortunately for them, Keir appeared to the dais off the thrones in that same instant, eyes wide at the treat. “Shame” she said, again loud enough to be heard and let him approach. She took the cup of wine he was handing her as Azriel moved up the stairs to collect his.

Keir grew bolder, “What do we owe this unexpected visit, Milady?” he asked. His tone was not openly hostile, but masqueraded poorly his blatant disdain towards her.

Ignoring him completely, she swirled her glass, focusing her interests to its red content. “Should I have it checked for poison, Steward?”

Keir nodded furiously, “Of course not, Milady. I would never hurt you.” he said, although his eyes told another tale.

Azriel moved back to the bottom of the stairs, viciously eyeing Keir and silently ordering him to do the same, but the male stood still, stiff as a wooden board.

“Milady.” he pressed her again. She merely waved her hand, sending wind towards his direction and making him tumble off the stairs, his fall ending with a loud thud. Everyone in the roomed abruptly stopped, waiting for what was to come next.

“Cheers” she said pointing her glass towards Azriel before sipping the dark beverage.

Turning towards the steward of the Hewn City, she eyed him rather violently, letting her rage show through them in the way Nesta had taught her. When it came to glaring, her sister was a professional.

After having taken another sip, she began to speak, :“We heard some interesting stories lately. I thought it might be something to report back to you, Keir, considering you are in all of them.”

She sent down the bond the image of the male below her, of how he immediately paled, of how his eyes widened almost comically and of how his hands began to shake. A wicked enjoyment ran through her and she could've swore Azriel felt the same.

“I... Milady, I have no idea…” he began to say, but she simply silenced him with her Daemati powers. His hands flew immediately at his neck, as if to protect it from her magic.

“I don't remember giving you permission to talk,” she told him, leaning forward and showing her teeth, “and I don't think you were allowed to stand up.” she continued viciously. Immediately Azriel was behind him, fast as lighting, forcing the older Fae to his knees. He fell down hard, a loud noise of bone breaking echoing in the room.

“Cassian has to pay up.” her mate said through their bond. She sent a wave of confusion back and then came the explanation:“We bet on who would break the first bone.”, he said smugly. “Illyrians.” she simply replied, before shutting him up and moving back to the scene in front of her.

She leaned back on the throne once more, resuming her drinking with a grin plastered on her blood red lips.

“As I was saying, before being such rudely interrupted,”, a harsh look thrown at her and a smirk shot back, lifting her spell, “we wanted you to confirm those stories. Apparently you're not happy with our arrangement?” she asked lifting her free hand, the one with the tattoo that declared her High Lady of the Night Court, and letting it rest dramatically on her chest, above her heart, her face a mark of mocked hurt and confusion.

When Keir didn't reply, she simply reminded him that she had asked a question, although his silence could be taken as an affirmation. “It is also not polite to avoid answering. What are you so afraid of, dear Keir?” her voice saccharine and lethal at the same time.

Slightly panicking now, he began to explain that the situation was different and making up excuse left and right, but Feyre simply raised her hand to shut him up, “It's a ‘yes’ or ‘no’ kind of question, Keir. Don't waste your breaths, Cauldron knows how many more you have left in you!” her veiled treat hitting him in full force.

He shut his mouth immediately, nostrils flaring as he slowly nodded.

Sighing loudly and dramatically swinging an arm over her eyes, she continued, “That’s what I thought you'd say, you dumb fucking horse!”

She could feel Azriel’s amusement and a smile appeared on her lips on its own accord, in her mind almost ruining her facade but probably strengthening her character.

“And tell me, dear Keir, why is that?”

“I do not think...” he began but she interrupted him abruptly, the occasion too good not to be taken, “Yes, we’ve established that quite a number of times now, go on.”. He gave her his own version of ‘if looks could kill’, but quite frankly it looked and felt mostly like he was holding back tears.

With a sudden wave of newfound courage, he straightened his spine and proclaimed loudly:“Me and my Darkbringers should be allowed more frequently into Velaris.”

“Mmmh...”, another sip of wine, “And why is that? Don’t you have the sun and the night sky here as well? You simply have to crawl your way like the worm you are, Keir, to find them waiting for you.”

The Steward froze in place, shame colouring his features as he passed such a great number of shades of pink and red. She took the time to scout the room with her eyes.

She knew that everyone was staring at them, concern written on some faces, pure terror on others. A few held disgust, whether towards her of the poor excuse of a male in front of her she couldn’t tell.

“Do you agree with him?” she asked to the crowd. Murmurs began to fill the room, male soldiers nodding eagerly as the females remained more distant to the topic, dutiful as always. Submissive as always.

That was what truly irritated her of this place, more than the depravity and corruption. The state of borderline slavery the females of this Hellhole were subjected to. The Illyrians were slowly getting around to it, incorporating them into training activities and letting them have more and more control over their own lives, partially because, if the camp lords didn’t behave, her oldest sister would wipe them off the spot completely.

But they weren’t. They kept on mistreating them and using them and it made her stomach turn. To allow them more time in Velaris...

Suddenly, a plan began creating itself in her mind. Curiosity brushed her mental walls, and she let her mate in, cautious and asking for permission.

‘You’re the High Lady, Feyre Darling,’ he purred into her mind, ‘you don’t ask permission to anybody. By all means, do as you please. I will be here, sulking over how I hadn’t thought of this before.”

She couldn’t help but laugh out loud at his answer, scaring even more the already trembling high Faes in front of her.

“Of course you do!” she said, both to the crowd and her mate. Azriel lifted a brow in her direction, a silent question, and she merely sent him the full image of her plan. He nodded once, the corners of his mouth lifting just barely. That was all she needed, before she shot another fiery question to the Faes below her, “Have you brought your females so far?”

Puzzled look replaced the optimistic ones that her previous question had created, and no one dared speaking, not even a murmur this time.

“C’mon” she nuzzled them, encouraging them to reveal themselves as monsters and to give her all the leverage she needed, “I promise I won’t bite.” she said, while barring her teeth and making sure the light reflected from her shiny fangs, sharp enough to easily bite pieces of muscle.

“If nobody answers, then I must assume that the females of this Court have never seen Velaris.” she said while reclining back on her throne, before burying her gaze onto the closest Fae. The young male paled immediately and bowed deeply as she motioned for him to fill her cup once more. “Tell me, how many times have the Darkbringers been to my city?” her voice sounded bored, nonchalant and even, although rage was boiling inside of her veins at her pre-existent knowledge of the answer. Those three days had been the hardest since the war, for her family and the whole city. “Three, milady.” he said quickly, trying to hide poorly the shakiness of his voice as he filled her cup.

“And they have never brought a single female with them?”, again, she knew the answer, but all this was to fortify her show.

The poor Fae simply nodded, before he was dismissed from his positioning and all but sprinted down the obsidian dais, pure primal fear drenching his scent.

Taking a sip of her wine, she turned once again towards Keir, who was still kneeling on the hard ground with Azriel behind him. She smiled at the scene. “I don’t think those were the accords, dear Keir. What did we agree on, Azriel?” she asked to the shadowsinger, who regarded her with something akin pride in his eyes.

“That anyone who wishes to leave the Hewn City for a chosen day, every trimester, can do so freely, except for the Steward, who has to remain to protect the Court.” He finished, the edge on his voice so sharp it could slash a throat in one effortless motion.

“Indeed.” she put down her cup, clasping both hands on her lap, “So, first of all, you knew the amount of time you were given. Quite frankly, if you had something to say, you should’ve done so back then, when we were still negotiating.” She couldn’t help feel like a teacher scolding a small child, stubborn and that still hadn’t fully learnt the meaning of a negotiation. “Me and your High Lord, along with Morrigan, Commander Cassian and Amren, settled down with an agreement with you several months ago, when our duties allowed us to make time for such an important decision.”

Truth to be told, they delayed the meeting for as long as possible, but Keir and his army were growing impatient. Mor suggested one visit a year, not on holidays or festivities, but realistically it was too little: they had indeed held on their end of the bargain by fighting alongside the Illyrians and the other courts in the war against Hybern. Surprisingly enough, it was Cassian who had the most brilliant idea: four times a year, once every three months and Keir only once a year, to ‘keep the fort protected’ he had said with a wicked smile on his lips. Keir had complained and proposed once a month, but Rhys was adamant; two days after the meeting, the Hewn City sent a letter, agreeing to their conditions, and the deed was done.

“With all due respect, Milady, we were not given much choice.” said the Steward in a pleading tone. His leg must’ve been sore and hurting like crazy, but she still wouldn’t let him up, not yet anyway.

Smiling viciously at him, she replied :“Would you rather we retort back to our original idea? Once a year?”. The crowd murmured and nodded their dissent eagerly. “Of course not, Milady. Yours was a generous offer...”

“I was not finished.” she cut him off abruptly, sending cold air in his direction to increase his discomfort, avoiding purposely the spymaster. “Or we could simply terminate the contract right now, since one side isn’t fond of its reward. After all, even with all your help, it was mostly the Illyrian cavalry that helped us win the war before it reached land.” She spoke freely, choosing her words to hurt them most, in their pride. She continued sweetly :“After all, we never specified how long this agreement stood for.”

Delight in the baffled looks that were thrown at her by stunned creatures, she leaned back on her throne and held the cup once more in the clutches, drinking the dark liquid while scanning the room with a predatory gaze.

Keir cleared his throat, once, before whispering :“We do not wish to revise the bargain.” A little was better than nothing, after all.

She had heard him easily, as had every Fae in the room, but she still nudged him to speak a little louder, blaming her former human ears. She knew it drove him mad, truly, knowing that the High Lord of the Night Court had chosen a born human, made High Fae female as his bride, instead of one of the girls that was conceived and raised in that Cauldron Forgotten place with the sole purpose of marrying high up on the social system and play Lady of the House, as Tamlin had once tried to reduce her. It also enraged him to no end knowing that she was his High Lady, meaning that she had full control on him and the Court he supervised.

‘Not bad for a once lowly human, uh?’ her mate asked down the bond. ‘At least he is smart enough not to complain about it much. It would be a burden to train another puppy like you did him.’ came her reply, which was met by a dark chuckle and a soft whisper of love.

After having repeated his statement, much louder than he was comfortable, admitting his defeat, Keir relaxed momentarily, believing that the worst was over. But he was wrong: he was in the eye of the hurricane, the calm before the actual storm.

“Now that one issue is over, let’s go back a little, shall we?”. ‘Poor Keir’ she thought to Azriel, ‘He has probably never been through so many emotions in one sitting’.

The spymaster grinned at her and shook his head a little, his amusement filling her mind.

‘I don’t like that you have another male’s thoughts into your head.’ her mate told her, ‘Territorial Fae Prick.’ came her reply.

‘You wouldn’t have it any other way, darling.’

“You said it before, that your females weren’t with you during those visits. Am I wrong?” she asked, raising her perfectly shaped eyebrows.

“No, Milady.” The older Fae cowered, bowing his head trying to his the tremor of his limbs.

“And didn’t we agree on sending whoever wanted to be in Velaris, without restraints?”

“Yes, Milady.”

“So, what’s up with that? Why didn’t you girls come?” she asked the whole room, now, moving her eyes to the females in question.

“They choose not to, mil...” tried to answer for them Keir.

She blocked his mouth from moving, open on one of the vowels of the title, “I wasn’t referring to you, Keir. Keep that tongue in place or I’ll remove it.” He knew her treats were not empty, so he stopped immediately, fear in his eyes.

Her gaze landed on a female in the middle of the room, busy looking at the ground with a pincher in hand. Probably for the husband she was forced to marry.

She beckoned her to move closer and answer her question; after a moment of uncertainty and a glare from the male next to her, she did. “We all choose not to, milady.” she said while doing an exemplar curtsy.

She felt for her, sorrow and pain at her situation, one the now powerful High Lady could’ve easily been trapped in, were not for her dark prince, coming to the rescue. But, although her emotions were rather soft for this female, her stern mask didn’t come off. “Don’t lie to me. We don’t like liars. Tell her, Keir” and with a soft twirl of her fingers she made the male crumble down on the cold stone, holding his injured leg close to his chest.

The poor female jumped back scared, but stood her position.

“Why don’t you try again. This time, I want the full truth.”

Nodding, she replied, her voice thick with emotion :“We wanted to, but our duties and our families suggested we stayed behind.”

Her face softened and smile became welcoming as she thanked the female. ‘Make sure no harm is done to her for her words.’ she told Azriel, who dissolved in his shadows to follow her order.

“Well, then.” She stood up from her throne, “I will settle this once and for all. No one of you gets more trips to Velaris, the ones already agreed upon are sufficient and enough.”

The room collectively breathed in relief, sighing at the somewhat positive news.

“But...” her smile turned wicked once more and it almost felt like her Winter ice had frozen the crowd, “if I find out that you’re refusing your females from participating to those visits...” her icy glare ran over the shocked faces of the Faes below her, “you will all see our warm invite denied. For eternity.”

And with that, she disappeared into darkness, the room exploding in outraged and scared cries as she winnowed upstairs, on her and her mate’s other residence. Memories of a different lifetime washed over her as she patiently waited for her spymaster to reach her in the designated meeting point, from where they would’ve flown back to Velaris.

A soft stroke of love and pride washed over her. ‘You are amazing.’

She shrugged, ‘You would’ve done the same. Except for my exit. That was pretty amazing’

‘I gotta concede you that, Feyre Darling. But you had a great teacher.’. She could see his annoying smirk, felt that it was plastered on his soft lips.

Her own parted in a genuine smile, such a contrast between her previous mask, quickly discarded. ‘The best when it comes to being dramatic.’

‘You wound me so, my beloved!’

Both sides of the bond remained silent, each other content of their mate’s presence in their minds.

‘When are you coming back home?’ she asked eventually.

‘Tonight. We’ve been apart for too long.’ She felt the hunger in his voice, the longing.

‘Good.’

But it wouldn’t do to end all the fun so suddenly, and so she added :‘Because if you don’t then I might have to ask Azriel to stay in my mind a little bit longer.’

Her laugh resonated all the way to the center of the mountain as her mate’s territorial growl filled her head, before feeling him open his wings and fly high in the sky, towards her as quickly as he could.

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iezzern-ao3 · 6 years

Text

The Poison you call Love

Read on AO3

Rating: Explicit

Fandom: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas

Relationships: Azriel/Cassian/Lucien, Cassian/Lucien (ACoTaR), Azriel/Lucien (ACoTaR), (past) Lucien/Tamlin

Characters: Lucien Vanserra, Azriel (ACoTaR), Cassian (ACoTaR), Tamlin (ACoTaR)

Additional Tags: Friendship, or lack of really, Tamlin is mean but what is new, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Angst, FYI some small Nesta hate if you squint, This is not a Nesta positive space, Smut in Ch. 2, bc i couldn't help myself, Threesome - M/M/M, Anal Sex, Oral Sex, mild dirty talk, Double Penetration

Language: English

Lucien knows that he'll never get peace if he doesn't clear things up with Tamlin. So he tries, for both of them

The Spring Court is falling apart.

Lucien sees it the moment he arrives. The numerous roses and violets are slowly withering away; the previously green plains are a sick shade of yellow. The bark on the tall, rich trees is crumbling to dust. The stench of the dying nature is sickening; choking. Lucien almost gags from it. It’s unnaturally silent—not even a gust of wind. No laughing; no talking; no sign of people anywhere.

The Illyrian that winnowed him in notices it, too, his eyebrows raising. “You sure you want to do this?” he asks, laying a protective hand on Lucien’s lower back. “I’ll be fine, Cass,” the male answers, “I need to do this”

“For yourself or for him?”

“For both of us”

Cassian snorts but doesn’t push it further. He steps closer to Lucien, pressing his front to Lucien’s back, his hand moving from his back to his hip. His hot breath tickles the back of Lucien’s neck, as his hair is up in a braided crown. The movement speaks of intimacy and affection. Cassian closes his eyes and inhales Lucien’s subtle scent. “You don’t have to go alone,” he mutters, his lips ghosting on Lucien’s skin.

“Yes, I do”

“Az would never forgive me if I let you get hurt”

“Good thing I can take care of myself, then”

Cassian huffs a laugh, placing a light kiss on his collarbone before drawing back. “No more than twenty minutes,” he drawls. Lucien nods in answer and starts walking. Cassian’s eyes never leave him, his body forever tense. Lucien tries to ignore it but can’t help the unsure smile he throws over his shoulder. The hot air is burning against the Illyrian leathers, places sweat upon his brow. At least, that’s the excuse he makes for himself. He needs to do this, he reminds himself, he needs to bring closure to this whole affair. The mansion comes into view faster than he wants it to.

That is falling apart, as well—overgrown by ivy and roses and trees, the smooth walls almost gone. There is no beauty left in those roses; just cruelty. His steps falter slightly as he passes through the gates. All he can remember is the disappointment and disgust upon Tamlin’s face when he’d seen the Illyrian leathers the last time. What would he think now?

Lucien has told himself over and over again that he doesn’t care about what Tamlin thinks of him. It doesn’t matter. It isn’t worth it. He’s his own person and Tamlin won’t get to say what’s wrong with him and not. He won’t be ruled by misplaced loyalty and guilt. And still, he can’t get that face out of his mind. Can’t stop wondering how Tamlin will react. How disappointed he’ll be. How hurt he’ll be. Lucien’s mind keeps fighting itself.

Why should you care about Tamlin’s feelings? Because he was your only friend.

Why should Tamlin’s opinion matter to you? Because you used to care so much.

Why do you crave Tamlin’s approval after all this time? Because you used to love him.

The doors to the mansion are gaping wide. There’s a darkness within so strong that Lucien can’t see much. Lucien starts on the stairs, his hands shaking now. He can’t calm his nerves; nor his breath. He’s in panic. He’s about to turn. About to run back into Cassian’s arms and beg him to take him back to the Night Court—back to Azriel. He takes one, small step back before his resolve turns to stone again.

He won’t let himself run away now. If he doesn’t do it now, he’s not sure he’ll ever be able to. So he slows his breath, clenches his hands into fists, and starts walking again. He walks through the doors and into the dark abyss. Lucien never really noticed before, but the constant scent of roses and green; the constant green and red and pink, is choking and it washes over him in waves. He speeds up his walk, wants to find Tamlin before it drowns him.

Lucien reaches the throne room far too early for his liking. He pushes the door open and steps inside. The throne room is overgrown, much more than the rest of the court. He swallows and forces his eyes to go to the other male in the room. Tamlin is lounging on his throne, his eyes lazily moving from whatever he was looking at, to Lucien. He looks broken. His eyes are rimmed red; his clothes are ruffled; his posture is lazy and sloppy, so unlike the Tamlin Lucien is used to. Lucien’s throat dries up. A long silence stretches between them. “Tamlin,” he says, his voice raspy.

Tamlin doesn’t answer for a long time, his face in a mask of contempt. “Fox,” he finally drawls, and it makes Lucien’s breath catch. He doesn’t know how to continue the conversation, so he just stands there, holding Tamlin’s gaze. Tamlin is the one to break it, his eyes trailing Lucien’s body; his clothes. “Come here to show your new allegiance?” he spits, and it takes all of Lucien’s restrains to not sigh. “You know, it’s cruel of you, to come crawling back when you’re obviously too good for the Spring Court now”

Lucien takes a deep, shaky breath. “Tamlin, I just want to talk. Clarify things,” he says, taking a few steps forward. “Of course, you do,” the other male answers, “There’s nothing to clarify, fox. You left me. You left me for Rhysand and his court. You fled with Feyre to…”

“Because Feyre offered me kindness, Tamlin,” Lucien interrupts in a growl, suddenly angry, “A kindness you hadn’t shown me in a very long time”

“Why Rhysand?” Tamlin raises from his throne, his voice laced with desperation. “Why did you choose him?”

“It wasn’t just him,” Lucien mutters, his eyes finding the floor. It takes Tamlin one beat of silence to understand. “The Illyrians?” he asks, quiet now. Lucien can only offer a small nod.

After the war with Hybern, he’d struggled to find his place in the Night Court. After some time, he’d given up trying to build a relationship with Elain. It just wouldn’t work out. He’d skirted around the outside of Rhysand’s Inner Circle, not trying to fit himself in but not trying to shove himself out, either. He’d accepted the position of emissary without thinking much about it, just going along with what everyone else wanted from him. Then Azriel had started paying attention to him. Small conversations and fleeting touches and long looks.

It had woken something in him. A need for being appreciated. A need for being wanted. In the short weeks that Ariel’s attention had been on him, he’d senselessly fallen in love with the Illyrian male. He’d become hyperaware of Azriel’s every action around him. Every touch; every glance; every goddamn time he licked his lips. And then, one night, Azriel had kissed him and his world had shifted. And then, after some time, Cassian had come tumbling into their arms—after he’d decided to stop wasting his time on someone who obviously didn’t deserve him.

Tamlin lets out a low laugh; vicious in its tone. “I never thought you would sink so low as to roll over and spread for low-born bastards.” Tamlin's sneer turns downright cruel. “Maybe you've been lower. Do they enjoy you on your knees?”

Hot, choking shame washes over Lucien's body before he can control it, his skin flushing red. He won’t let Tamlin win this; won’t let him see him stutter and blush. “If I remember correctly,” he says, keeping his voice cool, “You were the one who enjoyed that”

It was something he’d never admitted to anyone except Azriel and Cassian. Those years before Feyre; even before Amarantha. The times when Tamlin didn’t have anyone to take his sexual frustration out on except Lucien. And Lucien had let Tamlin have his way with him, like a fool in love. It had never been about feelings, as Lucien had tried to convince himself back in those days. Tamlin had beckoned him over for a quick fuck because that was the only thing Lucien had to offer him in terms of affection.

“How could I not?” Tamlin's expression hadn't faltered, not even for a second, “When you were so eager to please; like a bitch in heat”

If the scent hadn't given it away already, his words do. Tamlin is dead drunk. His words always turn hurtful when he drowns himself in liquor. Lucien can’t help the small flash of sympathy that rises in his chest. Tamlin’s in such a bad place, and he’d helped in bringing him to this place. But those words, the implications of them. “I was never your bitch,” he sneers. Tamlin just laughs in return. “Of course you were, fox. My personal little bitch”

“Tamlin.” Lucien feels like his voice is a weak whisper, not able to reach the other male completely. “You don't mean that”

Tamlin's eyes rake over his body, cold—but still hungry. Lucien stares back. A few years ago, that look would have made Lucien squirm in submission. Tamlin considers him for a moment before his eyes soften. Something in him breaks. “You're right,” he breathes, “I don't”

And there are tears sliding down his cheeks. “I gave you everything, Lucien—” the first time he’s used Lucien’s name “—I protected you and took care of you and I was your friend and you still left me. Why was I not good enough? Why did you and Feyre leave me? Why does everyone leave me?”

His voice raises at the end—angry; sad; heartbroken. “Tam.” Lucien tries to keep his tone soft, as he moves closer to him “Tam, it was never about you not being good enough. It was about you being too much”

Tamlin doesn’t react to his words, just stares him down with an ice-cold stare. So Lucien tries to continue. “You wanted to protect what you loved, I understand that, but…but you went too far. You can’t protect everyone on your own. You can’t try to control others in an attempt to keep them safe. I know you think you did the right thing, Tam, but to me and Feyre…it was like a prison. We needed a choice”

Tamlin startles, his eyes going unfocused. “I—I never meant to…”

“But you did.” Lucien can’t help his quick response. He so desperately wants Tamlin to understand, but with the state he’s in…he doesn’t know if he’ll reach through. Tamlin’s face twists in anger before going unfocused again. He takes deep breaths and by the time he’s finished calming himself down, Lucien has come to a stop right in front of him. “Tam.” His voice breaks. The male in mention shifts his attention back to Lucien. He reaches out and brushes a few stray strands of hair from Lucien’s face, letting his fingers trail down to his cheek. “I hope they treat you right—those Illyrians,” he whispers, “You were always too good for me”

Now, Lucien’s cheeks are streamed with silver, as well.

“Leave,” Tamlin continues, “I need to be alone”

And so Lucien does.

Read Chapter 2 HERE

#acotar #a court of thorns and roses #acomaf #a court of mist and fury #acowar #a court of wings and ruin #lucien vanserra #azriel #cassian #tamlin #luzriel #acotar fic #acotar fanfic

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bookaholic1012 · 7 years

Text

Prythian Magazine Part 13

A/N: Andromache makes in appearance. She is a part of Day Court because I feel like if she were fae, that would be the court she would be a part of. Feysand/Vamren/Andromor moments happen. The meeting will occur in the next chapter! Hope y'all enjoy!

Tagging: @sugarcoated44 @unicornbooks @ourbooksuniverse @ame233

If you want to be tagged or no longer want to be, let me know!

PM Masterlist Writing Masterlist

“What in the hell are you two doing here?” Feyre demanded.

Elain revealed the issue with them on it. “When I was walking home, I saw this. I thought you two were still together, so I picked it up to read the article. What Tamlin said didn’t sound like you. Nesta and I went to Tamlin’s to find you, but you were gone. Tamlin told us you were in Night Court.”

“How did you find me?”

Nesta spoke up. “You always spoke about that friend of yours from the Night Court. It wasn’t hard to find where she lived considering her fame.”

“So, what? After years of shutting me out, you think you have a right to know what happened?”

“We’re your family, Feyre. We’re sisters.” Elain said as a means of explanation.

“Are you kidding me?” Feyre felt her temper rise. “Sisters? Family? You honestly have the nerve to call the three of us that? Where was my family when Mom died? When Dad was admitted to rehab? When I went out every single day since I was fourteen to find multiple jobs to support us? The both of you never lifted a finger; never asked once if I needed help. Nesta, you were nineteen, and you were eighteen, Elain! You were both fully capable of getting jobs to support the four of us!”

“We were busy with college.” Nesta argued, clenching and unclenching her jaw.

“And what? I had all the time in the world? I had shit to do! I also had school to focus on!” Feyre shouted.

“We’re sorry, Feyre.” Elain said.

“Sorry?” Shrieked Feyre. “I don’t need your fucking apologies! What I needed was for my sisters to be there for me. To help me!”

“Feyre, please let us in so we can talk.” Begged Elain.

“No. I don’t want to talk to you guys, let alone have you inside my-- Mor’s-- house.”

Hurt was evident in Elain’s eyes. “I know we made a mistake, Fey, but--”

“Don’t call me that.” Feyre snapped.

“Come on, Elain.” Nesta said, reaching for her sister’s arm. “It’s clear Feyre doesn’t want us here.”

“Feyre, please.” Whispered Elain.

“Good-bye.” Was all Feyre said before slamming the door shut.

She paced around the house, not bothering to wipe the tears rolling down her pale cheeks. Feyre had often wondered what would happen if she encountered her sisters; this was not at all what she thought.

What did I expect? She thought. Feyre knew she would confront them about all the years they let Feyre do the work, but she didn’t expect it to go this way. Yet, a weight seemed to be lifted off her shoulders. It felt good to yell at them, to express her thoughts.

A knock sounded at the door. Feyre hastily wiped the tears and rushed to the door.

“I told you guys to le-- oh, Rhys.”

“Hello, Feyre darling.” Rhys greeted, his violet eyes narrowing. “Are you crying? What happened?”

“I…”

“Sorry,” He interrupted. “That’s nosy. Don’t feel obligated to answer, just ignore that.”

Despite her mood, Feyre’s lips tugged upwards. “It’s alright. Do you want to come in?”

“Yes. I mean, I came to talk to you, but if you want to be alone I understand. I can just come back later, or never, or whenever you want to see me. Not that you have to of course, I just mean that if you don’t want company--” Rhysand rambled.

“Rhys! It’s okay. You can come in.” Feyre chuckled.

Rhys stepped in, keeping his head down. Feyre didn’t missed his colored cheeks, though.

“Awww. Is someone blushing?” She teased.

“W-what? N-no! I’m just hot.” Rhys sputtered.

“Sure.”

The pair sat down on the couch. A beat of silence passed before Rhys spoke again.

“Feyre… if you aren’t feeling alright, then maybe I should go. What I want to take to you about will probably upset you more.”

“Rhys, just tell me.”

Rhys took out his phone and pulled something up before showing Feyre. The picture on his phone felt like a punch to the gut. It was the same photo Elain showed her. The same one Amren brought to her. The one she looked at every night wondering: Why? Why did he do this? How could he?

I warm hand cupped her cheek, thumb wiping away tears she didn’t realize were falling.

“I’m so sorry, Feyre. I don’t want you to hurt more, but I thought you would want to know.”

“I do.”

“What?”

Feyre met Rhys’s worried gaze. “On my first day, Amren came into my dressing room. She showed me the magazine. I wanted to tell you guys, but didn’t know how.”

Rhys reached to pull Feyre into a hug but stopped short. “May I?” He asked.

Feyre nodded, extending her arms out to Rhys. He enveloped her in a warm, welcoming embrace.

“I don’t know why I still get upset. I mean, Amren said that there was a part of me that still loved Tamlin-- the one I used to love. I thought I would be over it by now.”

“It will likely take a while to get over the pain, Darling.”

They parted, but stayed close to one another.

“Will you stay here? I would actually like some company.”

“Of course, Feyre darling.”

“Varian? It’s Amren.”

“I know who it is, Amren. I have you in my contacts. Your name pops up when you call.” Varian explained, obvious amusement in his deep voice.

“Shut up.” Amren snapped.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Listen, Varian, what do you know about Anthony Hybern?” Amren inquired. Silence answered.

“You can talk now, you ass.” Amren said.

“Is that how you should treat your boyfriend?” Varian joked. “But I do know a lot about Hybern.”

“What?”

“Well, he is a shady businessman. He makes it his job to trick big companies into signing contracts that put them out of business. Hybern is also filthy rich, which makes it easy for him to buy people’s silence. The man also has contacts everywhere.”

“I know all that. Is there anything else you know?” She inquired.

“Ummm… oh! I overheard Tarquin talking about how Hybern is teaming up with the Spring Court Agency for something. I’m not sure what specifically is going on between the two. Sorry, babe.”

“No worries. I’ll find out.”

“You always do. I love you, Amren. Bye.” Varian said.

“Love you, too.” Amren answered before hanging up.

Amren sent out a group e-mail to the Inner Circle.

Group meeting. Tomorrow at noon. Bring Feyre and Lucien.

Amren was ticked off at how secretive the meeting between Hybern, Tamlin, and Ianthe. She knew one thing for sure though. Something horrible is going to happen. Something that may ruin the Night Court.

Azriel exited Tamlin’s mansion like shadows. In and out. He finished hooking up the microphones and video recorders in various places around his home, especially the office. He checked the black watch on his wrist: 4:57. A little more than an hour before the meeting would take place.

Azriel got into his sleek black Jaguar and drove far away, but still in range of the Bluetooth recorders. He pulled out his battered copy of The Lord of the Rings and settled in.

“When Mr. Bilbo Baggins of Bag End announced…”

Mor was stuck. She knew how she wanted the dress to look like, but she wasn’t sure how to do express it.

I need a break, She decided.

At that moment, her phone rang. She smiled at the screen before answering.

“Hey, Andromache!”

“Mor! Hi!” Andromache’s honey-like voice answered.

“What’s up?” Mor asked.

“Well, I finished up a fitting for the Day Court fashion show. Today was the last day for it and Helion just informed everyone that we have a vacation for the next week and a half, so I can come up to your place.”

“That’s awesome!” Mor exclaimed. “I can’t wait to see you again!”

“Same. I’ve missed you.”

“Me, too. It sucks we both work so much.” Mor sighed.

“Yeah, but at least we can see each other soon.”

“Do you want me to come down and pick you up? Or will you drive yourself?”

“I’ll drive up. I have to go now. I’ll talk to you later?”

“Yeah.” Mor said. “I love you.”

“And I you.”

The call ended leaving Mor feeling down. She wished their lives weren’t so busy. She missed when they first met in college and could hang out more often. This was her passion, though, and modeling was Andromache’s. If doing what they loved meant not spending much time together, then so be it.

The sound of knuckles rapping on a wooden door filled the silence.

“Come in.” Mor called.

Clotho appeared in the doorway with a note clutched in her hands.

“Hello, Clotho.” Mor smiled. Clotho nodded her head in greeting.

When Mor was starting out as a designer, she found Clotho being brutally attacked by a gang of males. She rescued her and helped her heal in whatever way she could. Clotho couldn’t speak afterwards and her hands were injured. Mor offered her a job so Clotho could provide for herself. She accepted a position as the secretary.

Clotho held out a note for Mor. After the attack, Clotho thankfully regained usage of her hands. Now, she communicates using writing.

Someone’s waiting for you in the lobby. was scrawled across the lined paper.

Mor got a sense of déjà vu. She remembered this situation from when Feyre and Lucien first came the week prior.

Mor thanked Clotho and practically ran out of her office. She was burning with curiosity. When Mor saw who was waiting for her, she came to a sudden halt.

“Andi!” She gasped.

Her girlfriend looked over. “Surprise!”

“Oh my god! What are you doing here?” Mor asked rushing over to embrace Andromache.

“I told you I was on vacation!” Andromache laughed.

“Yeah, but I thought you were coming later.” Said Mor.

“I didn’t want to waste any time, so I drove up as soon as Helion dismissed us.” Andromache explained, bending down to kiss Mor on her full lips.

Mor felt so relieved to be in her girlfriend’s arms. It felt right.

“So, do you need to work, or are you done for the day?” Andromache asked.

“I was just working on designs. I can finish them at home. Let me just run up and get my sketches.” Mor said, turning around to head to her office.

“I’m coming with you!” Andromache called, jogging to meet Mor.

Lucien sat on the wooden bench in Velaris Park. He didn’t know how far he walked nor how long he was gone for. All Lucien knew was that he needed to get fresh air.

When he used to live in Autumn Court, Lucien would walk to get out from the house where he was treated like dirt. It helped clear his mind. After the night he had, Lucien desperately needed a walk. He kept remembering conversations he and Cassian had.

“Why do you want to talk to me?” Lucien asked.

“We don’t really know each other.” Cassian explained. “It’s easier to talk about stuff to people who don’t really know you that well, and I have shit I need to get off my chest.”

Half of Lucien was honored Cassian came to confide in him. The other was telling him that Cassian only came to talk, not because he wanted to be with Lucien.

“Like what?” Lucien inquired.

“I was seeing this man, Christopher. No one knew about him. I’m not sure why, but recently I’ve been wanting to find someone to settle down with. I’m twenty-seven, Foxboy. I always thought I would’ve found someone by now; have a family with them.” He said.

“Did it not work out between you two?”

“No. I didn’t feel anything for him and I’ve been dating him for two weeks. It seems short, but I thought I would’ve had some sort of feelings for him, ya know. I guess after years of sleeping with people only, I’m so used to that notion of not getting feelings for anyone, that I’m incapable of being in a loving relationship.”

Lucien didn’t know how to respond to that. He put a hand on Cassian’s shoulder and gave it a comforting squeeze.

“I’ve seen you with your friends, Cassian. You are capable of loving. Maybe all you need is the right person.”

Cassian turned to lock eyes with Lucien. They looked into each other’s eyes for who knows how long. He could’ve sworn Cassian leaned forward a centimeter, but the moment was over in a blink of an eye.

Lucien snapped out the memory. He and Cassian stayed up for a long time after that, talking about anything or just enjoying each other’s company. At least, Lucien hoped Cassian enjoyed being with Lucien.

Lucien got up from the bench and started walking back to Mor’s place. As he headed back, Lucien kept his mind focused away from the feelings bubbling up inside him.

Feelings that have been dormant since Andras died.

Please let me know your thoughts! Updates weekly on Saturdays!

Much love,

bookaholic1012

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poisonbooknerd · 7 years

Text

Rescue

so y’all remember this post....I did something....

Now I would like constructive critisism, please.

But no bashing. Thank you!

Read on AO3

Read on FFN

Tagging @lace--leviosa

The pain that ripped through him was agonizing. People around him were looking at him in astonishment. His knees buckled and cracked against the floor. The damn idiot. THAT MOTHERFUCKING FUCKER. Not only was he responsible for the death of his entire family. But now he was about to let the woman he loved, regardless of whether she knew it or not yet, rip herself apart.

Tamlin, that boneheaded motherfucker, didn’t notice that Feyre was hurting. He didn’t notice that she was wasting away in front of his eyes. The tool didn’t even notice that Feyre had learned to read and write with him. No, Tamlin no longer noticed anything about Feyre except for what she knew of his court. Which, frankly, wasn’t a lot. Rhysand knew that Tamlin had been using Feyre to “spy” on him and his family. So, Rhysand made sure that Feyre wasn't going to be used. He made sure that nothing was said that might be used against any of them.

Rhysand was unable to protect her when she wasn’t in contact with him. And she never truly, purposefully contacted him.The cries for help in the past were always in general. Much like this one rocketing through his brain at this precise moment. But this one seemed more personal than the others.

Feyre was breaking.

And Rhysand, if he didn’t want to incite war; which was looking better and better, couldn’t do anything.

The helpless feeling was the worst he had ever experienced. It was tearing him apart. He couldn’t do anything. Or could he?

Tamlin had placed a shield over the mansion but Tamlin, compared to Rhysand, was weak. He had never been as powerful as some of the other high lords. Rhysand had never bragged about his powers and he wasn’t about to start now. Not when Feyre was seconds away from breaking and taking him with her. His outburst of emotion had brought his family over. Mor more than likely knew what was going on. He had told Morrigan about Feyre and she had met her. Not interacted with her the way that Mor had yearned to but they had met.

But, Amren, Cassian, and Azriel didn’t know much about her. Just that he was helping her the best way that he could and that was his mate. At one point, there was a stream of never ending teasing from Cassian and Azriel. Especially Cassian. But Rhysand took it all in stride. It had died down some but Cassian still remembered sometimes and it would explode once more.

Mor was trying to get Rhysand to talk, to say what happened, to tell her whether Feyre was OK. But all Rhysand could say was; “Help her. We have to get to her.”

Cassian leaned into Rhysand’s face as soon as he was standing and whispered menacingly: “Tell us how. Rhys. Calm down and tell us how.”

The words and tone of Cassian’s directions snapped him out of the trance he had become stuck in and shook his head.

Looking at his Inner Circle, Rhysand told him what he could of the situtation.

Which wasn’t much.

Feyre was in the drawing room at the Sping Court Mansion with the shield over the entire house. Rhysand assured everyone that the shield was the least of their worries. There were guards all around the house.

“What about Tamlin? Where is he?” Mor asked.

Rhysand glared at her, thinking about what Tamlin had said to her before he left. “No. He has gone from the mansion. And left her stranded there alone encased in that torture house until he returns.”

Mor, Cas and Azriel growled, enraged at the conditions the woman their High Lord loved had been left in.

Mor turned toward Cassian and Azriel and dictated their roles. Rhysand would destroy the shield. While Azriel and Cassian would take down any and all guards they encountered. They weren't sure where or how many guards there were at the Spring Court mansion. But they weren't worried about that. Mor was going to go in and find Feyre. Hopefully.

Rhysand could only see what Feyre was seeing. Not much more. And all he could see right now was darkness. Feyre had enveloped herself in darkness and made herself invisible to the rest of the world. But Rhysand could guide Mor to where she was in the room.

The longer they were talking things out, the closer Feyre was to breaking. And Rhysand couldn’t let her. Not for anything in the world. Not even if she stayed with Tamlin after everything was said and done. Rhysand interrupted whatever it was that Morrigan was saying and screamed.

"She's is about to lose herself! AND I AM NOT ABOUT TO LET THAT HAPPEN! SO GO! NOW!"

Mor and the Illyrians took one look at their High Lord and winnowed away to the edge of the Spring Court lands. Azriel took hold of Morrigan and flew to the manison with Cassian right behind him. As soon as they landed, the guards were on top of them. Mor dispatched some but hurried in to the room, all the while hearing screams. Agonizing screams that she had never before heard. Not once in her long, long life. She didn't even need Rhysand's guidance to find Feyre. No, she knew exactly where those screams where originating from.

Morrigan found a maid standing around in the middle of the drawing room looking at an empty space. She also found more guards. But she dispatched those quickly enough. The maid, however, was going to be harder. Mor wasn't prepared to see the worry in her eyes and hear the tremble in her voice when she asked Mor to take care of her.

Mor leaned down and took Feyre, whom had appeared from the darkness that had been cloaking her, lifting her up before turning to the maid.

“Consider yourselves very, very lucky that your High Lord was not here when we arrived.” She turned and left. Cassian taking her, making sure not to touch Feyre who seemed out of it. Azriel winnowing closer to the cave.

Cas and Azriel stayed behind Mor and Feyre for the entire trip to the cave. Tensing as Feyre started screaming, wanting to go help but knowing that it would have the opposite effect.

Mor calmed her down and strode on towards the cave on the edge of the Spring Court territory. The only place where they could winnow into and out of the territory.

Once there, the trio made their way back to Velaris, their home. And Feyre's home for the forseeable future.

#mywriting #fanfiction #acotar #acotarfanfiction #mine #rhysand #feyre #cassian #mor #azriel #writing #poisonbookqueue #please be kind

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royreadingco · 7 years

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Book Review #3: A Court of Mist and Fury by Sarah J. Maas

Welcome back to Roy Reading Company! Today, I'm very excited to be reviewing the second book in the "A Court of Thorns and Roses" Trilogy, A Court of Mist and Fury by Sarah J. Maas. This book was dense, a whopping 626 pages, but 626 pages of pure magic. If you read my review of A Court of Thorns and Roses, you'll know how blown away I was by book 1, but book 2 was even better!

*Warning: This review contains spoilers. Read at your own risk.*Right off the bat, what stood out to me about this book was the realistic depiction of emotions. The guilt and shame that Feyre felt was so described in such a realistic way, you could actually relate to her. The way Maas described Feyre's struggles, it almost seemed as if she was going suffering from PTSD, which wouldn't be surprising considering what she went through Under the Mountain. The physical symptoms, like her vomiting and intense nightmares, as well as her mental ones like her lack of interest in things like painting, suggest the degree to which her time Under the Mountain effected her. I felt that Maas did a really lovely job of making these symptoms true to life, and in an age where mental health awareness is super important, it was great to see Feyre work through these struggles.

At the beginning/middle of the book, I found myself getting a little frustrated with Feyre in regards to Tamlin. Yes, Tamlin was not helpful at all in helping Feyre heal and recover. Terrible of him, that much is obvious. But while Feyre was in Night Court she seemed to only focus on how awful Tamlin was, and completely forget about all of the good times they had together and how much she loved him at one point. Sure, he may have been going through his own struggles, but they could have worked together to make each other better. But by the end of the book her hating Tamlin was totally justified.

First of all, can we talk about how he only used her for sex? Props to Maas for actually including sex in a YA book, and it was impactful. Tamlin acted like he really only cared about having sex with Feyre, not helping her get better. Contrast this with Rhys, who was totally willing to wait for Feyre to be ready, and we have a pretty important message. Maas contrasts Tamlin and Rhys, to show that there's a difference between being in love and making love. He clearly didn't care about her enough to see that she was literally withering away in front of him, and didn't try to help her at all. Also, why did you not realize and accept that she was developing powers? Tam, you could have helped her hone her skills and become a more powerful fae. But know let's lock her in my mansion, right? WHICH REMINDS ME: How DARE you lock her in that house?! Who in the mother do you think you are? It's clear that he was so wrapped up in his issues and trying to protect her that he just lost it and turned into an oppressive maniac. He also tells her that there's no such thing as a High Lady, so she can't be seen as his equal. Utter. Crap. I think what hits me hardest is his history with Rhys and how he helped his father hunt down members of Rhys's family. Just scummy.

Let's also talk about this wedding. That dress was horrible. It didn't even seem like Feyre cared about the wedding at all, she wasn't invested in the planning and didn't care enough to object when things bothered her. It was destined to fail from the start. Ianthe had wayyy too much control in the planning of this wedding, and made it something Feyre utterly didn't care about. I would have walked away too.

Ianthe. The utter wraith that she is. Though I hated her guts, I can see her importance to the story. She was integral in Feyre's rise to power later in the series. But she is also really important in spreading a message about consent. Ianthe was notorious for taking advantage of people like Rhys and Lucien, and Maas uses her to show that consent is important.

Now let's talk about Feyre's time with Rhys. When he first winnowed her away to Night Court, and let her heal, I knew he wasn't so bad of a guy. And when he did save her from Tamlin's insanity, I saw right away that he actually cared about her, despite his teasing and taunting. But even with his teasing, it opened opportunities for Feyre to be her spitfire-self again. I liked that he started by helping her learn how to read, and how to protect her mind, skills that would be vital to her. I did wonder that while Feyre was in Night Court, why did Tam never try to get in contact with her? He must have had some inkling.

But I was really glad he didn't because I fell in love with Velaris, Rhys, Mor, Az, and Cassian. Mor, Az, and Cassian were way more open and honest with her from the beginning and actually offered to help her train and befriended her outright. Lucien wasn't necessarily a bad guy, but he never stood up to Tam's mistreatment of Feyre. The people of Velaris all made a conscious effort to make Feyre feel welcome and to help her feel better. I thought one of the especially touching scenes was when they were training with Cassian, and it dawns on her that she should have been one of the Fae to die in Amarantha's court, and Cassian helped talk through her emotions while Rhys reacted so strongly, and so kindly and telling her that she should never feel that way. It was evident that Velaris was a much healthier environment for her to live.

While she was there she not only healed from her experiences Under the Mountain but was also able to grow into her new life as a Fae. She was able to be an active and useful member of Rhys's team and was able to help infiltrate Hybern's forces.

I've spoken so much about Maas's world building, but I have to touch on her creation of the Illyrian culture. The customs and traditions that she developed were so interesting. To learn with Feyre about a whole other species was really interesting. From hearing about how they are raised and trained from an early age, to the treatment of their women was fascinating and really set Night Court apart from the other courts. Along the same vein, it was both heartbreaking and emotional to learn about Mor's past in the Illyrian legions. It helped me feel more sympathetic towards her and relate to her even more.

I really liked that we got to go into Summer Court and Adriana. I am really intrigued by exploring the other courts and seeing their different cultures come to life is one of my favorite parts of this series. Paired with Feyre being able to tap into Tarquin's powers to help Rhys was really one of the first instances of Feyre actively helping to take down Hybern.

I really loved the idea of a hidden city of Velaris, that no one knew about for hundreds of years. I loved that it was a sort of paradise or Eden hidden away from all of the horrors going on in the rest of Prythian. The word Velaris actually comes from the Latin verb to cover or to veil. I love significant word choice in books. The desctiption of this city was lovely, and the detail was phenomenal, and really brought the city to life. What was also really lovely, was how important Velaris was to Rhys and his family, how they wanted to hold onto their piece of private paradise to escape to.

And now for the good stuff.

Rhys and Feyre were a match made in heaven (literally). I thought for a long time that I would never want Feyre to be with anyone other than Tam, and boy was I wrong. From the moment he rescued her, to the teasing little notes that they sent each other, they were perfect. When he sent her into the Weaver's cottage to get the ring was such a sweet idea, and how it all tied into his family and their mating was so well done. Even their scenes in the Court of Nightmares and that little Illyrian inn were some of my favorites in this book.

But what takes the cake, without any doubt, has to be the cabin scene. But first, why in the holy hell did the Suriel spoil the mate thing? If he knows ~most~ things, wouldn't he know that Feyre didn't know yet? So why would he spoil it? I'm glad he did because cute things happened. I can also understand Feyre's frustration with people waiting until they thought she was ready to hear the news, when she was so involved. But I wanted her to be a little more happy about it and not just be mad at him. I thought it was fitting that she just took some time for herself to be alone, to paint, and process everything. I also liked that he chased after her and made sure she was okay (something Tam never did). I (as I love the different culture and tradition) thought it was so sweet that offering him a meal is the signal that the mate bond has been accepted.

Maas really showed her finesse as a writer, when all of the little instances that had taken place over time had connected and entwined to build their mate bond from the moment they met. To create such an intricate plot, that was so well executed is inspiring and that is how a true, sophisticated novel is written. The fact that Rhys was the one to send the lullaby to Feyre's cell under the Mountain took me by surprise because I had assumed that it was thanks to Tam. The whole mate relationship between Rhys and Feyre was so spectacularly done, I was blown away. Overall I could not be more satisfied with the way Maas portrayed the mate bond between Rhys and Feyre.

Some final thoughts. In the end of the novel, I have one thing to say. TAMLIN YOU SUCK YOU PIECE OF SLIME. That is all. The mortal queens give humans a bad rep. What is Amren really? The significance of Rhys's knee tattoo was amazing. The slight undertones to the Hades and Persephone story were super cool, and I love Maas showed her literary prowess in basing her original stories on classic tales.

In summary, I apologize that this review is so long but for such a lengthy book, how could I not? It would be an injustice to the book to leave anything out. I felt that this book was phenomenal, extremely well done and showed how sophisticated Young Adult literature can be.

I give this book a 📚📚📚📚📚 out of 5. I would highly recommend this book to any YA lover, and it might have made the series for me. What did you think of A Court of Mist and Fury? Let me know in the comments!

If you enjoyed this please subscribe to get email updates for new blog posts! And feel free to follow our instagram and tumblr both can be found at @royreadingco If you have any suggestions for books you think I should read or bookish products I should try please leave a comment below or shoot me an email at [email protected]! Thanks for reading along with me! Happy reading!

Kayla

#acomaf #a court of mist and fury #feyre x rhysand #feyre archeron #rhys #night court #sarah j maas #YA #High Lady of the night court #books #bookworm #bookish #book review #book blog #booktube #book tumblr

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moiraineswife · 7 years

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“I should have listened to everyone who told me this was a bad idea.” for ELANDRAS!!!!!!

I should have listened to everyone who told me this was a bad idea. Andras thinks frantically.

Trees flash past on either side of him, the speed of his movements reducing them to blurs of green and brown with the occasional tiny burst of colour. The human lands are so barren and lifeless compared to the vast expanses of lush, vibrant beauty he’s used to in Spring. Dangerous. This land is dangerous for his kind.

He can feel death snapping at his heels as he bounds farther and farther from the wall, forcing himself to run or else he knows he’ll stop, knows he won’t be able to do his duty. He should embrace the cold whisper of death’s foul breath upon his back. This is why he’s here, after all, to seek death at the hands of a hateful human, to free his lands, his people, his love.

Lucien. He should have listened to Lucien. In truth the only one who had outright told him that this was a terrible idea, that he should stay. The other sentries had only looked away, refusing to meet his eyes when he had volunteered. Rather him than them, they had thought. Amarantha has destroyed the Spring Court. Even though it’s still relatively intact...They’re broken, beaten, acting only on the instinct to save their own skins. That was why he had come. That was why he’d had no choice.

Lucien had argued with him, had snarled at him, paced up and down in the study, made argument after argument about why he should stay, why he shouldn’t leave. The court needed him. Tamlin needed him. He led the sentries and they needed him. He was a symbol for the people and they needed him, trusted him, felt stronger knowing he was protecting them. Andras had listened to all of it, waiting, selfishly, to hear him say those words, ‘I need you.’

If he had said them like that, straight to his face in that room then maybe...Maybe he would have listened. Maybe he would have stayed.

He knows now that he’d been an idiot. Lucien had said that. He had said that he needed him, said that he loved him over and over and over. Andras had just refused to listen to him. And now he’s here, in these hateful lands again, risking his life, offering himself as bait. A lamb sent to the slaughter in a wolf’s clothing.

Panting hard, Andras stops for a moment, takes stock of his bearings. The forest is quiet, still, seemingly utterly devoid of any life. Perhaps the wild creatures are simply wise enough to recognise a faerie when they see one. Or perhaps...Perhaps another lean winter has seen this forest picked clean by desperate human hunters, perhaps-

A sudden high pitched scream splits the air around them. Andras doesn’t know what makes him act, shock, instinct, or a nature that’s been honed by centuries of training to respond to such cries, to the sound of someone in peril. He plunges through the trees towards the sound, the air now full of frantic pleas for help.

He halts just before he reaches the clearing, hunkering down behind the line of trees, just out of sight. The girl is young, unmistakably human, reeking of fear as she backs herself into a tree, her eyes wide and petrified. The basket on the ground at her feet has sent a few feeble roots and herbs scattering across the forest floor but she seems not to have noticed. Her great brown eyes are wide and terrified as she takes in the three lean, rabid wolves stalking slowly towards her.

He should leave her to her fate. This gentle thing is never going to be able to kill him, is never going to be able to kill anything. But he can’t. He can’t just turn and walk away and let the girl be savaged. Even if she’s so thin and starved she might die in a few weeks anyway. It’d probably be kinder if he just allowed her a quick death here and now but...He can’t ignore the terrified whimper that breaks from her.

With an echoing snarl that seems to tremble around the forest Andras launches himself at the wolves, teeth bared, hackles raised. He slaughters one in a heartbeat, leaves the other for dead and sends the other limping away in fright, a deep slash across the muzzle, all in seconds.

Breathing heavily, his breath forming a small cloud of mist in the air before him, he swings his head around to look up at the girl. She’s sunk to the floor, her eyes wide, her skin deathly pale she stares at him, whimpering, trying to back away from him, still looking terrified. He realises she must think he’s going to kill her, that he chased the wolves off to have her for himself but...

But then her expression changes, her mouth parts slightly. She looks even more terrified than before but...There’s a sense of awe in her now as well as she stares up at him. Then she whispers a breathless, “Thank you.” Andras blinks at her, shocked, and suddenly wishes that he could speak to this girl somehow, communicate to her what her gratitude means. He’s been risking his life for years now and no-one ever thought to just say...Thank you.

He takes a step closer to her, without quite knowing why he does so, hoping she’ll kill him or praying that she won’t he doesn’t know which is worse. She raises a trembling hand, reaching out to touch him but he jerks away, diving back into the trees, leaving her alone in the clearing, trembling, stunned, staring after him.

Her beautiful doe’s eyes haunt him as he ends his shift and returns to Spring.

Lucien is half furious, half deeply relieved when he staggers back through the manor doors, utterly exhausted, but all in one piece. Tamlin demands to know the reason for the human scent that clings to him and, duty-bound, Andras tells him everything that had happened to him.

A week later and he’s heading back to the mortal lands, Tamlin at his side. This time he rides his horse, sitting straight backed and proud, a high fae at his master’s side. He had never expected this to happen. The girl hadn’t touched him, had had such a gentle, guileless look about her that he suspected she might have felt guilt about pulling the plants from the ground in case she might have hurt them. She doesn’t deserve this, shouldn’t be dragged into these games but....They had agreed.

Andras had come in contact with a human and death had found them in that clearing with the wolves. It might be enough, if they could lie convincingly enough to Amranatha. Tamlin and Lucien had agreed that they should at the very least try. They were getting desperate. There was less than a year until the breaking of the curse when they would all be damned anyway. They had to try something, for the sake of her people too, even if she doesn’t know it.

Still, it’s with a heavy heart that Andras retraces his steps for his High Lord, leading him back to the place where they had found the girl. From there they make their way to the outskirts of a small town, to a small, ramshackle hovel that contains the girl, her two sisters, and their father. The sisters plead and roar and rage but Tamlin is adamant and drags the girl from the cottage, whispering that she’ll go. She strayed too far into the forest, she nearly got herself killed, she owes a blood debt to the faeries, she must go.

Her name is Elain, Andras overhears from outside the cottage where he waits, guarding the horses, while Tamlin does his part at terrorising the girl and her family in his beast form. When she steps out of the house, trembling violently from head to foot, asking her elder sister, Nesta, to please continue caring for her garden while she’s away, Andras stares down at her from his horse.

She looks exactly the same as he had remembered. Painfully thin, in spite of her hollowed out cheeks and slightly sunken eyes...She’s still pretty. Delicate and graceful her steps are small and controlled as she moves away from the cabin. Her sisters appear in the door, the younger restraining the elder as she thrashes like a caged wildcat, trying to get to her sister.

Andras’ eyes however flick quickly back to Elain. She’s staring straight at him, seemingly oblivious to the struggle behind her, Tamlin stalking towards her. To his utter shock she bobs a quick curtsy to him and he stares at her in utter bemusement until she looks up at him and says softly, “Thank you for rescuing me that day.”

Andras gapes at her in astonishment. Precious few fae he’s known for centuries can recognise him in that form, and yet this human girl- “How?” he demands, startled.

Elain opens her mouth to reply but cuts herself off with a little yelp of surprise as Tamlin lifts her up as though she’s a doll and sets her on the horse in front of Andras. Settling herself with as much dignity as she can muster with her threadbare dress riding up her thighs she turns back to him and says simply, “Your eyes.”

Andras doesn’t get a chance to respond as Tamlin urges the horses into motion, carrying them away from the cottage and the hoarse screams of Elain’s sisters. She doesn’t look at him as they ride and Tamlin’s magic causes her to sleep before they reach the wall crossing. Andras says nothing about the use of magic, just keeps a tight grip on the girl to stop her falling from the saddle.

They arrive at the manor at last. Tamlin wakes Elain on the border of the manor grounds and she’s staring around with huge, wide eyes as elaborate gardens and the great, sprawling mansion. He strides into the manor, no doubt to fetch Lucien, leaving Andras to tend to Elain and the horses.

It seems, however, that the girl who, Andras is increasingly suspecting is stronger than anyone might guess, isn’t done shocking him. He slides from the mare’s back first then reaches up, bracing his hands firmly at Elain’s waist then lifting her carefully down from the saddle, setting her gently on her feet. She begins thanking him again but a loud crash from the opposite side of the stable, where Lucien has just entered.

His lover is staring at Elain, his eyes wide, his entire body slack with shock. Concerned, Andras takes a step towards him, away from Elain, who looks rather alarmed by this strange behaviour, shifting a little closer to him on instinct.

Lucien takes no notice of either of them, keeping his eyes firmly locked on Elain’s as he whispers three hoarse words that shatter Andras’ entire world.

“You’re my mate.”

#elandras #elucien #elain archeron #lucien #andras #anonymous #fic ask game answers #lauren answers #answered #listen idk what i'm doing either okay #ship: two sweet potatoes and a gingersnap #acotar series #acotar fic #my fic #i tried something #that probably didn't work but #i tried

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drabblesfromthemoon · 7 years

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Serene

Chapter 1

Sighs of Mystery

Disclaimer: I don't own A Court of Thorn and Roses and all characters in the series. All of the characters and dialogues are the property of Sarah J Maas, and are not my intellectual property. There is no financial gain made from this nor will any be sought. This is for entertainment purposes only.

Spring Court – After the Chaos

Spring breeze in the Spring Court is always has been – inviting. Inviting any Fae to stop by, sitting on the green, soft grass and enjoy the smell of roses. To bring lovers after their long fight, in a hope that they will reconcile after listening to the sound of birds chirping. Or for the adventurers who happens to pass by, to pick some Calla Lily for their beloved. Not even Amarantha's wrath years ago could stop nature to keep flourishing the land with flowing, lovely abundance.

The visitors in Spring Court has been increasing day by day as their High Lord Tamlin reduced his Tithe offerings amount. The mountains of jewelry he had collected through brute force has turned to many tourist attractions. To make people enjoy their days in the Court. The forced collecting soon gone as the villagers trusts their High Lord more and more and offer their Tithe with all their hearts.

Spring Court still never boasts any city, unlike the Nights' Velaris. But there are many amounts of little village spread here and there. People lived relying on farming and planting flowers to trade the goods to other Courts. Winter Court, for example, would die for Spring's flowers to add some color in their crystal realm.

Months, years had gone after the War, some villagers tried to move on from the gruesome tragedy which befallen the lands over and over. Some still being forced to be awake by nightmares, but Spring's realm was so peaceful, the birds' singing and the smell of flowers quickly beckoned them back to their sleep. Ensuring that this – this peace – is real.

The Land of Flowers has found their calm.

But little did they know – not even His Majesty Tamlin himself – that across the mighty castle, almost in Day Court territory, hidden in the lush forest, lies a mystery.

Spring Court Mansion Library

Tamlin sat on the high stool, flipping through books in the Inner Library. He was desperate to find some information about cross-breeding flowers method that he saw long time ago. Damn that Winter Court High Lord, challenging him to make another flowers creation. Never enough variation for those fools, he thought. The golden haired man wanted to find the information to pass it to his engineers, so his people can play with it later on.

It's been ages since he last proceed with his education on how to rule a land. But as he walked through his realm, seeing difficult his people lives is, he ended up cares. He called every scholar to taught him what happened beyond his lands and what can he do to fix it.

He lost many things, already. All he has is time, endless time, to redeem himself.

Years after the war, Tamlin had found himself growing tired. Tired of the chase and finally learnt to accept. Accept that she was not for him right from the start. Their relationship was bound to fail no matter how hard he tried. Accept how unfair it was, the mating bound. Pairing two souls which never knew each other to become one. Nothing will come between the pair, ever.

He groaned.

Once in awhile, the High Lord would take a glance to his table. The object was a place of many books he'd found, but he was looking at a tiny piece of paper which he pressed to become is favorite bookmark.

"I hope you find happiness too." It says.

His eyes will wandered, then. To the first day when his dear lover came to the mansion, her deviant eyes toward him and his entire Court. Her cheerful reply when he asked her hand for marriage...

And it stopped there – only at the happy parts, just how he loved to remember her – until he found himself back to his search.

"Your Majesty," a woman's voice came to his senses.

"The dinner is ready," she continued, bowing.

"Later," he replied, clearly uninterested.

The maid dismissed herself with a sigh and one last bow and went back to the kitchen. There, many maids has gathered, waiting for their friend to bring the news.

"How is it?" asked the red headed one while swarming their returned friend. Her question answered with a gentle shook of her head and yet another sigh.

"Maybe we should just stop making dinner," she fumed, "he never eat any of it!"

"His Majesty hardly ever eat anything these days," said another, "all he did was work."

"That and staring at a piece of useless paper...," one of the maid said, which soon had her lips covered.

"Holy Cauldron! Shut your lousy mouth!" one of them exclaimed. It was a maid that offered a dinner to Tamlin,"If His Majesty hear we will all be in trouble!"

The rest of the maid exchanged glances and slowly sighed as they go back to their work. There's nothing they can do except accepting the fact that their master has lost his spark. Not that they're complaining, because the times when the human lady left the palace, his 'spark' was too much as he wrecked everything on sight.

His temper soon declined after the war.

The High Lord suddenly ordered to reduce the Tithe and start rebuilding his realm. He would spend his days outside, surveying the areas for nights after nights and came back only to dwell in the library. Sometimes, he went to the tower and howls will soon be heard. The agonizing howl which trying to call his lover back.

At that time, the entire workers in the Court knew. That even the most fierce beast can have his heart broken.

Soft creaks heard echoing across the West Wing – Tamlin's Chamber. The poor man tossed and turned, letting out growls as he did. His face contorted in agony, fighting whatever it was running in his mind tonight. Last night was when he witness Feyre's battle with the Middengard Wyrm, another was her authoritative voice of hers during the war. It's all the despair about her that he refused to think at day came to hunt him at night.

He bolted up from his bed, cold sweat covered his body as he snatch his robe and walked into the balcony. He bit back a growl as if holding himself back not to howl. To call for her, beckon whatever feelings left in her to come back to him and soothe his entire being.

She would never come back, fool.

The High Lord let his eyes look up to the sky, to the bright Fullmoon. He let himself relaxed at every caress of the light touched him. He was closing his eyes in attempt to go back to sleep at the bench in the balcony until a loud noise came from outside of his room.

He tilted his head as he walked outside, only to find his maid trying to pick up the mess she dropped. Broken plate and glass scattered along with a thick piece of meat, and purple liquid which smells like wine. Probably the dinner he had left earlier.

"I'm sorry, Sire. I didn't meant to..."

"Clean up and leave," he retorted, walking back to his room.

"Y-Your Majesty!" she mildly shouted to him which earned her a glare, a very adorable glare, she must say, with that bedhead and sleepy eyes. He quietly moved to face her, almost daring her to talk with that same tone she used earlier.

"I'm sorry but.. there's something I wished to tell you.. your nightmare..."

"It's none of your business," he growled audibly, "leave."

"I know how to make it stop, Sire!" she shouted, forcing the words out of her throat. Tamlin had really tried to be kind to his people, but his cold demeanor still there. One wrong move and you will receive his roar. She wouldn't want to test him. Not at all. Not when her family all depend on her for food and shelter.

The High Lord eyed his maid as if trying to reason with himself. Inhale, exhale. Remember the anger management lesson, Tamlin, he thought. But a little Fae girl telling him that she knows how to control what he can't with all his power...

The girl gulped as she handed him a folded piece of paper.

"There's... a tale among my tribe, Sire. About a place, a little pond inside the Dark Wood which holds a power, a true power... to retrieve what was lost," she explained as he opened the paper. Inside it was a map of where the Dark Wood is.

He scoffed.

"It's a myth. A myth to send poor lazy men to the Dark Wood and die," he said, "and the last time I retrieve something, I did unforgivable things. I have no need of this."

"I wouldn't lie to you, Sire," she replied, "please, please, just try to find it. Dark Wood isn't dangerous for a High Lord as you are. There's nothing to lose."

"Near the pond was a silver tree, a tree which only could be seen by those who truly needs it. Many has fallen, My Lord. For it was greed that calls for them, not humble wishes. The force refuse lust, greed and anger, and it will twist every path in the woods and let them those who unworthy lost in darkness, eaten by the beasts."

"I'll think about it," he said as he walked back to his chamber.

"But it has to be tonight, My Lord!" she exclaimed, earning another annoyed glare, "the Silver Tree only glows in Fullmoon, it will be harder to find it otherwise."

An old tree glowed dimly on the vast land, seemed ready to collapse at any minute. The thin branches ready to crack if the wind blew too hard. That poor tree stood alone in the mountain woods, away from any lands in the Spring Court. Rusty stone paths led the way from forest ground, across the crystal water to the elder tree. By the time the moon lit, graced the lands, fresh cold wind sweeps across the holy soil, causing the little branches to dance.

Each second the moon glows stronger, so is the tree roots. Its feet reach further and stronger to sustain the other transformation which awaits. The trunk grows thicker, higher, releasing the power hidden within. Little branches sway, slowly expanding its coverage, releasing more and more branches follows, until hundreds of it scratching the skies. When the final stage of moon ensue, silver leaves burst forth filling the branches. The vulnerable tree turns into the Silver Ancient Tree.

As it waits. Waits for those who it deemed worthy.

#acotar #tamlin #fanfiction #acomaf #acowar #after acowar

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