#the archeron sisters are witches i can feel it

[offtorivendell]

What a glow up for Elain's little garden 🌿

Spoilers: CC HOFAS spoilers below the "read more."

In ACOWAR, we learnt that - after wishing to learn how to grow a vegetable garden in ACOTAR - Elain had started another little garden at the townhouse.

I dragged a hand over my face before going to Elain and touching her too-bony shoulder. “Can I set you up in the garden? The herbs you planted are coming in nicely.” “I can help her,” said Azriel, stepping to the table as Elain silently rose. No shadows at his ear, no darkness ringing his fingers as he extended a hand. Nesta monitored him like a hawk, but kept silent as Elain took his hand, and out they went. - ACOWAR

In ACOSF, Nesta used Elain's work in her garden as a way to belittle her.

Nesta knew she’d hit her mark. She opened her mouth, but couldn’t continue. Enough. She had said enough. That fast, the power in her receded, vanishing into smoke on the wind. Leaving only exhaustion weighing her bones, her breath. “It doesn’t matter what I think. Go back to Feyre and your little garden.” - ACOSF

I have theorised before that Elain may have planted a witch's garden, and that maybe she will grow - or even Make - her own plants for baking or medicinal use. @wingedblooms has posted about Elain and her garden as well, and Elain as a healer or potions mistress ties in well with her learning to garden and cook, so...

Even the herbs were familiar—had the Fae of this world introduced them to Midgard? Or were plants like thyme and rosemary somehow universal? Strewn across space? Or maybe the Asteri had brought those herbs from their own home world and planted them on all their conquered planets. She knew it was a stupid thing to contemplate. That she had way bigger things to consider than an intergalactic garden. But she quickly lost interest in eating, and thinking about everything else was … too much. - HOFAS

Is Bryce eating food that Elain has had a hand in growing and cooking? I'd love that.

Additionally, rather than the Asteri, I love the idea of witches planting little gardens across the universe, wherever they may go. Spreading herbs that may someday help magic wielders to access deeper powers, or even defeat an old, forgotten foe if they are awoken once more. Subtly future proofing their new home worlds, leaving knowledge waiting to be found in songs and ancient tomes. Hoping for the best, but planning for the worst.

My other thought is that it could be related to Urd, with similar motivations as I outlined above. If the Cauldron has indeed been co-opted by a dark maker, could Urd be secretly using the Cauldron to spread seemingly innocuous plants throughout the galaxy, waiting for the day the right person could come along to use them, and potentially free her?

No spoilers beyond chapter 16 please, I'm slowly plodding through HOFAS as we speak. 😂

[sarawritestories]

Unwavering Presence Chapter 8

Cassian X Archeron Sister (Reader)

Summary: Rhys and Cassian talk about Under the Mountain. The twins, Rhys and Cass meet the bone carver where Y/N sees someone unexpected, the IC goes out for dinner and two familiar faces come to greet Y/N. Cassian gets jealous.

Content Warnings: broad allusion to the S/A of Rhys. Mention of death by childbirth, unwanted touching from a stranger in a bar setting.

A/N: This is a chapter that i'm really happy about! I'm excited to share but this is also where I'm going to warn that we're no longer going to follow canon exactly. Big moments will happen in the same order but i'm adjusting time lines and some canon moments to fit what I want. I hope you liked this chapter as much as I do. I'm also close to 500 followers and that's crazy. Thank you for reading and giving my stories some love!

Word Count: 6.5

Unwavering Masterlist, ACOTAR Masterlist, Chapter 7

Rhysand’s POV

I opened the door to peek inside, and my heart swelled. The twins were curled up on the bed together Y/N’s arm protectively over Feyre. Their faces were so peaceful, not a worry on their features. I smiled and closed the door. Turning to walk away, I jumped as Cassian was leaning against the wall arms crossed, “Rhysand, High Lord of the Night Court, unapologetic snoop.” I flipped him off and he chuckled. “Everything okay?” His tone turned serious.

I smiled, “Yeah, they are sleeping together.”  I paused as Cassian raised an eyebrow, “I mean they are asleep on the same bed. Don’t make it uncomfortable, brother.”

Cassian feigned offence placing a hand over his heart, “Rhys, how you wound me so!”  I rolled my eyes, as my brother’s face grew serious, “Do you think they are going to resolve their issues?”

I tucked my hands in my pockets, “I think they have already begun.” I looked back at the door and could hear the two rustling in bed before they settled. I nodded my head toward my study. Cassian held his arm out letting me lead the way. When we got into the study Cassian sat on the couch. “Cassian.”

“Rhysand.” He counters his elbows resting on his knees as he leans forward, hands clasped together, his siphons gleaming in the fae light.

I sighed and leaned back in my chair, “I have a confession to make.”

Cassian brows furrowed, “By all means, Rhys, leave me in suspense.” He chuckled his laughter died in his throat at my face, “Shit, what is it?”

“There is something about that night that Y/N defended those girls, I never told you.” Cassian gave me his undivided attention. I held my hand out and Cassian rose from his seat, tucking in his wings he gripped my hand, and I took him to that night:

Cassian.

This girl reminded me of Cassian. Even as Amarantha cinched her wrist together, Y/N kept her chin up, her eyes met mine noticing aware her twin was on my lap her head on my shoulder. My hand remained on her waist. Amarantha had Y/N pinned to her. It’s like I could hear him chuckle, “Where the hell did you find these two human women, brother?”

Breathe. I’m sorry Y/N, I cannot help you.

Those girls didn’t deserve to see the cruelties of this world just yet. Try to keep their innocence.

Cassian would have said something similar with that same stance that same glint in his eye. I gave her a nod, and for the first time in 49 years I could not reign in the memory of my brother or the hope in my chest of seeing him again. Maybe these two human girls would be able to break this curse. Then I can go home and tell him about her. I can’t afford to think that way and I chug the rest of my wine.

 “Eris Vanserra, please step forward.” My blood ran cold as the heir of the Autumn Court’s name came out that witch’s mouth. My gaze drifted over to the red-haired male step up as Amarantha forced Y/N to her knees and pressed her forehead to the floor.

I gripped her sister tightly as she began to wiggle, “Darling, dance for me, will you?” I whispered in her ear. She drunkenly giggled and got up to begin to dance. I could feel Y/N’s pulse quicken, Breathe. Through your nose. I could see she obeyed as Eris lifted her to her feet. I fought against gritting my teeth keeping my mask of cool indifference. I focused on Feyre as her hips swayed positioned right between my legs. My gaze drifted back and saw that Eris put a collar of flames around her neck and he was guiding her by a leash of flame. The crowd separated as he approached me.

Feyre spun and saw her sister and smiled, “Y/N,” she grinned not realizing her sister was in the grips of a viper and yet she still held her chin up high a challenge in her eye. Again, I could hear Cassian’s voice, “You need to keep her safe, Rhysand. Keep her alive so I can meet her.”

I pulled from the memory and Cassian sat in the chair across from mine, his face unreadable and his shields were locked up tight. “Cass, it was the second time I let myself think of you. The first is when she defeated the worm, and she gave a dramatic bow to the crowd as Feyre threw a muddy bone to Amarantha. When Y/N ran up to those girls I allowed myself to think of you and the hopes of coming home so I could tell you about them. Y/N did something dangerous without ever knowing.”

Cassian took a deep breath, “What was that?”

“Hope,” I lifted my hand and a decanter, and two glasses appeared I poured two fingers worth in both glances and handed one to my brother, “She gave me hope that we would make it out of this, that we would be able to come home. And when I dropped Feyre into her cell, I made it back to my room and cried. I cried so hard I vomited I let out 49 years’ worth of missing you, Azriel, Mor, even Amren.” Cassian chuckled, “This one human girl unraveled me all because she reminded me of you.”

Cassian smiled and gripped his hand in mine, “Well you did make it home, brother, and you kept you promise too spiritual me.” I snorted as he continued, “She’s wonderful Rhys.” He released my hand, and I watched as his eyes went distant, “Is it possible to fall in love with someone from the first time you’ve met them.”

I tilted my head, “What?”

Cassian sat up straight, flaring his wings, and his cheeks turned a shade of red against his tan skin, “What? Did I say that out loud, mother above.” He drinks the alcohol to the dregs and sets the glass down. “I enjoy her company. Is all I’m saying.”

I chucked, “Someone have a little crush, brother?”

Cassian leveled me with a glare, “Shut it, you prick.” 

“I mean, Y/N, is funny. Kind.”

Cassian interjected, “Extremely kind.”

I grinned slyly, “She’s also beautiful.”

Cassian exhaled and his face morphed into a lovesick teenager’s, “The word beautiful doesn’t hold a candle to what she is.” Cassian blinked and looked over at me. “You’re an asshole, you know that?” I chuckled and stood having this sudden feeling of being dirty I plucked lint from my shirt and Cassian’s brow furrowed, “You’ve been doing that a lot since you’ve been home.” There was an underlying question that caused me to straighten my spine. “You don’t have to talk about it, Rhys, but I am here, if you want to.”

He stood and walked out of the study leaving me as my thoughts drifted to those haunted

Reader’s POV

I could feel eyes watching me as I slept and I jolted awake, Feyre doing the same to see Amren at the foot of the bed. “Don’t you knock.” I muttered rubbing my eyes. The morning sun filtered in the room.

Amren threw an amulet onto Feyre’s lap, “This is on loan. I expect this to be returned.”

Feyre looked at the jeweled necklace and looked at the tiny female confusion on her face. “What is this?”

“It’s, what helped me get out of the Prison, girl, you’ll need it today.” With that she left. Feyre and I exchanged glances and I simply shrugged sliding off the bed.

“Y/N,” I turned as my sister slid out of the bed as well, “Would you come with us today? To see the Bone Carver.”

“That sounds like a wonderful idea,” Rhys purred as he leaned against the door, Feyre threw a pillow at him, and he ducked in time that it flew in the hall. Rhys smirked and tucked a hand in his pocket.  “Such a violent little thing.”  I rolled my eyes.

“You two make me sick.” I muttered at the same time Feyre asked, “Don’t you knock.”

Rhys looked at me, “Do you want to come join us today?”

I nodded, “Sure, whatever I can do to help.”  I walked toward the door, Rhys blocked the door, I crossed my arms.

“Want Cassian to come?” Rhys lifted a suggestive brow.

I pursed my lips, “He’s a grown male, he probably has other things to do.”

Cassian popped up behind Rhys, “It just so happened that Rhys cleared my Schedule, Princess.” He gave me a wink and I fought the butterflies flittering in my stomach.

“A group adventure it is.” I looked at Rhys, my smile falling as I noticed the dark circles sunk in his eyes and stars gone and he looked distant.  You, okay? I reached out into his mind.

Rhys met my stare, Never better.

Liar.

High Lords can’t afford to have breakdowns in the time of War, Y/N.

I snorted. Someone better inform the High Lord of the Spring that.

Rhys laughed and placed a kiss on my cheek, “You are something else, Angel.”

My face didn’t change. If you need to talk, I’m here. You need to heal too. War or not.

Stars flickered back into his eyes, and he nodded as I moved to get to my room. The sound of boots was the only indication that I was being followed. “Something I can do for your, General?” I didn’t bother to turn around as I asked the question.

His hand gripped my wrist gently, “I wanted to see if you were okay.” His eyes drifted from my face to my chest.  His face tilted as he gently pushed my hair behind my shoulder. I had to remind myself to breathe as he tugged the tunic to reveal the new tattoo there. “Well, hello,” he purred as his eyes flicked to mine, my toes curled, and I had to fight my arousal by his sensual tone. “This wasn’t here a few days ago.”

I took a deep breath and centered myself trying to ignore how him rubbing his thumb against my tattoo caused my whole body to thrum in response. “Feyre and I made a promise to one another. The tattoo appeared not long after that.”

Cassian nodded, letting the silence blanket the hall and I was able to take a good look at him. His eyes had a warm kind glow to them and being this close little flecks of green poked through, and one eyebrow had a slit going through where a white scar laid bare. His face had stubble on it as if he hadn’t shaved yet and I yearned to cup his face to feel it against my skin. My eyes drifted to his lips full and as tan as his skin. My mind wandered as I thought what it would be like if I pressed my own to them. What would he taste like. Cassian shifted eyes widened and I hadn’t realized how close our faces had gotten. I took a step back and cleared my throat, “I should probably get ready.”

Cassian rubbed the back of his neck and a blush fell onto his cheeks it made him look boyish, “Good idea,” his voice was husky and slightly strained, and he tucked his lower lip behind his teeth. He was beautiful in every sense of the word.

 I turned forcing myself to look away from him and headed to my room when his voice rang out, “Princess,” I turned my head back he opened and closed his mouth and opened once more, “The prison is cold make sure to bundle up.” He looked pained as he said it, almost embarrassed.

“Thank you, General.” I winked and continued to my room all the while settling the erratic beating of my heart.

***

Cassian was not lying about it being cold. Rhys had winnowed us to the side of the mountain where the cold air pierced my skin. I wore my leathers with fleece line leggings and a long sleeve tunic underneath, but my teeth were still chattering. Cassian shuffled in the bag he brought with him and pulled out his leather jacket. There were patches on the back that were able to detach when he wears it to accommodate his wings. The wind caused a few of the loose strands from his bun to fly into his face though as he approached me, he seemed unfazed by the cold as he held up the bag. “Here, Princess.”

I slipped my arms into the leather sleeves, and he raised the jacket to my shoulders. Warmth encased my upper body as his jacket falling to my knees. Cassian’s hands gave my shoulders a squeeze, “Thank you.”

Cassian leaned in close his warmth seeping into my bones as he whispered, “You’re welcome.”

We made to the entrance of the building and Cassian interlaced his hand in mine and gave it a comforting squeeze. Rhys was the one that broke the silence talking to Feyre, “Do not let go of my hand. No matter what you hear or what you see. Do. Not. Let. Go.” Feyre nodded.

Rhys turned to me. Not like you would want her to let go of your hand. I smirked as Rhys leveled a glare my way, the only indication that my statement got to him. “Same with you, Y/N. Don’t let go of Cass’ hand.”

I lift our entwined hands and open my hand up as Cassian’s still clamped down and go as far as shaking our arms causing the male behind me to chuckle, “I don’t think he would let me. If I want to.”

“Not a chance. Not here.” Cassian murmured.

“Amren-“a hand clamped over my mouth muffling the rest of my sentence and  I tried to wriggle from Cassian’s grasp fighting against how his body pressed against me makes me feel.

Rhys sighed, “We don’t mention her near or in the prison.”

Cassian released my mouth and I shoot him a glare. “Why?”

The General spoke this time, “The prisoners here do not take kindly to her escape. If they know we know here it could get messy, fast.”

“Next time just say that.” I punched his shoulder, “No need to manhandle me.”

He kissed my cheek, “Sorry, Princess, won’t happen again.” He leans in lowering his voice, “Unless you ask me to.”

Heat crept up my face as he straightened to his full height, and I tried to ignore how the words left a pool of heat in my belly, I punched him again, “Shameless flirt.”

Cassian laughed, “Keep it up, Archeron, and your punches could actually hurt me one day.”

I scowled as we entered the prison my humor dying as the darkness consumed us. The low fae lights didn’t help with lighting the path before us. Though Rhys and Cassian led us like they knew the place backward and forward.  I could feel Feyre’s tension as badly as my own as we turned this way and that. Every turn reminded me of the path Under the Mountain but before my mind could wander too far into those memories there would be a squeeze of my hand. Like the male beside me knew where my mind was going and wanted to bring me back to him.

After a few minutes we reached the cell of the bone carver. Feyre looked back at me, and I gave her an encouraging nod.  Rhys led her into the cell, and I stepped closer to Cassian our hands still entwined, and he curled his wing around me giving me extra warmth. We stepped inside and moved around, and I lowered my head finding my feet interesting.

Feyre and Rhys had begun their musings but the metallic smell from the power this creature possessed was making it hard for me to focus. I drowned out the conversation picking up key words. The book of breathings and Like calls to like but everything else was drowned out I tried to focus on Cassian’s hand in mine and how he was rubbing his thumb along the side of my hand. Back and forth back and forth, before I knew it, I was matching my breathing to the slow movements his thumb was making to center myself.  The cell fell silent as I finally adjusted to the cell.

A female voice flooded my ears, “Look at me Y/N Archeron.” I looked up and was taken aback by the female before me. She was beautiful. She had one hazel and one Blue gray eye that looked so much like Feyre’s she had long dark hair braided in a crown atop her head a few wavy pieces that strayed from the updo framed her face highlighting her pointed ears. Her tan skin was clad in leathers similar to the ones Cassian and Azriel wore. What really caught my attention was her wings, they too were like Azriel’s and Cassian’s broad and beautiful even when tucked tightly behind her. She smirked, “Step closer, child.”

I attempted to take a step, but Cassian’s hand stayed firm in mine gently pulling me back to him. I wouldn’t move back to him I wanted to get a closer look at the female, she had a slender face, freckles kissed her cheeks and the bridge of her nose. She looked so much like Cassian, but then there was that smile and it looked so similar to the one my twin and I share. Was this a relative of Cassian’s?  She was beautiful.

Her laugh was boisterous, “Who do you see when you look upon me child?”

Don’t answer that. Rhys voice flittered into the spot of my shield for him.

“I don’t know.” I answered honestly.

You’re a great listener, you know that?  

Cassian once again gently tries to tug me back to him. As the Bone Carve paces like a wild animal in a cage, “I wonder, what secrets does the human Archeron twin keep. Tell me one secret, Y/N Archeron.”

“What do I get for sharing a secret with you?” I asked and tried to release my hand, but Cassian refused to let go.

“Oh, clever girl,” The females wings fluttered, “A secret for a secret then and as a sign of good faith I will go first.” She met my gaze, “There are ancient creatures that roam these lands, Legend states that they were extinct in the first war. They were not, they just went into hiding. They want to come out and play again.”

Rhys swore, and I looked back and saw Cassian’s face paled as he muttered, “Dragons.”

The female looks back at Cassian, “Indeed, Prince of Bastards.” Something made me bristle at the implication of the title and the sneer on her lips. She turned back to me. “A deal is a deal.”

Rhys stepped in, “No we’re leaving, your insight has been very helpful.”

He turned and my sister was made to follow, Cassan gripped my arms releasing my hand and turned me away but wiggled out of his grasp and took the opportunity of his mistake stepping toward the Bone Carver, “A secret of any kind?”

She smiled and bowed her head, “I am partial to the darkest secrets, but I will accept any, Y/N Archeron.”

“Y/N,” Cassian’s tone was laced with warning that I promptly ignored.

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, “I am responsible for the death of my mother.”

***

We returned to the Town house in complete silence it wasn’t until we were in the dining room that Rhys debriefed Azriel, Amren, Mor. About what the bone carver said about the Dragons and the Book of breathings. I just listened as they talked about half the book being at the summer court and the other half with the human queens. I could feel eyes on me, but I proceeded to ignore his gaze and focus on Rhysand.

“I want to keep this between us for now. I have a plan to test Carver’s theory that Feyre can sense these objects. Like calls to like but I will need a few days to do so. I’ll send a letter to Tarquin and see if he will allow us to make a visit there. That leaves the human queens.”

I mutter, “Nesta and Elain could help.”

Feyre nodded, “We could use their manor as the meeting point. They could be our Correspondence with them since they reside in the Human lands.”

“You both willing to go back and talk to them.” Rhys looked at me.

“You did give us the job as your human emissaries, Rhys. I’ll do what I must.” Feyre nodded in agreement.

‘Alright, send word to your sisters tomorrow and see if we can set up a time to meet. However, I think tonight we have earned off. Let’s go out to dinner.”

Everyone cheered, even Amren had a sly grin to her face as they exited to go get ready, Cassian, Feyre, Rhys and I stayed in the dining room. I met Cassian’s gaze his lips were in a tight line and his arms were crossed over his broad chest. He was stunned at my confession at the prison, but he didn’t say a word, he had just grabbed my hand and led me back out, holding it tightly to keep me grounded.  His eyes went vacant for a moment and when they went back to normal, he looked to Feyre and grinned “Feyre, let me escort you back to your room. Maybe that way I can talk you into fighting lessons. With me.” He held out his arm for her to take and winked, and my heart sunk. He was flirting with her. I mean I guess this was the first time I’ve seen him interacting with other women in the court. I had been so wrapped in my bubble that I never noticed that he was a natural flirt.

Feyre smiled and looped her arm in his and he walked out leading her upstairs. Rhys was facing the door looking out at Velaris, I pushed out of my seat, “What did you mean today?” Rhys asked turning to face me, “When you said you were responsible for your mother’s death.”

I shrugged, “What I said is what I meant, Rhys.” His brow furrowed. “Can we not talk about it? Please.”

Rhys sighed and walked over to her and wrapped his arms around her, “Fine, but we have to talk about it.”

I pulled away, “Like how we have to talk about how Feyre is your mate?” His face paled as he dropped his arms. “I’m human, I’m not dumb, I noticed your behavior changed. She doesn’t know does she?”

Rhys shook his head, “No,”

I shook my head, “When did you find out?”

“When we said goodbye after we beat Amarantha.”

Shock rocked me, “You were going to let her marry, him…”

Rhys bit his lip, “I was going to respect what she wanted. I wanted her to be happy. Then she called out for help, Y/N, she was begging for anyone to save her. I felt it down the bond.”  

I nodded my head, and I cupped his cheek, “Don’t keep her in the dark forever, Rhys, she’ll hate you for it.” With that I walked to my room to get ready for dinner.

***

We arrived at the restaurant, and everyone was dressed to the nines, and I opted for black silk pants and a sapphire blue corset top and a leather jacket. Put my hair up in a ponytail and placed a matching sapphire blue bow and some comfortable slippers. I walked down and Azriel shared an amused look, “Well Archeron, may I say blue looks ravishing on you.” He kissed my cheek. It was then that I noticed I matched his siphons. Everyone laughed as a blush crept up my face and I glanced at Cassian. He looked bemused but still made sure to extend his arm for me to take to escort me to the restaurant though it was apparent he kept us a good distance from the shadow singer.

Even at the dinner table Azriel sat by the window and I was making my way to sit next to him, Cassian guided me to the end of the table on the opposite side. “Cass, he doesn’t bite.” I murmured.

Cassian pulled out my seat for me and gently pushed me in, “Yes. He does. And he is a sore fucking loser.”

Azriel snorts, “I’m sorry she chose blue instead of red, brother.”

Rhys buts in, “She is allowed to wear whatever she wants, in whatever color she wants. Just because she wears a color doesn’t mean she is swearing an allegiance to either of you.” The kind restaurant owner came and brought our food and handed us a goblet for Amren. “Thank you, Nicolette. It’s a pleasure to see you again.”

The older female bowed her head, “Likewise, Rhysand. I hope everything is to your liking.” She looked to Feyre who was dressed in another radiant midnight blue Top and matching pants. “Its an honor to meet you Cursebreaker,” her gaze reached mine, “You as well Y/N Archeron. I hope you enjoy.”

Simultaneously Feyre and I said, “Thank you.” She smiled and left.

We all began eating and I looked over to Amren, “You don’t eat.” Not a question.

“Very observant, girl.” Amren snorted swirling the goblet in her hand.

“Are you not high fae?” I asked curiosity getting the better of me.

Rhys interjected, “She is in a way.”

“I do not know what I am completely, I did take form in a high fae body I chose this body.” Amren said in a tone telling me that that was all the information she was willing to give. I took a note and began drinking out of my own glass.

Azriel leaned his elbows on the table there was a mischievous glint in his eye, “Y/N, tell me. Did you have any lovers back in the human realm?” I choked on my drink; a fit of coughing erupted. A hand was rubbing my back and I looked to see Cassian giving Azriel a glare that if I were on the end of it would make me want to crawl out of my skin. Azriel didn’t seem phased.

“Just one.” I answered when I regained my breath. “Lover is a generous term for it though.”

Azriel quirked a brow, “Oh, why is that?” Feyre shifted in her seat uncomfortably by this conversation.

Before I could answer two tiny voices called out, “Y/N, Y/N.” I turned my brow furrowed in confusion as two small girls came running to the table and when I turned to face them, they leapt into my arms. Two little red-haired girls with tan skin tucked their heads into my neck. I rose, arms securing them as I moved off the chair.

The girls’ mother came toward us, “I’m so sorry. They saw you and they wanted to say hello.”

The two girls pulled away and met Y/N’s gaze and I gasped their green eyes shined bright and their red hair was not matted but curled and their tan skin looked healthy and gleaming. “Well look at you two. You have grown.” I smiled, holding both of their hands.”

Mor’s voice piqued, “You know them?”

One of the girls who was slightly taller, “You remember us?”

I smiled, “Of course I do.” She pulled them into a hug again and the two girls clung to her tightly. “I would never forget either of you.”

Their mom smiled, “I never got a chance to see you, to thank you for what you did for them.”

I met the mom’s stare with a smile of my own, “No thanks necessary.” The girls pulled away from me but still clung to my hands, “I’m glad you girls are okay.” I looked back up to their mom, “I didn’t realize you resided in the Night Court.”

“We were originally from the Autumn Court. I served for the Lady of the Court. Rhysand offered me a place to stay and a comfortable home if I wanted it.” I looked to see her gazing at Rhys with a smile and Rhys nodded his head, “I couldn’t stay in that court knowing what the prince did, so I grabbed the girls, and he brought us here.”

The girl that spoke before said, “We love it here!”

I smiled, “I’m so glad.” I leaned and naturally the two girls also lean in as if we’re telling a big secret “I love it here too.” The girls giggled in response, “What are both of your names? I never got a chance to be properly introduced. I’m Y/N.”

The social butterfly of the two smiled wide, “I’m Alexis, you can call me Lexi. This is my twin Elizabeth, but we all call her Lizzie.”

Lizzie gives a shy wave before biting her lip a bit. I beamed and I turned and point to Feyre, “Well what a coincidence my Twin is right there. That’s Feyre. I call her Fey.”

Feyre gave the two girls a small wave, and the two waved back enthusiastically. Y/N looks to the mom, “I’m Evangeline. Feel free to call me Evie.” I let go of the girls’ hands for a moment and walked toward Evie as she blinked away a few tears and gripped me into a hug, “I can’t thank you enough,” She turned her gaze to Rhys and Feyre and the rest of our table. “All of you, for your kindness.”

Rhys smiled, “The pleasure is ours.” The table all gave nods in agreement.

Lexi tugged on my pant leg, “Can we have a sleepover sometime?”

Alexis!” Evie scolded, “She is probably busy with working for the high-“

I interrupted her raising my hand, “For my two new friends,” I knelt to their level, “I would make the time. You just need to convince the High Lord. I do live at his house at the moment.”

Lexi and Lizzie ran to Rhysand and held their hands up, “Please, High Lord. Please.” I noticed that  Cassian and Azriel were trying really hard not to laugh as they saw their brother turn to into putty at these girls hands.

Rhys smiled, “Tell you what whenever, mom needs some time to get errands done, or would like to have an evening to herself you can come to my townhouse and spend as much time as you want with my family.”

“Including Y/N?” Lizzie asked quietly.

Rhys smiled widened, “Yes, including Y/N.” He gave them a playful wink and the two girls giggled and ran back to their mom.

“C’mon girls, let them enjoy the rest of their dinner.”

Alexis waved, and Y/N stands to take her seat, and she feels a tugged on her pants. She looked down to find Lizzie and her eyes lined with silver, and she blurts, “I want to be like you when I grow up.” She looked down sheepishly after blurting it.

I took a minute to process what she said, “What do you mean, Sweetheart?”

She looked up tears streamed down her face, “I want to be brave and kind and not afraid like you,” I could feel the emotion swelling in my chest and tears of my own were beginning to fall. I fell to my knees and pulled her in to a hug, and Lizzie erupted into sobs burying her face in her shoulder. I held out my other arm and Alexis ran into tears in her eyes too. Lizzie whimpered, “I was so afraid I had an accident. You were so brave, Y/N.”

“You were so brave.” I whispered, stroking their hair. I pulled away from them and made the effort to wipe both their tears from their faces. “I think you both were extremely brave. You both held your chin up so high going back to your mom. I was proud of you.” I looked at both girls, “I was proud of both of you.” I smiled and hugged them both, “And we’re here now. And we’re friends.”

“Forever?” Lexi hiccuped.

“And ever.” I promised.

I gave both girls a kiss on their forehead and sent them back to their mom who was smiling with gratitude. I took a seat in my chair watching them walk away, “So those were the girls you told me about.”

I nodded as I shifted back to face my friends, Cassian held out his napkin for me to grab and I graciously took it and wiped my eyes. “Yeah, I didn’t even know they were twins. Kind of poetic.” I chuckled as I felt the familiar callouses of Cassian’s hand on the back of my neck, that thumb rubbing soothing circles and I leaned into his touch. “Thank you, Rhys, for bringing them here and giving them a better life.”

Rhys held out his hand and I took it, and he grabbed Feyre’s hand and gave them both a squeeze, “They deserved it, as you both deserve a chance at a better happy life.”

***

Dinner came to a close and as we walked out in the crisp night air Mor linked arms with me, “I say we head to Rita’s anyone in?”

Cassian and Azriel agreed to join but it was Rhys and Feyre who both declined Amren already left for the evening. I smiled at both of them and waved before I was being dragged away to the bar.

The atmosphere of Rita’s was nothing like the taverns at the human realms, the music thrummed, and the beat could be felt on the floor there were various colored fae lights, Azriel led us all to a table and offered to grab everyone drinks. Mor sat next to Cassian, and I ended up at the end of the booth. I noticed how Mor laid her head on Cassian’s shoulder and he laid his head on top of hers giving her forehead a light kiss and that pang rang in my chest again. How had I not noticed that he is like this with everyone. Clearly he expresses love through touch.

 Azriel brought everyone a drink and a shot. I took the shot with fervor and welcomed the burn of the alcohol. Az sat across from me and quirked his brow as I also chugged the drink, he brought for me. This was going to be a long night.

A few drinks in and Mor was basically on Cassian’s lap. I tried not to gape, but it was hard as she kept whispering in his ear. He held her but his face was slightly bored, Az and I just sat and watched the people on the dance floor. His shadows swirled around my ankle, and I smiled.

“Excuse me,” I male’s voice interrupts my appreciation of Azriel’s shadows and look up to find a fae male, with pale skin and blonde hair smiling at me. “Could I bother you for a drink and a dance.” I looked him over his body was toned and I noticed that he had a tail that touched the floor if he were to extend it out. “I just couldn’t help but notice how you beautiful you were.”

I opened my mouth to refuse but Mor cut in, “She would love to.” Mor gave me a light push and I turned back to look at Cassian who seemed more interested in his drink as Mor nuzzled back into him. I gave the male in front of me a bright smile and took his hand.

We walked to the bar, and he said his name was Mark not even bothering to ask for mine, “So I’ve not seen you around before?” He purred in my ear as our drinks came. His tail brushed up my leg and I stepped out of its reach.

“I’m new in town.” I said shrugging.

“For being new in town, you do keep interesting company. The Lord of Bloodshed, The Morrigan and the Shadowsinger. You must have made some impression.” His tail pushed me closer to him, so he grabbed me by the waist. I pressed a hand to his chest, “Sorry, Babe. Sometimes my tail has a mind of its own. I nodded and fought the urge to roll my eyes. We continued our drinks in proximity, and he insisted we go dance. He placed a hand on my lower back his tail once again grazing my leg and moving to the under curve of my ass. The alcohol was settling in my system so that where his hands were didn’t bother me anymore and I let the beat of music take me away.

Mark wrapped a hand around my stomach and held me flush to his chest. “You are such a pretty thing,” He murmured in my ear. I hummed in thanks as his free hand gripped my throat lightly, to angle my head to his. I could see the lust in his eyes as they glanced at my lips, and he leaned in. There was a cough behind us.

We turned and Cassian stood there, ire was in his eyes and the object of that anger was geared to Mark. “Mind if I cut in?”

Mark had a look as if he wanted to say he would but thinking better of it he walked away not so much as a goodbye. His tail did manage to graze my ass. What a dick.  Cassian moved closer and gripped my hand and spun me around. He pressed me to his back my head meeting his chest. Both his hands entwined with mine and pressed me closer and calm washed over me. He whispered, “You look beautiful tonight.”

I smiled and shifted my head to see his hazel eyes now soften and his pupils were blown out. “Thank you, Cass.”

He spun me around, so he pressed my chest to his, and his toned arm snaked around my waist. His nose brushed mine, “I wonder though how you would look in red instead of blue.”

The alcohol made me bold because I grinned, “Hmm I wonder how Az would fee-“

Cassian growled, “I don’t want to hear his name out of that pretty little mouth of yours, Princess.”

“Whose name should I say?”

His lips were so close to mine, our breaths intertwining, as he huskily said. “Mine.”

Before I could press my lips to his, Mor tapped his shoulder, “We’re going home, fly me to my apartment?” Cassian pulled away and I instantly missed his warmth.”

“Sure.” He muttered before kissing my head, “Goodnight, Princess.” He turned back to Mor glaring at her, and she only gave him a saccharine smile.

Mor blew a kiss to me before looping her arm in Cassian’s and the duo walked out.

Azriel was beside me in an instant, “She’s a brat.” He murmured and pressed a hand on my back and led me out of Rita’s.

When we reached the Townhome I walked into my room and sat on my bed and looked out at the night sky, hoping to see wings and flashes of red on the horizon.

Chapter 9

Story Tags: @hellodarling1357 @hnyclover @waytoomanyteenagefeels @amara-moonlight @impossibelle @esposadomd @sleepylunarwolf @stressed-reader @kylaisra @marvelouslovely-barnes @magicstrengthandcourage @spideytingley @awkardnerd @donttellthecats @tastydewdrops @vermillionwinter @asweetblueberry2 @bunnyredgirl @homeslices @azriels-mate2 @oksloan3 @wallacewillow0773638 @fandom-crashlanding @writingstreetspirit @hannzoaks @minnieloo @tuggboatfishin @judig92 @atrxidxs @dustyinkpages @secretlyhers @mxblobby @blogforficslol @historygeekqueen @turtleshavesoulmates @scooobies @anuttellaa @earth-to-lottie @slytherintaco @fxckmiup @tinystarfishgalaxy @cheesebookgirl @oucereeng @st0rmyt @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @misslunatic1655 @azrielsmate3 @nebarious @tele86 @chelsiemp @fightmedraco @blackgirlmagicforever @fullmoon-94

[c-e-d-dreamer]

When We Howl, the Moon Will Cower: Chapter 6

A/N: Happy Day 2 of @nessianweek! Sometimes, yearning is looking at another male who clearly loves his wife and going huh, why do I suddenly feel jealous? 😂 But please enjoy this update! And enjoy Nesta and Cassian being idiots. Because there's nothing quite like clearly having feelings for your husband/wife, but refusing to acknowledge it

Read on AO3 // Chapter Masterlist // Previous Part // Next Part

Cassian

Cassian never thought he’d see the day where he visits the estate of the Vanserra coven not once but twice, and especially not within the span of the same day. And after today, he can confidently say he never wants to be between these four walls again. The library looks exactly the same as it did the previous evening, but the tension in the room is even thicker than it was when the Archeron sisters were scrying for the Cauldron. It sits like a weight on everyone’s shoulders. Writhes in the shadows and curls around Cassian’s chest, threatening to crush the air right out of his lungs.

Lucien paces back and forth across the room, practically leaving a simmering trail of ash beneath his feet the way he stalks across the rug. It’s almost strange seeing the male so out of sorts. Every time that Cassian has ever seen the witch, he’s looked impeccable, not a single piece of clothing or hair out of place.

The same can’t be said for the moment.

Lucien’s red hair is a mess where it hangs around his face, tangled and knotted from the way he’s been repeatedly running his fingers through the long strands. His skin is unusually ragged and pale, dark circles clinging beneath his bloodshot eyes. He’s long discarded his jacket into a crumpled heap in one of the large armchairs, his shirt creased and wrinkled where it hangs only half tucked into his pants.

“We’re wasting time,” Lucien growls out for the second time tonight, turning his attention toward his brother.

“I told you, we have to be smart about this,” Eris reminds him, his voice low with warning.

“Every moment we sit around here talking in circles, the Mother only knows what Hybern is doing to Elain.”

Sitting as close to her as he is, Cassian doesn’t miss Nesta’s almost imperceptible flinch at Lucien’s words. She’s been quiet and the picture perfect of calm ever since Baz informed them of the news about Elain, but Cassian has gotten to know his wife too well since their marriage. He knows that the press of her lips conceals the sharp words sitting on her tongue that she’s holding back. Knows that her narrowed blue eyes hide the fire burning just behind them.

He knows that deep down, she’s afraid.

Knows that her straightened spine and held back shoulders are the armor she wears to cover her concern. Knows that the way her fingers flex, her arm jumping back to brush against his own, means her own mind is conjuring images the same if not worse than whatever Lucien might be imagining.

It’s practically instinct, the way Cassian reaches a hand out toward her. His fingertips just barely brush along the back of Nesta’s hand before he thinks better of himself. Before he catches himself. He pulls his hand away again, fingers curling tight until his nails cut into the palm, the pain a reminder of himself, and resettles his hands back in his lap again.

“You’re assuming the worst,” Rhys pipes up from where he and Feyre sit. “They’re probably just keeping her to use as a bargaining chip.”

“Probably?” Lucien snaps, whirling on the vampire. “You expect me to be alright with probably?”

Eris sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “And what would you have us do? Storm through Hybern’s gates?”

“Yes. They have my wife.”

He says the words with no hesitation, with a sheer surety and determination that has Cassian tilting his head curiously. He’d noticed the way Lucien and Elain seemed unusually close, strangely comfortable in each other’s gravity the other night. The way the two seemed less like two people who had married for an alliance and more like two people who actually chose one another.

But this, watching Lucien now, watching his reaction, is somehow different than the other night, something more than just amicability. It’s almost like…

Cassian refuses to finish the thought, refuses to give the notion any sort of weight. But it’s still there, niggling in the back of his mind. It still has an ache threatening to build and sink its roots into Cassian’s chest. Threatening to twist and shift into begrudging anger.

“We don’t even know for sure that’s where Elain was taken,” Nesta finally speaks up, her voice surprisingly cool and calm. “Our best bet is having Feyre and I scry again for her before we make any rash decisions.”

Lucien scoffs, but Eris nods his agreement at her words, pulling back out a map and spreading it across the table. Nesta stands up, taking a moment to fix the skirts of her dress before she strides forward. She holds her hand out, waiting until Eris hands over the bowl of bones and stones, to turn expectantly toward her younger sister. Feyre hesitates for only a moment before she stands as well, stepping over to Nesta and the table.

“What if it sees us too?” Feyre asks quietly, Cassian’s wolf hearing still picking up the question.

“We’re not looking for it,” Nesta tells her, taking Feyre’s hand in her free one. “We’re looking for our sister.”

Feyre swallows hard, but she nods her head, squaring her shoulders and focusing on the map before them both. Both sisters close their eyes, murmuring whatever scrying incantation they need, the words still so unfamiliar to Cassian. Just like the previous night, the temperature in the room seems to drop, the air stilling and prickling with static electricity. Cassian scoots forward in his seat, keeping his eyes pinned on Nesta.

He swears he can see a slight tremble to her hand where she has her closed fist extended over the map, can see where the blood’s been cut off, her skin pale from the tight grip she has over the bones and stones in her palm. Her whole body stiffens, and Cassian almost rises from his seat before he catches himself again, closing his own hands into fists to keep himself together.

There’s nothing comforting about the silence that settles over the room. It’s more like a yawning void with the promise of teeth and claws. It reminds Cassian of when he was young, of those dark nights in the woods where he swore something watched him back from between the tall, shadowed bark of the trees. Something wrong and twisted.

A minute passes.

And then another.

Something changes in the air, a crackling spark that steals the breath even from Cassian’s lungs. Nesta’s breath starts to come fast and hard, her lip curling back as she pants between her gritted teeth, and Cassian can’t take it anymore, pushing to his feet and striding toward the table. There’s a small noise, one that Cassian can only describe as pure terror, but it doesn’t come from Nesta.

It comes from Feyre.

The youngest Archeron gasps, pressing her free hand to her heaving chest as she all but curls over the table. “I… I can’t…” She turns her attention toward Nesta, blue eyes wide with fear. “Open your fist. Now.”

“No,” Lucien growls, stalking closer to the table again. “We can’t stop. Find Elain.”

“You have no idea what we saw,” Feyre snaps.

The two continue to bicker and snarl at one another, but Cassian tunes it all out. He settles one hand along Nesta’s lower back, able to feel the tension in her body beneath his touch, the small trembles and shakes that rattle her limbs. With his other hand, he reaches up toward her face, gently sliding the backs of his fingers down her cheek.

“Nesta.”

Nesta’s eyes snap open, zeroing in on him, and Cassian once again gets a glimpse of the magic that rages like a wildfire beneath her skin, of the silver flames that flicker around her irises. He doesn’t remove his touch though, doesn’t step away.

“Open your fist, Nes.”

Nesta’s fingers splay, bones and stones clattering against the table as they’re released from her hold, slightly pink from where her grip was tight enough to break skin. Cassian slides his hand around to Nesta’s waist, catching her and holding her steady when she sways. He tilts his head down enough that he can press his lips to the crown of her head, tuck his nose to the golden brown strands of her hair.

“Don’t worry. I’ve got you,” he speaks quietly, only loud enough for Nesta to hear.

“Look.”

Eris’s words are enough to have Nesta pulling away from Cassian, and he refuses to acknowledge the coldness that burrows beneath his skin at the loss. Refuses to name or give in to what feels suspiciously like disappointment creeping up and between his ribs. Instead, he swallows hard and rolls his shoulders, joining everyone else in the room leaning over the table to see.

To see the bones and stones standing on end upon the map, to see them forming a perfect, unnatural circle.

“Good. Now we know where she is, for sure,” Lucien says, pushing off the table’s edge and offering his brother a pointed, sardonic, look before striding toward the library doors.

“Lucien–”

“Try and stop me. I dare you.” Lucien whirls around, and Cassian catches a glimpse of the burning flames infamous to the Vanserras flickering in his russet eyes. “If I have to march into Hybern by myself, then so be it, but I am getting back my wife.”

Cassian half wonders if Eris would, if he’d stop his own brother in order to save Lucien from himself. He half wonders how Lucien might claw his way out of whatever restraints Eris put him in, how he might cleave through any chains or spells to get to Elain. Cassian has to give the male credit for his dedication.

For his devotion to his wife.

That dark, twisting feeling climbs back up Cassian’s chest, twining like brambled vines around his ribs. Around his heart. It feels an awful lot like bitterness, but he’s quick to shove it back down. It doesn’t stop that dark part of him that revels in seeing the mess of emotions wreaking havoc on the youngest Vanserra, to see some semblance of his own emotions and experience finally reflected back at him, especially after how happy Lucien and Elain had looked together the previous night.

It doesn’t stop the voice that whispers in the back of Cassian’s mind, wondering what it would take to draw such a visceral reaction from himself.

“I can offer a squadron of wolves. Just one, though. I won’t risk any more than that.”

Despite the words being for Lucien, it’s Nesta that Cassian doesn’t take his eyes off of. He knows how important her sisters are to her, how much she cares about them. He can still remember their wedding day, when Nesta told him plain and simple that she only agreed because of them. That she chose him over the other factions in the name of protecting them.

The declaration has a new emotion sparking amongst the icy blues of Nesta’s eyes, one that Cassian doesn’t quite recognize. It’s a look he hasn’t yet cataloged, hasn’t yet named, that takes over her expression. Cassian’s heart squeezes in response, and he has to swallow hard against the way his breath threatens to catch in his throat.

“Thank you,” Nesta tells him, her voice quiet and sincere. Just for him.

Cassian nods his head once, determined to keep his own emotions tampered, his own face neutral. “Guess we’re going to Hybern.”

~ * * * ~

Nesta

Nesta twists enough that she can secure the final buckle, pulling at the strap until it tightens. She slides her hands down along her waist and hips, stepping over to the small mirror in the bedroom. It’s almost uncanny, the reflection staring back at her. She had been unsure when Emerie had handed her a pair of leathers to wear, and it’s as strange seeing them on as the fabric feels against her skin.

Still, the Mother only knows what could be waiting for them at Hybern, and Nesta will take any extra protection and armor she can get.

It had been one of the easiest decisions she had ever made, agreeing to help Lucien and rescue Elain. One she’d made as soon as those bones and stones had landed across the map, before she could even voice it. She’d do anything for her sisters, even if it meant storming into what was most likely a trap. Even if it was the last thing she ever did. And she didn’t care what anyone said, including her dear wolf of a husband.

Although, she hadn’t needed to worry about that last one in the end.

She still can’t quite wrap her mind around Cassian not fighting her about going to Hybern, how the only “order” he gave was for Emerie to locate some leathers for her to wear. She still can’t wrap her mind around him offering up his own wolves to help with the rescue. Elain means nothing to him, he has no reason to volunteer his help, and yet…

And that look on his face… Nesta still can’t get it out of her head. The way the hazel of his eyes seemed to burn in a way she’d never seen before. The way that gaze had been pinned to her as he spoke the words. It had been indescribable. It had something warm threatening to unfurl in her chest.

It was dangerous.

Sighing softly and shaking her head of those thoughts, Nesta steps out of the bedroom. She finds Cassian standing in the front room of the cabin, the alpha already wearing his own leathers. It’s certainly a sight, the way the fabric clings to his frame and emphasizes the large muscles of his chest, his arms, his thighs, the way the red hued scales along the shoulders seem to flicker in the low light of the room. With the stubble along his jaw, his hair scraped back away from his face, and the twin blades strapped along his back, he certainly paints the image of a warrior prince.

His eyes sweep over Nesta before he offers a single nod of approval. “This is for you.”

Nesta looks down at the blade Cassian slides across the table over to her, blinking in surprise. Slowly, she reaches her hand out, picking it up. She examines the leather criss crossed tightly along the hilt, pulling the blade free from the scabbard to reveal the Illyrian steel.

“I had Elis make it,” Cassian continues. “Had him make sure it was the perfect weight and balance for you. I know you have your magic, but considering what Hybern may have, better safe than sorry.”

Nesta curls her fingers tighter around the sword, taking a moment to swallow hard and secure it to her belt. “Thanks.”

The silence that settles around them feels charged somehow, prickling along Nesta’s skin. She dares to meet Cassian’s gaze again, but he has that same burning, piercing look painted across his face, and she has to look away. When there’s a short rap to the cabin door, she’s never been more grateful.

It’s time.

It takes a large amount of magic to travel to Hybern, to keep everyone cloaked, and Nesta’s hands are clammy and shaking by the time they’re landing beneath the stretching bark and branches, the dark canopy of trees. There’s the threat of a migraine building in her head, a pressure just behind her eyes, but Nesta breathes through it all, taking in gulps of the cool night air around her.

She can feel Cassian’s presence beside her, feel the warmth that radiates off him from where he’s standing close. She can feel his attention solely on her, the barest brush of his fingertips along her arm.

“You made it.”

Nesta snaps her attention toward the sound of the voice, watching as Lucien stalks out from between the trees, members of the Vanserra coven that she doesn’t recognize following behind him. They’re all dressed in leathers of their own, reds and greens and golds befitting of the coven’s autumnal ties. Lucien has his curtain of red hair tied off away from his face, and beneath the moonlight, the scar across his face stands out especially stark and the flames in his eyes burn especially bright, flickering with anxious determination.

Nesta almost feels bad for whatever Hybernian soldier tries to come between him and Elain.

Almost.

“We’re just waiting for Feyre then,” Nesta offers, glancing around the wood in search of her youngest sister.

“She’s not coming.”

Nesta frowns at Lucien. “What do you mean?”

“I mean she’s not coming. From what I overheard with Eris, it sounds like Rhysand wasn’t as forgiving about his wife in Hybern,” Lucien explains; although, his eyes flick to Nesta’s right as he says the words. “Sounds like there may have been some locked doors involved.”

Nesta has to swallow down a wince. She remembers the quiet, but harsh words spoken between Feyre and Rhysand at the Vanserra manor, remembers the way her sister loudly proclaimed her husband to be a prick. There had been glares and snarls, and Feyre had stormed off in the end, but Nesta thought her sister’s stubborn recklessness would win out in the end.

“If that’s the next rescue mission, you can count me out,” Baz speaks up from Nesta’s left, his whole body shuddering. “I am not going in that place.”

Nesta snorts softly. “Really? Hybern is fine, but you won’t go to the vampire den?”

“I’ll do most things for the Pack, but I have to draw the line somewhere.”

It’s an odd thing to say. Nesta half expected him to make a joke about how Cassian could never order him into the den the way he was ordered here tonight. After all, there’s nothing here for the Pack tonight. Elain has nothing to do with them.

“How about you do something useful and sweep the perimeter.”

Baz makes a big show of rolling his eyes at Cassian’s words, but he gestures with his head, and the other wolves follow him as they vanish amongst the shadows of the wood around them. Lucien leads the smaller group that remains away, daring to press right up to where the treeline ends and crouching down amongst the brush there.

Looking out across the field of tall grass, Nesta gets her first look at the fortress the king of Hybern calls home. Dark stone stretches high and wide, a wall hiding away the towers and keep just beyond. It’s like something out of a fairytale. Or a nightmare. The almost black hue of the stone, the ivy and bramble that creeps along it, the spikes, it all reminds Nesta of a dark thunderstorm.

“There’s a servants’ entrance through that gatehouse there,” Lucien says, his voice quiet. “According to the intel Rhysand’s spymaster offered, many of the servants don’t live within the walls, they come and go each day.”

“A good entrance for us to use then as well,” Cassian comments with a nod of his head.

“My thoughts exactly. If we’re lucky, we can get in and get out without starting a war.”

“Bit late for that, don’t you think?”

“Even so, we clearly don’t have the numbers for a big fight. I doubt you want to lose any wolves tonight.”

Cassian doesn’t say anything, but Nesta doesn’t miss the way a muscle in his jaw ticks, Lucien’s words clearly having hit their mark. He crosses his arms and focuses his attention back on the fortress, eyes flickering as he takes in every detail, as he devises his own plan with all the prowess Nesta expects from an alpha general.

“Well, then,��� Cassian finally says. “Let’s not waste any more time.”

They make it inside the fortress with surprisingly little fanfare. There’s only a trio of guards at the gatehouse, Cassian trapping one in a headlock until he loses consciousness while Lucien and one of his other witches take out the other two. They encounter even fewer as they cross to the servants’ entrance, stepping inside an empty and dark kitchen, stoves and flames long gone cold and the staff long retiring for the night.

“We’ll cover more ground if we split up,” Cassian suggests.

At Lucien’s agreement, he sends the other Vanserra witches to the western wing, offering to take the main house himself. It leaves Nesta and Cassian to search the eastern wing in hopes of locating Elain.

As they creep up one of the servants’ stairwells, Nesta reaches within for her magic. Just as she always does, she imagines stroking her fingers through soft fur, but this time, she gets a growl in response, leaving the hairs on the back of her neck standing on edge, a shiver skittering across her skin. It’s a warning.

It means something’s wrong.

Swallowing hard around that feeling, Nesta tightens her grip around her magic, pulling it forward forcibly until silver flames curl between her fingers, wreathing her wrists and providing light through the winding dark corridors. The distinct sound of blades unsheathing has Nesta’s entire body tensing on instinct, but when she whips around she finds it’s merely Cassian, both his blades raised and ready.

“You feel it too, then.”

Cassian’s lips press into a thin line. “Coming here may have been a mistake.”

“Don’t let Lucien hear you say… that…”

Nesta’s voice trails off as they reach the end of the corridor, her steps stuttering to a stop. The caress up her arm, along the back of her neck is undeniable, and it’s wrong. It curls around her ear until the ringing taking up home there morphs into a whisper, a temptation. A siren song. A sudden pressure starts to build in her chest, wrapping like cold, spindly fingers between her ribs and around her lungs until the air is squeezed out of them. And that grip on her tugs, calling her down and down and down.

Nesta’s entire world tilts as her body is yanked back, the hand pressed to her mouth muffling her yelp of surprise. She tries to struggle against the tight hold before she realizes she recognizes the warmth, the body, pressed along her spine. With a huff, she shoves Cassian’s hand away from her face, turning to glare at him. But Cassian has a single finger pressed to his own lips, signaling quiet.

Carefully, Nesta leans forward enough that she can peer out of the alcove Cassian has pulled them into. She frowns at the dark corridor, as empty as it was before. What has his wolf hearing picked up that she can’t see?

Cassian yanks Nesta back again, out of view just as a pair of Hybernian soldiers come stalking around the corner and down the corridor. Nesta holds her breath as they come to a stop right where she and Cassian are hiding. Her heart skips and starts to pound in her chest. Why haven’t they continued on with their patrol?

“What have we here?” One of the soldiers turns with a sneer, somehow looking directly at Nesta through the shadows. “A little mouse just for me?”

“More like a wolf,” Cassian growls, stepping out of the alcove.

Nesta barely has time to blink before Cassian is leaping forward, both his swords swinging. He takes down the soldier who spoke with ease, a feral grin on his face despite the blood now staining his leathers. Nesta focuses her own attention on the remaining soldier, reaching once again for her magic. She sends silver flames cascading toward the male, but not before he gets off a spell of his own, alarm bells blaring around them.

“Well, there goes our element of surprise,” Cassian comments.

He sheathes one of his swords and grabs hold of Nesta’s hand, pulling her down the large, main staircase. They burst through the large, wooden doors that lead in and out of the eastern wing, coming face to face with even more soldiers rushing toward them. Cassian drops her hand to free his second blade again, resetting his stance so his back is to her. Nesta takes it as the cue that it is. She takes a moment, closing her eyes and breathing deeply. She can feel the swell of her magic, feel the familiar burn through her veins, across her skin, in her eyes.

A smirk pulls up her lips as her eyes snap open again, zeroing in on the soldiers standing before her. Zeroing in on her prey. It’s the only warning she gives them before she unleashes the beast writhing and skulking within, towering flames arcing away from her and swallowing every soldier in their path.

She turns on the spot, toward the next round of soldiers who dare to step up against her. She’s surprised to find a soldier closer than she expects, dark eyes narrowed and lips curled back in a leer. He raises his hand, so Nesta summons what remains in that well of her magic, wills it to thread between her fingers again. But before she can strike, the soldier unfurls his fingers, revealing some sort of blue powder that he blows directly into Nesta’s face.

Nesta coughs, turning her head away, but whatever the substance was, it’s too late. Her vision starts to blur around the edges, and she tries to blink around it, tries to shake it. All the sounds around her seem to fade, the shouts and cries of soldiers falling, replaced by an almost buzzing that presses into her ears. Her limbs feel strangely heavy, and when Nesta reaches inside herself she finds… nothing. There’s just emptiness.

A roar breaks through the haze to Nesta’s right, warm liquid splattering across her cheek, her neck. Greens and golds flood her vision, and it takes her a moment too long to realize it’s Cassian in front of her, his eyes dark with fury, with worry.

“Nesta, run,” Cassian tells her, clearly repeating himself. “Make for the woods, but run.”

Nesta doesn’t need to be told again. She somehow gets her legs under herself again, breathing through her pounding heart, through the hollowness clawing in her chest, as she pushes toward the tree line.

As she gets closer, she spots two wolves charging right for her, one dark gray with a silver underside and the other an almost shaggy brown in color. The gray one rushes ahead, leaping right at Nesta, and she drops to her knees on instinct, a terrified gasp clogging up her throat. She waits for the pain, for teeth to sink into her flesh, but all there is is a pained cry from behind her. She whips around, only to find the wolf tearing a Hybernian soldier to shreds with its teeth.

“Nesta.” Nesta turns around, meeting Baz’s face, the Pack’s third now back in human form. “Are you alright?”

Nesta nods, taking Baz’s proffered hand and allowing him to pull her back to her feet. Whatever magic she was hit with, she still feels out of sorts, still feels unsteady, and she stumbles back a few steps, right into a firm, hard body. Hands on her shoulders catch her, but then they’re sliding down to lift her fully off her feet, cradling her against a chest and enveloping her in the familiar scent of pine and low burning embers. She wants to protest, but she’s tired, so tired, and she slumps fully against Cassian.

“Lucien has Elain. Now, let’s get the fuck out of here.”

—

Taglist (let me know if you’d like to be added or removed): @moodymelanist @nesquik-arccheron @sv0430 @talkfantasytome @bookstantrash @eirini-thaleia @ubigaia @fromthelibraryofemilyj @luivagr-blog @lifeisntafantasy @superspiritfestival @hiimheresworld @marigold-morelli @sweet-pea1 @emeriethevalkyriegirl @pyxxie @dustjacketmusings @hallway5 @dongjunma @glowing-stick-generation @melonsfantasyworld @lady-nestas @goddess-aelin @melphss @theladystardust @a-trifling-matter @blueunoias @kookskoocie @wolfnesta @blurredlamplight @hereforthenessian @skaixo @jmoonjones @burningsnowleopard @whyisaravenlike-awritingdesk @ofduskanddreams @rarephloxes @thelovelymadone @that-little-red-head @readergalaxy @thesnugglingduck @kale-theteaqueen @tarquindaddy @superflurry @bri-loves-sunflowers @lady-winter-sunrise @witch-and-her-witcher @fieldofdaisiies @freakingata

[rosanna-writer]

Karma Is My Boyfriend (1/?)

Summary: Elain Archeron saved countless lives by vanquishing Graysen Nolan, her literal demon of a fiancé. She's a hero, but it's just not fair that being a good witch destined to rid the world of evil has left her tragically, painfully single. Enter Lucien Vanserra, the best cupid in the business, who's been sent by the universe to balance the karmic scales and find Elain the perfect new partner…

Happy Elucien Week! A huge thank you to @popjunkie42 for beta-reading, and my playlist for this fic can be found here. I'm so excited to participate in @elucienweekofficial; we're so lucky to have such a dedicated team of event runners!

Read on AO3 or under the cut!

The new energy in Elain's shop was too sweet to be demonic. It set her teeth on edge—artificial strawberry, discount chocolate, cards fashioned out of glitter glue and construction paper. Nothing at all like the gentle, soothing aura created by the plants lining the aisles of Roots 'n Shoots. Elain felt it following her like a bad smell as she repotted new shipments, packaged online orders, and upsold premium fertilizer to customers who'd wandered in.

By lunchtime, she'd resolved to get rid of it.

Whatever magic was hanging around didn't seem to be a threat, but she hadn't survived three years of fighting evil by taking chances.

She had half a mind to call her sisters for backup; even though Elain was a powerful witch, her premonitions of the future weren't nearly as effective for self-defense as Nesta's telekinesis or Feyre's ability to cause explosions with her mind. But whatever was hanging around didn't seem malicious. Just…cloying.

Elain let her intuition guide her and followed the strange feeling to its source. She walked slowly down an aisle of tall, leafy ferns and kept her eyes peeled.

There—through the leaves, a flash of red. Every molecule in her body seemed drawn right to it, like a compass and a magnetic pole. She hurried towards it.

The flash of red turned out to be long auburn hair pulled into a messy bun. Elain couldn't help but notice the way it gleamed in the sun as she gently pushed a fern leaf to the side to get a better look at the culprit…

And found a mechanical eye staring back.

She squeaked in surprise and jumped backward. The leaf rustled gently as it fell back into place. On instinct, Elain reached deep into her well of power, the same way she did just before vanquishing a demon.

"Well, hello there," the man purred from the other side of the fern.

"Can I help you find something?" Elain said.

He smiled at her in a way that could only be described as radiant. He was gorgeous, and the jagged scar running down the side of his face only seemed to enhance his beauty. Before Graysen, Elain would already have been fluttering her lashes at him.

Now, she just glared in suspicion.

"I think I've found exactly what I'm looking for," he said, which did nothing to set her at ease, even though his expression had gone heartbreakingly soft.

Before Elain could demand answers, he winnowed over to the aisle where she was standing. A risky move—he was lucky there were no mortal customers while the store was closed for her lunch hour.

"Not a single butterfly in that stomach of yours. This is going to be a tough case," he said thoughtfully. He cocked his head, staring at Elain like she was a particularly difficult puzzle he was trying to solve.

"I beg your pardon?" Elain said tightly.

He began circling her like a predator, mechanical eye clicking and whirring. Elain huffed in frustration as her hands settled on her hips. Her strange visitor might not have been a demon, but she didn't have time for anything supernatural with so many orders to fill by the afternoon.

"The meet-cute I engineered just now was some of my best work, but it didn't get your heart fluttering at all. That ex-fiancé left you with quite the wound, didn't he?"

For the last year, Elain walked around with a ragged hole in her heart that refused to close, and to add insult to injury, the entire magical world knew everything about her literal ex from hell. "If you're here to discuss Graysen Nolan, get out of my shop," she said with all the venom she could muster.

"I'm here for you, Elain."

"If you're not an innocent in need of protection, it has to wait."

"Put me to work while we talk, then. I can multitask," he said with an elegant shrug.

She hesitated. The smartest course of action still seemed to be ordering this stranger out of her store, but...she could use the help. And at least he wasn't evil.

Gods, had her standards really sunk that low?

"At least tell me your name." It was irritating that he already seemed to know hers.

He sketched a bow. "Lucien Vanserra, at your service."

"The only service I require at the moment is someone to water my pothos," Elain said with a meaningful nod towards a watering can and row of plants towards the back of the room.

To her surprise, Lucien began filling the watering can without a single complaint. For a moment, Elain watched, telling herself it was to make sure he was doing it correctly—and not at all because he was absurdly beautiful.

She forced herself to turn her attention back to organizing the cards with handwritten care instructions that Roots 'n Shoots included with every houseplant they sold. She could have saved herself time and printed them, but the personal touch was exactly the sort of thing that kept customers coming back to her instead of the big box garden supply store down the road. As she worked, they lapsed into a silence that was almost companionable.

But just as Elain started to relax, Lucien went and opened his mouth again."I thought there might have been an error when the file they gave me said you hadn't had any new partners since Graysen, but now I can see why."

She stilled. "What file?"

"The file that every cupid gets when they're assigned a new charge."

A cupid. Well, that certainly explained why his aura didn't feel demonic, just sickly sweet. Elain had never crossed paths with a cupid before, and she'd been under the impression they were supposed to be a bit more…cute .

"I'm one of your charges?" Technically, Elain was already someone's charge—even after Cassian had broken the rules and married Nesta, he'd remained the guardian angel assigned to protect the Archeron sisters after they'd learned they were witches tasked with ridding the world of evil.

"My only charge, actually. The elders insisted I focus on you and only you, Elain."

"And to what do I owe that honor?"

"You saved the world, and what goes around comes around, sweetie. Offing your demonic fiancé earned you the best and brightest cupid's help with finding a doting new partner."

Lucien said it as if she were supposed to fall over herself in gratitude. But she had half a mind to slap him for the audacity to think he could just waltz into her place of business and treat her like a charity case he'd magnanimously offered to take on.

"A partner is the last thing I need." Elain and her sisters had spent the last several nights rounding up a rogue band of crossroads demons that had been plaguing Velaris's intersections. Casting the vanquishing spells on each street had taken hours, leaving her with precious little time to eat, sleep, and run her store.

It had been the same with the succubi last week, the rabid werewolves the week before, and the banshees they'd spent a whole month rooting out. These days, going on a date was unthinkable.

Lucien rolled his eyes. "You're certainly not going to attract one with that attitude."

That, Elain decided, would be the end of the conversation. She was an Archeron, one of the three most powerful witches ever to walk the earth—not someone who'd allow herself to be condescended to.

All it took was one half-hearted wave of her hand, as if she were brushing away a fly, to activate the wards she'd placed around the shop. Twin vines of pure magic grew from the ceiling, hoisted Lucien up by the armpits, yanked him across the room, and dropped him unceremoniously onto the sidewalk outside. The spell wouldn't let him back in until she changed her mind.

Hopefully, that would be the last she'd hear from Lucien Vanserra.

***

As soon as she got home, Elain marched straight up the stairs of the Archeron manor. She and her sisters had inherited the house—along with their powers and mandate to protect the innocent—three years prior, and the Book of Shadows that never left the attic had guided them through all of it. Instructions for spell casting, potion recipes, taxonomies of every magical creature they might possibly come across…the Book contained it all.

The worn leather bindings creaked as Elain opened it and began searching for the entry on cupids. There wasn't an index; the ancient book was a work in progress by generations of Archeron witches, which meant it was a disorganized mess on a good day. Sometimes, wind would gust from nowhere and just so happen to flip the book to the correct page, but today, she had no such luck.

Hello, Elain.

She jumped, nearly dropping the Book. In her rush to find the entry on cupids, she hadn't noticed the bat hanging upside down from a rafter.

Rhysand—her other, non-angelic brother-in-law. He was a bat shifter that roosted in the attic while the manor had been empty, and though Nesta had been fully prepared to call animal control the night they'd discovered him, Elain had felt horrible throwing him out of his home. But since their family had lost their fortune, the manor was badly in need of expensive repairs, so Feyre struck a bargain: Rhys could stay as long as he paid rent and kept quiet.

He'd married the youngest Archeron sister within a year.

"I'm sorry if I woke you," Elain said aloud. Even after years of wielding magic of her own, she'd never gotten used to Rhys's way of speaking mind-to-mind, a power that allowed him to communicate even when he wasn't in a form with proper vocal cords.

He shifted, wings and fur disappearing as he turned back into a man. The claws stayed in place so Rhys could remain inverted—he claimed it did wonders for his back pain.

"You didn't," he said, "and if there's something urgent, I can call Feyre for you."

"It's nothing demonic. At least, I don't think. Do you know anything about cupids?"

Rhys cocked his head, violet eyes sparking with interest. "I've crossed paths with a few over the centuries. They're harmless."

"Are they all that arrogant?"

"Not in my experience."

Elain bit back a frustrated sigh and turned the Book's pages a little more forcefully than necessary. It was bad enough that the Powers That Be had decided that after Graysen, she was so tragically, painfully single that it required divine intervention, but they'd gone the extra mile and sent their biggest asshole of a cupid to "fix" her, too.

"Hopefully there's still a spell I can cast to keep him away."

"Did someone bother you?" Rhys's voice went cold, and suddenly he sounded less like the brother-in-law she badgered about remembering to recycle and more like the terrifying Lord of Nightmares he also was. Elain smiled; it was sweet, in a way—Rhys was fiercely protective of the people he loved.

"Yes, but not like that. Don't go crushing minds on my account."

"What happened?"

"A cupid named Lucien came to my shop today and said he'd been sent to help me find a new partner."

"And I assume you didn't take him up on the offer?"

Elain shook her head. She'd finally found the entry on cupids, which was barely a paragraph long: Benevolent. Responsible for connecting the worthy with their true love.

The worthy. Elain certainly didn't feel worthy, not after her love for Graysen had deluded her into thinking a demon could change. In the end, she'd done the right thing and vanquished him, but…making that choice had nearly torn her apart. She'd come so close to letting him live.

It had been nearly a year, and the sight of Graysen pleading for his life still haunted in her dreams.

"If you hated him that much, I'm sure the cupid elders could always send you another," Rhys said with a wry smile.

"I don't need a cupid. Business is booming at Roots 'n Shoots, and I have my hands full with protecting innocents and corralling you, Feyre, Cassian, and Nesta. That's more than enough for me."

"Being busy is all the more reason to accept expert help."

Elain closed the Book of Shadows and glowered at her meddling bastard of a brother-in-law. Rhys smirked back.

She started to go, but a pair of massive, membranous wings erupted from Rhys's back, allowing him to release his talons from the rafter, glide upwards, then land on his feet in one smooth movement. Elain crossed her arms, waiting for him to get out of her way once he'd shifted completely back into his human form.

Despite the irritation that was probably rippling off her in waves, Rhys's expression softened. "More than anyone else I know, you deserve to be happy, Elain. Even if you don't feel like you do."

A lump formed in Elain's throat. That meant a lot, coming from Rhys, who was always staring at Feyre like he couldn't believe his luck. "Love you," she said.

"Love you, too."

Despite all that love, he still didn't move, continuing to block her path to the attic's only exit. "I'm sensing a 'but,' though," Elain said.

"I should warn you that if you don't give things with that cupid a shot, Feyre might try matchmaking you herself. And if Feyre does, then so will Nesta…" He trailed off, letting the implications of her sisters teaming up hang in the air.

"Blackmail is immoral." She felt obligated to point it out, though pesky little things like ethics rarely stopped Rhys.

"Immoral and effective," he said, flashing her one last grin before disappearing into the shadows with a gentle gust of night-kissed wind.

[munsons-hellfire]

About Me & Masterlist

18+ mdni (you will be blocked)

skye. 25. she/her. writer. movie fanatic. book lover. music. horror. marvel. stranger things. scream. a court of thorns and roses. shatter me. divider credit: saradika

updates will be monday, wednesday, and friday every other week.

find other information here.

emoji system: fluff - 🫧, angst - 🥀, smut - ❤️‍🔥, dark themes - ☠️

MASTERLIST (Updated: 03/30/24)

CASSIAN

Chaos (Ongoing | Original Character: Evangeline Nightbane | Playlist | 🫧🥀❤️‍🔥☠️) - Prologue, Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5

Lost (Ongoing | 🫧🥀❤️‍🔥☠️) - Part 1, Part 2 (Coming Soon)

AZRIEL

My Love Will Never Die (Ongoing | Original Character: Circe Archeron | Playlist | 🫧🥀❤️‍🔥☠️) - Intro Summary: Circe Archeron, Prologue, Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5

Broken (Kallias!Sister Reader)

Untitled (Coming Soon)

You're Losing Me (Ongoing | 🫧🥀❤️‍🔥☠️) - Part 1, Part 2 (Coming Soon)

The Last Time (Coming Soon)

RHYSAND

You're Losing Me (Ongoing | 🫧🥀❤️‍🔥☠️) - Part 1, Part 2 (Coming Soon)

ERIS VANSERRA

My Love Will Never Die (Ongoing | Original Character: Circe Archeron | 🫧🥀❤️‍🔥☠️) - Intro Summary: Circe Archeron, Prologue, Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5

The Power of Emotions (Ongoing | Archeron!Reader | 🫧🥀❤️‍🔥☠️) - Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

Happiness In The Heart 🫧🥀

Ice & Fire (Coming Soon | Archeron!Reader)

Untitled (Coming Soon | Rhysand!Sister Reader)

LUCIEN VANSERRA

Chaos (Ongoing | Original Character: Evangeline Nightbane | 🫧🥀❤️‍🔥☠️) - Prologue, Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5

Untitled (Coming Soon)

The Last Time (Coming Soon)

How Did It End?

TAMLIN

Life Eternal 🫧🥀

Untitled (Coming Soon)

HELION

We're Just Friends 🫧🥀

Discovery of Memories (Ongoing | 🫧🥀❤️‍🔥☠️) - Part 1, Part 2 (TBA)

POLY!BAT BOYS

Forever Together (Ongoing | 🫧🥀❤️‍🔥☠️) - Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

POLY!FEYSAND

How Did It End?

EDDIE MUNSON

The Dark Paradise (Ongoing | Biker!EM x Teacher!Reader | Playlist | 🫧🥀❤️‍🔥☠️) - Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6

Ruin My Life (Ongoing | Older!Rockstar!EM x Pop Star!Reader | Playlist | 🫧🥀❤️‍🔥☠️) - Chapter 1, Chapter 2

A Curse (Fem!Harrington!Reader) 🫧🥀

I Always Knew 🫧🥀❤️‍🔥

Runaway Bride (Coming Soon)

STEVE HARRINGTON

Season Of The Witch (Ongoing | Witch!Reader | Playlist | 🫧🥀☠️) - Act 1: Prologue, Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5 | Act 2: To Be Announced

STEDDIE

Broken Hearts Can Be Mended (Ongoing | Writer!Reader | Playlist | 🫧🥀❤️‍🔥☠️) - Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 3, Chapter 5

PEDRO PASCAL

Debut (Completed) - Part 1, Part 2 🫧🥀

JOSEPH QUINN

Fall Into Me 🫧🥀☠️

ROBBIE MERCER

All Your Fault (Platonic!Robbie Mercer) 🥀☠️

STEVE ROGERS

It All Fell Down 🫧🥀

EVERETT ROSS

Forbidden 🫧🥀

CIA!Avenger Reader Headcanons 🫧🥀

JANE FOSTER

Reunited In Valhalla 🫧🥀

JJ MAYBANK

Mutual Feelings (Fem!Character) 🫧🥀

KATE DENALI

Human/Vampire!Reader Headcanons

Untiled Human!Reader Series (Coming Soon)

LINKS TO OTHER SOCIALS

Spotify

AO3

Pinterest

Wattpad

[acourtofkindness]

Thank you for sending in all the stories, here you can find the collection! Some of these are one-shots, some are longer stories, just click your way through them and also check out their other fics!

A Court of Vice and Victors

by @wishcamper Acosf rewrite where Nesta actually gets help and she and Cassian have a healthier dynamic, plus an Illyrian murder mystery

Pages Turned

by @climbthemountain2020 A character study on Nesta Archeron, the hardships she's faced through her life, and how they've shaped her as a person.

Could You Love Me While I Hate Myself

by @witch-and-her-witcher Humans have just been freed from servitude to the fae after years at war on Prythian and times are desperate for Nesta Archeron. With Feyre MIA and Elain a shell of herself, her options are becoming increasingly limited. When one of the young fae warriors, Cassian, who has carved a name for himself on the battlefield proposes to her after recognizing a mating bond between them, Nesta doesn't see any choice but to agree to take him as her husband and move herself and her sister to his home Court and the wilds of Illyria. War brings them together, a bond binds them - but is that enough for two broken people to find love with each other?

Firm and Fragrant Still the Brambleberries

by @foundress0fnothing When Nesta became a nurse at the start of the war, she could not have predicted a patient as challenging as Lieutenant Cassian Davies, nor he a nurse as captivating as her. As the same war that brought them together threatens to tear them apart, Nesta and Cassian must navigate the complexities of love and duty to find the way back to each other. A WWI historical AU.

Wreck My Plans, That's My Man

by @c-e-d-dreamer Drummer for the Bat Boys, Cassian has a large following, but sometimes Nesta doesn't appreciate fangirls calling themselves "Cassian's future wife."

It Looks As Though You're Letting Go

by @Darkcat18 (on ao3) Everyone is born with an arrow on the back of their hand which points to their soulmate at midnight on their eighteenth birthday. After her parents' disastrous marriage and her father's subsequent depression following the death of her mother, Nesta realized a soulmate is nothing more than guaranteed heartache and ruination. On the eve of her eighteenth birthday, she packs up her car and leaves her family and life behind forever. What she doesn't count on, however, is having a soulmate like Cassian, who may be the one to prove to her that a soulmate is what she needs.

I Guess It's Half Timing (And The Other Half's Luck)

by @moodymelanist Nesta and Cassian have a steamy one-night stand while out celebrating St. Patrick’s Day, but their lives are changed forever once Nesta realizes her period is late. Follow along as Nesta and Cassian navigate preparing to become parents, balancing their other life stresses, and figuring out their feelings for one another!

Amidst the Madness

by @This_Immortal_Hope (on ao3) Love and war have always followed the same rules: Quick to ignite, slow to extinguish. There aren't many things Cassian has dared to openly want in his 500 years of existence. Not even the position he currently occupies as Lord of Windahaven (far too lofty a spot for nothing more than a well-blodded bastard, if you ask the other Illyrian Lords), but from the second Nesta Archeron stepped foot in his camp, the entire world ebbed into a single truth. She is his. He is hers. Everything else - the war he is meant to lead, the people relying on him, the legacy he should be fighting to protect, cease to exist the second his eyes are caught in roiling silver flames. There is pain in this female, his female. And retribution will be exacted. Rhysand has his war, and now so does Cassian. Whether the two align ... only Nesta can give that order.

Sweetest Con

by @separatist-apologist Nesta Archeron has been trapped in witness protection for the past five years, hiding a secret no one can ever learn. All she has to do is wait out the criminals back home determined to punish her and her sisters for a lie they told years before. She can handle anything- even the new agent sent to keep her safe.

The Whole Truth

by @TheTeaQueen (on ao3) A beautifully heartbreaking story about what if Papa Archeron used/sold Nesta back in their village, and the IC learning this truth. It features Rhys and Nesta sibling bonding over their respective SA traumas. And Cassian helping Nesta to heal and feel comfortable with touch again

The Nesta Variation

by @persegrace (on ao3) A modern AU where Cassian is a military vet and Nesta is a former ballet dancer. They're both dealing with trauma, and meet in AA.

Ultima Ex Nobis

by @fieldofdaisiies Six years into a global pandemic which was caused by a mass fungal infection that turns hosts into zombie-like creatures and makes the whole of Prythian collapse, the former army general Cassian Cadell is tasked with one very special mission – escorting Nesta Archeron, one of the few immune survivors, across a post-apocalyptic Prythian to a group of people of the name L. Their identity is unknown but they can make an antidote.

you make my motor run

by @wilde-knight When Nesta and Cassian are set up on a blind date, neither of them can imagine their families feeling whole again. But with sparks flying between them, will they finally be able to imagine the road ahead?

[the-lonelybarricade]

LB my dear dear! I have devoured all yours and MB's ao3 works till date ❤️🤌 and I am feeling pathetically ravenous for more 🫠. Although my question is- since I have seen people asking you for suggestions as to which blog and which writer to look to for more feysand/elucien content I would like to request the same only and only if you are comfortable and have the time for this pressing request. And thank you even if you couldn't for some reason im only scared since you are busy and wouldnt want to burden you with such an exigent task. . I'm sorry to bother you That would be it 🥺 👉👈

You want blog suggestions for Elucien/Feysand authors? And you think you're bothering me??? Anon, this happens to be my exact area of exertise and there is nothing love more than hyping up my friends!

To kick us off my lovely friend @velidewrites is an extraordinarily talented writer and artist, and also just an all-around ray of sunshine whose blog I cannot recommend enough.

There's also @writtenonreceipts who's every work is literal potery. Pick any of her stroies and you will come undone.

@belabellissima has a beautiful Feysand/Elucien series called the State of Grace and is also one of my favorite people 🥺💝

@azrielshadowssing also regularly feeds us with delciioiusly sinful Feysand and Elucien stories 🥰 hehehe definitely read the tags though!

Among a host of other incredible fics, @damedechance has an onlyfans series that will make you feral - Playgirl (Elucien) and darling.exe (Feysand) 👀👀 Come back to me once you finish losing your mind

@xtaketwox and @itsthedoodle come as Feysand/Elucien pair hehe. @xtaketwox has treated us to lots of goodies, but I wanted to highlight her modern soulmate AU which has a dedicated work for Feysand, Elucien, and Nessian! @itsthedoodle has written so many beautiful feysand oneshots and is the sweetest, most unhinged person you'll ever have the pleasure of knowing.

@asnowfern is so talented and writes for a lot of different pairings, including Feysand and Elucien! Right now she's working on a stunning Feysand AU inspired by a chinese legend called Till Forever Falls Apart

if you're a fan of next-gen, @areyoudreaminof has lots of adorable fics and headcanons centering around Elucien and Feysand as parents!

@witch-and-her-witcher again writes for many couples, including Feysand and Elucien! She recently wrote a Feysand and Nyx oneshot, The Little Tiger, that completely fractured my heart and put it back together.

@thegloweringcastle is another extremely talented writer who has a wealth of feysand and elucien fics! One I really love is the The Law of the Land which is a Feysand western AU with background Elucien 🤠

@darling-archeron has been in this fandom since 2016 and in that time has blessed us with so much wonderful Feysand and Elucien content!! (One day you really need to sit us all down and tell us the fandom lore we all missed out on from the acomaf/acowar releases 👀)

@iambutmortal has a lot of delicious Feysand and Elucien stories! For Elucienweek last year she wrote a really addicting story called The Honeymooners

@labellefleur-sauvage has written so many incredible Elucien fics! As well as a very delicious monster!Feyre fic called Meet Me In the Woods hehehe 👀

@foundress0fnothing always blows me away with her writing. For Elucienweek last year she wrote an Elucien sex cult fic titled Both Forever and Rather Die that lives in my head rent free.

@howlingcaptaincommando is working on a really amazing pirate AU, Never Shall I Die, centering around Elucien, Nessian, and Feysand!

@vulpes-fennec has so many lovely stories, including her Prythian Fantasia WIP which centers on the Archeron sisters and their mates 😍

@popjunkie42 has yet to dip her toes into writing Elucien but maybe one day we can convince her 👀👀 That said she has so many amazing Feysand works such as Hate Me Instead and her current WIP Blossoming In Winter.

Likewise my dearest friend @wilde-knight has only written Elucien and Nessian, but I can't recommend her works and blog enough!! She's working on an amazing Princess Bride AU called Burnished Gold

@captain-of-the-gwynriel-ship is a die-hard Feysand, Elucien, Gwynriel, and Nessian! Currently they're working on a Feysand fic Five Minutes to Midnight which also features background Elucien!

@octobers-veryown creates so many wonderful moodboards for variuos ships and characters! I cannot recommend following them enough💕

And finally @rosanna-writer, @reverie-tales, @thesistersarcheron, and @starfall-spirit are my multishipping queens 🥰 On their blogs you'll find wonderful content for Feysand, Elriel, Elucien, and other ships as well!

[popjunkie42]

sirens in the beat of your heart (read on AO3)

A humble offering for @nestaarcheronweek 2024! This is for @witch-and-her-witcher who is my fearless beta and takes all my writer whining in stride!

Nesta watched Feyre breathe, watched the tension in her with some queasy feeling. At how quickly tempers still flared between them.

So different from her Valkyrie sisters. They were a unit, complements to each other. Unlike the Archeron sisters, always discordant foils to one another. An ongoing play of hurts and scores and changing allegiances that tore at them all.

The specter that was between them: sleeping but still present, of jealousy. Of hunger. Of two skinny, vicious girls scrabbling for whatever was left on the table. Teaching themselves not to need love from the inhospitable desert that was their family.

Feyre took deep breaths until her muscles relaxed, just a little.

Or: Nesta and Feyre try out a bit of their new relationship post-ACOSF.

Behind the cut or Read on AO3.

It wasn’t the dull, constant thud of knives in wood that drove Nesta to the roof.

The truth was she couldn’t sleep, feeling a restlessness inside of her that had her lacing up her boots and leaving Cassian alone, sprawled out on their oversized bed.

The House of Wind was silent at night, except for the wind that sometimes howled outside, the cold stone air smelling crisp and mingling with the ash of dead fires from the evening. Nesta moved quietly, reluctant to break the stillness, heading towards the roof for a breath of fresh air.

At the first noise she had tensed, reaching for a knife that wasn’t at her side, but quickly relaxed when she saw the familiar lazy braid of her sister.

The night sky hung over the training ring like a dome, the jeweled stars of the Night Court sparkling overhead. It was a cold night, for spring, and a chill wind whipped across the stone, masking her footsteps.

Feyre was in leathers that looked a size too tight, thrown on hastily. Her youngest sister was never one to shy away from the casual or practical but tonight she looked…disheveled. Light hairs were whipping out of her braid, a halo of fine, frizzy hair framing her forehead and temples. Her boots were thrown on without being laced. She stumbled in them as she leaned forward for a throw.

There was also the fact that she was flinging knives, alone, at almost three in the morning. At someone else’s house.

Only one knife was lodged in the painted wood target, others littered around it. As Feyre released another blade, the wind kicked up and blew the dagger wide.

“Shit,” she muttered into the night.

“Your stance is crooked,” Nesta observed, walking up behind her before she could grab another blade.

Her sister gasped a little and whirled around, revealing a blotchy red face, blue eyes puffy with tears.

“Nesta,” she said, sounding guilty. Feyre quickly wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand. “Did I wake you up? I’m sorry. I just — I didn’t want to wake anyone at home and I thought it would be quieter —”

“You didn’t wake me. What’s wrong?” Nesta’s mind ran through the options — she wouldn’t be here if something happened to Nyx, and to be alone— “What did he do?” she asked, ready to draw blood.

Feyre laughed in exasperation, sniffling. “Rhys didn’t do anything. I’m fine.”

She turned away, and another knife flew through the air, silent and fast, missing the target by an inch and clattering on the ground amidst a dozen other failed attempts.

“You need to loosen your shoulders.”

“Thanks.” Her voice was clipped, her back stiff. Nesta wondered if she had been hoping for Cassian to be the one to find her. “Do you want me to leave? You can use the ring or whatever you came to do.”

Another knife thudded against the wood, hitting the target but failing to find purchase. Feyre avoided Nesta’s eyes. She swallowed, sorting through the maze of Feyre’s emotions.

If her little sister thought she could hide her avoidance, or if Nesta wouldn’t rise to uncomfortable confrontation, she was sorely mistaken.

“Feyre,” Nesta demanded. That unsettled feeling was only growing, as Feyre’s magic seemed to crackle and hum in front of her. Like her emotions were a storm about to spill out of her body. Nesta hadn’t woken up tonight prepared to deal with this emotional powderkeg.

The way Feyre’s eyes grew cold, like she retreated in on herself, and the stubborn jut of her chin made her look so young. This was the Feyre she was used to tearing apart over a worn dining table — raw with anger and a little self righteousness, fear and cruelty simmering just underneath.

Someone she hadn’t seen in a while, under Feyre the Cursebreaker, under the High Lady.

“I was just stressed, all right? I couldn’t sleep.”

“So you came here to lose all our knives?”

Feyre went stiff.

Her own wisps of wind cast out and gathered the knives, scraping over the stone and into a gently swirling cloud she brought back to the small table beside her. “Maybe I just wanted to throw things. Maybe I don’t care if they hit or not.”

Nesta didn’t know what to say. So she grabbed a knife and stepped up to her sister.

“We don’t have to talk if you don’t want to.” Maybe she could call Cassian. Her stomach sank a bit at the thought, the guilt. Maybe Cassian would be better at this, maybe he wouldn’t fumble and stomp his way through Feyre’s mess of emotions.

Thunk. The tip of Nesta’s knife buried into a bullseye.

Feyre huffed.

This time when her sister stood she anchored her back foot, setting the other in front, bouncing her wrist to feel the weight in her hand.

She pulled back her arm, stepped forward and they both watched as the knife went short, skidding loudly across the stone.

“Your stance is too tight. You need to loosen up your back a little, let your arm go.”

Feyre grunted, her lip curling up in a little angry sneer.

“Hey. Look at me.”

The eyes that met hers were like a beast in the forest.

There was her feral little sister. For a while now she had been the cool High Lady, the head of her house, the responsible sister. To see her old anger flare up again startled Nesta.

They were both far too powerful now to let it get the better of them.

“Take a deep breath. Just like me. And hold. Ready?” Nesta exaggerated the swell of her lungs, the lift of her shoulders. Cold night air filled her chest and she felt her feet ground into the stone, like she was an extension of the mountain.

Feyre fought her at first. She had to close her eyes to take in the deep breaths and let go.

“Let your thoughts come to you, whatever’s on your mind. Just let them fill you and then pass through. Keep breathing.”

Nesta watched Feyre breathe, watched the tension in her with some queasy feeling. At how quickly tempers still flared between them.

So different from her Valkyrie sisters. They were a unit, complements to each other. Unlike the Archeron sisters, always discordant foils to one another. An ongoing play of hurts and scores and changing allegiances that tore at them all.

The specter that was between them: sleeping but still present, of jealousy. Of hunger. Of two skinny, vicious girls scrabbling for whatever was left on the table. Teaching themselves not to need love from the inhospitable desert that was their family.

Feyre took deep breaths until her muscles relaxed, just a little.

“I’m sorry. I know you’re trying to help,” she finally said.

Nesta’s voice was as cold as ice. “I think maybe we spent so long fighting over scraps, and now it’s hard to remember —”

“That there’s enough?”

Nesta nodded.

It was hard to put into words. She was still getting used to the endless affection that poured from her mate, how she could ask for things and be given them without a thought, without a cost.

Even though a new peace lay between her and Feyre, the old scars were human, and wouldn’t heal so easily.

“Why don’t you tell me why you’re here?”

Feyre sighed again, her eyes focusing on the shining knives in front of her.

“Nyx finally went down and I was trying to fall asleep, but I remembered this fae a few weeks ago who came to petition — she and her family needed help with their farmland since their father died unexpectedly. And I told them we would send assistance — and then I just — forgot.” She swallowed thickly.

“I got up and was at my office trying to find the notes, and Rhys tried to send me back to bed, like he isn’t up working late into the night most days. Like the weight on me isn’t the same as his,” she played with a knife, pricking her fingertips on the tip of the blade idly.

“Then Nyx started crying, and it was like my whole body seized up. It was weird. It was like…my body didn’t belong to me.” Feyre shook her head, looking pale. “I just thought about that family, waiting every day for help, waking up every morning thinking ‘this will be the day.’ And I just…forgot.”

For a moment, something vicious slithered inside Nesta’s gut: a preening, satisfied feeling. At perfect Feyre, finally stumbling for once.

No. Nesta breathed through the thought, watching her sister’s tight face. Checked frantically that her shields were up.

That was an old way of thinking. When she thought they were competing. Let the thought pass through you. Feel it and let it go.

Nesta shifted on her feet. This was her terrain, her familiar training grounds. How would Feyre fit in this space?

She tried to shift the way she saw her sister. How would Cassian, or Azriel, size up a new recruit? What would Nesta feel towards her if she was a new priestess, walking nervously through that door?

How had she felt when she saw Gwyn pass that threshold for the first time, scared and seeking strength? Why was her sister any different?

“I might not be able to give any High Lady advice. But why don’t you pick up a sword? Let your body work it out.”

Feyre shook her head, her arms wrapping around her stomach. “I haven’t trained in months. And — I feel different. My body feels different. Even with everything healed I just feel…changed.”

“We can start at the beginning. I won’t go too hard on you.” Nesta cocked her head, unsure of what to make of the writhing mass of Feyre’s emotions.

“I don’t want this. I don’t want to —” Feyre paused, looking away, unable to meet Nesta’s eyes. “I don’t want some competition to see who’s the better fighter. You can be the warrior now. I don’t want it. Maybe I never did.”

Nesta swallowed. Thought about the emptiness that came when she first spilled blood –

She let the thought pass through. Focused back on Feyre, circling her slowly, watching the way she was tracked with her sister’s eyes, how her body turned instinctively to keep Nesta in her sights.

Not a fighter, she said.

This one needed an anchor. A goal. Something outside of her own panic to hold to, to pull herself up.

“Koschei is coming.”

Her words were casual. As if he were arriving tomorrow for tea.

Feyre’s face hardened. “Yes.”

“And are you ready to face him? Ready to protect your family?”

“Nesta…”

“Are you?”

Silver lined Feyre’s eyes. Nesta felt her heart crack. But she stayed still.

“No.” It was a whisper in the wind.

She watched as Feyre worked through it, the seizing fear, the desperation, the stubborn Archeron resolve to face it.

Mother knew there was nothing Nesta wanted more than her life here, small but full, with Cassian in her bed and next to her in the training ring, with her friends nearby and her work. Growing every day, luxuriating in love and happiness and sore muscles like it was a warm bath.

But Rhysand had shared Cassian’s memories with them all, of a frozen lake, of a chill wind that promised death and malice. Of even Cassian’s quaking fear.

“Then we’ll get there. I’ll help you. If you want. Or Cass can or — whoever you want.”

Nesta tried not to feel the worry of rejection. Every swing of the axe, or pull of the bow in lessons between them before had been fraught with sizzling tempers and cold viciousness.

She thought about Gwyn and Emerie, about Roslin and the other priestesses she worked with, encouraged, cheered for everyday. Thought about those emotions like a cloak and tried to see how it would fit around her sister.

“You would train me?” Feyre asked. Nesta tried not to bristle at her surprise, at whatever part of that offer caught her sister off guard.

“I could show you the Valkyrie techniques that will work with your Illyrian training. Sometimes these days, I’m the one teaching Cassian things.”

Feyre gave a watery grin. “I’m glad. Someone needs to check that Illyrian arrogance.”

“Maybe that’s why we’re mates. The Mother knew they all needed to be put in their place.”

A blade turned slowly in her sister’s hand. “You’re the Oristian.” A small, wistful smile came over her face. “I wish I could’ve been there when Devlon and the camp lords found out.”

Nesta’s smile was cold. “They don’t know what they’ve unleashed.”

“I’m proud of you,” Feyre said, her voice a choked whisper, Nesta's eyes going wide. “Not that — I know you don’t need —”

“Feyre.” At her tone, her sister stopped babbling. “That’s —” Nesta took a deep breath, letting all the discomfort and swaying emotions from her sister settle and pass through. Whatever anger or resentment she might have from before had washed away when she smelled the blood in that birthing room, when she had to beg for her baby sister’s life from the Mother herself. “Thank you. It was really hard, for a long time. But I’m happy. I’m happy here.”

Her sister’s chin wobbled and her face crumpled just before she buried it in her hands.

Breathe. In and out.

Nesta thought about her Valkyrie sisters. How sharing their heavy stories had made them feel lighter. How they looked into each other’s souls and didn’t turn away.

“Feyre. It’s ok.” Nesta rested her hand on Feyre’s arm, feeling her body shake with sobs under her palm.

At her touch, Feyre fell forward, burying her face in Nesta’s shoulder, covering her leathers with tears.

Nesta stiffened, unused to her sister’s touch.

Hating how she felt like her mother.

How would she want her mother to hold her? How would they all hold Nyx from this day forward —-- without reservation?

You can do this.

She could do it —-- accept love, and give it too. It would be hard but —-- she reached out her hand, pulling Feyre closer, rubbing her back gently, breathing through her discomfort and trying to bring down those walls.

When Feyre had tired herself, she stepped back, looking somewhat ridiculous with a swollen nose but with a new lightness in her eyes.

“I thought — I worried — you and Elain might never be happy here.” Nesta thought of her library and her friends there, of Cassian’s scent, and his stupidly handsome face. Happy.

The moment sat quietly between them, Feyre’s fears and the miles they’d traveled unraveling.

“I’m sorry I’m falling apart,” her brow furrowed in frustration. “I had Nyx and everything makes me cry now. Yesterday I stepped on a worm in Elain’s garden and Rhys raced home from the Governor’s council because he thought I was dying.”

Nesta’s lip curled. “I think Nyx has the power to turn all of us soft.”

“Do you ever look at him, and —” Feyre stopped short, like the words died in her mouth.

“What?”

“Sometimes I look at Nyx, and I think…I hate them. Mother. And…father. Sometimes.”

Nesta stayed still. Like the admonition would have her sister bolting at any wrong move. “I think I know what you mean.”

Feyre nodded. “I love him so much. And how could they have seen us so young and still do what they did? How could they have let themselves look away? It seems impossible. And then I worry: what if there’s some secret terrible thing that will happen that will make me feel the same way someday?”

“You will be a thousand times a better mother than our parents ever were to us. There’s no way you could ever be like them, Feyre. It’s impossible.”

“But —”

“Feyre. You’re a good mother already.” Feyre’s chin wobbled again. “And if you do slip up, I’m sure your sisters will let you know about it.”

Feyre took a deep breath, in and out through her nose. “You promise?”

“Try and stop us.”

A smile was on her sister’s face.

Nesta grabbed a throwing knife, the metal warming in her hand.

“Ok, do ten shoulder rolls, then we’re working on your stance.”

The yellow-pink fingers of dawn were pulling at the horizon by the time Feyre’s boots were tied, her muscles stretched. It wasn’t enough to warm them, yet, but the light shone on something brighter in Feyre’s face. Nesta reveled in the new feeling of being the cause of it.

She turned to her new recruit.

“Are you ready?”

[elucienweekofficial]

Elucien Fanfic Crossword Answer Key- One Shots

How did you do? It's our hope through this week of puzzles that folks are able to find an existing fanfiction that speaks to them! Consider these a small masterlist filled with recommendations from the community itself. Below you'll find every fanfiction recommended attached to the author who created it, added in the order they were submitted! Fics were also categorized to their best of our ability. Check them out below!

Heading Straight to You by @lucienarcheron

Inspired by a tumblr post I've also linked below: "I need elain to have her anthony bridgerton moment where lucien asks if she wants him to sever the bond and leave & she goes “do you think there’s a corner on this earth that you could travel to far enough to free me from this torment? you are the bane of my existence. and the object of all my desires."

So I decided to give elucien their own bridgerton moment :) Enjoy!

Hot and Clumsy by @witch-and-her-witcher

Feyre had warned him against falling into bed with her sister - but why hadn't she warned Lucien against the greater threat?

Of falling deeply, madly, inconceivably in love with Elain Archeron.

or

Lucien catches feelings bad in the yoga studio.

full moon, white honey by @shardminds

The worn parchment that had once held a recipe lay untouched in her quarters. She no longer needed it. Celandine, White Myrtle, Brain of a Drowner. Crush, Boil with Spirit, Bottle once cooled. Thirteen words seared into her bones. For the Witcher who too often showed her his.

all is for love, is for mind by @shardminds

Lulled by the song of the wind as it called through the valley, Elain watched the clouds form impossible shapes, carried on the same breeze that cooled her heated skin, and asked the only question she had left.

“What does love feel like?”

Letters by @nocasdatsgay

Lucien takes the brunt of Koschei’s curse and using her powers Elain sees the key to saving him is somewhere in the stack of letters he’s sent her over the years.

Hover Corte by. @areyoudreaminof

On her own self-imposed exile, Elain finds herself in the human lands to offer help to the Band of Exiles and try to make some progress with her estranged mate. Lucien, meanwhile, can’t quite find his footing with Elain. With the clock ticking, can they finally come to an understanding?

This Time, I'm Ready by @lucienarcheron

Inspired by Long Story Short by TS. I was listening to it randomly and a scene of Elain started playing out in my head. Recommend listening to it while reading :)

A Heartbreak in Mid-December by @climbthemountain2020

Lucien gets rip-roaring drunk after yet another failure of a Solstice and spends some time reflecting on the events that led him here. He decides that perhaps it's time to let go of the bond once and for all.

OR

ClimbTheMountain2020 couldn't stop picturing Elucien scenarios while listening to Neck Deep.

A Cut Above The Rest by @crazy-ache

“Wait!” Elain clambered to her feet, jumping off the bed. He looked at her expectedly, dagger in one hand and a handful of hair in the other. What was there to say? That she had always secretly adored his hair just the way it was? That he couldn’t possibly cut it before she even had the chance to run her fingers through it? “Let me do it,” she said.

While on the run in the Continent, Elain and Lucien must discuss what has remained unspoken after a frightening incident.

Desperately Waiting by shipatfirstsight

She tries not to think about Lucien

And now good-morrow to our waking souls by zipadeea

“Good morrow to you, little Lucien,” Rhysand crooned as he stepped forth from the shadowy ether, watching Lucien stand slowly and brush the grass from his trousers. “Here to treat with me again regarding my bargain with Feyre darling?”

Lucien took a deep breath, willing the need to punch the smirk off Rhysand’s smug face out of his body.

“No. Well,” Lucien said thoughtfully. “Yes. I suppose. I want you to keep her. Don’t bring Feyre back at the end of the week. Keep her in the Night Court.”

***

Lucien tries to save the three Archeron sisters. He fails.

Cinnamon and Honey by @velidewrites

Lucien has long given up on his crush on Elain Archeron — until she drops by his flower shop to return a bouquet from her now ex-boyfriend.

I Can't Help Myself From Looking At You by @tuzna-pesma-snova

Years have passed since Elain had last seen Lucien and since she had broken the bond. But once all High Lords get invited to Nyx's 18th birthday party their encounter is inevitable. Will this encounter change everything or not?

Rita's Shenanigans by @vulpes-fennec

Hoping to break the ice with her mate, Elain enlists her family’s help in setting up a night out at Rita’s. A post-ACOSF, Modern AU (with Fae lore).

Troublesome Child by NovaComette

Rhysand and Feyre left for the day and it's up to Elain and Lucien to take care of Nyx. And what hell of a day they'll have to deal with.

Help! I'm Fainting by @sunshinebingo

“I need a healer,” Elain loudly exclaimed. “What!?” Lucien pulled his chair back in a panicked state. Was she sick? What was – Elain reached him before he could stand and oh so gently dropped herself on his lap with a breathless, “Help! I’m fainting.”

...

When his mate barged into his office claiming to be sick, Lucien had to find out what she had and how to take care of her.

bet on me by @crazy-ache

Elain is caught sulking at her sister's mating ceremony. Lucien wagers a drinking game to prove who knows the other best.

“Go on. Tell me all about myself, Lucien Vanserra.”

And there is the matter of something charged sitting between them at the table. He was challenging her. An invitation for friction, a consideration to be included in the joke, a bid to entwine in something deliciously improper. Elain could not remember the last time anyone had offered her anything remotely tantalizing.

Inspiration by @lucienarcheron

Prompt: Modern AU | Aspiring writer Elain Archeron is looking for some inspiration for her new novel when she happens to meet the perfect man for the job.

Forget Me Not by @lucienarcheron

Drunk Elain and her shenanigans.

in eternal bloom by @crazy-ache

On the quest to find the sixth mortal queen, Lucien Vanserra meets a human with brown eyes and that same stubborn Archeron nose. Together, on their search for Vassa, Lucien befriends Elain’s father, and learns a bit more about his mate.

I Like You by @fieldofdaisiies

Elain decides that she is ready to make a move towards Lucien. And yes, it is a bit sad.

Speak Now by @separatist-apologist

I am not the kind of girl who should be rudely barging in on a white veil occasion. But you are not the kind of boy who should be marrying the wrong girl

put your lips close to mine (as long as they don't touch) by @belabellissima

But in the end, it didn’t matter what Elain did to protect the puzzle - three pieces had been missing right from the start. They would never fall into place. Elain felt like that puzzle every time she saw Lucien, every time Feyre brought up his name, tried to push Elain into accepting him. She could see the image, see the outcome in her mind - the perfect life, the love, the children, the years together - but she wasn’t whole. She was lacking those pieces - the one thing that would make her the full image of a perfect, doting wife.

Or: The author saying ace!Elain rights.

Metamorphosis by @starry-mantle

How a butterfly and some reference books lead Elain to reconsider the mate she's been trying so hard to ignore.

A Feeling So Peculiar by @rarephloxes

As Elain struggles to embrace her new body after being drowned in the Cauldron for political purposes she has never been privy to, she undertakes the gruesome journey to dissociate herself from whomever she has ever been or could ever become, Elain feels ready to do what it takes to quiet her mind and dull her senses. In her haste and need to flee while staying inside, she finds herself drawn to knowledge that will change the course of her destiny.

-

Or: The Healer!Elain fic

curses and gifts by @crazy-ache

In which Elain is cursed to live that fateful day with the Cauldron again and again and again. Until a choice is made.

lost in your current (like a priceless wine) by @withclawandvine

On Elain’s birthday Lucien sends her a gift. She decides she’s going to put an end to these unwanted, unreciprocated presents once and for all. Instead, something begins.

Sunshine and Reunions by @shallyne

This Oneshot plays in the same Universe as Sunshine and Promises BUT you can read it seperately

Elain is sick and Lucien visits her

[shadowqueenjude]

ACOTAR ASK GAME

Tagged by @sonics-atelier and @crazy-ache and @hieragalbatorixdottir

Who's your favourite ACOTAR character?

Lucien Vanserra basically since the moment he stepped on page

Who's your least favourite character?

Rhysand.

Say something nice about your least favourite character.

Uhhhhh, he makes a good power bottom for Tamlin?

Who's your favourite High Lord? (If you picked one for your fav character, then who's your second fav!)

Damn, this is tough. Tamlin and Tarquin are super close for me, and I like Beron for his villain potential and Kallias because he’s a simp for his wife…I’ll go with Tamlin though.

Favorite minor character?

Not sure what qualifies as a minor character! Does Eris count? If so, definitely him. What about Gwyn and Emerie? Or are they also too important? If we’re talking truly “minor” character in terms of screen time, then Jurian for sure.

Favorite ship?

Elucien obviously

Favorite court?

AUTUMN COURT. There’s so much potential for an in-depth plot there, and the intrigue, the Vanserras, the aesthetic, that FIREEEEE…

Make up a brand new court RIGHT NOW, NO PREP JUST VIBES.

A Court of the dead! A court where witches and seers and all kinds thrive and interact with the living dead. The High Lord/Lady of that court also rules over the Underworld, which you can reach by descending a super long staircase behind the throne. Weather? Think San Francisco. Hella foggy and misty. High Lord/Lady’s power? Raising the dead. Silver fire. Like Nesta.

What relationship would you have wanted to see more of in the books?

The relationship between the Archeron sisters. Everyone and their mothers interfered in their relationship instead of letting them be girls and figure it out on their own which I believe contributes to how weird their relationship is rn.

What’s your unpopular opinion?

Basically all my takes on the bat boys…

What is your favorite headcanon?

I have two: One that Elain has healing and earth magic, and two that Eris is a pianist.

If you were swept away to Prythian, what's ONE thing you would want to do?

Jump into the Cauldron.

Immerse myself in the culture! I’m trying aaallll the food, and the wine, and convincing one of the High Fae to give me faerie sight for a sec so that I can see everything as it truly is, maybe jumping into the starlight pool…😍

If you could have ONE faerie ability seen in the books, which would it be?

Shapeshifting is SUCH a broken ability, like??? Imagine being able to turn into whatever you want??? Don’t wanna be seen? Shapeshift into a mouse. Wanna go places? Fly by bird, baby. Wanna check if your spouse is cheating on you? Shapeshift into their suspected lover, or hey, become a fly on their wall. Your natural form feels ugly to you? Just make yourself hotter! You can experiment with genders and sexualities, scare people by shapeshifting into a dragon or some shit, like??? Where’s the drawback? It’s sooo cool and it’s not explored enough. As much of a Vanserra girlie I am, I NEED those shapeshifting abilities.

Tagging: @valkyriepegusus @ennawrite @positivelyruined @rin-u-pos @sunbrightheart @tilseptemberends @decadentpostnacho @yoddhasblog

[cressidagrey]

the new witching hour chapter ate ME up!!! SHES SO CUNT UGHHHH i love cate. also how do you pronounce her nickname? i know her full name is pronounced heh-kuh-tee but i don’t get how her nickname should be pronounced 😭😭 another question, are you anti mor? because while reading the chapter i—a morrigan hater, through and through—was saying shit like “YES I HATE THAT BITCH” to mor. idk it’s okay if you’re not but i was so happy she was getting shitted on lmfao ☠️☠️ i can’t wait for more updates <333

Just like Kate just with a C!

Definelty isn’t pronounced like her full name, mostly because after like a 1000 years she decided she didn’t want to be called Hecate anymore 😂

Tbh, I am not anti-anybody (not even Anti-Rhys, even when all my Rhys -bashing stories could tell you another story lol.)

With a lot of Acotar characters I love the idea of them…and then hate like they are written. Like Mor for example is so underutilised in canon…we are 5 books into this series and we still don’t know what exactly her power of Truth is even supposed to be. Can she make things be true? Does she always speak the truth? What is it? I have no damn clue.

With Mor my problem is her treatment of Azriel over centuries. I am way more likely to give the Archeron sisters a pass than anybody from the IC because these people are literally 500 YEARS old. They should know better. And instead Mor just keeps treating Azriel abhorrently, uses his feelings for her against him and literally nobody says anything. They just let her do it? Like what?!

[kingofsummer93]

Ex Luna Scientia

Summary:

Lucien Vanserra, seventh son of the Minister for Magic, is as loved by his peers as he is hated by his family. But behind the charm and irreverence hides a secret, as dark and menacing as the scar on his face.

Elain Archeron, middle sister in a trio of muggle-born witches, has only one wish: for someone to truly see her. Because when she sleeps at night, she can see it all.

Or- an Elucien at Hogwarts AU.

Chapter 20: The Final Trial

Ao3 Masterlist

Ex Luna Scientia : from the moon, knowledge

Elain had never seen the Hogwarts castle as empty as it was in the weeks following the Headmaster’s escape.

As soon as the news of Koschei’s death had been printed in the Daily Prophet (stating both the Ministry’s version of events, and the school’s), there had been a mass exodus at Hogwarts as worried parents pulled their children out of school early. The Slytherin table in the Great Hall was now mostly empty at meal times, with the exception of some seventh years, and, of course, the Slytherin Tri-Trials Champion. Half the Ravenclaws and some Hufflepuffs had left, while the Gryffindor table was mostly intact.

In a covert, whispered conversation, Elain and her sisters had agreed that what their father didn’t know, wouldn’t hurt him. And seeing as he didn’t exactly have access to news of the magical world other than through them, it was unlikely that he would somehow hear the rumors and demand that they come home at once.

In light of the situation, and given that only about half the students were left at the school, the end of year exams had officially been canceled for all students. Professor Amren had refused to dismiss all students early- in a show of solidarity to Helion, or in a refusal to let the Ministry take control of the school, Elain wasn’t sure, but she didn’t mind. Given that most students left were largely Helion supporters (and by extension, ministry critics) and that nobody had to be stuck indoors to study for tests, the atmosphere at school was almost cheerful.

That is, if it weren’t for the giants, stationed on permanent patrol of the school grounds.

The larger, fiercer ones had been assigned to guard the front gates leading towards Hogsmeade, as well as the edge of the Forbidden Forest. Meanwhile some of the younger, less menacing giants had been stationed near the castle and grounds.

A young giant named Grawp had soon become a favorite amongst the students, given his propensity for sitting near the edge of the lake and dangling his feet in the water. His frame, though he was half the size of the adult giants, was still large enough that he created a large patch of shade near the water’s edge, where students liked to lounge.

Immediately following Professor Spell-Cleaver’s almost arrest, Professor Amren and the other staff had locked down the castle in solidarity to their wronged Headmaster. Students who were called home by outraged parents were allowed to leave- but nobody was allowed in. Though the Ministry had placed Aurors at the school gates, and had officially claimed the school to be under their control, they couldn’t very well do anything from outside the school grounds.

Elain had wondered on more than one occasion if that was partly why Amren hadn’t decided to send everyone home at once. Perhaps she thought the presence of students inside the school would prevent the Aurors outside the gates from engaging in outright combat with the giants in order to push their way into the school.

So far it had worked, though Elain didn’t like to think of what would happen once the rest of the students had gone home and the school stood empty. What would Hogwarts look like next year, under ministry control? More importantly, would muggle-borns even be allowed to attend, under the new regime? For some reason she had a bad feeling she knew the answer to that.

On the morning of her penultimate day at Hogwarts, Elain dropped into a seat next to Lucien at breakfast and loosed a heavy sigh.

“I can’t believe we still actually have to compete,” she grumbled.

“I can’t believe they’re letting us compete,” he murmured back, pressing a reassuring hand to her knee.

Since there were so few students left at school, Professor Tarquin had vanished two of the House tables, and the students now sat where they liked, houses mingling together. It added to the air of camaraderie, though the essential wrongness of it was a constant reminder that things weren’t as they should be.

A shadow passed over the Great Hall as a large figure moving outside passed by the windows, casting them in shadow. The other reminder that things weren’t normal.

“It doesn’t make sense,” Lucien continued in a low voice. There were deep bags under his eyes, even though the full moon was weeks away. The fact that the Minister’s own son had allegedly “helped” the Hogwarts staff to concoct a story regarding Koschei’s death was a constant source of gossip in the papers these days, and the strain was wearing on him. Not for himself she knew, but for how it might be affecting his mother. “The school is under siege, and they’re letting us finish this tournament? It’s a joke.”

They’d discussed it countless times before, in whispered conversations with their friends, out of earshot of the staff who now permanently patrolled the hallways at all hours. Why allow them to continue with this tournament, when it was for all intents and purposes meant to be a fun, morale-boosting event?

“Maybe it’s their way of trying to get in the students’ good graces?” Feyre suggested, gloomily stirring her scrambled eggs around her plate. Mor’s father was a die-hard traditionalist and ministry supporter, and her best friend had been on the first train out of Hogsmeade, though reluctantly so.

“It’s going to take more than a scavenger hunt and two-thousand galleons prize money,” Elain said darkly.

Nesta appeared at her side like a storm, dropping onto the bench and exuding violence. “I cannot believe this is my last day at Hogwarts and I have to spend it on this charade.”

Elain peered curiously at Cassian, settling into a seat on Nesta’s other side- closer than should have been acceptable for an acquaintance. Nobody said anything, though Lucien smirked slightly as he glanced down the table at them.

“What would you rather spend the day doing?” he asked innocently.

Elain snorted into her pumpkin juice, but Nesta was unfazed.

“Making memories,” she said simply.

Feyre gagged loudly while the rest of them erupted in laughter. Elain busied herself with buttering a piece of toast, suddenly hyper-aware of Lucien’s hand casually resting on her knee.

They had gone as far as some under-the-shirt petting during a particularly heated makeout session, but no further. The feel of his sculpted abdomen and chest had nearly melted her brains out of her head, and since then Elain hadn’t been able to stop picturing herself ripping his shirt off- and maybe making a few memories of their own. Especially if she wouldn’t be allowed back at Hogwarts next year. At least she would have this, one last bright memory amongst the darkness.

The problem, though, was where. The hallway where the Room of Requirements was located was now constantly monitored. Lucien had explained that there was rumoured to be a secret passageway that led to the Hog’s Head, though he and his friends had never been able to find it. This also meant that she hadn’t been able to go back to the room to look at the stolen prophecy more closely- not that she was particularly inclined to do so, given Helion’s parting warning.

“What about the prize money, though?” Feyre asked. “Who cares why they’re letting you compete- you could still go home with all that cash.”

Her eyes glazed over for a second, and Elain knew what her sister was picturing- not clothing or luxuries, or fancy modern technology, but basic things they had gone without for a long time. Two thousand galleons translated to a large sum in muggle currency. It would be enough for a few months’ rent on a bigger apartment, perhaps one with AC. Maybe they could even get a new car.

“It would be poetic justice for the prize money to go to a muggle-born family,” said a voice out of nowhere. Elain nearly spilled her pumpkin juice as Nearly-Headless Nick appeared at the center of the table, his head hovering over a bowl of fruit. “You should try to win, girls.”

“Excuse me!” Lucien exclaimed, though without much gusto.

The Gryffindor ghost haughtily adjusted the ruffle that kept his head upright, and huffed. “We already lost the Quidditch cup, what’s one more loss to the noble House of Gryffindor?”

Elain snickered, but before she could hear Lucien’s retort she felt someone tap her on the shoulder.

“Elain?”

It was Azriel, smiling shyly. He was one of the few Slytherins to have stayed behind, along with Rhysand. From what Elain knew his family was as ancient and despicable as the Vanserras, and his decision to stay at Hogwarts would not have been taken lightly.

“Can I talk to you for a minute?”

Lucien had gone preternaturally still beside her- the only indication that he had heard. He wisely kept taunting Nick and didn’t react when she slid from the bench and followed Azriel into the Entrance Hall.

The front doors were thrown open to let in the late spring breeze- though the shape of the giant parked at the bottom of the front steps cast the Entrance Hall in shadow.

Azriel glanced at the giant uneasily. “That will never not be strange.”

Elain shrugged. “I like Grawp. He gave me some flowers the other day. Although, it looked more like a small bush.”

Azriel laughed quietly and brushed the floppy hair out of his eyes. “I wanted to give you something. It’s not a whole flower bush, but…”

He reached into his pocket and took out a small vial filled with golden liquid. The substance inside seemed to glitter and swirl, reflecting the rays of sunshine streaming in through the open door. The vial was three-quarters full, and Azriel blushed slightly as he saw Elain notice.

“Your liquid luck?”

“I wanted you to have it. For the tournament. Not that I think you need it,” he added quickly, blushing even deeper. “Just in case it’s rigged, or something. It should be you.”

Elain’s stomach plummeted. “You think it might be rigged? Even though there’s no ministry judges coming for the third task?”

The deputy headmistress had not budged on this- the third trial would be judged by Hogwarts staff only, or not at all. Elain couldn’t blame her for not wanting to let any ministry employees inside the castle. Even an ally like Eris would raise too many eyebrows.

Azriel shrugged, his hazel eyes going slightly icy. “I don’t know, but it wouldn’t surprise me. It should be you,” he said again, pressing the vial into her palm. “Imagine how much it’ll piss them off.”

“Don’t let Rhysand hear that you’re supporting the enemy,” Elain joked, unnerved by the quiet wrath in Azriel’s eyes. She wondered suddenly if he and Lucien didn’t have more in common than they thought, in regards to how they felt about their families.

“We all have a common enemy now. If we let them divide us further it’ll only be easier for them to swoop in and tear life as we know it apart.”

Elain wrapped her fingers around the vial of Felix Felicis, chilled by his words, and what they entailed. The potion was warm in her fingers, glowing bright like a ray of hope.

---

A scavenger hunt. It had seemed too easy when Amren had announced it a week earlier- childish, even, compared to the first two Trials.

The rules were simple- each champion would have to solve a series of riddles that would eventually lead them to a certain artifact, hidden somewhere in the castle. The first to find this object, and bring it back to the Entrance Hall, would win the Trial. Points would be tallied at the end, and whoever ended up with the most points would win the prize money- and the title of champion.

Not that anyone left at Hogwarts actually cared about that title anymore. The only good thing that could possibly still come from this farce was for Elain or Nesta to win that prize money- something Lucien had sworn to them he’d do everything he could to make happen, even if he had to sabotage Rhysand himself.

However, as Tarquin blew his whistle and the four champions opened the slip of paper on which their first clues were written, he realized maybe he wouldn’t have to do any sabotage after all.

Your second clue lies amongst those whose voices cannot be heard on land.

Lucien blinked, and reread the clue a second time. And then a third.

those whose voices cannot be heard on land…

Could that mean…

He looked up at the open doorway to the Entrance Hall and towards the dark surface of the lake on the grounds, glittering as it reflected the sunlight. There were legends that merpeople (and other, even more menacing beings) lived in the lake, but Lucien had never seen one, nor did he know anyone who had.

There was a cheer from the assembled students in the Entrance Hall as Elain rushed by him and towards the marble stairs. She shot him a grin and a thumbs up as she passed. The smile on her face was almost silly with excitement, her steps radiating confidence as she broke into a jog up the stairs.

Lucien breathed a sigh of relief. No lake for her, then. Nesta and Rhysand both set off soon after- Rhysand disappearing into the dungeons, and Nesta following Elain up the marble staircase.

Lucien looked back at his clue, aware of the many eyes trained on him, waiting for him to do something.

“Sometime today, Vanserra!” Vassa taunted from the edge of the crowd.

There was a ripple of laughter around the hall. Lucien flipped her the finger, and then hurried through the front doors before a teacher could tell him off.

The lake seemed to get bigger as he approached it, and infinitely more menacing than it had ever appeared. Walking into the Forbidden Forest, where he’d gone so many times before, was one thing, but this was something else entirely. There were things down there- not to mention the giant squid. For a moment he considered simply wandering around the grounds until somebody won, but there was always the risk that the prize money would go to Rhysand. He had to at least try, so he could give Elain the money if he won.

He halted at the edge of the water. It looked darker from this close up, no longer a glittering reflection of the summer sky but a dark, cold abyss.

“Right,” he said, to no one in particular.

Grawp the giant peered at him curiously from the other side of the lake, where he was sitting with his legs kicking in the water. Lucien snickered at the sight. Grawp was the size of a three-story building but most of the time he was as menacing as a dog.

“Grawp!” he called out.

The giant titled his boulder-sized head at him. Lucien beckoned, and Grawp flashed him a crooked, toothy grin. He stood, wading knee-deep in the lake towards Lucien. His steps sent waves of icy water flooding over the banks, soaking his shoes. The prospect of going into the lake suddenly seemed even less enticing.

When he was a few steps away the giant halted, bending down so he could peer at Lucien.

“Have you ever seen any Merpeople in the lake?” Lucien asked.

The giant blinked at him, his expression good-natured but uncomprehending.

“Umm…” Lucien was suddenly aware of the students gathered around the lake, and sitting in clumps throughout the grounds. He wasn’t sure what the other students had been told about the Trial, but it seemed they had been instructed to spread out throughout the grounds in order to catch a glimpse of the champions.

“Merpeople,” he said again, gesturing to the middle of the lake. He mimed wielding a trident, and then pretended to snarl and flash pointed claws, all the while feeling supremely idiotic.

Grawp’s beady eyes widened in fear, and he hurriedly backed away from Lucien, pointing with a tree-sized arm towards the very center of the lake.

“Bad,” the giant rumbled. “Bad.”

Lucien took that as answer enough. A swim with Merpeople it was, then. He shucked his shoes and robes, rolling up the hem of the pants he wore underneath. A twirl of his wand around his head later, he was surrounded by a halo of cool, crisp oxygen. He had never tested this charm underwater, but he supposed he was about to find out the hard way if he had mastered it enough.

He waded into the lake, Grawp still peering at him closely. The lake was icy despite the heat of the day, and by the time the water reached his shoulders he was shivering. Maybe his biggest problem here wouldn’t be the Merpeople or lack of oxygen, but the frigid temperature of the water.

With one last deep breath he filled his lungs with oxygen, and then dove below the surface.

The water was murky, and even this close to the surface he could barely see a few feet in front of him. He took a tentative breath, and to his relief his lungs filled with crisp air. At least that much had worked.

“Lumos!”

The tip of his wand lit with a thin, golden beam of light that only served to make the water look even more green and murky. Thankfully there didn’t seem to be any sign of movement, squid or merpeople alike. Lucien stuck his wand between his teeth and dove deeper into the water.

The lake seemed to go on forever. As he dove deeper and deeper into the murky depths the weak light filtering in from the surface faded to a faint greenish glow, and then disappeared altogether. The light from his wand illuminated reeds filled with fish- and possibly other things he didn’t care to look at too closely.

Deeper and deeper into the water he went, until he started to worry about his bubble of oxygen. Surely it would hold up as long as he willed it to?

Eventually shapes started to take form in the distance. Blocky, harsh slabs jutting out of the bottom of the lake, like some kind of underground burial ground. As he got closer he realized they weren’t tombs, but crude stone dwellings. The houses were almost entirely covered in algae, and from the windows… Lucien shuddered as he spotted the eyes peering out at him, countless faces contorted in feral grins. He was starting to think that this might have been a very, very bad mistake.

He had just made up his mind to turn around after spotting what was definitely a trident leaning against the side of a house nearby, when he spotted what appeared to be the town square. Or, what would have been a town square had this been a human dwelling. There was a circular open space, with a raised platform in the center. And on that platform stood the ugliest, strangest looking being Lucien had ever seen.

There was a painting of a mermaid in the Prefects bathroom, the occupant of which often flirted with him when he went to take baths. She had the torso of a woman, with long, glistening blond hair that she draped precariously over luscious breasts, and a glittering, scaled tail that she flipped flirtatiously from the rock on which she perched.

What stood in front of Lucien, beckoning him forward with a finger, could not be more different from the pretty mermaid in that painting. Its skin was a sickly shade of greenish-gray, with green hair that looked disgustingly similar to the vegetation that clung to the sides of the buildings around the square. Its teeth were pointy and sharp, and the finger that beckoned to him was tipped in a long black claw. Lucien almost turned around and bolted, but then he spotted the capsule in the merperson’s hand. The figures peering at him hadn’t made a move towards him, and neither had the one standing in the square. They beckoned to Lucien again, and he swam closer, wishing he had thought of a spell to somehow give himself webbed hands and feet so he could move faster through the water.

The merperson dipped his chin and inch, his eyes never leaving Lucien’s, and extended the capsule. It was made of smooth, polished rock, with a groove in the center where Lucien guessed it must open.

Lucien grinned back. “Thank you!” His voice came out sounding like a garbled jumble of words, but the merperson inclined his chin an inch again.

Lucien took that as his cue to leave. He flipped around and pushed off the slimy bottom of the lake, aiming for the surface.

Screw his father and the ministry. It didn’t matter why they were letting the school host this tournament- this was fun. And if the school wouldn’t reopen next year, or at the very least not as the school he had known for six years….he wouldn’t think about that now. He couldn’t think about his father’s werewolf registry, and whether Lucien would be put on it, or if he’d be allowed to come back for his seventh year. He’d think about that later- for now he’d just have this last bit of fun. And if he could win and give the Archerons the prize money, then even better.

Swimming back to the surface proved to be more difficult than swimming down had been, with long weeds constantly tangling around him and Grindylows shaking their fists at him from every angle. He was so focused on getting back to the surface that he didn’t notice the dark, massive presence looming towards him until it was directly above him, blocking his path to the surface.

Lucien twisted around, adrenaline propelling him back down the way he came. His mind suddenly filled with images of the giant squid, opening it’s gaping maw-

Something wrapped around his middle, and he thrashed, though whatever was holding him only held him harder. He still held his lit wand between his teeth, but his arms were pinned to his sides uselessly by his captor. Surely it was the squid’s tentacles- perhaps it would suffocate him before devouring him…

He managed to wriggle an arm free, and whipped his wand towards the vice holding him. “RELASHIO!”

His voice was garbled again, a trail of bubbles escaping his halo of oxygen. Red sparks went shooting out of his wand, followed by what seemed to be a jet of scalding water. There was a horrible noise from somewhere behind and above him, like an angry, surprised exclamation of pain. Whatever was holding him didn’t release him, however, and Lucien realized with horror that he was being heaved towards the surface.

Where were the teachers? Surely they should be watching, making sure that he didn’t drown or get eaten down here…

His bubble-head charm vanished as he broke the surface, and he gasped in a breath of warm air. He was still thrashing against his captor, and had just lifted his wand for a second attack when a familiar voice made him pause.

“Bad!”

Lucien glanced down, and immediately stopped fighting. It wasn’t tentacles wrapped around his middle, but wide, tree-branch sized fingers. He twisted around and was met by Grawp’s rough, boulder-shaped face twisted into a worried frown.

“Bad,” the giant repeated, glancing towards the middle of the lake. “Grawp no like.” Grawp seemed to shudder then, the motion making Lucien sway in midair.

“Yeah, Lucien no like, either,” he agreed. “Hey, Grawp, can you put me down now?”

Grawp wadded through the water and slowly deposited Lucien on the edge of the lake. “Grawpy keep student safe,” the giant said solemnly, and then slumped back on the ground, sending a wave of icy water crashing over the shore.

“Yeah, good job, mate.”

Lucien could have done without the impromptu rescue, but the giant grinned and leaned back on his hands, apparently satisfied with his efforts.

“Tik tok, Lucien!” someone yelled from the other side of the lake. It seemed he wasn’t the only one who had given in to the competitive atmosphere.

He took the stone capsule out of his pocket, and pried the two halves apart. A slip of parchment lay inside, and Lucien dropped the empty capsule to the ground and quickly read his second clue.

Though we are made to fly, here is where we rest.

“What?”

A few students snickered nearby. Grawp angled his head at him in confusion.

Though we are made to fly…

Lucien quickly ran through a list of things that were made to fly. Birds, ghosts, hippogriffs…he looked towards the groundskeeper’s cottage, and the pen at the edge of the Forbidden Forest where the Hippogriffs were kept. Surely his second clue wouldn’t be hidden amongst a bunch of Hippogriffs? He’d had his fill of magical creatures for the day, and would have much preferred to run around the castle.

Though we are made to fly…

The realization hit him like a brick. “See you, Grawp!” he called over his shoulder, and then he broke into a sprint in the direction of the Quidditch pitch.

He might actually be able to win this whole thing. How he’d love to see the sneer on his father’s face when he found out. Although, considering he was letting the school finish the tournament, Lucien doubted his father cared at all. Perhaps it was his way of lulling them into a sense of security.

The Quidditch pitch was deserted as he approached it. He slowed to a jog, and then yanked open the door to the shed where the brooms and Quidditch equipment were kept. It was unusually dark inside, as if the bright sunshine from outside had been blocked by curtains- though no curtains hung from the windows. Maybe it was part of the challenge, and another capsule lay hidden somewhere in the dark.

“Lumos!”

A beam of light illuminated the inside of the shed, as familiar to Lucien as his dormitory. Trunks of Quidditch robes and equipment, and rows and rows of brooms of various ages and quality lined up against the wall. His own Nimbus three-thousand and four hung from a rack on a nearby wall, along with the rest of the Gryffindor team’s brooms.

Lucien went still as he sensed a presence behind him, though whoever (or whatever) it was hadn’t made a sound. And then he saw the shadow, stretching along the dusty floor next to his own. His hand tightened on his wand but before he could so much as react he felt the tip of a wand press to the back of his neck.

“Very good, Vanserra,” a deep, leering voice drawled. The voice was familiar enough that the hair rose on the back of his neck. “That took you no time at all.”

Footsteps sounded as the person behind him walked around to face him. Lucien saw the wand first, trained on his face. And then a grin, feral and devoid of humor or good-will. His stomach plummeted as he took in the familiar face, lit by the glow of his wand.

“Tell me where the prophecy is,” Professor Hybern whispered urgently. “And we can pretend this little encounter never happened.”

Lucien’s mind was blank with shock. His mouth opened and closed in surprise, and for a moment he couldn’t think of what to say.

“What.” Somehow it came out sounding more like a statement than a question.

“Yes, yes,” Hybern said, waving his wand around impatiently, “shock and surprise, all of that. You can agonize about it later. Now tell me where the prophecy is, before I make you.”

“The…how do you know about that?” Lucien took an involuntary step backwards, but Hybern followed him. Turning on his heel and running would be foolish, but surely Hybern wouldn’t actually attack him? He was a teacher at the school, he was…

He was somehow in his father’s employ, in one way or another. The realization sent a chill down his spine that had nothing to do with his clothes still drenched in lake water.

Professor Hybern smiled again, as if he had read the realization on his face. He took a slow step closer, like a hyena closing in on its prey.

“I’m going to ask you one more time, and then things will get ugly.”

Lucien clamped his mouth shut. Whatever that prophecy showed, it was important enough that his father was desperate to get it. Desperate enough to have his mole inside Hogwarts reveal himself.

Hybern sighed. “Very well. I’d prefer the Cruciatus curse, but I wouldn’t want your screams to attract half the school here. The Imperius curse was always more Koschei’s style, you see- at least, until he went soft in his old age-”

Lucien didn’t care to hear the rest. He lunged, throwing his wand out at the same time. “Expelliarmus!”

“Imperio!”

The teacher’s spell missed him by a hair’s breadth, while his own hit a nearby trunk full of robes, sending a cloud of splinters and fabric exploding around them. Lucien used the momentary distraction to extinguish his wand, sending the shed once more into whatever unnatural darkness Hybern had cast. He blindly dove behind a chest full of Bludgers just as another spell zoomed so close to his head that it singed the top of his ear.

Hybern was blocking his path to the door, but if he could just distract him enough, he could outrun him, or even physically disable him. The potions master was hardly fit, Lucien could easily take him out.

There was a low chuckle uncomfortably close to the chest where he crouched. “Oh, ickle Lucien. Your father will laugh when he hears how you cowered from me. He’s always been so disappointed in you, but to hide like this- what a disappointment to the House of Gryffindor.”

Let him talk. Let him talk, do not react.

Lucien felt around the trunk as quietly as he could, blindly feeling for the lid and praying that the hinges wouldn’t squeak. Hybern wanted to rile him up by bringing up his father, but he wouldn’t let him.

“Did you know, he once told me that he only considered himself to have six legitimate sons-”

Lucien jumped to his feet, letting the trunk snap shut as he threw a Bludger as hard as he could at the mass of shadows in front of him. There was a grunt of pain, and a loud thud, but Lucien didn’t stick around to see what kind of damage he had inflicted. He turned and ran towards the door- but Hybern was faster.

“Legilimens!”

This time the spell found its mark. Lucien fell to his knees from the force of it, the breath knocked clean from his lungs. It felt like something sharp and dark was worming its way into his mind, talons poking in the recesses of his memories. Images flashed in front of him, as clearly as if they were photographs. He and Elain walking through the Hall of Prophecy, in disguise. He and Elain in the greenhouses, her hand timidly snaking beneath his t-shirt. Lucien growled, realizing what Hybern was doing even as he was powerless to stop it. He tried to shut down his mind, to fight against that force poking around his mind, but there was no stopping it.

Elain, cheeks pink as he scooted closer next to her in Divination class.

Elain, face ashen as she read Briallyn Scooter’s article.

Elain, tilting her face up to him in the Room of Requirements, after their Patronus lesson.

Lucien’s stomach dropped. He couldn’t move, couldn’t stop Hybern from seeing what he wanted to see.

Elain, sweaty and exhausted looking, slipping a shimmering crystal ball into a chest full of moldy robes inside the Room of Requirements.

The dark presence left his mind as swiftly as it had entered, but before Lucien could regain control of himself something hit him on the side of the head.

And then there was nothing but sweet, blessed darkness.

---

Elain had never felt so utterly confident. She felt almost drunk with it- powerful, in an unstoppable way. There was nothing she couldn’t do. This tournament was a cakewalk. She wasn’t sure why she’d ever been afraid of it at all. She could win this thing in her sleep.

There was a small, rational part of her brain that was aware it was the Felix Felicis talking, but she didn’t mind. Nor did she mind that using liquid luck in official competitions was illegal.

It should also have been illegal to unjustly accuse a man of murder and force him to flee from his school, but that hadn’t stopped the Minister for Magic. Let this be her private way of rebelling, however small and insignificant her rebellion was.

It felt good. Elain had never considered herself to be timid or unsure of herself, but she’d never had the kind of unfaltering confidence that her sisters possessed. Nesta, in her calculating, cool way, and Feyre in her slightly brash, audacious way. But with Felix guiding her movements, she could do anything. Her clues were easily solved, the obstacles blocking her path too easily breached. Her second clue had been blocked by a Boggart, and she had merely scoffed and dismissed it with a flick of her wand.

She had almost laughed out loud when she had reached her last clue.

A stone to help if all else fails.

A bezoar. The answer had appeared in her mind, as if she’d simply conjured it by will alone. The fact that she was terrible at potions heightened her sense of hilarity. Azriel would laugh when she told him. Azriel. He was sweet, if a bit odd- she should really tell Lucien to be kinder to him.

She was walking (not even running- that’s how confident she felt that the other champions weren’t even close to finishing) towards the potions dungeon when something made her stop in her tracks. Unbidden, the room of lost objects in the Room of Requirements flashed through her mind. She felt an inexplicable, urgent need to go there. Now.

She hesitated, fighting with her warring instincts, but only for a moment. Felix knew best. She’d been lucky so far, who was she to argue with it now? With that she spun on her heel and hurried back out of the dungeons, and back up the marble staircase. Out of the corner of her eyes she saw Professor Alis give her a strange look, but she ignored her. It would all make sense in the end. Clearly she had missed something, or perhaps she’d misinterpreted the last clue. Either way, she had to get to that room, and quickly.

It dimly occurred to her that the room might be guarded even now. But surely the Professors wouldn’t block access during the tournament? She’d figure that out when she got there.

Sir Cadogan was oddly quiet when she approached the stretch of wall he faced, his usual barbs or taunts replaced by an uncharacteristic silence. Even his trolls were silent, standing still in their tutus and watching her approach warily.

“Oy,” the knight finally said as she faced the blank wall. “On guard, there.” There was a strange edge to his tone, but Elain dismissed it.

“Yes, yes,” she said impatiently.

The hall was dark, even though the sun shone brightly just outside the windows. That struck as odd, also, but she shrugged it off. Perhaps the Felix Felicis was clouding her vision.

She walked back and forth in front of the stone wall, picturing that room that Lucien had shown her. After her third pass a door appeared, and she walked through it.

It was just as she remembered it. A cavernous room, filled floor to ceiling with detritus of decades (or likely, centuries) past. Magical and muggle artifacts alike, mixed with furniture and all kinds of bits and bobs.

Right. Why had she come here? She couldn’t remember, other than she had felt a nagging urge to be here at this precise moment. No matter. She’d simply look around until she figured it out. All in good time.

She sighed and grinned, her posture loose and easy as she ambled slowly through the stacks of lost objects. There was something melancholy about all these lost possessions. Everything here had meant something to someone, once. It was like a graveyard of memories.

Once again something made her pause. There was a whispering, something nagging at her, other than the Felix. The Felix had urged her to come here, but hadn’t told her why.

Come see....

Look....

The whispers made the hair on the back of her neck rise, and she shivered, feeling suddenly much more sober. Maybe the liquid luck was wearing off. She’d only taken half of what was left- she felt bad taking all of it for this, even though Azriel had given it to her.

See…

Elain had turned and started walking before she even processed what she was doing. Her feet moved of their own accord, and then she was standing in front of a familiar trunk. She knew what she would find inside before she even opened it- and dimly, she recognized that she shouldn’t be doing this. Professor Spell-Cleaver had specifically asked for it to remain hidden, and she hadn’t dared to go against his wishes. And yet, her luck hadn’t led her astray yet.

She pushed aside the smelly robes trimmed in moldy lace, and there it was. Shining as if lit with an inner light, the vapor inside swirling around and around.

See, it urged her. Look.

Her hands had wrapped around the prophecy before she could talk herself out of it. It felt warm, alive in her fingers.

“Well done, Ms Archeron.”

Elain nearly sent the prophecy smashing to the ground in shock. She whirled, clutching the orb to her chest.

There was a brief, idiotic moment in which she felt relieved at the sight of the familiar, if not exactly friendly, face. And then she noticed the wand pointed directly at her head- along with the sinister smile on her teacher’s face.

“Professor Hybern?” Her voice came out high and squeaky.

“You can imagine my dismay when I came in here and saw all this junk. But then in you walked. And I didn’t even have to ask.”

Elain had no idea what he was talking about, her focus solely on the wand he kept trained to the middle of her forehead.

“What…what do you mean? Is this part of the Trial?”

Professor Hybern let out a bark of laughter. “You always were a sweet girl. More so than that disgusting brute you chose to date.”

Elain felt her hackles rise. “What did you just say?”

“He didn’t talk easily,” the teacher continued, ignoring her. “He put up quite a fight, actually. But you shouldn’t blame him, dear. It wasn’t his fault.”

Her heart rate sped up as dread and adrenaline gripped her like a vice. Whatever confidence she’d had from the Felix Felicis was gone- or nearly. Lucien. Her mind was struggling to keep up with what Hybern was telling her. He had somehow gotten to Lucien, and forced him to reveal the location of the prophecy.

“What did you do to him?” she blurted.

He was ok. He had to be. She would know- she told herself that somehow she would know if he wasn’t.

Hybern laughed. “Oh, he’ll be alright. Unfortunately.”

Elain’s shoulders sagged in relief, but then Hybern was advancing on her. She tried to back away from him, but the back of her knees hit the trunk behind her. Her luck had finally run out, it seemed. She was trapped here.

“Now hand me that prophecy, unless you want things to get ugly.”

“Why do you want it so badly?” She was stalling, but she didn’t know what else to do. She couldn’t very well fight him, and there was nowhere for her to run but deeper into the stacks of lost objects.

“Let me worry about that. Give it to me before I make you.”

“It’s mine.” She clutched the prophecy tighter to her chest, edging around the trunk and backing away from the teacher still slowly inching his way towards her. Any second now he was going to lunge at her (or worse) and there’d be nothing she could do to stop it. “I made this prophecy in the first place. It doesn’t belong to you.”

Hybern let out a frustrated growl. Elain wondered if he was reluctant to attack her because she was a girl, or because he was afraid of accidentally smashing the prophecy.

“It belongs to the person about whom the prophecy is about,” he spat.

Elain froze. “What does that mean?” Hybern winced, as if realizing what he had just unwittingly revealed. “The prophecy is about the Minister? Is that why he stole it?”

“Enough of this. I didn’t want to have to hurt you, girl, but I will if I have to.”

Elain turned on her heel and ran just as the professor was raising his wand. The room was a labyrinth of twisted passageways through mountains of junk, and she took turns at random as Hybern thundered after her. It seemed to go on forever as Elain zigzagged deeper into the room. Hybern’s frustrated shouts echoed behind her, wood splintering as curses hit piles of broken furniture.

“Accio Prophecy!”

The orb slipped out of her fingers, and Elain lunged, grappling madly for it. Another curse went flying besides her and hit a stack of thick leather bound books. Elain ducked to avoid the exploding tomes, losing her grasp on the orb. It fell to the floor and shattered, and before she could react dense mist was swirling in front of her, whispering to her.

And then her vision went dark entirely.

She recognized the man immediately, though the look of terror in his water blue eyes was in direct contrast to his usual jovial, if slightly haughty demeanor.

“What will you do with us?” The muggle Prime Minister’s voice quivered as he cowered from the advancing figures in front of him.

A dry laugh, if such a mirthless sound could be considered laughter. “For starters, I’m going to let my dogs here have a bite of you. They’re very hungry, you see, and they’ve developed a taste for muggle flesh.”

The muggle blanched as the two men flanking the Minister for Magic bared their canines.

“And then,” Beron continued, “the wizarding world will hide no longer.”

Elain gasped in a breath as the vision faded and the room came back into focus. Her heart was pounding so fast that she tasted bile. Beron hadn’t simply been building an army as some sick experiment, after all.

She jumped to her feet and whirled before she remembered where she was, and who had been chasing her.

Hybern stood behind her, his face contorted with fury. “You stupid girl. You’ve left me no choice but to kill you.”

“Why?” she blurted. “Why would he do this?”

Hybern’s laugh was low and wicked. “We’ve hidden in the shadows for too long. It’s high time for muggles to serve us, as they should have been doing all along.”

His wand was rising again. He was going to kill her and dump her body somewhere in this graveyard of detritus where nobody would ever find it. Or perhaps they’d come up with a tragic story of how she died in a freak accident during the tournament. Either way, she wasn’t walking away, and there would be nobody to sound the alarm about the Minister’s sinister plans.

“I really am very sorry about this, you know,” Hybern said, almost conversationally. “I wasn’t planning on having to kill you at all.”

“Then don’t,” Elain squeaked. To her horror her throat was closing up in a sob. She didn’t want to die like this, cowering and sobbing, but she couldn’t help it. “I won’t tell anyone.”

Hybern laughed again. Elain used the split second of distraction to scan the path behind him for anything she could use to her advantage. She couldn’t duel him, but perhaps if she could cause a big enough explosion, as he had done with the books, she could-

Her breath caught in her chest. Hybern mistook it for a gasp of fear, and didn’t turn around to see what she had seen. A shadow, growing longer as whoever it was approached on silent feet.

“But you would, wouldn’t you? And then the whole plan would be ruined.”

“People won’t stand for this,” Elain retorted. “The Minister can’t actually think this will work.”

“Bah!” Hybern waved a hand dismissively. “Some will be opposed at first, of course. There’s always two sides to any revolution. But by then the damage will be done.”

“No, it won’t.” Elain would have recognized that deep voice anywhere, and she could have wept with relief as Lucien crept up behind Hybern.

The professor whirled, but Lucien’s wand was already trained on him.

“Expelliarmus!”

Hybern’s wand went flying before he could block the spell, and a split second later the teacher was lunging for Lucien.

“Petrificus Totalus!”

Professor Hybern froze mid-step and hit the floor with a sickening crunch. Blood oozed from his face and what was surely a broken nose, but Elain didn’t bother feeling bad before taking Lucien’s outstretched hand and running for the door.

“Your father!” she gasped as soon as the door snapped shut behind them. “He’s going to kill the muggle Prime Minister.”

Lucien blanched. “I figured that’s what he meant.”

“Today,” Elain continued. “He’s doing it today.” She couldn’t explain where the certainty came from, but she knew it was true down in her bones. Perhaps it was Felix, guiding her with one last bit of luck.

Lucien, to his credit, didn’t question her. “Maybe that’s why he was so keen on Hogwarts hosting the tournament this year. It kept people distracted from what he was up to. I bet he thinks the Headmaster is hiding somewhere near the school to keep an eye on the tournament, and won’t get in his way.”

“We need to find Professor Spell-Cleaver. He has people working with him within the ministry- they can put a stop to this before it goes too far.”

“Go to the owlery, send Andras. Write down everything you know. I‘ll go find professor Amren.”

Elain turned on her heel, but Lucien clamped a hand on her upper arm and dragged her in for a fierce kiss.

“Ugh!” Sir Cadogan exclaimed. “Children, please!”

Elain smiled against his lips, despite it all.

“He won’t get away with this,” Lucien whispered, pressing his forehead to hers for a heartbeat. “And when it’s all over, I’ll make sure everyone knows that it was you who saved the day.”

Elain giggled. “And I’ll deny it.”

“I know. It’s part of what I love about you.” And with that he turned and ran down the hall.

Elain hesitated for a beat, his words echoing around her brain.

“I daresay that boy’s just declared he loves you!” Sir Cadogan quipped from behind her.

Elain felt her face grow hot- and then she remembered where she was. Right. She’d analyze that later.

She broke into a run, and didn't stop until she reached the owlery. The mingled scents of animal droppings and hay hit her like a brick wall as she stepped into the circular room. Owls of all colors and description dozed around the room, but she found Lucien’s snowy owl immediately where he perched next to two barn owls. The owl opened a bleary eye as she approached him, clicking his beak in irritation.

“Don’t look at me like that. I have a job for you. It’s important.”

The bird sat up straighter at that, ruffling his feathers and blinking at her with his mismatched eyes. Elain found some stray parchment and quickly scratched out a letter to Professor Spell-Cleaver, telling him what she had seen and what Professor Hybern had tried to do. When she was done she rolled it into a tight scroll and closed with a piece of string.

“Find Professor Spell-Cleaver,” Elain told the snowy owl. “As fast as you can, Andras.”

The owl clicked his beak importantly and held out a leg for her to attach the note. Before she could do so, however, there was a flurry of movement around her as owls fluttered their wings and woke from their slumber. Andras’ eyes went slightly wide and he seemed to go very still.

Elain whirled, heart pounding, and gasped at the sight of a magnificent phoenix sitting on the ledge of one of the many windows cut into the circular tower. She had never seen Professor Spell-Cleaver’s phoenix, but they were such rare animals that she had little doubt to whom this one belonged to. The bird looked at her for a beat, and there was such intelligence in its eyes that Elain felt like the bird could somehow read her mind.

And then he stretched out his brilliant ruby and gold wings, swooped through the air, and snatched the scroll of parchment from her fingers. Another flap of his ruby wings and the phoenix had flown out of the owlery and disappeared into the late afternoon sunshine.

---

He should have listened to his wife all those times she had urged him to retire.

The Prime Minister couldn’t stop thinking about it as the door to the safe room slammed shut, and the lock clicked into place. If he had only listened to her he could be with her in their country house at this very moment, far away from whatever disaster was currently taking place in the streets of London. And more importantly, it would be someone else’s responsibility to clean up the mess afterwards.

Drugs. That had been the last report he’d been given before getting sequestered to safety. A coup, led by a rogue militia in some type of drug-induced hysteria.

It was, of course, all wrong, but he couldn’t exactly explain to anyone how he knew this. Tear gas and barricades would do nothing against this particular enemy. And neither, he thought uncomfortably as he looked at the solid iron door to the safe room, would locks.

It was them. The others, as he referred to them in the privacy of his own mind. The minister had known something was wrong when that Headmaster had kept showing up to placate him about the odd goings-on in London during the past few months. Attacks, disappearances, not to mention that unnatural fog. He might be getting on in age, and his health might not be what it used to be, but his mind still worked fine, thank you very much.

And now this. He’d have a word with that other Minister once this was all over. He’d warn him to keep his people under control, or else-

A loud pop echoed through the room, and the minister gasped in fright and fell off his chair as three figures appeared in front of him. He recognized the man in the center of the trio immediately, though he had met him only once. The minister would never forget that day, nor would he ever forget the face of the man who had shattered everything he had ever known about the world he lived in. The Minister for magic was a short, stocky man, with cold eyes and a smile that was a little too asp-like for comfort. Flanking him were two men he had never seen before, but their appearance sent a chill down his spine. They looked at him with savage, leering expressions, and their eyes appeared to be slightly glazed.

“You!” The minister hauled himself to standing with as much dignity as he could muster, suddenly enraged. How dare he just show up like this! He was so enraged he didn’t even bother to wonder at the fact that the man had just appeared out of nowhere. The Headmaster at least always sent a letter first, though seeing him walk out of bright-green flames in his fireplace was no less disconcerting.

“I know your people are behind this,” he continued. “I don’t know what they think they’re doing, but you need to go out there and put a stop to this madness.”

“Minister,” the wizard said, “How good to see you.”

The muggle spluttered in indignation. “In case you haven’t noticed, a band of degenerates are attempting a coup against my government, and I know for a fact that they are your people.”

Minister Vanserra waved a hand in apparent boredom. The muggle froze at the sight of the wand held casually between his fingers. At least the other one had the decency of not waving that thing around in his presence.

“Mine they are, though people is not exactly the term I’d use for them.”

“What does that-”

“Let me spell it out for you, Minister. You have two choices. You can yield your government to me now, and we can continue to work together peacefully as we’ve always done. Except, from now on, I’m relieving you from the heavy burden of carrying this secret all by yourself.”

“You… what does that-”

“Or,” the wizard interrupted, “you can resist, in which case I’ll be forced to kill you. I’d rather not go to the trouble of appointing a replacement who suits my needs, so I really would much prefer the first option.”

The muggle clasped his hands behind his back to hide their trembling, though he knew the wizard would see through his false bravado. His words weren’t making sense, and yet he had a vague, and horrible idea that he knew precisely what was going on here.

He glanced behind him at the locked door, and at the cameras mounted into the ceiling. Perhaps he just had to keep him talking long enough. Pretend to yield, until the threat could be neutralized.

But by whom? It would take hours to assemble the military might necessary to take on even a few wizards.

“And before you take too long to decide,” the wizard drawled, “please know that the degenerates, as you called them, are actually a host of highly trained werewolves and vampires. They’re under orders to stay relatively civil for now, but that can change very quickly.”

Terror shot through his veins, rendering him momentarily mute. “What do you plan on doing to us?”

The wizard smiled, though there was nothing but cold menace in the gesture.

“For starters, I’m going to let my dogs here have a bite of you. They’re very hungry, you see, and they’ve developed a taste for muggle flesh.”

The muggle blanched as the two men flanking the Minister for Magic bared their canines.

“And then,” Beron continued, “the wizarding world will hide no longer.”

The muggle fell to his knees. “Please- please, you said you didn’t want to kill me. I’ll work with you, I’ll do anything-“

“You will do no such thing.”

He was so blinded by terror that at first he couldn’t tell where the deep voice had come from. And then another man (another wizard) stepped out of the shadows.

It was the oddest sight the minister had ever seen, and that was saying something, all things considered. The Headmaster wore robes of deepest blue, edged in golden sunbursts. He looked a little unkempt, at least more so than usual, and on his shoulder sat the most magnificent bird he’d ever seen. Its plumage was a mixture of fire red and vivid gold, with tail feathers that dropped all the way to the floor. Like some kind odd peacock.

The door slammed open, and the minister scrambled to his feet and backed away towards the wall as wizards flooded the small space. Their wands were all raised- but not towards him.

“What is the meaning of this?” Minister Vanserra spat.

The floor seemed to tremble as the Headmaster stepped forward, and the minister noted with some satisfaction that Vanserra seemed to recoil slightly.

“Please know that it brings me great joy to say this. Beron Vanserra, you are under arrest for the following crimes: the attempted violation of the International Statute of Secrecy, the unauthorized and unregulated use of the Imperius charm, and the unjust detainment of the following individuals. Bartemius Koschei, Silas Crump, Chiara Lobosa, Scarlet Sparks…

The Minister for Magic continued to rage as the list of names went on and on. Wizards surrounded him on all sides, wands raised.

“He is a WANTED FUGITIVE!” the minister bellowed, gesturing towards the Headmaster. “Arrest him!”

“That’s not going to happen,” Helion said smoothly. “It’s over, Beron. We have the evidence we need to let you rot in Azkaban forever.”

The Prime Minister did not have any idea what Azkaban meant, but from the look on the Minister for Magic’s face he didn’t think he wanted to find out, either. A kind-looking wizard was guiding him towards a chair, and he was suddenly so exhausted that he didn’t protest. He wasn’t sure how his legs were still functioning properly.

“It’s all right, Sir,” the man was saying. “Our team of Obliviators are already hard at work to contain the situation. The injured are being dealt with as we speak.”

“Quite right.”

The Minister didn’t have the energy to tell the man he had no idea what he was talking about. He sighed heavily as he considered the shitstorm he would be facing with the media. “I need to telephone my wife.”

The wizard brightened. “I know what that is! It’s like the visitors’ entrance to the Ministry for Magic!”

“The…” The minister racked a hand over his face. “Sure. If you say so.”

---

Lucien had barely slept. He and Elain had spent the entire evening and part of the night in the Headmaster’s office, going over the events of the night before over and over again. First to Professor Amren, then to various ministry members, then to Professor Spell-Cleaver. The Headmaster had reappeared around midnight, and though he looked nothing short of murderous he had simply sat down at his desk as if he had never left.

And then, finally, they had recounted the story to his mother. Lucien was so wrung out by then that he had almost wept as she had appeared in the Headmaster’s hearth alongside Eris. Whatever adrenaline had kept him functioning finally gave out, and he let his mother cradle him like a child as the full implication of what had happened hit him like a brick.

His father had been arrested. Arrested, and taken to Azkaban, where he would await a trial that most likely would not end up being kind to him.

“It’s over,” his mother had whispered, as she held him in a vice grip. He wasn’t sure if it was more to reassure him, or her.

It wasn’t over, of course. There would be a trial, which would most likely get dragged out into a long and very public spectacle. The newspapers would have a field day with it, and it would be while yet before his family could get any sort of peace.

In the end Madam Madja had clucked her way into the Headmaster’s office and demanded he and Elain be allowed to get some rest. She had practically forced a sleeping tonic down their throats, and though sleep had claimed him the second his head hit the pillow, nightmares had plagued him the whole night.

As soon as dawn broke he gave up trying to sleep and silently crept out of the dormitory. The castle was still slumbering, unsurprising given the early hour, but it almost felt as if all its inhabitants had breathed a sigh of relief, and could finally sleep easily. Lucien wondered how long it would take for him to sleep without his treacherous mind immediately conjuring up the image of Professor Hybern threatening Elain. Or of those cells in Azkaban, filled with people who weren’t so different from him. He needed to finish packing, but there was one last question he needed answered that he hadn’t dared ask last night in front of everyone.

The stone gargoyle guarding the Headmaster’s office looked at him coolly as he approached.

“Cockroach clusters.”

The gargoyle blinked at him insolently, but didn’t move. Shit. Of course he would have changed the password, after everything. Lucien sighed and turned to leave. He was halfway down the hallway when a pointed cough behind him made him turn around again. The gargoyle had moved, though it looked offended to have been asked to do so.

“Thank you!” Lucien hurried past it and up the spiral stairs. The double doors to Helion’s office were ajar, but he knocked before poking his head in.

“Mr Vanserra. Come in.”

The Headmaster had his back to him as he stood at the window, looking out at the rising sun. When he turned there was a warm smile on his face, and though Lucien doubted the Headmaster had slept at all, he looked as upbeat as ever.

“There’s nothing like a sunrise over the lake, wouldn’t you say?”

Lucien glanced out the window, to the candy-colored sky reflected in the mirror-still lake. There was a lone figure sitting on the banks, also looking in the direction of the sunrise.

“I’m not usually awake to see it,” he replied truthfully.

Helion chuckled, and turned towards the window again. They watched as Grawp stretched his arms wide, and then curled up on his side underneath a large oak.

“Where will they go?” Lucien asked curiously.

“They are on their way back to their home in the mountains. With the eternal gratitude and friendship of the wizarding community, something they haven’t had in centuries. And as for Grawp,” the Headmaster shook his head fondly, “he has requested to remain at Hogwarts. Our groundskeeper is training him as an apprentice.”

It was Lucien’s turn to laugh. “He might be a match for the Blast-Ended Skrewts.”

“Indeed.”

Lucien glanced at the lake again, and shivered as he remembered the grey faces of the merpeople, peering at him curiously from their windows. There was another sight that he wouldn’t soon forget.

Bad, Grawp had warned him.

“Are the merpeople evil?” he blurted. “I never knew there were so many of them.”

Helion blinked in apparent surprise, and Lucien immediately felt idiotic. “Not more or less evil than anything residing within the Forbidden Forest.” The Headmaster gave him a long, steely look, as if reminding him that he was well aware of much time Lucien had spent in that very forest.

Lucien coughed awkwardly. “Right. Like the giants.”

“Giants, Acromantulas, Centaurs. They all look out for themselves, in the end. We are all only as evil as our intentions.”

The silence that fell was heavy, as if a shadow had fallen over them- a shadow shaped like the man whose name he bore, and whose intentions had never been anything but evil.

Helion sighed heavily. “Cup of tea?” He waved a hand lazily and a tea set appeared on his desk.

Lucien sat in one of the chairs facing the desk, steeling his nerves for the question he truly wanted to ask.

Helion leaned back in his chair, cradling his cup of tea. “It’s going to take a while before life starts feeling normal again. But it will, eventually.”

To his horror Lucien felt his throat start to close up. What was wrong with him? He gulped some tea and coughed as the hot liquid burned down his throat.

“It’s just- how could he think this could work? Why would he even want it to?”

The Headmaster shrugged. “Power is a heady thing. Some people can never get enough. We might never know the full reason behind his motivations.” He seemed to hesitate a beat, and then leaned forward, his gaze serious. “There are some who would think it insensitive of me to tell you this, but you’re an adult, and you deserve the truth.”

Lucien’s stomach dropped. He wasn’t sure how many more secrets or revelations he could handle today. “What?”

“Your father will be found guilty, there’s no question about it. And when that happens, it will be up to the Head of Magical Law Enforcement to decide his fate.”

“Ok…”

The Headmaster hesitated another beat. “The new Head of Magical Law Enforcement is…how do I say this? Quite ruthlessly without mercy when it comes to the former Minister. Particularly in light of his treatment of Mr Koschei.”

“Good. He doesn’t deserve any mercy.”

“Lucien.” Helion sighed heavily again. “What I’m trying to tell you is that there’s a possibility Beron will be sentenced to the Dementor’s Kiss.”

Somehow that hadn’t even occurred to Lucien. “Oh.”

It was so silent in the office that it seemed even the paintings of the former Headmasters and Headmistresses were holding their breath. Lucien loosed a heavy breath. “Perhaps that might be better for my mother. Knowing he’s truly gone.”

A strange look passed over Helion’s face. “Easier for her, but not for you?”

Lucien snorted. “My father hasn’t been in my life for a long time. It makes no difference to me whether he’s rotting in a cell or dead in the ground.”

Harsh words, perhaps, but no harsher than the treatment he’d received (the treatment they’d all received) at the hands of that man. And perhaps he didn’t truly mean it yet, but eventually, once the dust settled, he would.

“You’re nothing like him, you know. You could never have been. There’s nothing of him in you.”

Lucien blinked. It was an oddly familiar thing to say, even for Helion, and he felt himself flush with embarrassment.

“I knew your mother at school, you know,” Helion continued, seemingly undeterred by Lucien’s embarrassment.

That was news to Lucien. Helion seemed so ageless that he could have declared he was anywhere between thirty-five and a hundred years old and Lucien wouldn’t have questioned him. “I didn’t know that.”

“She was…very special to me.”

It took a moment for his meaning to sink in, and when it did Lucien’s mouth dropped open in shock. He slumped a little in his chair, as if it would help the floor open up and swallow him whole. “You dated my mother?” he blurted.

The Headmaster chuckled softly. “Your mother was my first love. My only love, perhaps.”

He wasn’t sure why Helion was choosing this moment to tell him this, but he suddenly couldn’t meet his gaze. “Why are you telling me this?”

He was silent for so long that Lucien was forced to look up and meet his gaze. “Because I made the mistake of letting her go. Don’t make the same mistake I did.”

Lucien flushed hotly, fiddling with his tea cup. “I don’t plan to.”

“Good.” The Headmaster leaned back, still peering at him intently.

Another long moment passed. Lucien cleared his throat, still unnerved by the odd turn their conversation had taken. “Sir. There’s something I’ve been wondering about.”

“And here I thought you’d simply come here to entertain an old man.”

Lucien huffed a nervous laugh. “Sir. What’s going to happen to them?”

The humor twinkling in Helion’s eyes disappeared. Lucien knew that he was well aware exactly who he was talking about without him having to specify it.

“Many of them have fled,” he started. “Either they developed a liking for violence, or were inclined that way to begin with. You’re not going to like hearing this, but many of them served your father of their own free will.”

“Even though he forced them to report their every move and then arrested them as if they had no rights at all?”

Helion shrugged. “Like I said, I believe a lot of them had developed an inherent love for violence, and it seemed a natural alliance to make. Perhaps they even preferred it to the alternatives- secrecy, or a lifetime of prejudice and struggle.”

“And the others?”

A long pause. “A lot of them carry scars from what they were forced to do that will take a long time to fade. But they will be given the help they need, and will be rehabilitated into wizarding society as full citizens. As they should have been in the first place.”

Lucien’s throat closed up again. He needed to get out of here before he started weeping like a child in front of the headmaster.

“Today’s the first day of a new age,” Helion continued fiercely. “A new regime. Where there is no stigma for being different from others.”

“It won’t be so easy,” Lucien choked out.

“No,” Helion agreed. “But it will be worth it.”

There was something else he needed to ask, but Lucien couldn’t quite find the words.

“Your secret is safe,” Helion said gently, guessing exactly what Lucien couldn’t voice. “For as long as you wish it to remain as such. There is no pressure to reveal it to anyone if you don’t wish to.”

Lucien breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you. I…I’m not ready for people to know. Not yet.” Perhaps one day, when the taint of what his father had done had faded.

“And, Sir…” Lucien shuffled awkwardly in his chair. “My friends…I know they broke the law, but they meant no harm by it. They only wanted to help me-“

Helion lifted a palm to silence him. “Lucien. I hope you’re not under the impression that I wish to report my students to the authorities for displaying an impressive amount of magical ability?”

“I-” Lucien didn’t quite know what to say. “Well, when you put it that way…”

Helion chuckled. “I’m not going to stop you, but do be careful, will you?”

“Yes, Sir,” Lucien said quickly. He got to his feet before Helion could change his mind.

“If there is anything you or your family needs,” Helion said gently. “Please let me know. I’m at your service.”

Lucien had to look away again. “Thank you sir. I, uh…I should go finish packing.”

“Of course. Enjoy your summer.” It seemed an odd thing to say, given what they both knew was likely to happen shortly, but Lucien appreciated the sentiment all the same.

“Thanks, Professor.”

He was almost to the door when he paused and turned around again.

“Yes?” the Headmaster asked.

“It’s just, I keep thinking of something my father said, the night you…the night Koschei died.”

Helion frowned. “Go on.”

“He said…he said something about wanting me to remember my father this way. Why would he say that? Why would he want me to remember him like that?”

That same strange look passed over Helion’s features, but it was gone as quickly as it came. “Beron was a hateful man. Perhaps he only meant to rattle you.”

“Yeah…maybe.”

Helion’s words went around and around his mind as he slowly made his way to the Great Hall for breakfast. He was so lost in thought that he didn’t notice the figure trying to get his attention until they were directly in front of him, blocking his path.

“Lucien! Hey.”

“Rhysand.” Lucien felt a trickle of dislike at the sight of the Slytherin, as he always did.

Rhys ran a hand through his immaculate black hair, looking uncharacteristically awkward.

“I heard what happened.”

Lucien gritted his teeth. “I’m assuming there’s not a single person in the entire wizarding community who hasn’t heard by now.”

Rhys winced, but rallied. “I wanted to give you this.” He reached into his pocket and held out a heavy velvet pouch.

Lucien blinked at him. “What’s that?”

“The winnings from the Tri-Trials Tournament.”

“Oh. Congrats.” Lucien had completely forgotten about the Tournament, and found he couldn’t bring himself to care that Rhysand had won.

Rhys shrugged. “I won by default, nobody else finished the last Trial…” To his credit he managed to look slightly sheepish. “You should have this.”

“Why? Because my father was arrested?” His tone was uncharitable, perhaps, but it felt good to vent for a second.

“No. Because you would probably have won, if you hadn’t…” he trailed off uncomfortably.

Lucien remembered that Hybern had been Rhysand’s Head of House. Rhys may be a prick, but he wasn’t a sociopath.

“Anyway,” Rhysand continued, thrusting the sack of coins at him, “do what you want with it. I just wanted the title, really.” His smug grin lacked some of his usual bravado, but Lucien smirked back nonetheless.

Elain was waiting for him by the doors to the Great Hall, and Lucien almost sagged in relief as he saw her. She grabbed his hand and pulled him towards the marble staircase wordlessly.

“Where are you taking me?”

She threw him a little grin over her shoulder, and something about the gleam in her eyes made his blood heat a few degrees. They were silent until they reached Sir Cadogan’s corridor. The knight was busy leading his trolls in a sequence of pliés and barely glanced at them as Elain walked back and forth across the empty stretch of wall. A door appeared, and she tugged him inside.

Lucien had to glance back at the door to make sure they were actually inside the Room of Requirements. Where there should have been a floor there now stretched a vividly green lawn, rippling with a phantom wind and dotted with patches of wildflowers. The ceiling mimicked the sky outside- less believably than the enchanted ceiling in the Great Hall, but still giving the impression of basking in the early morning sunshine. A checked picnic blanket had been laid out, with a variety of breakfast dishes and a pot of tea.

Lucien laughed. “A picnic in a garden.”

Elain smiled shyly. “You really can ask this room anything you want.”

“We could have gone outside, you know, if you wanted a picnic.”

Her cheeks turned deliciously pink. “I wanted to be alone for a bit.”

Lucien pulled her in close, pressing his nose to her sweet-smelling curls. Her body relaxed against him, and she was so soft and warm that he could have happily stood there until the start of next term.

“It’s just…” Her voice was muffled from where her face was pressed against his chest. “Everyone will be looking at us weird and asking questions, and I just-“

He squeezed her tighter. “I know.” He felt such a rush of affection for her then that it knocked the breath clean from his lungs. “Archie?”

She looked up at him, brown eyes warm and trusting. What had he done to deserve this? Perhaps he’d simply gotten lucky.

“I love you.”

Her eyes widened, and then her face split into a grin so wide it looked like it hurt. “I love you too, Lucien.”

His throat was tight again. What was wrong with him today?

“Really?”

Elain laughed. “Yes, silly.”

He kissed her then, sweetly, slowly, and she melted further into him. Lucien would have happily stood there kissing her until it was time to leave for the Hogwarts Express, but Elain tugged him down to the blanket.

She broke the kiss, eyes searching, and bit her lip shyly.

“Yes?” he teased, nudging her hair with his nose.

Elain swallowed thickly. She took in a shaky breath, and then shifted until she was straddling his lap.

“Oh.”

He pressed a kiss to her neck, and then another, until she pushed at his chest to make him look at her.

“I don’t want yesterday to be what we think of when we remember our last day.”

“We’re coming back next year, you know,” he teased, if only to calm his racing pulse.

She fixed him with such a dry look that he nearly whined. “You know what I mean.”

He laughed and pressed his mouth against her ear. “And what would you like to remember instead?”

Her fingers tightened on the hem of his shirt for a beat, and then slipped underneath tentatively.

“If you want to see me without my shirt on you’re going to have to ask.”

She shivered, and Lucien had to shift to avoid her noticing the evidence of the effect she was having on him. Elain chose that moment to look down, and her delicate blush deepened.

“I could just take it off myself.”

Lucien groaned. Merlin she would kill him. He lay back on the grass, admiring the view of Elain straddling him.

“Do your worst, Archie.”

It was only later, once the Hogwarts Express was nearing King’s Cross Station, that Lucien remembered the sack of coins in his trunk. He fished it out and dumped it into Elain’s lap.

She lifted her head blearily from where she’d been dozing against the window. “What’s that?”

“Your payment.”

She blinked at him for a beat, and then threw her head back and laughed. Lucien let the sound wrap around him, like a cloak of sunshine he could take out and wrap around himself in the dark days ahead.

Vassa kicked him in the shin and rolled her eyes. “Pig.”

“What? I meant for doing so great during the Tournament. It's not my fault you all have dirty minds.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Elain fell silent, looking at the bag of money with a mixture of emotions on her face.

“Good things can still come from it, you know,” Lucien said gently. “If they don’t, then the dark side wins.”

“That sounds like something Helion would say,” Jurian drawled from where he sat curled like a cat in Vassa’s lap.

Something about made Lucien pause. It hit him slowly at first, and then all at once, like an avalanche.

You’re nothing like him, you know. You could never have been.

There’s nothing of him in you.

I want you to remember your father this way.

Your mother was…very special to me.

“Oh, Merlin’s saggy tits!”

---

A few years in the not-so-distant future

Lucien was late again.

They’d both been working long hours lately, and it wasn’t unusual for him to go on top-secret missions for his work as an Auror, but Elain had known him long enough to tell when he was lying.

She tried not to overthink it, but she couldn’t help the worry that gnawed away at her nerves. There was something he wasn’t telling her, and it had nothing to do with work.

She paced back and forth in their flat overlooking Diagon Alley, trying and failing not to glance at the door every minute. He was just late. No matter that it was Winter Solstice- their anniversary. He couldn’t help when work called him away.

Still, he could have sent a note.

She was uncorking a bottle of wine (and fuming slightly) when she heard a loud pop! and Lucien Apparated directly into their kitchen.

His expression was sheepish, though his eyes shone with repressed excitement. “Hi love. Sorry I’m late!”

“That’s ok.” Elain tried to sound nonchalant but she knew Lucien could read her as well she could read him.

He crossed the room in three long strides and folded her into his arms. Elain couldn’t help but let him embrace her, even with her lingering annoyance. His nose was cold where he pressed it against her neck, and he smelled like the winter air outside.

“It’s not,” he murmured. “We’ve both been so busy and I know you wanted tonight to be special.”

Elain felt rotten. “It’s fine. You’re here now. I know work has been tough lately...”

Lucien pulled back and gave her another sheepish grin. “I have a confession to make. I haven’t just been busy with work.”

Her stomach dropped. She’d been right. She had known something was wrong but she’d still hoped she had been imagining it.

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve been working on a secret project. It was meant to be for your birthday- clearly it took me a lot longer than I thought it would…”

“A present?” she asked stupidly.

“Of sorts,” Lucien said cryptically. “More like…setting right a wrong. Vassa’s been helping me, and so has my father. That man truly had contacts everywhere.” He shook his head and chuckled lightly.

Elain smiled at his easy use of the term father, even though she had no idea what he was going on about. It had taken a long time after Beron’s execution for his shadow to finally lift from Lucien’s family, and longer still for him to accept the fact that his former Headmaster was his father.

“Lucien, what in the world are you talking about?”

He chuckled. “Come outside.”

Elain grabbed a blanket from the back of their couch and wrapped it around herself before following him onto their balcony. It overlooked a busy section of Diagon Alley, though the trellises she had put up provided some privacy from the street below. Their flat wasn’t large, but it was cozy. They had chosen it for its location directly above a vacant commercial space, which now housed Elain’s apothecary shop. It wasn’t ideal, but it was convenient for now.

It was a clear night, but the air outside was frigid. Elain’s teeth immediately started chattering. “What are we-”

Her words died in her throat as she spotted what Lucien had wanted to show her. She didn’t believe it at first. A tawny barn owl with large green eyes- and a slightly crooked left leg.

“Crookshanks?!”

The owl squawked in delight and swooped from his perch on top of her trellis to land on her arm. Her throat tightened as her vision became blurry with tears.

“How…where…”

“It took me forever to find him,” Lucien said sheepishly. “I thought it’d be a nice surprise, but I underestimated how hard it would be. Thank god for Vassa, like I said. She made most of the telephone calls- I’ll never get the hang of using one of those…”

Elain laughed through her tears. “I thought…” She shook her head. “Nevermind. I can’t believe you’ve been sneaking around this whole time looking for him.”

She noticed a small velvet pouch tied to his leg, and raised an eyebrow.

Lucien grinned. “Wonder what that could be.”

Elain opened the pouch, and gasped so loud that Crookshanks flew away with an affronted squawk.

Inside the pouch was a ring. It was a simple solitaire, with a thin gold band and the most stunning gem Elain had ever seen. It looked like a diamond at first, but when the silvery moonlight hit it something inside it seemed to glow in shades of yellow and red, as if it held a secret inner fire. Elain cradled it in her palm as Lucien shuffled in front of her, radiating with barely restrained excitement.

“What’s this?” she asked, her voice small and breathless.

Lucien gently took the ring from her, and dropped down to one knee.

“Archie. You’re the love of my life. I’ve loved you since you were a snot-faced kid-“ Elain scoffed, and Lucien’s grin widened. “And I’ll continue to love you every day of my life. I don’t know what I did to deserve you but I’m grateful every single day. Will you make me the happiest man on earth and marry me?”

Elain took him in, from that fiery, mismatched gaze to the hopeful tilt of his grin. He looked so boyishly handsome, his nose tinged pink with cold, eyes shining with mischief. She knew every inch of that face as well as her own. He was hers, as surely as she’d ever been his.

“Yes! Yes, Lucien, of course I’ll marry you!”

He slipped the ring on her finger, and then hauled her into his arms. Elain laughed against his lips as he twirled her, his lips pressed to hers in a kiss.

“I have something for you too,” she murmured against his lips, remembering the small parcel waiting on their kitchen table. “Wait here.”

Her heart pounded as she went inside to retrieve the parcel. She hadn’t told him anything about it yet, though Azriel and his team of potioneers had been working on it for years.

Lucien unwrapped the package and looked at the stoppered bottle labeled Wolfsbane curiously. “What is this?”

“It hasn’t officially been approved by St Mungo’s yet, but Azriel says it’s just a formality at this point. It’s gone through testing and it’s perfectly safe-”

“Ok…” Lucien said slowly, turning the bottle sideways to peer at the contents. “But what is it?”

“Sorry,” Elain said sheepishly. “It’s a potion to tamper the effects of lycanthropy. I was so excited when Azriel reached out. It’s not public knowledge yet, not until he gets final approval from the Ministry and St Mungo’s, but-“

Lucien lifted a hand. “What did you say?”

Elain took his hands gently, forcing herself to calm down though she couldn’t tamper the giddy smile on her face. This would change their life- and a lot of other people’s.

“You take a full dose of it every day the week leading up to the full moon, and you’ll transform into a simple, harmless wolf. You can just curl up in bed next to me and keep me warm!”

Lucien’s mouth dropped open. And then closed. And then opened, and closed again.

Elain laughed. “I’m going to make it available at my shop. Azriel said he would brew a supply for me specially, until I get the hang of it. It sounded terribly complicated, and you know how shit I am at potions…” She was rambling, but the look on Lucien’s face was making her nervous. “Say something.”

Lucien was silent for another moment, and then he threw his head back and laughed. Howled, really, until tears streamed down his face.

“I can’t believe Ass-riel is going to win a fucking Order of Merlin for inventing a lycanthropy potion.”

“Lucien! Don’t call him that!”

But he was laughing again, and Elain couldn’t help but join in. She tilted her head back and breathed in the night air, tinged with the sweet scent of honeysuckle growing on her trellises. The moon was glowing overhead, a merry crescent shining silvery-bright. It had been a source of comfort for her as a child, and then had become a thing she’d grown to hate. And then she thought of all the things that had to happen to lead to this moment- the good, the bad, and the truly terrible.

Elain had never believed in any sort of god, and so it was the moon she looked to when she sent up a silent prayer of thanks- for all she had survived, and all it had taught her.

And she could have sworn the moon twinkled in answer.

a/n: I can't believe it's over! A million smooches to everyone who read, reblogged, and commented. Truly your support made writing this story that much more fun.

This was initially meant to be a silly little Elucien at Hogwarts love story, and it somehow turned into a much longer and MUCH more plot-heavy fic than I had originally planned. I had so much fun weaving together bits of lore from both the HP world and ACOTAR. Honestly when I first started this it was just me indulging in two of my favorites universes, and I wasn't sure if there would be much interest, so THANK YOU THANK YOU for going on this journey with me 💕

Taglist: @labellefleur-sauvage @headcanonheadcase @separatist-apologist @velidewrites @c-e-d-dreamer @queercontrarian @hallway5 @areyoudreaminof @tuzna-pesma-snova @corcracrow @vulpes-fennec @octobers-veryown @autumndreaming7 @sunshinebingo @asnowfern

[gwynniethenymph]

soo, hi everyone, @cynthiesjmxazrielslover and @morningstarprints (I'm tagging you because you seem super excited)! I'm here with

Engravings of Your Oceans

Chapter One

"I think you should burn that fluffy hair of hers."

Gwyn could only stop mid-squat and stare at the vicious glint in Nesta's eyes while Emerie threw her head back and barked a laugh.

"I fully support it. It's either this, or you could take those expensive scissors in the library and stick them down her throat," Emerie suggested, smirking at Gwyn's amused huff.

"Or, perhaps, you both could search for therapy," Gwyn replied playfully, though there was a hint of seriousness in her voice.

"You really want me to end up in the psych ward, don't you?" Nesta narrowed her eyes at Gwyn. "Besides, I don't need therapy when I can punch Cassian."

The oldest Archeron sister was a few weeks away from marrying Emerie's brother, Cassian Illyrian, and Gwyn couldn't be happier for her.

"Aaand," Nesta continued, "you could punch Merril as a form of therapy!" Gwyn couldn't stop her giggle this time, even when she looked at Nesta in amused reproach.

"She's just... being Merril. I should have expected it."

Merril had been her advisor for the last year, and while she was a brutal, wicked, overcritical, perfectionist, picky witch, she was still brilliant—even when she forced Gwyn to reformulate her final thesis for a second time.

Although Clotho said the research was, quote, "innovative, cunning, perfectly written and detailed," Gwyn had to admit it lacked something—the very thing that had made her start her doctorate in the first place. It lacked the... excitement she’d felt at the beginning. But there was no time to dwell on that, as Cassian shouted at her from across the gym to stop gossiping and "squat all the way down."

Squatting "all the way down" as demanded, Gwyn stuck her tongue out at him, unable to flip him off with the barbell weighing down her shoulders. Each squat was more and more difficult with the additional weight Cass had suggested, and by the end of her set she laid out on the floor, completely spent. Nesta giggled, "Come on, get up. You still need to stretch and cool down, or Cassian will never let you leave."

They talked about nothing special while stretching, but Gwyn was already feeling that ugly thing inside her chest prickle when Emerie, Nes, and Cass said their goodbyes and took off. None of them would be alone tonight, Emerie going home to her girlfriend and the love-hate birds going together to their apartment, Gwyn thought.

Except, of course, for her.

She would return to her apartment now. She could put on some music, take a shower, maybe even cook something. It would be fine—she repeated to herself. Not silent. Not empty. Not at all.

Or perhaps...

Enjoying the gentle breeze of Velaris' night, she made her way along the sidewalks close to the Sidra, taking in the bustling city around her. The commercial night in the capital of Noctis was loud and alive, and she loved it. Nights were never easy, and a silent city would only make everything worse.

But instead of taking the left corner to her apartment, Gwyn kept walking to the beautiful building in the center, across the Rainbow Bridge. The library only offered quiet whispers and the gentle flip of pages, but she could check on the new history section, find something to improve her damn thesis. Gwyn knew that if Nesta ever found out she spent another night awake, she would never have peace again.

But, for the moment, she wanted only to chase that emerging anxiety away.

So Gwyn headed through the tall wooden doors and made her way across the stacks.

***

“Mother above, you are going to spoil him rotten.”

Rhys watched Nyx’s giggles with a soft smile, his tone light. Azriel chuckled, his gaze fixed on the baby’s tiny fingers grasping at his own.

Feyre came over to Azriel, hovering for a moment, to adjust Nyx’s blanket gently. “Well, someone has to. He’s too adorable not to be spoiled a little.”

Rhysand gave a playful grin. “True. But we might be setting him up for high expectations.”

Azriel relaxed into the armchair, Nyx cooing contentedly in his arms. “Can’t hurt to enjoy the good moments.”

This little moments were, honestly, the best part of his week. It was a daily routine - Gym, work, Nyx. Or rather, passing by to see his family, as Rhys would put. Rhysand leaned back in his chair.

“So, what’s new with you? Anything interesting on the job front?”

Azriel glanced out the window, thinking about the long night ahead. The meeting with his new contractor was... odd, at least. Plus, the unusual request to find a damn ancient sword, with no records whatsoever, got on his nerves. But the money was good and the man's information was trustworthy, so Azriel went along with the case. “Just a contractor asking about an old sword. Seems a bit off.”

Feyre looked up with interest. “Oh? What’s the story there?”

Azriel shrugged.

“Not much to go on. I’m heading to the library tonight to dig into some archives. Thought it might be worth a look.”

Rhysand raised an eyebrow, a hint of amusement in his voice. “Heading to the library? And here I was, thinking you couldn't read.”

Azriel rolled his eyes at his brother. “Yeah, it helps to focus. I’ve got some files to go through.”

Feyre offered a warm smile. “Just make sure you take it easy. Don’t burn out.” Sweet, gentle Feyre. She was Rhys' best side, but Azriel couldn't help but find her advice a little bit... useless. He had nothing to do but work, no family of his own to go home to. So he never went easy.

Azriel gave a brief nod. “I’ll be fine.” He played with Nyx for a little while before grabbing his coat and proceeding to say his goodbyes, Rhysand patting him on the shoulder. “Alright then. Let us know if you need anything.”

The drive from Rhys' house to the library was quiet, thoughts lingering too much for Azriel's liking. He barely recorded entering the tall, dark brown doors of the old building or greeting the scholars. But he found himself in front of a rather trembling looking intern, patiently asking for directions.

"Is something about... the Riveri people, I guess? Anything about the Prithyan armory between 2000 BCE and 500 CE, really."

The brunette girl seemed to swallow before answering, and Azriel thought it was probably her first week working there.

"Records about this Era are in the private area, sir. So I'm afraid I can't give you access to those."

Azriel huffed. "Oh, come on. Don't you know who I am?" He passed his commercial card swiftly to her, along with a few bucks, of course. The girl - Lille, her name tag said - widened her eyes before giving him a court nod. Azriel smirked at her.

She led him to the backs of the library, quickly pressing her card to grant him access, before turning and placing a delicate finger on his chest. "So, if you need any help inside there..." She bit her lip and, Azriel must confess, he was surprised. She seemed way too young and skittish to even know the seductive tone in her next words "I'll be here."

Deciding the better way to proceed was ignoring her, he simply entered the private area and closed the door before she could enter. Silly girl. Azriel took a deep breath before checking his surroundings and concluding that he was probably alone.

It took what could have been hours or minutes to find something merely related to those Riveri folks his contractor mentioned. Running his fingers on the books of the "unknown/ unrecorded civilizations" stack, he stopped in front of a random file, seemingly forgotten.

"Riveri Archery", the blue archive said. So he tried to pull it out but, for some reason, it didn't come out of the stacks. So he pulled again. This time, something pulled back and, startled, Azriel pulled harder.

A few books fell on the floor, dust hovering the air, and revealing a hand connect to the file his hand was connected with. And that hand led to an pale, graceful and frecked arm.

Lifting his eyes, Azriel was met with the teal of oceans and creased auburn brows.

Well, he should have seen it coming, honestly.

"Hello, Berdara."

[c-e-d-dreamer]

When We Howl, the Moon Will Cower: Prologue

A/N: I know it's technically November first, which means Spooky Season is officially over, but what do you say we keep the spooky vibes going just a little bit longer? And what better way to do that than with witchy Nesta! And future werewolf Cassian ;) I am very excited for what I have planned for this fic, and I hope everyone enjoys! And if you don't, well, this is a love letter fic to @dustjacketmusings only, so I don't care. Also, gold star to everyone who can pick up on the 3 easter eggs in this prologue.

Read on AO3 // Chapter Masterlist // Next Part

Darkness from the west trembles in the light As the sun rises on a new empire Shatter, crack, and take back what is right The golden bonds escape the pyre Mother blessed unity births power unforeseen The gods will bow before the strength of three

~ * * * ~

“Again.”

Nesta swallows down her wince. Swallows down the tingling pain in her cramped fingers. Swallows down the throb that's taken up home in her head, the way it makes everything fuzzy around the edges. Instead, she takes a deep breath, reaching for that well of power within herself. Sometimes, she likes to imagine it as a cat, napping in the sun when it's resting. She imagines that now, imagines stroking her hand along its fur until it begins to purr to life.

“Nesta.”

The cold, clipped tone has Nesta flinching instinctively. “I'm trying, Mama.”

“Clearly, you are not trying hard enough,” her mother scoffs, and even without looking at her, Nesta can imagine the disappointed scowl that's sure to be pinching Elinor Archeron's face. “You are an Archeron witch, or did you forget?”

“My magic is drained,” Nesta defends, squeezing her eyes tighter and trying to focus. “I just need another moment.”

“Drained?” Elinor's laugh is nothing short of mocking. “Your ancestors could do this in their sleep. You are a disgrace to our family name. I don't even know why I bother.”

“I can do it.”

Nesta knows her snapped words mean nothing if she can't prove it. She reaches for that beast inside her again and grabs fur until it roars. Until she can feel her magic slink between her fingers, wreathing its way up her arms. It sings in her veins and floods her lungs so every breath is pure power, writhing like a dancer in time to her pounding heart.

A hard strike across the face has Nesta crashing back down, a pained gasp tumbling past her lips. She cradles her cheek with her hand, blinking up at her mother, but Elinor's rage is potent. A fire practically blazes in those blue eyes, its path of wrath and destruction pinned right on Nesta.

“You stupid girl. Are you trying to burn the whole house down?”

“I'm sorry, Mama,” Nesta whispers before she swallows hard and stands up straight again, holding her chin high. Never cower, never let her see the cracks. “I'll be better next time.”

“You better be,” Elinor sneers, brushing her hands down the skirts of her dress and turning toward the door. It's a clear dismissal, an end to today's lessons. “Do not disappoint me, Nesta.”

Nesta can't help but flinch at the too loud sound of the door closing behind her mother. She presses a hand to her mouth to quiet the shuddering breath she lets out, blinking hard around the stinging heat pressing behind her eyes. When she presses her fingers to the skin of her cheek, she can still feel the lingering soreness from being slapped, but she's hopeful there won't be any bruising.

There certainly won't be a scar.

As if of their own accord, Nesta's fingers absentmindedly slide along the raised skin on her thumb. At least her mother's lessons aren't like the ones with her grandmother.

A knock at the door has Nesta almost jumping out of her skin in surprise, and for a fearful moment, she half wonders if her thoughts somehow summoned her grandmother back from beyond the grave. But then she hears her sister's voice, tentatively calling her name through the wood.

“Go away, Elain,” Nesta calls back, rolling her eyes even though her sister can't see her.

“But I need your help,” Elain protests, a hint of the whine Nesta knows always works on their father bleeding into her tone.

With a huff, Nesta stalks over to the door, yanking it open and not even bothering to hide her annoyance as she demands, “what?”

Elain chews on her lip, fiddling with the skirts of her dress, before admitting, “I lost Feyre.”

“What do you mean you lost Feyre?”

“Well, we were playing hide and seek, and she must have chosen a really good hiding place because I can't find her.”

“For Mother's sake,” Nesta sighs, already stepping out into the hall. “You know, next year, you'll be of a witch's age, and you won't have any more time for baby games.”

“Just because you came of age last year doesn’t mean you have to be so mean.”

Nesta’s steps stutter at Elain’s words, and she turns back around to find her sister still standing by the study door, her arms crossed and her expression less than impressed. Nesta knows that she’s right, but Nesta would also give anything to keep Elain and Feyre from turning thirteen. To let them play hide and seek and run through the gardens forever. To protect them from their mother’s clutches and her cruel lessons.

But Nesta has yet to find a spell for that.

So Nesta lets out a soft breath and offers Elain a small smile of apology. “Where did you already look for Feyre?”

Elain huffs quietly, practically a lamenting sigh, as she continues down the hall and to Nesta’s side. “I checked all the normal places. Under all the beds. Under Papa’s desk. All the closets.”

“Did you check the cellar?” Nesta asks, leading the way toward the main staircase.

“We’re not allowed down there, remember?”

“Exactly. And this is Feyre we’re talking about.”

Elain hums, and that’s answer enough for Nesta. With a shake of her head, she hurries down the main staircase and down the hall that leads to the cellar door. The dark wood looks unassuming, exactly as their mother intended it, but Nesta can feel the magic imbued within it. It seems to hum and whisper to her, seems to jump off the wood and skate across her skin and up her arms. If Nesta squints, she can even make out the protection runes carved beneath the wood stain.

Checking both ways down the hallway to make sure no one is watching, Nesta reaches forward, her fingers curling around the handle of the door. She closes her eyes and sucks in a deep breath, feeling the magic pulsing through her hand before the handle twists and the door opens. She grabs Elain’s wrist and tugs her inside, the door closing behind them with a quiet thud.

Neither of them say anything as they follow the winding staircase down, Elain keeping her hand firmly in Nesta’s own. Nesta can’t say she minds the contact. The cellar has always made her feel uneasy. It’s the way she always feels like she’s being watched when she’s down here. The way whispers seem to creep along the floor and the walls like fog, Nesta never quite able to hear the words being spoken, but always having the undeniable feeling that they’re saying her name. It’s the way the air is always thick and still, as if whatever ominous presence calls this dark place home is holding its breath, even as it smiles from the shadows with too sharp teeth.

Nesta lets out a quiet breath when they reach the bottom of the stairs, giving Elain’s hand a gentle, comforting squeeze. Or perhaps it’s to help ground herself. She turns her attention to the left, unsurprised to find the door at the very end is cracked open, watery light spilling out around the edges like some sort of eerie beacon.

For a moment, Nesta hesitates, swallowing hard around the churning in her gut, the lump threatening to press into her throat. But then she swears she feels it, a presence beside her and Elain. But it doesn’t bring with it any of the unease the shadows of the cellar do. Instead, it feels almost warm, comforting. Like a mother’s hand curling around her shoulders, it urges her forward, guiding her through the door and into the room.

“You found me!” Feyre exclaims, jumping up from her spot crouched beside the door with a wide smile.

“Feyre, you know you’re not supposed to be in here,” Nesta seethes, already grabbing her youngest sister’s arm to tug her out of the room and back upstairs.

But Feyre yanks herself free, crossing her arms across her chest. “Just because you’re the oldest, that doesn’t mean you can tell me what to do.”

Feyre sticks her tongue out, belying her eleven years of age, and Nesta merely rolls her eyes. “I’m serious. Mama would be furious if she knew.”

“We get it, Nesta. You’re Mama’s favorite, always the perfect child. That doesn’t mean the rest of us want to be.”

“You have no idea what you’re talking about, what you don’t know.”

“Um…” Elain speaks up quietly, breaking up her sisters’ glaring contest. “Is it supposed to be doing that?”

Nesta snaps her attention to the center of the room, to the magical object she’s always refused to look directly at for too long. The Cauldron stands on a slightly raised wooden platform, the wide circumference large enough that Nesta is sure it could swallow all three of her and her sisters whole if it wanted to. The black iron it’s made from is dark as night, dark enough to drown any light, any life, even as the legends sing of life being poured from it.

And for the first time since Nesta ever laid eyes on it, the Cauldron truly seems alive.

The liquid inside bubbles and pops, dark smoke rising and curling from its depths. The smoke spills over the edge of the platform, slithering down the platform and across the floor to them. Nesta swears it looks almost star flecked as it creeps closer to Feyre, threatening to curl around her ankles. Feyre jumps away from the smoke, hiding behind Nesta and curling her hands tight enough around Nesta’s arm that her nails bite into the skin.

“What’s it doing?” Feyre demands, her voice barely above a hushed whisper.

“I don’t know,” Nesta mutters, her own voice quiet, as if the Cauldron might hear them if they’re too loud. “But we need to get out of here.”

Nesta turns on her heel to do just that, keeping Feyre with her, but her feet stutter before she can even take a single step. Elain’s eyes have completely glazed over, the honey brown color of them foggy, and her gaze is focused solely on the Cauldron. Her expression is entirely blank in a way that has alarm bells ringing in Nesta’s head, has every hair on the back of her neck standing on end.

“Elain…” Nesta starts cautiously, watching with wide eyes as her sister starts to walk closer to the Cauldron. “Elain, what are you doing?”

Whether her sister can hear her or not, Nesta isn’t sure. Elain continues walking until she’s stood right at the foot of the wooden platform, smoke dancing and curling up her calves like flames, sparking against her skin like daylight. Like a puppet on strings, Elain’s hand slowly raises from her side, her outstretched hand reaching forward.

“Elain, don’t!”

Nesta’s free hand curls around Elain’s wrists at the same moment Elain’s fingers curl around the lip of the Cauldron. Nesta’s chest heaves, her entire body tensing up in anticipation, but nothing happens. There’s no explosion, no blinding light. The ground doesn’t shake and rumble beneath their feet. There’s just that choking stillness.

“Darkness from the west trembles in the light,” Elain speaks, her voice somehow sounding far away, like it’s not her own.

“Elain?” Nesta whispers, giving her sister’s wrist a tentative squeeze.

“As the sun rises on a new empire—”

“What’s wrong with her? Why is she saying that?” Feyre asks over Elain’s still speaking voice.

“I don’t know,” Nesta hisses, turning over her shoulder to glare at Feyre.

“The golden bonds escape the pyre—”

“Elain,” Nesta tries again, tugging on her sister’s hand more forcefully. “Stop that.”

“—unity births power unforeseen.” Nesta drops Feyre's hand and steps forward, physically prying Elain’s fingers off the Cauldron. “The gods will bow before the strength of three.”

With a soft gasp, Elain stumbles back, Nesta curling an arm around her waist to try and hold her steady. Elain blinks a few times, and it’s stark relief that floods through Nesta as she takes in the bright brown color, pink flooding back into her sister's cheeks and face.

“What happened?” Elain asks, her words slightly slurred together.

Before Nesta can answer her, Elain’s eyes flutter closed, Nesta practically crashing to the cold, hard stone floor in her effort to catch Elain’s deadweight. She wraps her arms tightly around Elain, tugging so her sister’s head is cradled in her lap. Her heart starts to pound when she lifts her hand to Elain’s cheek, the skin cool and clammy beneath her touch. She snaps her attention back to Feyre, her youngest sister standing with wide eyes and her arms curled around herself.

“We need to get Mama.”

~ * * * ~

“Think harder, Nesta.”

It takes everything within Nesta to swallow down her sigh. She already knows what making such a sound will earn her, but it’s easier said than done. They’ve been at this for what feels like hours now.

“I told you, Mama. I can’t be sure,” Nesta explains, keeping her eyes downcast and away from where her mother is pacing across the room. “I was more focused on making sure Elain was okay.”

“Honestly, Nesta,” Elinor sighs, and though Nesta keeps her attention firmly on her own lap, she can perfectly imagine her mother’s expression. “Your sister gives a prophecy in the Cauldron’s presence, and you couldn’t bother to remember it?”

“There was…” Nesta squeezes her eyes shut, trying to focus. “There was something about unity. Blessed unity and it creating unforseen power… something about an empire, I think?”

“An empire? What about an empire?”

“I don’t remember.”

“Dammit, Nesta. Focus.”

The slap sings hard across Nesta’s cheek, the metallic taste of blood spilling in her mouth from how hard she bites her tongue to keep in her cry of surprise. Her fingers curl into fists in her lap, nails biting into her skin to ground herself, and Nesta takes a shaking breath in and out of her nose. She can tell that her mother’s patience is wearing beyond thin, that soon her mother will tire of this back and forth. And she knows that if she doesn’t do this, Elinor will turn her methods on Feyre next.

So taking another, more calming breath, Nesta imagines herself back in that room, in that cellar with her sisters. She imagines the Cauldron before her, bubbling and smoking. She imagines Elain’s face and the faraway look in her eyes. She imagines seeing Elain’s mouth move, the words spilling forth.

“The gods will bow before the strength of three,” Nesta recites back, just as Elain had.

She waits for her mother's clipping words, perhaps another slap over only remembering the single, final line, but there's only silence echoing in the room. Tentatively, Nesta raises her head, intent on meeting her mother's steely blue gaze head on, but Elinor's focus is far away, her attention snagged out the window. Nesta turns her own attention outside, curiosity piqued, but whatever her mother is staring at, whatever she sees laid out before her, it's only in her mind. Finally, she turns back to Nesta, the smallest hint of a smirk tugging at her painted lips.

“Perhaps you won't be a disappointment to the Archeron name after all.”

—

Taglist (let me know if you’d like to be added or removed): @moodymelanist @nesquik-arccheron @sv0430 @talkfantasytome @bookstantrash @eirini-thaleia @ubigaia @fromthelibraryofemilyj @luivagr-blog @lifeisntafantasy @superspiritfestival @hiimheresworld @marigold-morelli @sweet-pea1 @emeriethevalkyriegirl @pyxxie @dustjacketmusings @hallway5 @dongjunma @glowing-stick-generation @melonsfantasyworld @isterofimias @goddess-aelin @melphss @theladystardust @a-trifling-matter @blueunoias @kookskoocie @wolfnesta @blurredlamplight @hereforthenessian @skaixo @jmoonjones @burningsnowleopard @whyisaravenlike-awritingdesk @ofduskanddreams @rarephloxes @thelovelymadone @books-books-books4ever @tenaciousdiplomatloverprune @that-little-red-head @readergalaxy @thesnugglingduck @kale-theteaqueen @tarquindaddy

[rosanna-writer]

Karma Is My Boyfriend (2/?)

Summary: Elain Archeron saved countless lives by vanquishing Graysen Nolan, her literal demon of a fiancé. She's a hero, but it's just not fair that being a good witch destined to rid the world of evil has left her tragically, painfully single. Enter Lucien Vanserra, the best cupid in the business, who's been sent by the universe to balance the karmic scales and find Elain the perfect new partner…

Happy day two of @elucienweekofficial!!! The people I can't thank enough include both the wonderful event organizers and ALSO the friends who generously allowed me to mine their dating app horror stories for fic potential <3

The whole fic can be found Here on AO3, or you can start with chapter one here on tumblr and read the second chapter under the cut.

Lucien was waiting with his feet up on her desk in the back of Roots 'n Shoots the next day. After her conversation with Rhys, Elain had loosened the wards around the store, though she hadn't expected Lucien to just…winnow directly into her office before she arrived.

But he already had steaming cup of her favorite herbal blend ready, so Elain decided not to give him an earful, even though she disliked being relegated to the spare chair she kept for guests.

"Are we on some sort of deadline?" she said, dropping her bag on the floor. "It's still quite early."

Lucien gave another elegant shrug. "I hate burning daylight."

In the past year, the Archeron manor had been full of…well, night people. Elain appreciated that Lucien seemed not to be another one. "Likewise," she said, taking a sip of tea.

He'd stirred in the amount of sugar she preferred, and she decided not to ask whether that information was contained in her file as well. She wasn't sure she wanted to know.

Lucien produced a cell phone seemingly out of nowhere and held the screen up for her to see. "I've already gotten started on making you a Tinder."

If Elain had been any less of a lady, she would have spat her tea all over him. Lucien was supposed to be an expert at helping people find love—but apparently all he had too offer was a dating app she was perfectly capable of navigating herself.

"It's quite helpful of you to be so on top of it," she said, though the icy chill in her voice made it clear she wasn't grateful at all.

"We'll cover more ground using an app. And with a cupid helping you screen your matches, you're guaranteed not to meet up with any douches, dirtbags, or demons."

Elain hesitated, worrying her lower lip with her teeth. It was true that she'd sworn off dating since Greysen—no matter how much Nesta and Feyre reminded her that the best way to get over someone was to get under someone else. With a busy shop to run and innocents to save, she'd insisted that she'd rather spend her precious few nights out catching up with friends.

Which was true, of course. But it wasn't the whole story, and the way Lucien's smirk melted into something softer told her he knew it. "You'll be safe with me," he said more gently. "I promise you're in good hands, Elain."

"Thank you," she said, taking the phone from him with a sigh.

Elain scrolled through the beginnings of the profile he'd set up for her. The photos of her seemed to be stolen from Feyre's private Instagram, but her artistic little sister had such a knack for finding good lighting that Elain decided not to question how Lucien had gotten them. His information was accurate, too: 5' 9", interested in both men and women, looking for something serious, plant mom, avid baker, all of it.

"I think this will do," she said.

"Is there anything else I should know before we get started?"

Elain took a moment to consider it—he'd covered everything. Well, almost. "No women named Elaine with two e's."

"Understandable. When I dated before becoming a cupid, I wouldn't touch a Lucian with an a. Moaning your own name in bed feels wrong."

"Exactly," Elain said with a laugh. It was a relief he understood, but at the same time, a bit irritating to find herself warming to him after what an ass he'd been the day before. But then, she thought again about what he said, and… "Cupids can't date?"

His mechanical eye clicked a few times, and she didn't know what to make of it. "It's not strictly forbidden, but that's…not something that's in the cards for me anymore."

There was a finality in his voice that Elain wasn't brave enough to question. Besides, Lucien's love life was hardly her concern, anyway. She handed the phone back to him and let him finish setting up the profile.

Something in Elain's chest went uncomfortably tight as they began looking through matches. Maybe this was a mistake. Surely it was better to stay single forever than to risk another disaster…

Not that she'd be going anywhere with the first man whose profile appeared. His face was hardly visible under the brim of an ill-fitting camo baseball cap, and he was holding up a fish.

She swiped left. And the next profile belonged to another man holding up a fish. And the next. And the next.

After five near-identical profiles of would-be fishermen in a row, Elain was beginning to wonder if there was anyone out there even worth messaging.

She let out a huff of frustration. "Do these people have any other hobbies besides fishing?"

"Clearly none of them are getting assistance from a cupid. Any of us would tell them there are better ways to give off the impression that they're well-endowed," Lucien said, picking at his nails.

"Is— Is that what they're doing?" Elain felt her cheeks go pink despite herself.

"Trying to, at least. And speaking from experience, it's really only impressive when that fish was caught with your bare hands."

Lucien was so….well-groomed that Elain struggled to picture it. He struck her as the sort of person who'd insist the Sidra was disgusting even though plenty of people happily swam in the clear blue river every summer. She couldn't imagine him just wading right into a lake or a stream. "Is it?"

"Those big fishing poles are a crutch for people who aren't skilled with their hands."

Elain couldn't help but glance at his hands. She hadn't quite noticed how big they were when he'd first come into her shop the day before, but now that he was closer, she found herself wondering how much they'd dwarf hers if she interlaced those long, elegant fingers with her own…

Not that it mattered. Lucien was there to help her find true love, not hold her hand.

"I see," she murmured, swiping to the next profile. This man, at least, wasn't holding a fish, which would have been a relief if it wasn't something a million times more mortifying.

Tamlin Springfield—Feyre's ex-fiancé.

He was staring into the camera, a violin tucked under his chin. Elain supposed the expression on his face was meant to be soulful, but truthfully…he just looked constipated.

"Please tell me you aren't insane enough to seriously consider your sister's ex," Lucien said, wrinkling his nose. "I'd rather not deal with the drama."

Elain stilled. "How do you know he's my sister's ex?" There was no way that file was extensive enough to list out her sisters' dating histories, too.

Oh gods, had she been too quick to trust him?

Annoyingly, Lucien just smirked despite the suspicion that had crept into her voice. "Most cupids stopped using arrows a long time ago, but we still learn to shoot because the elders grumble about tradition. Feyre's the most patient archery instructor to come along in centuries, so of course we all pitched in to help her out with Rhysand after that nasty business with Tamlin's curse."

Whatever the cupids did had worked. Last night, Nesta and Cassian were out teaching their weekly judo class, so it had just been Elain at home with Feyre and Rhys, who'd cuddled up on the couch, his wing wrapped around her shoulders while they made disgustingly cute heart eyes at each other. She'd retreated to the kitchen to bake and avoid them.

It still seemed too much to believe that with Lucien's help, she could find love like that, too.

"Well, I'm not matching with him, but hold on a second," Elain said, taking a screenshot and sending it to her sisters.

She quickly muted the chat before Nesta or Feyre had a chance to ask how things were going with Lucien. The last thing she needed was an interrogation.

The next profile after Tamlin's was a woman—and finally, someone who looked promising. In her picture, Briar was standing in a greenhouse, and her smattering of freckles, floppy straw sunhat, and fresh-faced beauty were exactly Elain's type.

There was some sort of audio player embedded on the page. Odd. Elain hadn't seen that before, but perhaps Briar was particularly conscious about making her profile accessible to the visually impaired.

She looked a question at Lucien, who just gave another one of those elegant shrugs she was beginning to suspect were his calling card.

Elain hit play. And the sound of Briar, greeting visitors to her page in a voice that sounded exactly like Kermit the Frog, filled the room. Elain clapped a hand to her mouth to stifle a giggle. Her eyes slid to Lucien, silently asking him if he was hearing this, too.

He somehow managed to keep a straight face until Briar began to sing, and his shoulders shook with laughter as she painfully warbled her way through "One More Sleep 'til Christmas." Elain couldn't hit pause fast enough.

"I know the conventional wisdom is that you'll have to kiss a lot of frogs to find your prince, but…" Lucien said, trailing off as Elain's giggle grew in to out-and-out laughter.

The fist that seemed to always be clenched around her chest these days loosened just a bit. If Elain wasn't mistaken, she was having…fun. Since Greysen, she'd felt that way so rarely that she'd almost forgotten what it was like.

After a few more quick swipes left, Elain finally paused on the profile of a man who had the kindest blue eyes she'd ever seen. Tarquin Sommers was an oceanographer who spent his free time attending beach cleanups and teaching children to surf.

And it certainly helped that he had a gorgeous, muscular swimmer's body, too.

Elain's finger hovered over the screen, and Lucien noticed, his mechanical eye seeming to whirr with excitement. "Tarquin is a sea witch," he said gently, "so he'll be perfectly understanding of the whole slaying demons thing, if that's your concern."

"That's good to know," Elain said. "He's— He's very pretty."

"And not on the cupids' no-fly list, either. I recommend you start with him."

Elain told herself that the knots in her stomach were just excitement and swiped right.

A few days later, Elain found herself waiting outside a coffee shop—one of the cute local ones that advertised fair trade beans and used biodegradable cups. She was so out of practice that Feyre did her makeup, and her lavender romper had needed several rounds of Nesta's wrinkle-removal spell after being relegated to a heap at the back of her closet for so long.

But Elain made it. She was going to do this.

Lucien was already inside, sipping a dirty chai while pretending to read a book but really keeping an eye on her through the window. He'd offered to keep his distance and give them some privacy, but there was something about his presence that Elain found incredibly reassuring. She'd asked him to stay.

And honestly, he was probably the only reason she hadn't panicked and cancelled at the last minute.

Tarquin greeted her with an easy smile. He'd swapped out the board shorts in his picture for jeans that hugged his ass and a crisp white t-shirt that matched his hair and made his dark skin glow. Elain let him lead her inside.

They ordered their drinks, and somehow, the world didn't end as they made conversation. Elain had been good at this kind of thing, once. Before her life had been demonic crisis after crisis, she'd hosted parties and loved flirting and getting to know new people.

But now, she hardly spent any time with anyone who wasn't Feyre, Nesta, Rhys, or Cassian. She loved her family, but…she'd shut herself away.

It helped that Tarquin seemed like the sort of person who was easy to love. Barely a few minutes into their date, they'd already found common ground in a shared interest in aquatic plants.

In fact, Elain was so interested in coastal seagrass that she excitedly gestured with her cup. The lid went flying, and suddenly Tarquin's white shirt had a bright green matcha stain that extended all the way from his collar to his hem.

Elain wanted to disappear on the spot. She should have just accepted that she couldn't date without mucking everything up, and it was better to cut this short while the mess was still small enough that it could be taken care of with bleach instead of a vanquishing spell so complex it drained all of her power for weeks afterward. She'd been so monumentally stupid for—

Lucien caught her eye from across the café. "Elain," he said gently, but still loud enough that his voice carried to her. "It's quite alright."

Something inside her settled. She managed a weak smile in his direction. Lucien grinned back, snapped his fingers, and then Elain found herself in the same spot she'd been thirty seconds prior.

Their drinks weren't finished yet. Tarquin's shirt was still perfectly clean.

Lucien had turned back time to fix her date.

Elain repeated what she'd already said about seagrass meadows, and Tarquin didn't seem to notice anything was amiss. This time, she was careful not to spill her drink as they talked.

The whole thing was…nice. Tarquin's stories about swimming with dolphins back home in Adriata were charming, and he listened with intent, genuine interest as Elain explained how the ratio of white to brown sugar in a cookie recipe affected the texture of the final product. And he was even better-looking in person.

But still, a spark was missing. When it was time to leave, Elain turned her head at the last moment so that the goodbye kiss intended for her lips landed on her cheek instead.

Lucien was already in the living room of the Archeron manor when Elain winnowed home that evening—somehow, he'd secured a dinner invite from Nesta. He was lounging on their sofa, looking strangely at home as he fixed the fletching on one of Feyre's arrows. His auburn hair looked molten in the golden hour light streaming in from the windows.

"Well?" he said, looking up as she walked in.

"It was good," Elain said.

Lucien turned to face her fully, placing his feet flat on the floor and his hands on his knees. He tilted his head, and the glint of metal in his golden eye looked strangely predatory. "Just good?"

A pleasant shiver skittered its way down Elain's spine. "Yes."

"We should be doing a hell of a lot better than 'just good.'"

He stood, tapping the arrow on his palm as he approached her. His gaze traveled slowly down her body, and Elain's throat bobbed. Lucien came closer and closer, until she could feel heat radiating off of him.

A spark had been missing with Tarquin earlier, but Lucien was a gods-damned inferno of a cupid.

"Should we?" Elain breathed.

"I'm not giving up until you've been thoroughly swept off your feet. You deserve nothing less. But I think you're blocked, and it's time to try a different approach."

Before she could ask what that meant, Feyre called them into the kitchen for dinner.

[achaotichuman]

AU where feyre is the high lady of the night court b/c she was born into but b/c of society, she decided she would disguise as a male. All the guys are questioning their sexuality, all the women wanna be with her. Feyre is basically that guy and she actually fixes the problems in hewn city and illyria thru brute force or diplomacy.

My apologies anon for this taking so long, this was supposed to be a short and sweet little five-hundred-word one-shot and somehow it has turned into 16,400 words with a lot of plot and world-building. I don't know why I'm like this.

Yall just want me to genderbend every acotar character and I am living, breathing, existing for it. One actually good-at-ruling Masc!Feyre Archeron coming right up!

The black, jewelled crown of Night was heavy on her head. Crushing the careful hairstyle Elain had weaved it into. Elain didn't mourn the loss of her hardwork as she helped to tie up the laces of Feyre's corset. Nesta watched from the door, her silver eyes tracing her youngest sister's form. Feyre expected resentment, she expected outrage and anger from her eldest sibling. Nesta was the one who deserved the position of ruler. Between the three sisters, both Elain and Feyre had promised their allegiance to Nesta when she took the throne, to them it was never an if, never a question.

They were both planning to stand beside her when Nesta inevitably took the crown, when inevitably she faced discord and rage from the arrogant assholes that objectified and opposed any female in power. Feyre was prepared to stand by her sister wearing Illyrian armour and a sword in hand. Elain was prepared to stand by with her head held high and a courtier's tongue ready to smooth over the anger that would be faced.

But no, Feyre stood with the crown on her head and a midnight dress adorning her frame. Muscle pressed against the soft fabrics. She was too toned, too bulky for this beautiful, skin-tight silk. She had begged and pleaded since the day she was old enough to hold a weapon to join the Illyrian War Bands, to fight in the War. It was only through Elain's gentle coaxing that their father allowed her to go.

Through it she had fought, killed and fallen, gotten back up and swung her fists again. The males of the Hewn City called her a waste of a woman, and the Illyrians called her a witch. The females whispered and pointed, the Princes of the other High lords said she was only half a woman.

She wasn't made for this.

"You've studied, Feyre." Nesta said with that cold voice of hers. In Feyre's five hundred years of living, she hadn't ever heard Nesta speak with a warm tone. Yet somehow it had always been comforting.

"You've studied hard, you know this Court, you know the ins and outs." Nesta assured her, walking further into the room.

Feyre whipped around to face her sister, her dear sister, "Not as well as you! I don't have a courtier's face or tongue, I'm not cold or capable of being cruel like you! I'm not soft and I don't find it easy to lie or manipulate others like Elain! I'm fit for this."

"Leave the courtier tongues to us, Feyre." Elain said softly, "You focus on what you've always set out to do."

"And what is that?"

"Fight for what is right." Elain told her, smoothing a hand over Feyre's arm, "You've always fought for those in need, hell you were the one to convince father to fight for the human's right to freedom."

Feyre sucked in breath, feeling too constricted in this corset, "That was only because Baile helped." Baile the eldest Prince of Spring, now the High lord.

"There! You have an ally in Spring already!" Elain pointed out.

"See," Nesta replied smoothly, "You've already started to work for this position, even if you didn't know it."

"It should be you wearing this crown," Feyre whispered to Nesta.

"But it's not, the Mother chose you for a reason Feyre and..."

"And what?"

Nesta closed her eyes, "You can build the Night Court a better future than I can. Your ambitions and your motives are purer than I."

"Nesta no-"

"I fear if I take that crown I will be consumed by the power. I will stand beside you, always, but... as I am now, I will not take such a responsibility, such a high power when it has been granted to another."

"That's not true Nesta, give yourself more credit than that." Feyre said.

"Oh, I give myself credit. With the right words I am capable of bringing this entire continent under my own rule, but I do not know what I would do after that. What I would bring about. You however, do not wish for mighty amounts of power, you just want peace. You are patient, kind and honest."

"All terrible qualities for High lord of Night." Feyre said.

"High Lady," Elain corrected.

Feyre threw her hands up in the air, "Another problem, High Lady!"

Nesta shrugged, "So what? If I took the throne, I would be High lady."

"That is so much different."

"How?" Nesta pressed.

"Because Nesta, I would've been by your side! I have a foot in the Illyrian camps, and you have the Hewn City twisted around your finger! The second I take this crown; the Illyrians will revolt! At least as a warrior amongst them, they've learned not to care. If I, the one they call a waste of cunt and a witch, am the one ruling them, they will call for my head. And neither of you have the connections necessary to stop them. The Hewn City will for once in their lives, side with the Illyrians! At least with you Nesta the Hewn City will listen, however reluctantly. And I could command the Illyrians under your guidance."

Both her sister's were silent. They knew she was right. Feyre may have had the experience, she had taken the High lord's training alongside both Nesta and Elain. She had watched and learned, she may not wield a courtier's tongue as well as her sister's, but she knew how the politics worked and how to spin them to her advantage. They were equal in that department.

But Feyre didn't have the influence needed, she didn't have the command nor the loyalty of the people. They would call for her immediate execution, and while they were at it, there was a good chance Elain and Nesta would follow.

"I have an idea." Elain said.

"What's the idea?" Feyre said, all out of any of her own.

"You remember Tamlin right?" The middle sister asked.

"The shapeshifting witch? Didn't he run off with your mate?" Nesta asked.

Elain rolled her eyes, "He didn't run off. Lucien and I broke the mating bond all on our own and those two fell hard, it was inevitable."

"Isn't he Baile's youngest brother?" Feyre asked.

"Yep! Their father called him the beastly spare son at the first High lord meeting we attended, remember?"

"Oh yeah." Feyre remembered now. That 'beastly spare son' hadn't been in attendance for any of the High lord's meetings, Feyre met him briefly at the War Camps. Before he was kicked out for witchcraft.

"Didn't he try to access the shadow-side or something like that?" Feyre questioned, remembering the rumours that spread about.

"Tamlin was trained by his mother, she was a witch from the Middle. But he wasn't thrown out of the War Camps for witchcraft, he was just in love with another male." Elain murmured, knowing exactly what Feyre was thinking about.

"Those godforsaken bastards." Nesta grumbled.

Elain hummed her agreement, "He and Luce live on the border of Spring and Autumn-"

"Oh, it's Luce now." Nesta said.

Elain narrowed her eyes, "He is my friend, so yes, it is Luce. Anway, like mentioned earlier, Tamlin is a shapeshifter and a powerful one at that. He can shift not just himself but others."

"What are you insinuating?" Feyre asked.

"If you can't be High Lady for the risk of people rising up against you for what's between your legs, we have the magic to... change that."

***

It was Tamlin himself who opened the door when Elain knocked. The second Feyre saw him, every memory came bounding back. He looked healthier than when he had been in the War Camps, no longer was his skin pasty or littered with bruises from his father's abuse. The first day Feyre saw him he had been a scrawny little thing, then over the course of two years he grew into a more bulking frame.

Now, not having to use the War Camps as an escape from his household, he had grown into his natural frame. No longer did he have hulking muscle, nor was he too skinny. Tall with long, lithe limbs. Golden waves that weren't matted with blood or dirt flowed down his back, touching the ground, nearly dragging along it. Bright emerald eyes that weren't dulled with exhaustion. And a light tan on his freckled skin.

A Spring Faery through and through.

The little cottage they had found on the border of Spring and Autumn perfectly matched the essence of both Courts. Half of the building was covered with the colours of Autumn, then it melded into an ombre of reds and greens before it turned into Spring. The woody smell of smoke and the fresh smell of rain and pollen drifted together, pairing perfectly. Birds, deer and foxes could be spied wandering through the deep forests surrounding the cottage. Feyre had never seen a place so... peaceful.

Certainly not where she imagined a witch living. From the stories she had heard, she expected a dark, twisting house in the middle of a cursed woods or something along those lines.

Tamlin smiled brightly when he laid eyes on Elain, "Elain. What brings you to this part of the woods?"

Elain laughed, "I come bearing gifts!" The sister lifted a basket. Feyre had watched her pack dozens upon dozens of sweets and pastries, saying it was an offering. Tamlin may be her friend, but he still abided by the general rule of Fae and Witch. If you wanted a favour, you would need a sacrifice.

Tamlin's eyes flashed in the same way metal did when it reflected the sun, he kept that bright smile and happy expression, but Feyre knew he knew they wanted something.

"Why thank you." He said, taking the basket from Elain's hands, he turned and began to head inside, calling over his shoulder he said, "Please come in."

Feyre and Nesta looked at each other, wondering if it was a safe idea to enter under the roof of a true witch; they didn't get to ask as Elain walked in. Neatly taking off her boots and leaving them near the threshold. Nesta and Feyre quickly followed, neither shut the door, wanting an open escape should this turn ugly. Feyre herself didn't think Tamlin, the boy who had been so adamant that people, no matter who, all deserved rights and freedom, would trap or attempt to harm them.

Still, it had been a while since they last met.

They followed Elain and Tamlin. Turning a corner and entering what looked to be a kitchen, connecting to a sitting room. Tamlin placed the basket of baked goods on an isle in the centre of the kitchen, then spoke to Elain.

"It's been a good long while since I last saw you, how is everything?" Tamlin asked, even his voice was bright, bright in a way that reminded Feyre of the sun shining through a dark storm.

"Actually, things have taken a slight... turn." Elain said.

Again, his eyes flashed, he knew they were about to ask something. Tamlin discreetly lifted the top of the basket, his tongue darting over his bottom lip when he saw what laid in there. Neither Feyre nor Nesta were stupid, he was weighing up if the offering would be equal to the favour.

"That isn't any good, may I ask what has turned?" Tamlin asked, turning his eyes back to Elain.

"Tam..." Elain's eyes flicked back to Feyre, "Feyre has been chosen by the Cauldron for the crown of Night."

Just like that the slight mischief and excitement for whatever Elain was going to ask winked out, his eyes widened as he looked over at Feyre. The same recognition that had no doubt been in Feyre's eyes when she saw him flashed on his face. He too was no doubt thinking of the consequences of Feyre being in such a position of power.

"Oh fuck." Tamlin said, running a hand through his hair, "That is a problem."

"We've tried to establish peace where we can throughout the years, but with our father's rule, contempt for females is still extremely high."

"I don't doubt it." Tamlin murmured in a low voice. That was a voice Feyre recognised, she had heard Tamlin speak in the same low voice when he rebuked some males who were speaking of enslaving humans once again. It seemed some things never changed, and Tamlin's hatred of injustice was one of those.

"What do you need me to do Elain?" Tamlin asked.

Elain finally made her request outright, "I need you to shapeshift Feyre into the form of a male."

Tamlin lifted a finger then quickly opened up the basket, rifling through it. The three sisters blinked, looking at each other with confused expressions before Tamlin exclaimed, "Ahah!"

He lifted a mini lemon meringue tart from the basket. He turned to Elain and laughed at her confused expression, "Eye for an eye Elain, I was checking if you had these little things, just one of them would be worth a spell to keep Feyre in a male's form, Lucien loves the damn things."

"Where is Lucien?" Feyre asked. The Fox boy and her had been drinking buddies two centuries back, before Jesminda, the poor girl, was executed and Lucien ran from Autumn. Only to find Elain as his mate and then staying as far away from the Archeron sisters as he could, his trauma still raw the mating bond chafed it.

"Out with Helion for the day." Tamlin said, placing the tart carefully back into the basket.

"Helion-steal your man-Spellcleaver?" Elain smirked, "Watch out Tamlin, you might have competition."

Tamlin gagged, "Don't worry about that Elain, as of recent we have found Lucien may be of Day descent."

Elain went red immediately, "Oh- Oh!"

"Wait, Lucien may be a Spellcleaver?" Nesta asked.

Tamlin lifted his hands and shrugged, "Don't go spreading rumours it hasn't been confirmed yet. But since Beron kicked it and Andrea left Autumn for Day, she sent Lucien a letter, telling him it might be the case."

"Oh I remember that, Andrea's affair with Helion... That was the hot underground gossip a good four hundred years ago." Feyre said. Head tipping back as she thought back on the drama that had arisen from that particular affair.

"Was more than that now. How old's Lucien?" Nesta asked.

"Four hundred and eighty." Tamlin replied, taking the basket and moving it to sit beneath a hanging cabinet.

"Four hundred and eighty years now, wow we're getting old." Feyre whistled.

"When's he getting back?" Elain asked.

As if on cue, the door of the cottage opened, and assured footsteps could be heard.

"Darling! I got those herbs you wanted. Thesan also said for you to visit him. He found records of some spells he thought you might- Oh! Afternoon to all." Lucien turned the corner, holding a white linen bag Feyre assumed contained whatever herbs Tamlin had asked for.

"Afternoon to you too Luce." Elain smiled.

Lucien smiled back, walking further into the kitchen, he opened his mouth presumably to ask why the three Archeron sisters were gathered in his home. Then his eyes found the basket, Tamlin lifted a pastry from it and Lucien seemed to catch on.

The thought came to Feyre that this was most certainly not the first time Elain had asked favours from Tamlin. She mentally noted to ask her sister what else she had bargained for with the witch.

"Is there anything new with you three?" Lucien asked as he placed the bag of herbs beside the basket and stood beside Tamlin. Feyre watched as Lucien took Tamlin's hand in his, stepping slightly in front of him. Protective.

"We were just discussing that Feyre has been chosen by the High lord's magic." Nesta revealed.

Lucien's smile dropped, he quickly looked to Tamlin who gave a slight nod. The Fox dropped his head to whisper something in Tamlin's ear. Feyre longed for the two to openly discuss whatever it was they were speaking of.

Dark voices began to whisper in her head, shadows wrapped around her mind and slithered past her mental defences, reaching, searching, finding.

Found.

Tamlin's mind looked like spider's silk and vines. So easy to press against, so easy to draw back, like a curtain made of the most delicate of silks. It was nothing for Feyre to reach in and-

Something dragged her in. Claws wielding the sharpest of blades pulled her kicking and screaming into the darkness that lurked beyond that soft silk. Down and down, she went until Feyre could no longer hear her own mental voice, nor feel her body. Hands with knives for fingertips wrapped around her, pushing in and stinging her.

Then she was tossed from that place, thrown through the silk and back into her own body.

When Feyre could see through her own eyes again, she was on her knees on the floor, gasping her breath and tears of pain streamed down her face.

"Rule number one, Daemati, never go into the mind of a witch, it will not end well for you." Tamlin hissed in a voice so dark Feyre shivered.

When she looked up Tamlin's face was carefully blank, no true feeling in his eyes. Lucien's, however, was of fury and anger. He had pulled Tamlin closer and glared at Feyre. Funny, Feyre had been under the expression he would be the even-tempered one.

"Sorry, sorry I'm sorry." Feyre shook her head forcing herself to her feet, "I... I don't know what overcame me."

"Your magic will want to stretch its legs, but please, experiment on people who give you explicit permission to enter their minds. Or work on rats or something of the like." Tamlin told her.

Feyre nodded, eyes on the floor, "Of course, of course. I am... I am so sorry."

"Just be glad I am used to dealing with Daemati." Tamlin told her, he then turned to Elain, "I will honour your request, on one condition."

"What condition?"

Tamlin gestured to Feyre, "She keeps her magic on a tight leash and does not go wandering into people's minds."

Looking back and addressing Feyre directly again, he said, "If you wish to turn the tide of your Court and remake it so you don't have to appear as male, you cannot go into other's mind, not even if your magic begs and pleads with you too, and it will."

"How do you know that? You have never experienced the High Lord's magic." Nesta said, her eyes narrowed at Tamlin.

Tamlin sucked in a breath, it was tight, and his eyes widened just a fraction. Lucien gripped his hand tighter, in a tense voice, Tamlin said, "Just listen to me. Do you want me to accept your request or not?"

Nesta leaned back on her heels, her arms crossed, she slowly released a breath. Tamlin then spoke to Feyre again, "I will do as you ask, but I do request something of you."

"We've already given you an offering." Elain said, her voice slightly snappy.

"That was before your new High Lady decided to enter my mind."

"I've never experienced the pull of the magic; I didn't know what I was doing!" Feyre tried to plead.

"But you knew it was mind, I heard you thinking so loudly around the entrance of my mental walls. You knew you reaching out for me, and you went in. For that, you owe me, your sister's gifts will suffice for my giving you the form of a male. But I ask something of you as payment for intrusion."

Looking to Elain, Feyre tried to ask her sister with her eyes on what to do. Elain just bit her lip and looked to the floor; Feyre mentally slapped herself. One moment of weakness, now she owed a witch a favour.

"Fine, what is the request?"

"There is a fungus in the Hewn City, it grows on any life it can latch onto and sucks the nutrients from it, draining it until its host is nothing more than a hollow shell for it to reside. From what I've studied it only grows deep in the Hewn City. I want it. Bring me that fungus and I will consider the debt repaid."

When Feyre looked at Elain, her eyes were wide, and her face had gone pale. Nesta swallowed hard. Feyre knew that fungus, had heard of it but never seen it. True it occurred naturally deep within the caverns of the Hewn City, but it was strictly forbidden for any to gather it.

It latched onto any life, including people. Not to mention the spores were invisible, once inhaled it would suck the life from a person from the inside out.

Why would Tamlin want it?

Did Feyre even have a choice but to give it to him?

The glint in his green eyes said she had too. Lucien kept a carefully neutral expression but the confused look in his eyes when he heard Tamlin's request didn't escape Feyre's notice.

Feyre decided that it was just one fungus, and Tamlin had never been a malicious male. So, she finally nodded, "Okay, okay fine, we'll get you your fungus."

Tamlin's lips tilted up, "Good."

"First you shapeshift Feyre." Elain said.

Cocking an eyebrow up, Tamlin watched Elain out of the corner of his eye as he let go of Lucien's hand and approached Feyre. The natural urge to run as fast and as far away as she could when in the presence of such ancient power nearly overtook her. But Feyre forced her feet to be still as Tamlin laid a gentle hand on her shoulder.

"The changes I will make are not permanent, however you will not be capable of shifting back to your regular form on your own. You will require my assistance for that."

Feyre's heart was in her throat, "What is the price for shifting me back?"

Tamlin smiled and this time it was that genuine boyish grin, "More lemon meringue tarts."

"There's lemon méringue tarts here?!" Lucien exclaimed, hands immediately going to that basket Elain had brought. Elain laughed quietly under her breath and Tamlin chuckled.

Glancing around Feyre noted her sisters were far enough away that she could whisper without them hearing, so she craned her neck closer to Tamlin and asked, "Why be friends with her? Elain is your husband's mate."

Tamlin just shrugged, "Mates are a predetermined melding of two people, I don't blame those that are shackled against their will."

Emboldened by his causal reply Feyre asked, "Why do you want the fungus?"

A tingling feeling spread across her entire body, Feyre barely noticed it as she watched Tamlin's green eyes flash again, "Just get me the fungus, High Lord of Night."

High Lord?

Feyre looked down at her own body, and sure enough. She had shifted. Now more focused on how she felt, she noticed the changes and differences.

There were no longer an weights on her chest pressing against the fabric of her black shirt. Now her sides were more tightly constricted by the satin. Her shoulders were pulling her shirt taut, and the hems of her pants were riding up higher, now too short.

There was also a noticeable weight sitting in between her legs. When Feyre noticed that particular change, she, no he now, blushed furiously. Tamlin smirked, "This form can be... customised. I just shifted you based on the genes I found within your body already, this is exactly how you would look if you had been born male."

"I'm sorry, customise?" Feyre said, she nearly jumped at how much deeper her voice sounded.

Elain, Nesta and Lucien all snickered. Tamlin just gave him a sympathetic smile, "I get you some clothes that will fit your new body better."

With that Tamlin slipped away from the group. Elain and Nesta looked him up and down slowly, Elain tilted her head to the side and Nesta narrowed her eyes.

Nesta said, "You look like our grandfather."

Elain hid a smile behind the back of her hand, "You do, just better looking."

"Thanks." Feyre said deadpan.

Lucien leaned back against the counter behind him, placing his palms on the surface, "You are pleasing to the eye, that's good, beauty is power in the Courts. Though Tamlin certainly wouldn't make you ugly."

"Good to know, Lucien. I am hoping to a achieve a Court where looks are not what people seek in courtiers, lords and ladies." Feyre said with that same deadened voice.

Tamlin came back into the room, holding a white shirt and dark brown trousers. Feyre glared at them, "Whose clothes am I stealing?"

If they were Tamlin's Feyre might owe him something. He already owed this male a Fae-eating fungus, he didn't need to give up any more dangerous plants or herbs to him.

"Mine, but relax, I will take nothing for this."

"Why?" He asked, Tamlin tried to shove the clothing into Feyre's arms, but he refused to take them.

Tamlin rolled his eyes, the light shone through the window in the kitchen, making his eyes appear like green-tinted sea-glass, "I am a witch, not an asshole, just bring them back washed and not torn."

Feyre glanced over at Elain, who simply nodded. Tamlin sighed, "Take the damn clothes Feyre, you look ridiculous in the ones you're wearing."

Feyre glared at him again as he snatched the clothing from his hands, Tamlin jutted his head in the direction of a hallway leading away from the entrance to the house, "There's a bathroom before the staircase down that hallway."

The High lord of Night just gave a low grunt of acknowledgement before heading for the bathroom. As he turned down the hallway, he heard Elain saying, "I don't know how this will go."

Tamlin answered her, "Baile will be on your side."

"You hate Baile." Elain pointed out.

When Tamlin replied, a chill ran down Feyre's spine, "I really do."

***

A week passed, a week for Feyre to get used to the body he was in. Before he had to finally see his Court.

Feyre spun in the mirror, looking himself up and down, side to side. Trying to convince his mind that the reflection staring back at him was indeed his own. It was... difficult to say the least.

His hair was still long, spilling down his back. Elain had asked whether or not he wanted to cut it, Feyre refused. His hair was an important part of him, for a while, during the War, it had been the only thing he could control, and he chose to let it grow long. He braided it and had let that long hair billow in the wind once they won.

It wasn't like he needed to cut it to look more male-ish, Tamlin had done a good enough job with that. He looked every part the High Lord of Night.

A sharpened jaw, with narrow eyes. Broad shoulders and a muscled chest. Feyre had chiselled muscles along her abdomen to begin with, but now everything seemed sharper, bigger. Elain had turned his hair into a single braid that fell down his back. A suit of black and silver hugged her body, a black shirt underneath a fitting waistcoat. Black trousers and knee-high boots. A jacket matching his waist coat fell around his shoulders. And black gloves adorned his hands. Everything was decorated with whorls of silver that glowed in the moonlight.

A knock rapped at his door, Feyre took a deep breath, then he turned and headed for the door.

Upon opening it, he was faced with Nesta, who lifted her eyes to his. Feyre always had a bigger build than Nesta, but it was her that possessed the height in their family. But now... now Feyre towered over his eldest sister.

"It's time." Nesta said, her voice emotionless. Her eyes a silvery blaze.

Feyre nodded, "I know," He held back the urge to wince at the low, rumbling sound that escaped his throat.

Nesta drew in a breath, crossing her arms. She moved away from the threshold, allowing Feyre room to walk beside her. They accompanied each other through the hallways, heading for the entrance of the Palace. Prepared to winnow to the Hewn City, prepared to finally face his Court.

Feyre heard Elain's voice, speaking with someone in low hushed tones, before they turned the corner to see her, Nesta held out a hand, stopping Feyre in his tracks.

"I need you to promise me something, Fey." Nesta murmured.

Fey... He hadn't heard that nickname in centuries.

Now Nesta had all of Feyre's attention, he turned to face his sister fully, "Anything Star."

Nesta's own eyes widened just a fraction, just for the smallest of moments, when she heard the nickname Feyre had given her when they were children.

"And I need you to promise that..." Nesta looked down at her feet, for the first time in her life she looked... uncertain. Unsure.

Feyre took Nesta's hands in his own, "Tell me."

Nesta swallowed as she stared at her hands, conjoined with her sister, her, publicly, brother, "I need you to free our people, Fey."

Free them...

Feyre unconsciously loosed his grip on Nesta's hands. Noticing the slight change, Nesta ripped her hands away and balled them into fists at her side. Staring up at Feyre, at the crown on his head, with such a cold, icy gaze that Feyre was certain frost was appearing on the black jewels.

"Free my people, Feyre Archeron, give them the power over themselves that they can't on their own. With the way our own people live outside of Velaris we... we're a third of a fucking Court, Feyre. And the former High lord was a third of a fucking male for governing them like this."

Feyre was silent. Silent as his heartbeat began to race. Silent as his muscles tensed and his jaw clicked. Silent as Nesta took a step back. Silent as he realised darkness had begun to collect around his feet, around his hands and climbed over his shoulders.

Silent as he realised Nesta was afraid of him.

Silent as he near fell to one knee, head held low, near to the floor. Silent as he bowed to his sister, to her sister, to the female who had been by her side, and would be by his side.

Silent as he lifted his eyes to meet Nesta's. Nesta said nothing as she placed her hands on his shoulders.

Finally, it was the Princess of the Night Court who broke the silence, "Feyre Archeron, High Lady of the Night Court."

Nesta then took her hands and lifted them to the back of her neck, she pulled a silver chain from where it had been hidden under the high neck of her black dress. Unfastening it, she pulled a necklace off her throat. It was beautifully polished, with one dark gem at the centre of the chain. When the light hit it in just the correct way, a streak of silver with a small spot of white in the middle of it appeared.

Nesta gently wrapped the necklace around Feyre, she clasped it and returned her hands to her youngest sister's shoulders. Youngest brother's shoulders.

"Raven Archeron, High Lord of the Night Court." Nesta said.

The name had been decided, the name of their grandfather, Elain thought it fitting given how alike him and Feyre appeared.

It also may put Kier in an early grave considering how hateful he had always been of the male. And Feyre found that thought amusing.

Finally, Feyre, no, Raven, lifted himself to his feet.

"It's going to take some getting used to." A voice said, Nesta and Feyre turned to see Elain leaning against the wall. She gestured to Feyre, "That name. Raven, very different from Feyre."

"It was your idea." Nesta pointed out.

"I know." Elain smiled prettily before turning and pressing herself against the wall to reveal a person that was behind her.

A female with soil brown eyes, long locks of golden blonde, plush red lips and a red dress with high slits and a low neckline showing off her cleavage was stood before them. She smiled and bowed low when her eyes met Feyre's.

"Raven Archeron, or shall I say Feyre Archeron? A pleasure to meet you." The beautiful female said, in a low seductive voice.

Feyre was about to insist this stranger simply call him Feyre, when Nesta cut in.

"High Lord shall suffice." Nesta drawled, when Feyre turned to see her, Nesta was jutting her nose in the air. Her eyes were cold and hard, yet a light flush of red was patchy across her cheeks and nose.

The female's smile widened into a grin, her brown eyes met Nesta's and Feyre felt the fiery spark of this stranger meeting Nesta's cold flames. Something exploded in their gaze and Feyre nearly took a step back.

"A pleasure to see you as well, Nesta Archeron."

"The pleasure is all yours and none of my own." Nesta snapped back, taking a slight step forward, crossing her arms.

Elain stepped near completely in between the two females, as if preventing them from reaching each other. The middle sister clapped her hands as she happily said, "Feyre, meet Morrigan, she is the Steward's daughter."

"Exiled daughter," Morrigan mumbled, then she grinned at Feyre once again when she caught sight of her confused eyes, "My father attempted to kill me when I refused the marriage, he tried to force me into. My would-have-been fiancé met me broken on the border, after he pretended to leave me for dead, he sent a sentry to collect me and take me into a hidden place within his Court. Once I was older and capable of defending myself, I made contact with an... old connection within your Court and returned to Night."

"Where have you been living since?"

Morrigan shrugged, "Many places, mostly Velaris, at times in Autumn, sometimes in Winter."

Elain spoke, "Morrigan is an incredibly courtier, Viviane Lady of the Winter Court is a close friend of hers, she has friends in Illyria, Vallahan and her ex-fiance is Eris Vanserra."

Feyre met Elain's eyes when she said Eris' name. When he looked back at Morrigan, he finally remembered her. The Morrigan, the promised fiance to the then heir to the Autumn Court, now the High lord of Autumn.

Feyre had been in the War Camps during the time of Morrigan. Nineteen when she was set to be in a marriage to a male, a boy, ten years younger than herself.

"Eris Vanserra was nine years old at the time of your engagement to him." Feyre stated.

Morrigan nodded, "His father is not what I would call the greatest example of what a father should be."

"Are any High Fae fathers?" Nesta huffed.

Morrigan gave her a half smile, "You're more dressed up than the last time I saw you Nesta."

Nesta tensed, she once again curled her hands into fists, until her knuckles were white, otherwise her face remained blank, "We are going to Feyre's formal coronation, we are all dressed up."

Nesta looked Morrigan up and down, "Though you wear the same dress you did when... I saw you last."

At those words Morrigan eyes darkened, her lips darted over her red lips, "I didn't wear this dress for long then, did I now? Though you were able to wear the dress you brought the entire... encounter. It was quite fun to look at when I-"

"Now! We must be heading for the Hewn City in less than five minutes!" Elain cut the conversation off.

Feyre quickly looked at Nesta, then Morrigan again, then back to Nesta. Nesta's face had gone considerably red. Morrigan was just grinning at the reaction.

What had happened between them? And why didn't Feyre know about it, yet Elain seemed to have some sort of a clue as to what was happening?

"Morrigan will be joining us, she has offered her services to our Court and tonight we shall put them to the test!" Elain said.

Morrigan met Feyre's eyes with a flirtatious spirit but cold cruelness seeping into the edges, "If that is alright with you, High Lord?"

Feyre looked at Elain, then at Nesta, then back at Morrigan.

Over the course of the week, Feyre had been trying to convince himself he was chosen for a reason, that he had the knowledge for this.

Yes, he had much to learn, but he had lived here all his life. Had been given the same chances Nesta had, no he didn't have her cruel coldness, but he had his heart, he had his honor, and he had the same knowledge she did.

So Feyre forced himself to take in a deep breath, facing Morrigan, "Your services will be tested, however I will have the final word on if you will be needed in the future. You will not answer to either of my sisters, you will come to me for any and all requests. Understood?"

Morrigan blinked, taken aback by Feyre's quick harsh words. Feyre watched as her brown eyes began to slide to Elain, looking to find confirmation with the middle sister, but Morrigan caught herself and looked back at Feyre. Keeping her eyes only on the High lord.

With a short bow, Morrigan said, "Yes my Lord."

"Good, then we must be off to the Hewn City, the time has come."

With no other words, Elain and Morrigan turned on their heels and headed for the entrance of the Palace, which was built into the side of the mountain. Half connected to the Hewn City, half connected to Velaris.

Nesta and Feyre began to follow the two, Nesta whispered to him, "Well done, Morrigan is pushy, don't let her shove you around."

Feyre nodded, then he asked, "Where do you know her from?"

Again Nesta' face went red, she quickly shook her head, "Forget it, we met at a bar and I learned of her former position after a few drinks."

Feyre didn't believe her, or at least didn't believe she was telling the full story. It didn't matter though, because they were heading into darkness. Into the hallways that would lead to the High lord's quarters in the Hewn City. From there they would winnow to the coronation party thrown in Feyre's honour.

"This is going to be difficult." Feyre said.

Nesta smiled a little, her thumb brushing the back of Feyre's hand, "It will."

***

The coronation ceremony went off without a hitch. Morrigan, Elain and Nesta went in first. Even from behind the closed doors, Feyre heard the hushed gasps and whispers at the appearance of the long-lost daughter of Keir. Morrigan was going to be a problem, Feyre already knew it, but he supposed he didn't have much of a choice but to at least trial her out. After all, his Court at the current moment was just her two sisters.

After Nesta and Elain took their places standing on either side of the throne and Morrigan joined the front row of the crowd, standing just an inch in front of everyone, Feyre walked through.

Raven walked through. He forced into his mind like he had forced referring to himself as 'he' into his mind.

It was Raven who stepped out into the crowds. Raven, whose darkness poured out in front of him, curling over his shoulders and around his hands.

His braid swung behind him, whipping like a vicious tail, the long trail of his floor-length black jacket dragged behind him across the sea of darkness. His cunning eyes grazed the crowd. Everyone was gathered here, everyone except the people of Velaris. Even Illyrians were mixed in amongst the High Fae of the Hewn City.

A female with unruly black curly hair and clipped Illyrian wings raised her hand in a wave, her dark skin making her stand out amongst the pale of the Hewn City.

Raven nearly waved back to her, but forced himself to face ahead, that female was Feyre's best friend, not Raven's, Feyre's partner, not Raven's.

Not for now at least.

He approached the throne and the Priestess standing before it. She had long black hair that reached down to the floor, her robes were of black and silver, a jewel of blue was hanging from the crown of her head. She held the formal crown of Night in her hands, tonight Raven would wear it upon his head, then come morning it would return to its place in a chest hidden deep in the Hewn City. Not to be touched until the next Heir was crowned.

It was Elain who walked over, removing the smaller crown from Raven's head. Then Raven went down on one knee. The Priestess lifted the crown and began her speech.

Was he to be on his knees the whole time? Nesta had said he would, he thought it would be easy, he had underestimated how long the speech would go on for.

Finally once she was finished, she placed the crown upon Raven's head. Raven lifted his eyes, lifted his body and turned to face the city before him.

He was met with terrified eyes, the trembling hands of children and women. The greedy look of hunger in the faces of the males.

The males of Illyria looked stoic and uncaring, but Raven spotted the younger males, who looked... exhausted, no doubt counting the days before they would be sent to their dooms in War, not given a choice on whether they wished to fight or not.

"They say we're brutes born to kill." Celvin had said, "I didn't want this, I don't want this.

"What would you do if given a choice?" Feyre asked.

He had slumped his shoulders, his wings dragging along the dirt, a dejected, saddened look in his eyes, "I would have painted."

Raven wouldn't allow this any longer.

Free my people, Nesta had said.

'Oh I will free them, I will free every last one of them.' Raven and Feyre thought.

The rest of the ceremony was nothing but formalities. Raven lounged in the black, sharp cut throne, gazing down at the people mingling amongst each other. The prejudices were plain to see, as the Illyrians snarled at the High Fae, and the High Fae sneered at the Illyrians. 

Kicking one leg over the other, Raven rested his head on his knuckles, trying to not appear as bored as he was. He had asked Nesta over and over to go and join his people in the celebrations, but was told to sit still and be quiet. 

Was this all his ancestors had done? Look pretty on the big, bad throne then disappear to dance the night away in Velaris? 

That would change. 

This would change. 

Starting tonight. 

Raven couldn’t even believe it, Feyre couldn’t believe it. How could he ever just sit idly on a throne? Sitting up here for the entire duration of a celebration with his people and not joining in on the celebrations? 

Raven would never do something like that. Feyre refused to ever be like that. Idle. 

So he stood. The coat he wore slipped off his shoulders and fell onto the throne behind him. Then he walked down into the crowd. 

Eyes went wide and mouths moved quickly in hushed whispers, but Raven ignored them. Feyre ignored them. He let the mask slip. Mentally he had tried to remain in character, Raven, Raven, Raven. 

Now, in the youth of the night, when many were too drunk to do any more than simply whisper and point. Feyre let the mask of Raven slip. 

She wished to turn back to her own body, the one she knew and felt comfortable in, but that wasn't possible. So she settled to stay in this body as she moved through the crowds, no real purpose in her stride. 

Then a hand slipped down her arm. Feyre turned and her breath was caught in her throat. 

A beautiful female smiled at her. Her hair was black as midnight, her skin glowing like the moon, her dress was long, barely touching the ground. Her sleeves covered her arms, her neck was almost entirely covered, but her dress was so tight around her frame that Feyre couldn't help but feel like it was a mockery of modesty. 

Her mouth was painted with shimmering black. She leaned in close and those plush lips were so close to her neck. Feyre could hardly breathe. 

“Greetings, my High Lord.” She said, and oh good Gods even her voice was filled with a soft seduction that drew Feyre closer. 

“Greetings, Lady.” Feyre forced her voice back into that of Raven’s. Forced her shoulders to loosen even when they wanted to remain tense. 

“I don’t suppose the newly crowned would care for a dance.” Her eyes twinkled like stars, she lifted a soft hand, Feyre was helpless but to take it. 

“Why I don’t think-”

“Lady Kathleen. A pleasure to see you once again.” Elain appeared out of nowhere, grabbing Feyre’s hand and reeling her back. 

Kathleen’s eyes simmered but she forced a smile as her back straightened, “Lady Elain Archeron, the pleasure is all mine.”

Elain laughed sweetly, but there was something strained in the sound, “I’m sure it is. I hate to interupt however, Lord Raven, there is an emergency that requires your immediate attention.”

“There is?-”

“Well we best be off, do take care Kathleen.” Elain said, before near dragging her sister away. 

“Elain what-”

Elain pulled Feyre close and whispered in a harsh voice, “You are now the High Lord, they think you to be male, that means that every Lady here that is looking for marriage is going to want to carry your children.”

“Elain!-” 

“I am stating it how it is. Don’t accept dances from random females. Keep to yourself, and keep yourself on the throne. There is a reason we place the Court so high above the rest.”

Feyre ripped her arm from Elain’s. The mask came back on and just like that Feyre, became Raven Archeron, “I have promised to free my people, if it starts with dancing among them, so be it.”

Elain’s eyes softened, “Fey I know you want to do the right thing, but we must do this slowly-”

“This is my Court, not a school, I do not have to treat my people like children that need lessons to be taught. Elain, all changes are to be implemented immediately from now on and you know what… it starts tonight.”

***

Months passed, months of terrible, terrible days and sleepless nights.

Feyre was currently in his study within Velaris, still in the form of a male, he didn’t wear a shirt, it felt nice to not be restricted to such modesty, no one had even batted an eye at his appearance, except Nesta who had nearly stumbled back. But ultimately she just nodded her approval. 

 Elain was sitting in a black velvet chair by the fire, helping by reading reports and checking the budget.

"Nearly eighty percent of taxes taken from the Hewn City and Illyria go to Velaris." The middle sister sneered with such disgust in her voice that Feyre nearly flinched.

"Eighty percent?" Feyre baulked.

All of that money... going to a city that didn't need even a third of that.

Elain nodded, "And get this, most of it just sits in that treasure hoard of ours. We have slums in our city Feyre, slums and yet we're taking eighty percent of our other cities’ money just to keep it to ourselves."

Elain threw the papers down onto the coffee table before her, "How has our Court survived this long."

At that moment Nesta walked in, "Many of the Lords in the Hewn City evade paying their taxes, they use the money they manage to stow away to keep the Court functioning, as for Illyria... Illyrians are capable of bearing children far quicker than that of High Fae. If it weren't for the fact they are so many they would've died out a long time ago."

"Fuck." Feyre mumbled, he knew of the hardships in Illyria, had faced them when he went there for training. Yet still, he had a warm bed and hot meals. Some of the boys and girls he had befriended they... he never saw them again.

Whilst he hoped everyday they simply went to other parts of Illyria. He knew in his head that they simply didn't make it. Couldn't make it through the freezing nights, nor the starvation.

"What do you wish to do first?" Nesta asked Feyre.

Feyre turned his eyes to the view of Velaris behind him. He saw the twinkling lights and the shine of the sun upon the city.

"Start with Illyria. Hire as many healers as needed, bring hot food and clean water, any children without shelter are to be brought to the Hewn City. Any females with clipped wings are to be given the choice to leave their homes or turn in the males who hurt them. And as for the Hewn City... open the borders."

"Feyre-"

"Open all the doors, all males, females, children should be given free access to Velaris and given the proper care needed. If any are found to be injured they are to receive health-care free of charge."

Feyre stood from his and walked to the window. Staring down at the blissful peace below.

All beautiful, it was all peaceful.

His mind went to Celvin, and his dream to paint. His head then turned to the wall opposite to him, where the beautiful landscape of the mountains of the Night Court was hung. A painting Feyre herself, himself, had made.

“And military training for males and females will be completely optional.” Feyre added. 

“What will be optional?” Morrigan asked as she flounced into the office. Over the course of the months Feyre had grown even more wary of her. She was too bright, and too easily turned cold and cruel. She was perfect for Night in every way, but only for the former way the Court was ruled. If Feyre wanted a Court that respected the ones that ruled it, were loyal out of their own will, and lived happily and in peace with one another, she couldn’t have people working for her that didn’t support that. 

Either Morrigan needed to change her tactics, or she needed to go. 

Nesta’s eyes widened a fraction when she saw the blonde, she unconsciously stepped closer to Feyre. And Feyre stepped closer to Nesta protectively. 

It was Elain who explained, “Feyre is implementing change within the Court, from now on the borders between the Hewn City, Illyria and Velaris will be completely open. More money is going to be put into Illyria and the Hewn City.”

Feyre went on, “The resources that were hoarded by my ancestors will all be put back into the people. And military training will become completely optional to both male and females. Elain are you writing this down?”

Elain smiled as she lifted a notebook and paper, “Been writing it down.”

Feyre gave his sister a grin. 

Morrigan, however, did not look so pleased, her eyes had gone wide and her pretty smile had dropped, “The borders are being opened?!”

Now Feyre scowled at her, in a low tone he said, “Yes they are, do you have a problem with that?”

Morrigan spluttered for a moment then she cleared her throat and met Feyre’s hard eyes with cold ones, “I have no problem with the final decision of my Court, however in my professional opinion-”

“Are suggesting my opinion is not professional?” Feyre asked, beginning to take steps forward towards Morrigan. 

“No! No my Lord, but you must understand,” Morrigan laughed as she spoke, it only served to piss Feyre off even more, “These borders have not been opened for well over five thousand years, to open them now, especially with the nature of the Hewn City and the Illyrians-”

“What nature, Morrigan?” Nesta seethed, crossing her arms. 

Morrigan’s eyes flashed an almost golden colour as she looked over at Nesta. Feyre stepped in between them, “No, you look at me, you respond to me, don’t look at her, don’t talk to her. Don’t. Go. Near. Her.”

Morrigan’s jaw dropped, then it snapped shut as finally anger came forward, “I see turning you male also gave you the self-entitled possessiveness of one of them.”

Feyre nearly lost his fucking mind. Then he took in a deep breath, forcing himself to be calm. 

Forcing herself to be calm. They weren’t in front of the Court right now, she didn’t have to put up the mask. 

Over the last few months, it had all been training, training, training, since five seconds ago this conversation had been one of diplomacy. 

Now it was about her sister and this godforsaken Morrigan. 

So Feyre allowed herself to slip away from the mask and approach Morrigan as an equal, as a bitch getting on her own and her sister’s nerves. 

“I am no possessive person, I am in a disguise. You know this very well. You know why I am doing this-”

“Because Illyria and the Hewn City would have you killed!” Morrigan shouted, “You have to do this because they are monsters-”

“You will do well not to refer to my people as monsters, Morrigan. I understand you came from there, I know very well the horrors my people go through, but I have the power to change that. I have the power to make for certain no more teenagers and little girls get tortured for not being virgins and end up being dumped on Autumn Court borders! I have the power to make for certain that no Illyrian boys end up dying from the freezing weather or lack of food! I have the power to make for certain that no Illyrian girls lose their wings just for the sex they were born with! And if you are against that then you are no better than your father!” 

At Feyre’s accusation angry tears welled up in Morrigan's eyes and Feyre knew she had gone too far. 

“You accuse me of being like my father,” She whispered in a low, angry tone. 

“No I do not, I apologise for my choice of wording. However, I do accuse you of condoning abuse within my Courts,” Feyre said, “Now either get on board with this or get out, I will not allow a near stranger to warp my thinking.” 

Looking back at Nesta, Feyre added, “Or bring mental strain to my eldest sister.”

Nesta sucked in a breath, Morrigan tried to find her eyes but Feyre took a step forward, forcing Morrigan back. 

“Leave, and once you have your act together, then come find me.” Feyre ordered. 

The voice that left her throat was not her own, it was her speech, her thoughts, but a power was in those words that sent Morrigan skirting back and out of the room. 

“You just used your High Lord’s power on her.” Elain said. 

“I did.” Feyre whispered, “Wow that’s powerful.”

Nesta stumbled back into Feyre’s desk, hands gripping the edge like her life depended on it. Feyre was in front of her in a moment, desperately trying to find a way to help. 

“There’s something between you and Morrigan isn’t there?” Feyre asked. 

Nesta swallowed hard, she scrunched her eyes closed and nodded, “She’s… she’s better when she’s not in Court, but when she is, she’s… almost destructive.”

“It’s what makes her the perfect courtier, she’s apathetic in the face of a Court. The Hewn City though she harbours resentment for.” Elain said. 

“I know.” Nesta whispered, “I just wish she was able to get past what happened to her and see how others are going through the same thing.”

“Are you and Morrigan…” 

“How much will you hate me if I say we are?” Nesta whispered. 

“Hate you?!” Feyre nearly snorted at the idea. She could never hate her sister. Not in a thousand years, not a million.

Nesta’s eyes turned cold and Feyre quickly added, “I could never hate you, Star. I love you. I just… I don't like Morrigan.”

“I know.” Nesta said, she straightened, letting go of the desk, “I can’t say I necessarily love her either, I just…”

“You don’t need to explain your feelings to me, Star. If you see something in her, try to find it, but know I will always be behind you. If she ever does something to you, I will-”

“Rip her throat out and feed her skin to the wolves?” Nesta asked deadpanned. 

“I was going to say something a little more painful, but that works too.” Feyre smiled. 

“You are more cruel than you think, Feyre Archeron.” Elain said, “Not a good quality.”

“Ah yes, kindness will always prevail.” Feyre moved away from Nesta, heading for the lounge beside Elain. Nesta followed and fell gracefully into a spot beside Feyre. 

“It does, and especially in this case, we are going to need a whole lot of kindness and patience when dealing with the Illyrians.” Elain stated, rifling through some paperwork. 

Feyre’s face suddenly went grave, “Get me Devlon. Immediately.”

***

The last time Feyre saw Devlon was a year ago now, six months before their father had succumbed to the brain trauma inflicted by the former High Lord of Spring when he attempted an assassination himself on the High Lord of Night, after his previous hired assassin was killed single-handedly by the Night Lord himself. 

They had torn each other to shreds, returned to their homes on their death-beds and died from various injuries. 

The months before that Feyre had returned to Velaris to help with various jobs and to explore her own hobbies in painting. The guilt now ate away at her, how was she hidden away in Velaris whilst her people suffered daily? 

His people, right now, in the face of Devlon, Feyre was Raven Archeron. The High Lord of the Night Court. 

He sat before Raven in his office in the Hewn City. Devlon, like many of the high ranking officers of Illyria, knew of Velaris. Still Raven did not take him in, not yet. 

Not yet. 

Devlon’s eyes had always been hard towards Feyre, always glaring, but as Raven, they were more downcast, more respectful. 

Raven to Devlon was his High lord, Feyre to Devlon was a waste of a pretty female. 

It fueled Raven’s anger that much more. 

Silence had encompassed them, whilst Raven examined every inch of Devlon. He knew the Illyrian was squirming under his High lord’s gaze, but was attempting to keep still. It was dark down here, with no sky to escape too, that would be taking a toll on him as well. 

“My High Lord, is there a particular reason you wished to meet with me today.” Devlon finally caved. 

“There is. You and your men have one week to gather the names of every female with her wings clipped, every boy and girl who has died from the conditions in Illyria, and every male or female who has been mistreated by their superiors.”

Devlon blinked, his mouth dropped open, he began to stutter, but Raven cut him off, “One week, I expect those papers to be dropped on this desk before the final second of your deadline. Else consider your title and power completely stripped from you.”

“Your Majesty, that is just not possible-”

“Oh it very well is,” Raven hissed. He then leaned forward, and in a far, far darker voice he murmured, “Unless you believe I will be angered at the results you gather.”

It was when Raven brushed the dark claws of his mind against Devlon’s mental shields that the Illyrian snapped. He stood up and leaned over the desk, beginning to shout, spitting on Raven’s face as he did, “You will not order such a thing from me! I have kept Illyria running for centuries! I have trained generation after generation! You have appeared out of nowhere and are going to ruin our country with your-”

Raven threw him back against the door so hard a wing bone was crushed under Devlon’s own wing. The Illyrian screamed in pain, but it was nothing compared to the onslaught of agony that ripped through him as Raven curled his hand into a tight fist. Darkness whipped around his wings, wrapping around the limbs and tearing. 

Blood sprayed from his back, Devlon writhed and screamed and cried, until he was covered in just red. 

Finally his body was just laying on the floor, twitching whilst small cries left his throat. 

Raven leaned back into his chair as he watched the male finally still as the life ebbed away from his eyes. 

A few seconds passed, and the doors tentatively opened. Morrigan could be seen through the crack, she shoved the door fiercely to push Devlon’s body out of the way. When she entered she stared down at the broken wings of the now dead Illyrian. 

Then she lifted her eyes to Raven. None of the sly intrigue was in them this time, just a blank nothingness. 

“What do you want, Morrigan?” Raven drawled. 

Morrigan put her hands behind her back. Raven’s eyes trailed up her body, today she wore a black dress, the same slits ran up her thighs, each pane of fabric loosely connected by silver chains. 

“I wish to ask for your blessing to court Nesta.” 

“No.” Feyre came through now, the face of Raven dropping. Feyre let the protectiveness she felt for her dear eldest sister shine through in her eyes. 

Morrigan didn’t react much, like she expected that to be the answer, but she did ask, “Is there any way I can earn your approval?”

Standing up from her chair, Feyre walked to stand before Morrigan. If she was in her regular female form Morrigan might have two inches on her, but as it was, in the form of a male, Feyre had enough height over Morrigan that the blonde had to look up to meet her eyes. 

“We can start with you learning the new ways of this Court. We can start with you accepting that there will be change implemented.”

Morrigan sucked in a breath but she nodded all the same. Keeping their eyes locked, Feyre said, “I see good in you Morrigan. Elain is right, you have the born skill of a courtier, but you, like many of the other courtiers, cannot see how this change will benefit the Night Court. You can only see how it will disrupt your peace.”

Morrigan, for once, didn’t try to defend herself, she cast her eyes down and took what Feyre gave her, “I think you will be a valuable asset to this Court, but you need to move past your own resentment. I think I know where to start with that.”

At that Morrigan lifted her eyes and scrunched her brow in confusion, “Start where?”

Feyre straightened her back and put the mask back on. In a blink it was Raven that glared down at Morrigan, “Morrigan, by order of your High Lord, schedule the execution of Keir.”

*** Keir’s execution was nothing to look twice at. The male knew what was happening the moment he saw his only daughter walk into his office with two guards beside her. Neither spoke a word. Feyre watched as the male was brought out in chains, wearing the finery of Night. There was no emotion on his face, he said nothing as he was brought deep into the Hewn City, as his head was placed on the butchering block. 

The only words he said were when the axe had been lifted, his eyes were cut into Feyre’s, into Raven’s. He spoke quickly, in a voice so quiet that without his daemati abilities, Raven would not have heard him. 

“Free them all.”

Then the axe went down. 

Keir’s eyes were open when his head rolled to the floor, his face looking up at Raven’s. 

At Feyre’s. 

Somehow, Feyre knew that Keir knew who she truly was. Somehow, she knew that in these final moments there hadn’t been judgement. 

Morrigan threw up. She vomited onto the stone floors until she was dry heaving and sobbing. It seemed even her father being her torturer wasn’t enough to tear away the deep childish love that a daughter had for a parent. 

Feyre wondered if Keir knew how much his daughter had secretly cared for him. 

Feyre didn’t look at Morrigan as a guard helped her to feet and led her out. The executor and the rest of the guards left, following Morrigan. Leaving Feyre alone with the dead body of Keir. 

Feyre told the cold stone, told the soul that may still be lingering in this place.

“I am going to remake this Court, so that no more boys end up like you.”

She could have sworn there was a deep answering hum of approval. 

Feyre left, and she didn’t look behind her. 

***

“Here they are.” Morrigan said as she snapped her fingers and piles upon piles upon piles of paper appeared, filling every conceivable surface in Feyre’s office. Filling the floor, near blocking the door. Piles reaching so high they almost completely blocked out the window. 

Feyre nearly threw up. She pressed herself back into her chair, beginning to breathe heavily. Her body began to shake. 

“No.” She whispered. 

Morrigan’s eyes were red, deep circles were underneath her eyes. Her skin was pasty, near grey. She had visibly lost weight. 

After Devlon and Keir’s executions. Morrigan took over in the Hewn City and helped Feyre organise parties in Illyria to gather the names of those lost to the climate. 

“I…” Morrigan looked as though she had been crying, she looked like she might start again. 

“All these people…” Feyre couldn’t breathe. It took all of her might and strength to lift a paper from the closest pile and read the names. 

“Dead, they’re all dead.” Feyre whispered. 

Morrigan said nothing. She said nothing as Feyre began to drag in shaking unstable breaths. She said nothing as the High lord stood up, nearly knocking over her desk, beginning to rifle through every paper, every name.

Feyre read them aloud. Read every single one aloud. The sun set and night took over, but Feyre read and read and read and didn’t allow Morrigan to leave. 

Once she finished, she and Morrigan were sprawled across a couch. Morrigan was staring at the ceiling with her head tipped back. And Feyre was clutching a piece of paper like her life depended on it. 

“We make this right.” Feyre whispered, “We can’t get back these lives, but we can prevent the list from getting longer.”

“How?” Morrigan whispered, her voice downcast and dejected. 

With anger seeping in, Feyre forced herself to her feet and with a deep breath, Raven came out to play. 

“Healers to Illyria now. Any children you find starving or without shelter are to be brought ot Velaris and given the proper emminties-” 

“There are thousands of Illyrians, Velaris is only so big-”

“We start construction tonight. Bring down the walls of the Hewn City. Build housing and provide temporary shelter for the time being. We are going to connect this Court forcibly.”

*** They experienced hiccups along the way. Mostly from judgement coming from the elders of the Hewn City, and Illyrians not wishing to let go of the ways they were stuck in. That was until their families were given proper facilities and access to fresh clean water and food without having to hunt, fight and kill for it. 

Feyre watched with her sisters as the walls of the Hewn City were brought down and for the first time in their life, Hewn City folk saw the night sky. Everyone agreed to do it at night so the harsh sun wouldn’t blind them. 

What wasn’t expected was how the people cheered. 

Then it was about building. Feyre sent males and females into that treasure trove, money was taken and given back to the people. The taxes of Illyria and the Hewn City were reduced by almost more than half. 

Then the biggest challenge came along, getting the people to work together. 

Hewn City people refused to work with Illyrians, Illyrians refused to work with any High Fae. And the people of Velaris refused to work with any outsiders. 

So Feyre called in… reinforcements. 

“Your dashing knight in shining armour has come to the rescue Feyre.” Baile announced as he waltzed into Feyre’s quarters in the Hewn City. 

Feyre was sprawled across a dark lounge by the fire, just out of sight from the door. 

“Feyre?” Baile asked, venturing further into the room. 

Then Feyre responded, not getting up, “Glad you could show up, Baile.”

Baile seemed to startle at the deep voice that responded, but before he could say a word, Feyre sat up. Looking over the back of the lounge at Baile. 

He looked near nothing like his youngest brother. Short brown hair and hazel eyes specked with gold, a broader stance and more blocky features. Baile looked like his father and Tamlin looked like his mother, Feyre mused. 

Baile’s eyes turned confused before he could question who he was speaking with, Feyre smiled and stood up to her full height. It was after Baile took a small step forward, observing Feyre carefully, that he noticed the tinge of magic on her. The magic that held her in this form. 

It was with no fanfare that he said, “You went to Tamlin.”

Feyre clenched her hands into fists behind her back, “I did.”

Baile seemed to glower at that, “You could have come-”

“It was Elain’s idea, and I trust her judgement.”

“You shouldn’t, not if her judgement involves making deals with witches.” Baile crossed his arms, gritting his teeth. 

Feyre leaned back on her heels, now regarding Baile with suspicion, “Why is it that you and Tamlin hate each other so?”

“None of your damn business, Feyre Archeron.”

“Raven Archeron in the face of the public.”

Then Baile’s eyes went wide, he looked Feyre up and down again, opening and closing his mouth before it curled into a grin, “So you’re the new High lord?”

“You see why I chose to go to the witch? Tamlin doesn’t really belong to one Court, and I didn’t need another High Lord, especially one who in the face of my people I am supposed to loathe, to be the one tampering with my body through magic.” Feyre fell back into the couch and Baile joined her. 

They met centuries ago, during the War. Feyre had been cornered and Baile came out of nowhere to help her. From then on they stuck together. Once the War’s conclusion came about, and relations between Night and Spring were more strained than ever, they began to only converse via letter. 

And Baile never really spoke of his brothers…

“Alright, what do you owe him?” Baile murmured, voice dripping with venom, wondering what his youngest brother had asked of his friend. 

“Elain gave him and Lucien some baked goods for the shapeshifting… however…”

“However, what?” Baile sat up straighter, now appearing concerned. 

Feyre scrubbed her face with her hands, “I… may have gone into his mind without permission and tried to see his thoughts.”

“Feyre!” 

“I know, I know it was stupid.” She stared into the flames flickering in the fireplace, resting her forearms on her thighs, “Him and Lucien were whispering to each other, my magic pleaded to just have one look and I caved.”

“What happened after?” With a glance at Baile, Feyre saw how his eyes were trained on her. Watching her face closely. 

“Some form of Tamlin’s magic dragged me into his mind, I had no escape, if it weren’t for him then tossing me back into my own head, I don’t believe I would have been capable of leaving.”

“Sweet Mother’s tits Feyre.” Baile pressed back against the lounge, running a hand through his thick hair. 

His mental walls looked like a spider’s web, I didn’t think that-”

“He would be strong enough to do something like that. Gods did your mother teach you nothing abotu witches?”

“No Baile, unlike yours, my mother was not a witch herself.” Feyre snapped. 

“Most of the warnings of such creatures are passed down through families. Though I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised, Night always seen such beings as powerless in the face of their own magic.”

“Are you saying I’m cocky?”

“I’m saying your family is cocky.” Baile stood from the couch and walked over to Feyre’s desk, picking up one of the papers and beginning to read it. Feyre had half a mind to believe he was simply up and walking about to ease some of his own anxiety.

“What do you owe him?” Baile asked with resignation in his voice. 

Feyre then snapped in a breath and Baile looked right into her eyes, slowly repeating, “Feyre, what do you owe him?”

Feyre winced, “Do you remember that… Fae-eating fungus?”

Baile slammed his fists down onto her desk, “The one that killed nearly three hundred men in the span of eight days?! Yes I remember that one! Please don’t tell me-”

“He demanded it to repay the debt.” 

“Cruel Mother in Heaven and Cauldron on Earth, what the fuck Feyre Archeron?!” Baile gripped his hair, squeezing the strands until his knuckles turned white. 

Feyre finally stood, “It's not like he’s malicious! I don’t know why he wants it, but I mean, Lucien is a good person and Tamlin has never wanted to hurt others-”

“He is a witch Feyre-” 

“Is that your only reason for hating him?!”

Baile stood there dumbstruck, he blinked then shouted, “I would be against you giving any-fucking-body a Fae-eating fungus!”

“Okay! Okay! I get it! It was stupid! Still, how can you harbour so much hatred for your brother! What has he done to you that you don’t trust him so!”

Baile then held onto the edge of the desk like it was the only thing stopping him from losing control. Closing his eyes, he took in a deep, tense breath, then said, “Do you want me to help you or no?”

She did. She really needed him to help her. So Feyre threw her hands up in the air, turned around and fell back into the lounge, “Yeah… yeah I need your help.”

“Then we’ll focus on what I’m here for then.” Baile mumbled as he walked back over to the lounge. 

“We’re going back to that though.” Feyre promised. 

“Fine. Later.” Baile waved her off, “What do you need me for?”

“How can I get my people to work together?”

***

Baile was a lot more help than he looked. 

It took months. But Feyre expected it to take years so she supposed this was good. 

Baile helped her to organise training for the Illyrian girls that wished to participate. Brought in wood and other building supplies from Spring in return for Velaris silk and Hewn City herbs, plants that only grew in the damp, dark underground. 

With her father gone, Morrigan began to improve. From what Nesta had told her, the female’s mental health had been slowly spiralling for years, now with the memories she kept locked up released she began to make a slow, but sure, recovery. She reunited with her mother, step-mother and two younger half siblings. 

Some families from Illyria moved to Velaris. After buildings became available in Illyria and the economy began to pick up, plenty of Velaris citizens began to move out to the mountainous regions. 

The rivers running through Illyria were accessed and clean water quickly became freely available. Food was being shared equally. For the Illyrians in further villages, regular shipments of bread, flour, sugar, yeast, meats and spices were being sent out near daily, along with the onslaught of people moving into the further villages, the economy was blossoming. 

That didn’t mean the complaints weren’t regular. Villages Feyre hadn’t even heard of sent word. The Illyrian males still stuck in their ways were the most against the new changes, but Morrigan and Baile both worked together to create patrols of willing Illyrian females and males that did rounds all throughout Illyria, if a female was found with her wings freshly clipped the males of that household were arrested and brought before the court. 

Feyre didn’t need to fake her disgust and anger when she saw them. 

Eye for an eye was the punishment. Any male found guilty of clipping their daughter, sister, mother or wife’s wings were clipped and sent back to their villages disgraced and humiliated. 

Many females did not leave their households if they were given the choice. Many had children, or relatives they had to look after, but they were all put on a list to be checked up on regularly. 

Soon the decline of wing clippings and deaths too young was evident. If the decline continued by a decade from now, it would be almost non-existent. 

For the most part the Night Court was running more smoothly, more equally, and more fairly than ever before. 

It did mean that Feyre was working day and night. 

“Feyre go to bed!” Elain flicked the back of her head, jolting Feyre up, it appeared she had fallen asleep on her desk, drool had dried down the side of her mouth and the ink on the letter underneath her was smudged. 

“Alright! I will, I just need to-”

Elain was having none of it, the older female took Feyre by her arm and dragged her up. Elain was surprisingly strong, Feyre supposed that came with her constant gardening, hauling large bags around, wheelbarrows, constantly working under the sun and never asking for help. 

Still Feyre was stronger, she stopped in her tracks, Elain nearly fell back. She turned and glared at her younger sibling before attempting to pull her forward, “Come on Fey, you need rest.”

“I know, I just need to finish writing this letter.” Feyre insisted. 

Elain glanced over at the letter then back at Feyre, “You mean the letter that is smudged and covered in drool.”

Feyre gritted her teeth as she ripped her arm out of Elain’s grip and went back over to her chair. Elain put her hands on her hips and glared, the normally sweet sister incredibly frustrated at how the younger female was behaving. 

But Feyre ignored her and turned back to the letter. Most of the words didn’t make sense and she had forgotten who she was sending it too exactly. But she wasn’t about to admit that to Elain, so she simply plucked another paper from the pile in the open drawer beside her and set about attempting to rewrite what she had written before. 

“That’s it.” Elain said. Feyre furrowed her brow and finally looked up at her sister who was storming out of the office. 

“What are you doing?” Feyre called out. 

“Resorting to desperate measures!” Was Elain’s answer. 

Feyre sighed and shook her head, turning back to the letter in her hands. 

Not two minutes passed before there was a shout that made Feyre go wholly still. 

“Feyre Darren Archeron!” 

“Oh… shit.” Feyre said as the door to her study flung open with such force it slammed into the wall. 

Nesta stood in the threshold, hair in a silk bonnet, her nightgown practically falling off one-shoulder, red, sleepy eyes and dried drool staining the corners of her mouth. 

And she was pissed. 

Nesta Archeron didn’t need to say a word, only had to meet Feyre’s gaze with her cold, silver eyes. Feyre slunk away from her desk and headed for the door with her head down. 

“What have I said about staying up so late so many nights in a row?” Nesta hissed as they walked down the hallway. 

“I’m scared, Star.” Feyre whispered. 

Nesta just took her youngest sister’s hand in hers, “I know, so am I sometimes.”

Feyre huffed, “You’re never scared.”

Nesta just squeezed her hand. 

***

“Good morning… What is all this?” Feyre asked as she walked into the dining room. Nesta and Elain were… attempting to eat breakfast, though it was difficult due to the sheer amount of letters strewed across the table. 

Elain and Nesta ripped open each one, looking them over them scrucnhing them up and tossing them away, before Elain could toss another, Feyre grabbed it from her hands and unfurled it, “What is going on?!”

“Relax, Fey, you don’t want to read them.” Elain said as she sipped on her jasmine tea. 

Nesta hummed her agreement, as Feyre read over the letter now in her hand, her features reduced from anxious to annoyance. 

“A marriage proposal? Really?” Feyre scoffed, scrunching the letter up and tossing it in the same manner Elain and Nesta were. 

“However, what are the rest?” Feyre asked, pointing at the piles upon piles of piles. 

“What do you think, Raven Archeron?” Nesta asked, waving a letter above her head, “They’re all marriage propositions.”

Feyre’s mouth fell open, she stared at the letters, they had to be more than a few hundred here. All… all for households to marry her?

“These are all…”

“Snakes trying to wriggle their way into our family, yep!” Elain said, her voice deceptively sweet. 

“These… This many people want my hand?”

“Well they want you to take their daughter’s hands.” Nesta said, a sly smile on her face, “Flattered Feyre?”

More than flattered. Perhaps it was cocky for her to think such, but… many had thrown Feyre aside when she attempted to court, she was the bastard daughter, and the disgrace of the family. Whilst she wasn’t a true ‘bastard’ many regarded her as such anyway. How could a Princess of the Night Court wish to fight in the War. Want to fight for humans of all things?

To see so many wishing for her hand… It boosted her confidence. 

“We need to burn all of them.” Elain stated. Those words snapped Feyre’s attention to the present. 

“What?”

“Everyone here is wishing to slither into our home and disrupt what we’ve worked hard for. We cannot let them. We must ignore these propositions.” Elain stated, tossing yet another proposal over her shoulder. 

“Now, now hang on-” Feyre attempted to stop her normally sweet sister from destroying every single proposal of marriage, “Lets not be so hasty.”

“Disagreed, I believe we should make haste even more so.” Elain said. 

Feyre sighed, Nesta raised an eyebrow, “You aren’t actually considering any of these proposals are you, Fey?”

Feyre let out a lourd ‘hah’. Not in a thousand centuries. Marriage was something so far down on her list of things to do it may as well not exist in her mind, it was simply seeing how many people desired her that… stroked her ego a bit. 

So what?! She’s spent nearly five centuries dealing with every single one of her own people looking down and ridiculing her. Maybe she did want to read of the same people who bullied her near begging her hand in marriage. 

Feyre shook her head “I… These are the same people that made my life hell more times over than not. I… seeing them so desperate for a marital alliance with me is… satisfying.”

It sounded sadistic. God’s above, what was happening to her? How oculd she even think of such-.

Elain read, “Dear Raven Archeron, I give my household congratulations for your smooth transition to the place of High Lord. You may remember my name from the time you spent in the Hewn City with your dear sisters. We have passed each other a great many times and I do hope many more are in store. As of recent times my daughter River Haveen has come of martial age. She is a delightful young female with vigour and diplomacy in her very veins. She wishes to meet your acquaintance at your earliest convenience. We would be more than grateful to house you over supper, if it is not of any trouble. Sincerely, Lord Haveen of the Haveen household.”

The room was silent, then Elain said, “He was also the male who called you a waste of ‘good cunt’ at a meeting.”

More silence, a heartbeat, then another. 

Feyre nearly fell to her knees laughing. Nesta threw her head back and had to clutch her torso. Elain nearly doubled over. The three laughed until tears streamed from their eyes and their stomach’s hurt. 

Feyre gripped the side of the table to stabilise herself, once in control of her laughter once more she straightened and wiped the tears from the sides of her eyes. 

“Oh Good Gods.” Feyre half laughed. 

“He couldn’t even be discreet about his intentions.” Nesta noted, a bright smile on her face. 

Elain answered them both with a cheeky grin, she lifted another letter, “Who wants to read Lord Taren’s letter?”

Feyre quickly snatched it from Elain’s fingers and flopped down into the chair at the head of the table. Kicking her feet over the armrest, she opened the letter with a grin.

*** “Chin up, eyes forward, back straight, you are the High Lord. Even if you are trying to establish an equal rule, you are still their Lord. They still owe you respect.” Elain said as she braided Feyre’s hair, “Be kind, but keep conversations short until Starfall begins. Don’t go off with other females or males who try to take your hand. Offer the first dance to Nesta, then Baile as he is our guest, then me. Then you may frolick and fuck as much as you please. Oh! But do wait until at least half of the party is too drunk to care, so if you go off with someone stupid they won’t notice-”

“Yes! Yes okay, Elain, I know.” Feyre said, feeling her sister beginning to ramble. 

Elain sighed, smoothing Feyre’s shirt, “I know you know, I just…”

Elain cupped Feyre’s face, furrowing her brow as she looked up at her, “You’re all grown up now.”

Feyre grinned, “I am.”

Elain swallowed hard, “I… I haven’t always been a good sister to your, Feyre.”

Feyre was silent for a moment, before she murmured, “Not always.”

Not always at all. Some days when they were younger Elain would allow the children she befriended to bully the much younger Feyre for being so ‘tomboyish’. She would be silent and allow them to kick her until she was down, then hurt her some more, not just in words. 

“I was silent when I should’ve stood up for you. I’m… I’m so sorry Feyre.” Elain cast her eyes down. 

Feyre took her sister’s wrists in her hand, “Hey now, I get it. You were trying to fit in, we all were-”

“I was older, I should’ve-”

“We were both still children, even if you were older.”

Elain was quiet, then she whispered, “I’m sorry.”

Feyre whispered, “I forgive you.”

“You shouldn’t, I have done nothing to deserve it.” Elain said.

Feyre nearly laughed as she pulled her sister into a tight hug, “You have done everything in your power to help protect me since those days, between you and Star you both have done more for me than any other person in the world. I’m so happy you’re both going to be by my side tonight, I wouldn’t have this any other way.”

Elain hugged her back, wrapping her arms around Feyre’s waist and burying her face into her chest, barely able to hold back tears. 

Elain whispered, “I know Nesta finds it… difficult to express her feelings but I’m telling you Fey, she feels so guilty and she loves you so much-”

“I know Lainy, I know.” Feyre murmured, stroking her sister’s hair, “I know, Star shows me, I don’t need her to tell me how much she loves me and regrets being silent to know how she feels.”

Elain sobbed into Feyre’s chest, ruining her makeup but she didn’t care, “I’m so sorry, Fey.”

“I forgive you, Lainy, I love you.” Anybody else might find the nickname stupid or childish but Feyre loved it, she loved remembering the good times she had with her sister when she was younger, even if they were few. 

“And I forgive Star. I love you both and nothing either of you have done centuries ago will take away from that.” Feyre added. 

Elain took in a shaking breath, then she steeled her expression as she adjusted Feyre’s collar, “Don’t trust anyone with a moustache okay?”

Their father had a moustache. 

Feyre forced herself not to laugh, “Okay, Lainy.”

Elain took in a deep breath, tears nearly falling down her face, “And don’t take any drinks that stranger’s offer you!”

“Okay, Lainy.” Feyre was struggling more and more to control her laughter. 

Elain finally began to cry, “And don’t make bets or bargains you can’t win!”

“I won’t, Lainy, I won’t.” Feyre pulled a sobbing Elain back into her arms. 

Feyre stroked her sister’s hair and back, letting her cry. Holding onto her. Keeping her close. 

It was Morrigan who knocked on the door, saying it was time. Elain pulled away, looking up at Feyre like all she reemmbered was the scrawny little girl who could barely lift a rock over head. 

“You are a great High Lord.” Elain said. 

“I hope I will be.” Feyre replied tightly, looking out the window towards the Night Court. 

“No.” Elain’s hands in Feyre’s forced her sight to the middle sister, “You are a great High Lord, keep doing what you’re doing.”

Feyre nearly broke down crying, “Thank you.”

“Anytime. Now we best get going before Nesta and Morrigan beat us there.”

*** “Hello High Lord.” A girl with red curls and blue eyes smiled at her. Feyre nearly allowed her slender hands to lead her to the dance floor, to lead her to a private room where she’d pull up her skirts and let the High lord-.

“Evening.” Feyre forced her mind to focus on the present. Like Elain had said, she could take anyone to bed once Starfall had commenced and the people were too drunk to care who she fucked. 

A male then stopped her, he had short black hair and eyes like violet amethysts. He wrapped his arms around the High Lord of Night and mouthed for him to come closer. Feyre nearly fell for it, nearly followed the male into the private rooms not far from the ceremony. As the male kissed Feyre’s neck, Feyre felt herself, himself tonight, nearly fall to pieces. Then a female with long golden hair and golden eyes pressed against her back, caging her against the violet eyed male. 

“Come with us, High lord.” The female whispered seductively. 

Feyre nearly fell for it, then a male came out of nowhere. He was an Illyrian, larger than any Feyre had ever seen, with seven red siphons, he whispered hardly in the violet-eyed male’s ear, who rolled his eyes before waggling his fingers in a wave goodbye and strutting away. Feyre, no Raven tonight, found himself missing his presence. 

But the female didn’t leave, she began to grind against Raven’s ass. He nearly flipped her around just so he could feel his length pressing against her undoubtedly wet core, but his plans were ruined by. 

“High Lord! Starfall is about to commence!” Elain appeared and once again ruined his fun. 

Tonight, Raven was prepared, he turned to the female behind him and before Elain could drag him away he said, “I have to be off, my lovely, perhaps later tonight I’ll see you again?”

She seemed pleased with that answer, she smirked and whispered that they would in fact see each other tonight before slithering away. Elain grabbed his arm and pulled him towards where his Court was gathered. 

Elain hissed in his ear, “What did I say?!”

“But she-” Raven attempted to justify himself. Elain silenced him as they approached the balcony watching as the stars grew bright in the sky. 

Elain and Raven, Feyre, stood beside Nesta. 

The first star fell. 

And Starfall began. 

***

Raven did as Elain had told, he offered the first dance to Nesta, who accepted with a bow and a smile. Nesta had been the hardest to dance with, as her talent far outmatched that of Raven’s. Next was Baile, who didn’t visually react except for a dark blush that spread across his face. He was the least coordinated, but it served to make Raven feel better. Next was Elain, who matched Raven in talent and nearly challenged him to a duel with how competitive she became during the dance. Eventually Elain released his hands and Raven was allowed to slip back into Feyre. 

The night went on and females approached her. Many running their hands down her chest, over her biceps, feeling up her back. Feyre shooed most of them away, some she allowed to stay, to whisper in their ear and talk in dirty language that she wouldn’t dare use outside of this. 

She watched the Hewn City folk, how they were captivated by the star show. Feyre wished she had shown it to them earlier, as she watched how they cheered and clapped at almost every star something warmed her heart. It almost burned her up. How dare she enjoy this show for centuries but never share it with all her people?!

Males approached her, more specifically they approached Raven. Near all of them were discreet, trying to pull her away to dark corners where they wouldn’t be seen. All of them insisted they wouldn’t do this with any other male. 

Yet all of them tried to get on her. All of them tried to get her away to their households, trying to spend a night with the handsome High Lord of Night. 

Only one male got her away from the crowd. 

Feyre spotted him a mile away. Golden hair braided, wearing a suit of green. Tamlin caught her eye from where he was leaning against a marble pillar. Feyre didn’t offer the females and males nearly climbing on top of her an explanation as she slunk away to where Tamlin stood. 

When she was right before him, Tamlin simply jutted his head towards a private balcony, then he walked over to it, disappearing from the crowd and Feyre followed. 

Once they stood alone, Feyre watched as Tamlin clasped his hands behind his back. She copied the motion, waiting for him to speak first. 

When he didn’t speak, Feyre accepted her loss and asked, “I assume you’re here for the Fae-eating fungus?”

“I’m here to see how you’re doing.” Tamlin said, starting Feyre. The idea that this witch might care how her court was doing was more than absurd, still he continued, “the Night Court has been suppressed for years, I wanted to know how the new management was handling it.”

That choice of wording made Feyre straighten her back, “We are fine. The Night Court has flourished.”

“Good.” Was all Tamlun chose to say. 

After several minutes of intense silence, Feyre asked, “Why are you really here?”’

Tamlin sighed, “To see how the girl who opened her heart to those that didn’t have ‘pretty’ trauma is faring. Feyre you… you were the first person I had ever met that didn’t care that how I reacted to my trauma wasn’t the standard cute version and I… I wanted to know that girl was still there.”

There it was. 

Feyre smiled at the male, “She’s right here.”

Tamlin smiled back, it was a small smile, but a smile nonetheless, “I;m glad.

“Was there anything else?” 

“Actually yes.” Tamlin turned to face her fully, “That Fae-eating fungus-”

Feyre sighed, “Have it right here.”

Pulling a small linen bag from the pocket between realms, Free handed it to Tamlun. Who took it with intrigue in his eyes. 

“Please don’t use that to kill all of us.” Feyre near begged as Tamlin inspected it. 

“Now why would I do that?” Tamlin asked. 

“Because you're a witch?” Feyre said, with an eyebrow raised. 

Tamlin near sneered at that, “We are not as evil as the High Fae paint us to be.”

She figured that to be the case, considering how Baile acted vs how Tamlin acted, “Then what are you planning to do with that?”

Tamlin took in a deep breath, “If you really wish to know… Lucien has a friend in the Human Lands, who is dying from an incurable sickness. I swore I would find a cure and… from what I’ve researched this could very well be the cure.”

“A Fae-eating fungus could be the cure?”

Tamlin glared half-heartedly at her, “Mixed with other herbs and spells, yes it could be.

Feyre hummed, then she smiled, as small as it was. She rubbed Tamlin’s head who ripped himself away, again glaring but with that softness in his eyes, “What are you doing?!”

“You’re still the same. But… all grown up.” Feyre murmured, feeling like she was repeating what Elain had told her. 

Tamlin rolled his eyes, then put the bag in between the realms, “that's what happens when years pass.”

“I know you dimwit.” Feyre crossed her arms. 

“I;m sure you do.” Tamlin crossed his own arms, then looked out at the night sky. 

They seemed to stay there forever, then Feyre forced herself to ask, “What happens next?

A wave of magic shocked through the land. What looked like glowing golden light fell from the sky, heading down and down and down. Feyre and Tamlin watched, shocked. It gained speed, going too fast. Far too fast. 

Tamlin wrapped an arm around her arm, “It starts with slowing down her.”

Feyre didn’t know how Tamlin knew whatever that thing was, was a her. She didn’t ask questions either, Feyre simply sent out a wave of power to counteract the force of whatever or whoever was falling, to slow her down. 

Feyre could have sworn there was a glimmer of something grateful shinning back at her. 

Then the golden glow was gone. 

And all that was left was the Night Court. 

“You did it.” Tamlin said. 

“We all did.” Feyre murmured.