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feyreshumanheart · 10 days

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Feyre's Power and Versatility

I feel like Feyre's skill set, power, and versatility is so creatively done in the series.

I saw some people say that Feyre didn't fight a lot or show her powers or abilities much in the series, and I never got that impression when reading. I was blown away at how many skills she shows, powers and abilities and the unique combinations of them.

So I went through a looked at examples of skills/abilities and how they're used creatively-

Archery

The obvious first one, but beyond her backstory and the first chapters of acotar, it comes up even after she turns fae; like in acowar, killing a couple of the naga hounds as they escape from Hybern's camp:

It's not a forgotten skill even if Feyre has so many other abilities to utilize later that it comes up less often.

Hunting

Feyre the huntress is basically the origin of her character and a defining skill; you can see it in her trapping and killing the Middengard Wyrm as a human, but it also comes up when she saves Rhys from the Hybern soldiers in acomaf:

The Hybern scouts even attempted to conceal where they'd taken Rhys by using his shirt to carry his scent and splitting up into two groups, and Feyre is still able to figure out which group to track.

She doesn't just understand snares/traps, she understands animal habits, tracking, and applies that knowledge to kill the Wyrm in impossible odds and save Rhys in acomaf.

Hand-to-Hand Combat

Feyre is a skilled combatant, even without relying on magic:

She even does this while also incorporating (and keeping up with a thousand year old Hybern Commander utilizing the same) winnowing into her fight here.

(To say nothing of how she's poisoned and weakened during this and adapts her fighting to end it quicker, get Lucien free, to finish before the poison can fully take hold).

It's so impressive that Lucien (who's centuries old) and Brannagh (who is a thousand) are visibly shocked. Lucien even comments on it later.

Winnowing

Winnowing is "a rare gift" that "only the stronger Fae can do"; only a few of the Inner Circle are shown to be able to do it. Thousand year old Hybern royalty like Brannagh can't do it.

But Feyre is able to. She even is shown to winnow with others (saving Rhys in acomaf and taking on another sentry in early acowar).

And it's implied she'll get better with time since it's established training is important (not just power) to go further distances and carry others and that what Feyre needs is more time and training to go farther:

"[Winnowing is] wholly dependent on your own reserve of power—and training" - Rhys explaining winnowing to Feyre in acomaf

I still had not yet mastered doing it over long distances. At least, not with many stops in between. -Feyre, end of acomaf

Strength/Speed

Feyre is noted to be unusually (physically) strong and fast for a High Fae, which is one of the first signs of a High Lord's Heir.

Her strength is shown in the Weaver's Cottage when she loosens and throws bricks at her and in her inability to keep from destroying doors and silverware and whatnot on accident after being turned, literally not knowing her own strength.

Shielding

Her mental shielding is so good, she successfully keeps Rhys out; she's also able to physically shield against High Lord powered attacks (like Tamlin in acomaf and Beron in acowar):

She also shields Lucien and Tamlin's minds and protects them from daemati attacks without them even realizing in early acowar.

Daemati

Daemati are even rarer than fae who can winnow, and her burgeoning abilities were so strong, she slipped into Lucien's mind without meaning to multiple times.

She was also able to influence a High Lord (Tarquin) and infiltrate Ianthe's mind so deeply it took days for the King of Hybern to unravel.

We also see her power to sense minds, cast of "net of awareness" and see if any fae are hiding or nearby.

Curse-Breaking/Spell-Cleaving/Ward Breaking

Feyre can cleave even difficult and powerful wards/spells. Even the King of Hybern is impressed-

She cleaves his wards/breaks his spells multiple times and also breaks a High Lord's:

Moreover, she's able to almost trick spells:

She also can detect spells as part of her abilities:

Shapeshifting

She uses her shapeshifting abilities to enhance her body in combat (i.e., eyes that can see in the darkness, talons to fight with, and wings to fly with). She's also able to use it to impersonate others, like infiltrating Hybern's camp as "Ianthe".

Beyond that, Azriel notes that her attention to detail as an artist allowed her to create detailed, accurate wings, highlighting the intersection for how she views the world as an artist with her powers:

Elemental/Misc. HL Powers

Beyond the others above, she also inherits a variety of often elemental type of powers specific to different courts that she uses in varied, creative way- a few examples:

Night (shadows): uses the shadows to blind the Hybern soldiers in the halls of the Adriata palace and use the cover of darkness to winnow repeatedly and kill them (while using the shapeshifted eyes so she has night vision)

Day (light): blinds Eris on the ice in acowar to get away

Day (wind): uses the wind to create shields and block weapons like arrows

Dawn (healing): mostly seen speeding up healing herself but we've seen it save Rhys's life when he's poisoned

Winter (ice): after drenching the flying Hybern soldiers with water in the attack on Velaris, she uses the ice to freeze them and bring them to the ground to shatter; she also uses the ice to negate Eris's fire cuffs in acowar

Summer (water): the water wolves speak for themselves- but just creating water animals as weapons that can charge and fly in general; she also drowns a Hybern soldier on land in the Adriata palace

Autumn (fire): she uses lashes of fire to behead Hybern soldiers in Adriata and even set an entire clearing ablaze in acomaf (before using other powers to smother it)

You can see in many cases, she plays off the complementary powers (using water to soak flying soldiers only to use ice to freeze them; using shadows to blind Hybern soldiers while using her shapeshifting to give herself night vision and winnow in bursts to take out the soldiers).

This gives her abilities and powers that are unique from the individual High Lords.

Glamouring

She uses the shapeshifting magic to conjure a glamour of their entire army. This is a glamour that a high lord (Tarquin) was skeptical could be done. The NC army is significantly bigger than the Summer army, too.

She also uses glamouring when she hides Bryaxis and the Bone Carver before the battle with Hybern, with no one on either side aware.

Wielding the Cauldron

Feyre possesses an ability to use the Cauldron that's incredibly rare. It's shown that part of it is due to being Made, but also Feyre's own ability to control herself/her mind and withstand its power.

She is the one able to be a conduit and reforge it, even without the Book of Breathings, in a cool moment that purposefully references The Mother and "the story of Prythian":

Her power also goes in to remake the Cauldron with Rhys's:

Her ability to do this (use the Cauldron as a conduit to unleash Amren and reforge it) is the only reason they win the war, that any of Prythian's forces live.

She also can sense it and track it:

The King of Hybern even notes that the Cauldron "purrs" in her presence.

General Power

The acotar books aren't great with power scaling imo; having said that, Feyre's considerable power is discussed and acknowledged multiple times.

Her use of magic in the Court of Nightmares when people try to test "whatever power she might have" causes people to faint, tremble, whimper, and flee even:

In the High Lord meeting it's especially apparent.

I think some misunderstand that though Helion establishes that what it feels like for the High Lords is that they're missing an inconsequential bit of their power (to the point that only he is shown to have noticed it), he also says in the same breath, that the power Feyre just displayed makes him say "no wonder" she was made High Lady, establishing it as HL level in his eyes:

I think it plays into how Feyre is repeatedly asked "what are you?" by people like the Weaver or established as "like and unlike all".

Because despite all the HLs acknowledging Feyre was given just a drop/they aren't missing much, it's also acknowledged that she could've killed the oldest High Lord (Beron) and her display seems like "far more" than what was given:

It's not that 7 drops of power from the High Lord's adds up to much and took anything noticeable from them individually, it's that the combination created something unexpected, "outside anything" recognizable and with a "behemoth" of power.

Feyre being Made this way literally became something more than the sum of her parts- and that's only emphasized with how she combines her powers and abilities to make something new.

Seven Courts/Connection to Prythian/Made

Feyre notes that her unusual powers respond differently, to the High Lord and their court/land. This comes up when she's tracking items, when she's getting past their wards, and even from the land itself.

Like her other abilities, she combines her connection to the HLs to other gifts- like using her shapeshifting to physically become Tarquin and then her connection to him to be perceived as him by spells.

Another interesting thing is that Feyre's power responds to both the High Lord's power (it "writhed" in response at the start of the battle against Hybern when they use theirs) and the land of their courts. She notes that her affinity to use certain court powers responds and is strengthened when she's there:

In the Middle, there's even a moment where Feyre feels the very land of Prythian accommodating her:

Which connects well to how she reforges the Cauldron with a purposeful reference to "the story of Prythian" (when the Mother held the Cauldron- notably depicted in a "starry, endless night") and the start of all life.

The whole "child of seven courts" with powers that respond to the land is fascinating as the power in Prythian is so tied to the land and that moment that she parallels.

I liked how Feyre's skills and powers are shown because readers really get to see it and not just hear "she's powerful" or "she's a huntress".

You see her apply training (so much emphasis on power training with Rhys and combat with Cassian and flying with Azriel for instance and all get payoff) and experiences (her years hunting shows up in all three books and makes moments like killing the Wyrm and finding Rhys after he's taken feel more earned) rather than just suddenly have "power".

You get to see how she applies her powers, how she combines her skill set, rather than just a generic blast of power that demonstrates "power" but no skill or strategy. And that creates abilities that are new and unique.

Anyway, this was fun to do- Feyre's a badass whose versatility lets her build upon the individual powers she has and her powers and skill set are used very creatively in the series.

#feyre archeron #pro feyre #pro feyre archeron #feyre cursebreaker #feyre acotar #high lady feyre

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marshmellowrio · 7 months

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Flight of the Night | Chapter 1

A/N: I've been thinking about writing a fanfic on ACOTAR for a while now and I finished my first chapter so here it is, I hope you like it.

Word count: 648

We approach the door as a unit, the two males at either side of me. Cassian bangs on the door as I see Rhys’ silhouette next to a smaller, frailer form. “Hurry up, you lazy ass,” Cassian drawls from beside me and I bump his shoulder to get him to lay off. He shoots me a look that promises anything but that. He lifts his hand again and continues pounding on the door.

“If you’re going to pick a fight with him, do it after breakfast.” Azriel’s smooth voice murmurs over my head to Cassian.

“I wasn’t the one who hauled me out of bed just now to fly down here,” he retaliates. “Busybody.” I growl low in my throat, not liking the memory of this morning.

Rhys starts explaining the rules of the townhouse to, who I assume to be, Feyre. “-those three in the antechamber might not be on that list of people you should bother knowing if they keep banging on the door like children.”

Cassian pounds on the door once again, “You know we can hear you, prick.”

I sigh deciding to get involved. “I didn’t face Cass’ wrath this morning to stand in front of a locked door, Rhys!”

“Secondly,” he just keeps talking, “in regard to the two bastards and lovely female at my door, it’s up to you whether you want to meet them now, or head upstairs like a wise person, since you’re still looking a little peaky, and then change into city-appropriate clothing while I beat the hell out of one of them for talking to his High Lord like that.”

I shift on my feet, hoping she makes a decision soon, at last she says, “Just come get me when they’re gone.”

I feel her presence before she announces herself and I step aside, closer to Cassian, letting her pass me with a nod. “You Illyrians are worse than cats yowling to be let in the back door.” She grips the doorhandle and sighs when it doesn’t budge. “Really, Rhysand? You locked us out?” My eyebrows raise in amusement, did she really think we’d wait out here for no reason.

I hear soft footsteps receding and the door to the townhouse opens not long after. Cassian all but stumbles inside and I chuckle at his antics.

“Welcome home, bastard.” The broad male greets Rhys with a sheepish grin.

Azriel steps through the door after Amren. “I sensed you were back. Mor filled me in, but I-”

Amren interrupts him, stepping forward. “Send your dogs out in the yard to play, Rhysand. You and I have matters to discuss.”

“As do I.”

I don’t bother hiding my grin as Rhys finds my eyes, still standing in the threshold of the door.

As I step inside and close the door, Cassian drawls to Amren, “We were here first. Wait your turn, Tiny Ancient One.”

I pass by them as Amren snarls, wandering further into the house not missing the warning look Rhysand throws to the stairs and then to me. Daring me to venture upstairs to where I know Feyre will be.

“Why is everyone here so early? I thought we were meeting tonight at the House.” I beam at Mor, engulfing her in a hug and turn back to the others.

“Trust me, there’s no party. Only a massacre, if Cassian doesn’t shut his mouth.” Rhys grumbles.

“We’re hungry,” Cassian complains like the big baby he is. “Feed us. Someone told me there’d be breakfast.”

“Pathetic,” Amren quips. “You idiots are pathetic.”

Mor says, “We know that’s true. But is there food?”

Rhys turns with a sigh and moves to the dining room, expecting us to follow his lead. Mor and Cassian follow him without further ado. I chuckle at Amren’s astonished face and throw an arm over her shoulder to lead her to the dining room as well.

A/N: The following chapters will likely be longer, as soon as I figure out how to integrate my OC more into the story. Let me know how you liked it!

#acotar #acotar fanfiction #acotar imagine #acomaf #cassian #azriel #rhysand #flight of the night #acotar x reader #acotar fic #acotar fanfic #acotar x oc

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rosanna-writer · 2 months

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we said hello and your eyes look like coming home (23/?)

Summary: A canon-divergent AU where the bond snaps for Rhys on Calanmai, Feyre unwittingly accepts it, and Fire Night magic proves to be more transformative than anyone bargained for. Feyre drags a mate she hardly knows out from Under the Mountain, then puts him back together as war with Hybern approaches. Warnings: dubious consent, canon-typical sexual violence, canon-typical violence Rating: Explicit Chapter Word Count: ~4k

ch. 1 - 10 | ch. 11-20 | ch. 21 - i wouldn't marry me either | ch. 22 - burn all the files, desert all your past lives | ch. 23 - i've still got love for you

Some text in this chapter is lifted directly from ACOTAR book one.

I am also over the moon and insanely honored to share that there is now ART OF THE FIRST CHAPTER OF THIS FIC!!!!! It's by the love of my life Amnevitah, and you can go make heart eyes at it and tell her she's wonderful over here on her tumblr (warning that it's mildly NSFW).

Read on AO3 or you can find the twenty-third chapter below the readmore.

It was nearly midnight when I made my way to Nesta's bedroom in a borrowed nightgown, late enough that the servants were gone and Elain was sound asleep. I knocked on the door once, and she ushered me inside without a word.

Like the rest of the manor, Nesta's bedroom was full of furniture fit for a palace and utterly devoid of personal touches. It might as well have been a guest room.

I hovered near the door and watched Nesta open a hidden compartment in the writing desk near the window. She pulled something out and placed it on a side table. I stepped closer to get a better look.

A chunk of wood. The edges were rough, as if it had been ripped from something. I started to ask her where it had come from, but when I spotted the tangle of vines I'd painted on it, I understood.

"I had to watch as Father and Elain went from sobbing hysterics into nothing. I had to listen to them talk about how lucky it was for you to be taken to some made-up aunt’s house, how some winter wind had shattered our door. And I thought I’d gone mad—but every time I did, I would look at that painted part of the table, then at the claw marks farther down, and know it wasn’t in my head. So tell me everything and leave none of it out," Nesta said quietly, sinking down into the chair by the desk.

My heart broke to think what she'd gone through—what Tamlin had put her through. His lies to me might have been in service of saving his people, but there was no reason for my sister's sanity to be collateral damage. Tamlin had paid my father off, then washed his hands of the matter without bothering to ensure that his glamour had worked.

It was sloppy and thoughtless, and not for the first time, I wondered how many people ultimately would have died if I'd stayed in the Spring Court a moment longer.

I sat on the bed, tucking my feet under me, and started at the beginning. The very beginning, fifty years ago when Rhys had gone to that damned party and Amarantha had taken over.

I'd barely gotten a few words out when Nesta was already interrupting. "Is your High Lord too stupid to employ poison-testers?"

"I…I don't think any of them do, actually."

"It seems Prythian is ruled by idiots, then. Perhaps that explains why this Rhysand married you."

"You know nothing about what Rhys has been though," I hissed, clenching my teeth so I didn't yell the words and wake up Elain.

Nesta waved a hand, an elegant, dismissive gesture. "Then continue."

So I did. And to Nesta's credit, she listened intently, her lips pressed together in a thin line, as I described the curse, my arrival in Prythian, and those early days in the Spring Court.

Somehow, it calmed something within me to tell the whole tale again now that I knew everything. I wasn't used to having a confidant, and I couldn't remember a time before this that speaking to Nesta had felt like a lightening a burden.

It was strange, but not unwelcome.

I braced myself when I started to describe my first meeting with Rhys on Calanmai. Nesta had once sneered at me for rutting in the barn with Isaac Hale—I was sure she'd have some choice words about a mating frenzy that had taken place in a cave.

But she merely furrowed her brow and said, "Your marriage was….arranged, then? By the stag?"

I nearly snapped and told her no—I'd specifically told Rhys not to marry me, after all. And Nesta knew he wasn't my husband. But…she'd never feel the pull of a mating bond for herself, and the concept was completely foreign to her. Perhaps this was the way to make her understand.

"By the Mother herself. The stag merely…cleared our path to each other. I'm not sure what would have happened if it didn't, but I think it probably saved us quite a lot of heartbreak, in the end."

"That's such an odd way to speak about a man you've been shackled to against your will," she said, shaking her head.

The Inner Circle had also been horrified when they'd realized I'd accepted the bond without knowing what I was doing. If even Nesta was worried about it…perhaps there was something wrong with me for not being more distressed. But even though I'd had to go Under the Mountain for Rhys, I still felt profoundly lucky that everything I could possibly want had just been dropped into my lap on Calanmai.

I shrugged. "There's no reason to be upset when I would have chosen him for myself anyway." That was the truth at the center of everything.

There was a flicker of understanding, and—if I wasn't mistaken—relief in Nesta's eyes. "And I take it he feels the same?"

"Yes."

"Good." There was an edge to her voice, and I wondered what she would have said if my answer had been no.

There was still so much to tell her, so I continued, describing my arrival at the Night Court—though I didn't mention Velaris, merely said that Rhys had directed me to a warded home. Nesta didn't ask about the tattoo the magic had given me, just scowled at my left hand. She said nothing about my immortality either, instead interrogating me about the Inner Circle and their ranks and roles and relations to Rhys.

They were, perhaps, the sort of questions I should have asked on that first day. But unlike me, Nesta knew how to get the lay of a land in a noble court and assess her place in it.

If my eldest sister were dropped in the Court of Nightmares, I had no doubt she'd be running it within a day.

I hadn't spoken about Under the Mountain at length with anyone but Rhys before that night, and getting the words out under Nesta's uncompromising steel glare was difficult. My sister and I weren't linked through mating bond and shared experience. My voice shook, and at points I felt faintly sick, but I managed to tell her everything.

Even with Rhys…I'd needed to hold back. My own few weeks Under the Mountain paled in comparison to his decades there alone, and I knew on some level, even though I'd never voiced it aloud, that he'd had it worse than me. Without even realizing it, I'd been carrying around a prickly sort of guilt over that.

Once, I would have spent several days with a paintbrush in hand until I'd gotten those feelings out, but since I could barely stand to look at a canvas anymore, it all had been festering inside of me.

So to my immense embarrassment, I cried in front of Nesta.

For once, she didn't say anything harsh, just wordlessly handed me a handkerchief. I didn't mind—it would be strange for her to coddle me. Instead, she pretended nothing was amiss as I wiped at my eyes and finished the rest of the story, all the way through my trip to Illyria and the Weaver's cottage and the attacks on the temples.

At the end of it, Nesta merely said, "This is all the more reason you shouldn't come back here again."

I could see her logic, but that didn't make it any less a kick in the teeth. "Elain and Father deserve proper goodbyes."

"It's too much of a risk," she said, eyes flashing dangerously. It would be ugly if I tried to fight her on this; Nesta, who had once put herself in front of Elain and left me to the beast that broke into our cabin, would always protect our middle sister, even if that meant casting me aside.

I should have been used to that by now, but it still hurt.

"Then at least allow the sentries around the manor to stay. There are far too many fae who would wish us harm, and their numbers will only increase if war breaks out like we fear."

"As long as the sentries keep their distance."

They would, but of course Nesta had no reason to be sure of that. A thought struck me. "They answer to Cassian, Rhys's general. I could send him to meet with you and discuss the specifics, if that would ease your mind."

I expected Nesta to balk at interacting with any more faeries, but she asked, "Does he listen to orders?"

"He will if you give them. My position as Lady of Night makes you and Elain something akin to princesses in Prythian." Mor had explained it to me once, though I wasn't interested enough to remember the details about ranks and noble titles. It would matter to Nesta, though.

She nodded once, then stared down at her hands, which were folded in her lap. "Thank you," she said, a bit more softly, "and for what it's worth, this is easier, knowing you've gotten everything you deserve. After that beast took you away, it's a relief, truly, to know that Rhysand loves you and is keeping you safe."

I stilled. It was beyond a doubt the kindest thing Nesta had ever said to me. I hadn't thought she'd cared at all what had become of me in Prythian.

"Elain said—said that you tried to visit me," I said, my throat so tight I barely got the words out.

"I got to the Wall. I couldn't find a way through."

“You trekked two days there and two days back—through the winter woods?”

“I hired that mercenary from town to bring me a week after you were taken. With the money from your pelt. She was the only one who seemed like she would believe me.”

“You did that—for me?” Rhys was the only person in the world that I'd truly believed would bother, and no matter how much he loved me, a mating bond made everything different. Mor had tried to soften the truth on my first day in the Night Court, but even she had admitted the Inner Circle was duty-bound to protect their High Lord's mate, and I'd only become their friend later.

"What Tamlin did to you—it wasn't right. None of it was right."

Nesta finally met my gaze, and for once, the fire in her blue-grey eyes wasn't intended to burn me. We weren't drowning anymore—the lifeline of her anger was unnecessary now, and she knew it. In her darkened bedroom in a too-clean manor, we'd found just enough safety that she'd let me know she cared.

Underneath it all, Nesta cared, more deeply and loyally than I'd been able to comprehend.

There were no words for that. I launched myself at her, and Nesta went stiff in my arms as I embraced her. She didn't hug me back, just…patted my upper back awkwardly after a moment. I didn't mind—that was downright affectionate from her.

I pulled away and said, "If I'm unable to return here, will— will I at least be able to write?"

"Is there a way to ensure your correspondence stays private?"

I caught the meaning behind that—Nesta was confident in her own ability to keep a secret, but she knew too little about my own situation to be sure I could do the same. It wouldn't have crossed my mind—after all, I hadn't even learned to read until Rhys ensured I was taught—but my sister had been expected to marry a prince one day. She'd been trained for a life where sensitive letters falling into the wrong hands could cause a reputation-ruining scandal.

She was right to ask, though, so I explained how paper spelled to vanish was used to pass messages across Prythian. And by some miracle…she agreed to let me leave some with her.

"Rhys can deliver it tonight, if that's alright," I said; I'd feel better knowing it was in her hands when I left. Nesta nodded her assent. "Give me a moment to ask him, then."

Ignoring the grimace Nesta made as my gaze went distant, I gave the gentlest tug on the bond I could. I was still met with a wave of blind protectbitemaimkill panic the moment Rhys's shields dropped. He hadn't expected to hear from me until morning.

All is well, I said, reaching for the beast. I could feel its hackles rising in the back of my mind.

With a mental hand, I scratched a sensitive spot on its chin, right under the maw with its rows and rows of razor-sharp teeth, the thing that threatened to gobble up sleeping fae in their nightmares. Its eyes closed at my touch, and it purred like an affectionate cat.

Nothing's amiss. I just have a favor to ask, I added.

Anything. You know that, he said. I was dimly aware of a spiral of anxiety—some sort of fear that I didn't know that. Stroking the beast's flank like it was a nervous horse, I kicked the worry away.

If it's not too much trouble, could you please bring us some of the enchanted paper you use for correspondence? I'd like to make sure Nesta has a way to contact me directly.

Talons shifted into fingers that gently tucked an errant strand of my hair behind my ear. There's no such thing as too much trouble where you're concerned. Call for me again when you want me there.

Thank you. Just as I'd kicked away his concern, I felt his claw shred my lingering discomfort at asking him to do something on my behalf.

His mind began to pull away from mine, but he stopped halfway. Are you sure you're alright? The emotions on your side of the bond seem to be…churning.

I hesitated. There was no point in lying, but I was tempted to say we'd talk about it later. I didn't want him to worry any further, either. For now, I could give Rhys the bare minimum. I learned that Nesta tried to go to the Wall and bring me back after I was taken. She wasn't able to get through, though.

An image flashed across the bond before Rhys could stop it—a female with his pointed ears, violet eyes, and massive wingspan. She was standing on one of the footbridges that spanned the Sidra, her head thrown back in raucous laughter and the lights of the Rainbow sparkling behind her. A happy memory, but at the same time, it felt like looking at a painful, howling void.

Another younger sister whose elder sibling hadn't been able to save her. But unlike me, she didn't have a mate who'd eventually swooped in and brought her to safety.

I'll see you soon, Rhys said, then dropped his shields before I had a chance to respond.

Nesta quickly pinned her hair up and changed into a gown, but I didn't bother. Regardless, it gave Rhys time to pass through the Wall again. When she assured me she was ready, I gave another light tug on the bond.

Rhys appeared with nothing more than a gust of night-kissed wind so gentle it barely made the curtains flutter. He held a small, black-and-silver box in one hand, identical to one I'd seen holding blank paper on his desk in the House of Wind. He'd had the good sense to hide his wings, and the leash on his power was tighter than I'd ever felt it.

Even when he subdued himself, Rhys still felt too enormous and otherworldly for this side of the Wall. Between the night still clinging to him and the width of his obnoxiously broad shoulders, he seemed to take up the whole room.

And yet, as if he were an entirely normal person and none of the current circumstances were bizarre, he pressed a chaste kiss to my cheek and said, "Hello, Feyre darling."

To her credit, Nesta didn't flinch. Or hiss at him. Which already meant this was going better than I'd anticipated.

Before either of them could make this worse, I said, "This is my sister, Nesta Archeron. Nesta, this is my mate, Rhysand."

To my shock Rhys bent at the waist and bowed—actually bowed—to my sister. Polite and graceful, his upbringing as a crown prince on full display and all signs of the Illyrian warrior hidden.

Nesta's face was frozen in a mask of cold indifference. "No surname?" she said, and those two words were enough to let a nasty implication hang in the air—that Rhys wasn't pedigreed, despite being a High Lord.

His mother had been a seamstress, after all. If I didn't know better, I would have thought Nesta could smell that on him.

Rhys didn't blink. "Archeron. Or at least, it will be when we're ready to make the mating bond public knowledge."

It was a small miracle I caught myself before my mouth gaped open in surprise; he hadn't told me he'd intended to take my name. A glimmer of wicked amusement and a twinge of pride floated down the bond towards me.

Nesta, however, just cocked her head like she was sizing up an opponent, almost exactly the way Cassian did in the training ring. "I won't be mocked in my own home. You can leave."

"I'd rather be known as Feyre's mate than my father's son," Rhys said, picking invisible lint off his tunic in a gesture that was clearly calculated to look as nonchalant as possible. "I'm not mocking you. Feyre is an infinitely better person than he ever was."

Nesta went quiet. I wondered if it was as strange for her as it was for me to hear someone call me good and mean it. Rhys glanced at me, his expression melting into something soft for a moment, and Nesta tracked his movement like a hawk.

Before the silence stretched long enough to become awkward, Rhys held the box of stationery out to her and added, "This is for you."

Nesta flicked her hand towards the writing desk, an imperiousness gesture of a queen directing a servant. "Top drawer on the left," she said. An order, not a request.

She was testing him, I realized. Or had thrown down a gauntlet. Maybe both. Whatever was happening between Nesta and Rhys was some sort of courtier bullshit I was too feral to understand. Rhys did as she said, and I wasn't sure if that meant he'd lost or conceded something.

Regardless, there was no reason for Rhys to linger—and I suspected my sister would bite his head off if he tried. He said something blandly polite to Nesta about it being a pleasure to finally meet her, kissed my cheek again, and winnowed away.

When he was gone, I looked at Nesta expectantly and braced myself for whatever cutting remark was coming. She was already grimacing as if he'd tracked mud all over the floor.

My chest squeezed. Not that I needed anyone's approval, but as mates, Rhys's and my coupling had been had been quite literally blessed by the Mother herself. And I'd spent years shrugging off Nesta's scornful comments about damn near every choice I made.

I shouldn't have cared what she thought. But…for whatever reason, in this matter, I did.

"You two are so besotted with each other, it's disgusting," Nesta spat. It was congratulations enough.

I smiled. "You aren't the first person to say that about us."

There wasn't much else to discuss after that. Nesta and I sat in silence together as we burned the chunk of wood from the table in the fireplace in her bedroom. I felt something settle between us as the last piece of the cabin that she'd been holding onto was reduced to ash.

I returned to my room and managed a few hours of sleep before slipping out of the manor before dawn without saying goodbye. Before bed, Elain had said to bring the paints that she'd bought for me back to Aunt Ripleigh's, so I took them with and left her the first thank you note I'd ever managed to write by myself.

It was easier to go without facing either of my sisters again.

When I met Rhys in the woods, I threw myself at him so forcefully that he stumbled back a few steps and nearly hit a tree. "I missed you too," he said, hooking an arm under my knees as he scooped me up to fly.

Something about being in the mortal lands again—or if I was truly honest, being around my family again—had reawakened that stupid, childish part of me that wanted to cry out until I was fussed over. A bit embarrassed, I pressed my face to his chest and wished I could scent him like a faerie. But instead, all I could smell was the laundry soap we both used. Maybe that was better than nothing.

"It was a long night," I said, and he pressed a kiss to my temple.

The world faded to smoke and shadow, and then I felt that peculiar sense of being torn in two for the space of a heartbeat as we passed through the Wall. Rhys could have winnowed us again, but he continued flying above the sea for a while, probably to get the practice in to strengthen his wings.

Being cradled, his warmth and nearness, the rhythm of wingbeats, the salt air…it soothed me. Dawn was breaking, turning the sky and the sea golden. Rhys, painfully beautiful as always, was positively glowing in the light; his skin was returning to a healthy brown, the unnatural paleness from years underground almost gone. I wanted to paint it.

"With Nesta, why were you so…" I said, then trailed off, unsure of the right word. Rhys's whole demeanor had been subdued, but there had been more to it than just that. Now that I thought about it… "You didn't smirk once. That's not like you."

His face was solemn. "If my sister had inadvertently accepted a mating bond, I'd expect her mate to have his tail between his legs when she brought him home to meet me."

Once, I would have scoffed at the idea Nesta cared at all about how a man or male treated me. But she'd tried to save me. If Rhys had seemed at all like a threat, then…Nesta would have faced down the Lord of Nightmares to get me back.

I still didn't quite know what to make of that.

"Would you have tried to get my father's blessing if he'd been there?"

"Cauldron, no. You're your own person and make your own choices." He sounded affronted I'd even suggest it.

"Then why be so restrained around Nesta?"

"I don't like being thought of as an ill-mannered brute."

I could imagine how often insults like that had been flung at him for being Illyrian, probably from people just as adept as sneering down their noses as Nesta was. And yet, even though I knew Rhys well, it was still a bit strange to hear from a faerie when so many of his kind considered humans to be half-wild beasts below their notice.

Strange, but…not unwelcome.

"For what it's worth, you're not all ill-mannered brute at all," I said, smiling, "but you are a prick, though."

Rhys's wicked grin was the only warning before he gripped me tighter and tilted us into a barrel roll so swift and dizzying that I would have emptied the contents of my stomach if I'd eaten. I screamed, but the wind tore the words away.

He laughed, and it was impossible to snap an irritated response when the joy was so plain on his face. We settled into a smooth glide.

"We need to winnow the rest of the way back soon," he said once the roaring wind died down. "Cassian wants to spar, and if you're late for training, Az will ensure you pay for it."

I wouldn't expect anything less. We faded into the morning mist, and when the Night Court materialized around us, I'd never been happier to be home again.

#feysand #feyre archeron #we said hello and your eyes look like coming home #this cheeky little update before Elucien Week is for the girlies who love Rhys AND Nesta <3

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nikethestatue · 1 month

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I feel like sjm has really lost a lot of the fandom at this point. Not that it matters, she’s popular enough without the fandom. But most all my friends don’t care anymore. I think there have always been dry periods since acosf but people came back for hosab for the crossover and for hofas. But now so long has passed without a hint of acotar news and I really think BB has let it be pushed too far. Maybe it is the printing change that’s caused no news, but I am not so sure. I’m just like, where is the damn book announcement already???

A lot of people expect huge outcry when the next book is announced but I honestly think people aren’t as invested as before. You’ll have a small segment that will be upset and a segment that will cheer but I don’t think it’s going to have the insanity that was expected.

If she really was still drafting in April, I think the book could still be done and printed before 2026 but I wonder if BB would decide to push it to early 2026 anyway.

Yeah, I was talking to a mutual just last night, and we felt the same--yes, she will sell, but I wonder if in some ways, the train's left the station for her?

We started to talk about Azriel specifically, and how she really was the OG creator of the 'mysterious winged shadow man' in Azriel. And how, after ACOSF, and the bonus chapter, the interest in him was RABID. Like people were utterly insane for him.

And instead of capitalizing on this wild adulation for him, she and BB completely dropped the ball.

It's really bizarre and I think they'll look back at this time in 10-15 years and say, fuuuuuuckkkk, did we fuck this one up.

Because now, every mediocre writer and their cousin have a shadow daddy in their lame romantasy books. And there is nothing original about the concept anymore. In fact, there are too many now.

And SJM, who decided to play the stupid shipwar game, instead of striking the iron when it was hot, absolutely pissed in her own pocket. Like yeah, people will read the book, sure, but the novelty, the anticipation, the mental agitation is all gone now. And for what? Gwynriel vs Elriel?

Dont know who is making decisions or doing the marketing, but it's like when Yahoo didn't want to buy YouTube, but instead bought Tumblr, and Google swept in and bought YouTube.

It's kinda like that.

Well, I don't know. Play stupid games, win stupid prizes.

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checkoutmybookshelf · 4 months

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Cul-de-Sacs are Bad Writing

Ok, I have to be honest with y'all here. I didn't QUITE throw this book at the wall, but I WANTED TO. I don't know what HAPPENED with this book. ACOTAR was aggressively fine, if poorly paced and plotted, and ACOMAF was actually fun to read and enjoyable. Then we get to ACOWAR and the pacing and plotting problems are back with a goddamn vengeance, there are chapter cul-de-sacs that go nowhere and add nothing to the story or the character arcs, and SJM has this GODDAMN INFURIATING HABIT of just...picking up words that have specific meanings in specific contexts, going "that sounds cool" and dropping them places that make my extremely well-read, allusion-alert brain tweak in some extremely painful places because you can't just...APPROPRIATE WORDS LIKE "SERAPHIM" AND "MYRMIDONS" WITHOUT MEANINGFULLY RECONTEXTUALIZING THEM!!!! Not to mention that SJM murders the stakes of this book in their cradle. I swear to cauldron, this book was actually inexcusably bad. So let's talk A Court of Wings and Ruin.

So this is both your SPOILER WARNING and your heads up that this will be a RANT REVIEW. If you loved this book, this is not the review for you. Do not come crying to me that you weren't warned if you read past this point. This is also a CONTENT WARNING because there will be mentions and discussions of sexual assault because every SJM villain is also a rapist for SOME REASON.

I don't even know where to start with this book. I suppose...I suppose we could start with a few of the things I didn't hate. Oh, and the one thing I actually did like. That seems like a good way to begin.

The one thing about this book that I actually genuinely enjoyed was getting the foundation for Nessian. I was actually interested in Nesta's emotional journey because she had some goddamn agency in it. Like yes, she was yote into the cauldron against her will, but she never let go of her agency and she MADE it give her something in return. Like, yes girl, tell me more. Explore that. Dig in. And also, yes, I too am interested in the man-bunned jock who, when he is adulting, is a general and baddest bat boy on the battlefield. I enjoy their evolution from schoolyard hair pulling and insult slinging to actual partnership on and off the battlefield. I almost get a "he fell first, she fell harder" vibe from them, but their dynamics aren't fully cooked yet so don't quote me on that. Nessian was the best part of this book for me.

I also appreciated the setup and payoff of Nesta getting to absolutely annihilate the King of Hybern. There was something deeply satisfying about her taking his head off slowly and brutally for what he did to her and Elain. That was a great moment, even if the broader scene was in a part of the book where the stakes had long been dead and buried and the Nessian stakes in particular felt a little...hollow...as a result. Still loved the visceral, hands-on revenge murder for Nesta. Why yes, I did major in early modern drama and yes, I do have a thing for revenge tragedies. What gave me away?

Finally, can we PLEASE give Nesta the goddamn credit she deserves for single-handedly saving the High Lords alliance meeting? Because Feyre fucking blew it. She fireballed and everyone was about to bail and Nesta single-handedly saved the damn meeting through sheer force of personality. Girl understood the stakes and was the only one in the room who managed to get past the petty political and emotional bullshit and keep that big picture in mind. Nesta is a queen in her own right and frankly? She's a better Rhys than Rhys is in terms of actually trying to create a better world.

Sadly, we must now move on from the things I liked to the things I didn't hate. And there were actually a few, although they're more moments and little pieces of themes and character than actual themes and character arcs, because this book does actual themes and character arcs TERRIBLY. But. I didn't actually hate Amren getting to be high fae at the end of the book. Amren's whole deal was that she had to choose to be someone else to get out of the prison, and in the years she has BEEN Amren, I think she discovered that she really likes being Amren. The fact that she gets to be high fae Amren at the end of the book, that she gets to be the person she chose and likes? I can't not get behind that. The way we got there was inexcusably monster ex machina and SJM leaned WAY too hard on resurrections (Not even joking, when I was reading this, I live-reacted at my sister going "WTF AMREN!!" and her response was literally "give it five minutes, she'll be back".) in this book, but the core of "Amren gets to be the person she chose and liked" was good. I didn't hate that.

This might seem petty, but another thing I didn't hate was Feyre constantly crashing into trees, walls, and the ground while learning to fly. Some of these moments were genuinely comedic, some of them were nice little arrogance takedowns, and sometimes it was really just nice to see Feyre hit a hard surface at speed because lord knows I wanted to fling objects at her more than a few times this book. The pitfalls of learning to fly also felt real, grounded, and appropriately frustrating, so I didn't hate those scenes.

I also can't say I hated Feyre systematically dismantling both Ianthe's and Tamlin's credibility in the Spring Court. Was it shortsighted and ultimately counter to the larger goals of the book? God yes. Was it petty AF? Hell yes. Was it really straining the credibility of Feyre as "the people's hero"? YOU FUCKING BET YOUR ASS IT WAS. But all of that said...my God it was satisfying to watch Feyre show back up to the Spring Court and take it apart piece by piece. It's wildly unfair to Tamlin, but SJM seems to have appointed this poor 20-something with generational and personal trauma, leadership responsibility, no experience and no help as the series punching bag, and I can't fix that. All I can do is enjoy the petty assholery of Feyre taking his entire world apart (and shooting herself in the foot as she does so). (I was less enamored of Feyre beating Ianthe's hands into pulp instead of killing her. I am aware it was for plot reasons, but that was possibly the dumbest decision she could have made.) So while the early chapters of the book were objectively a Tamlin character assassination, those early chapters paced decently well and were fun in a petty, set-it-on-fire-to-watch-it-burn kind of way.

Another thing I super did not hate was Lucien. Lucien has always been an interesting character, and he shows himself to be capable of critical thought in this book, which we love to see! Then of course SJM writes him out for 85% of the book, so there's not a lot of time and space to love him.

Ooh, I also liked Bryaxis. Cool idea, great vibes, and I'm very much here for Feyre STILL NOT BEING ABLE TO INTERNALIZE NOT MAKING DEALS WITH FAE OR ELDRITCH HORRORS. Like...girl. You were warned multiple times, but now you have shadow kitty wanting pets. Did not hate anything about that.

Which...I think rather takes us to the end of the things I didn't hate about this book. Yikes, that is a short list. So if you're a Feysand stan or adored this book and somehow made it this far, I am going to respectfully suggest bailing now. I did not enjoy the rest of this book, and I'm going to explain why. If you're cool with that, we love to have you. If not, we will catch you next time.

For everyone who is still here, let's dive into ALL THE THINGS ABOUT THIS BOOK THAT WERE INEXCUSABLY BAD. And we're going to have to start with Rhysand, because dear god, what the hell happened. (And yes, I ended that sentence with a period. That sentence doesn't deserve a question mark.)

I thoroughly enjoyed cocky asshole Under-the-Mountain Rhys. He was a dick, he knew it, but he also had a sense of...idk, almost fair play that worked for him. I also am a big proponent of if you're going to write a cocky asshole, they better ENJOY that shit. "Hello Feyre, darling" was an A+ moment. It was the epitome of cocky asshole who knows he's a cocky asshole and enjoys it. I was tentatively on board with secret feminist Rhys in ACOMAF, but then we get to this book, and I just straight-up could not with traumatized bat bitch who was willing to completely toss his ideals out the window and retraumatize his found family for...reasons. In no particular order, these are the things I took issue with where Rhys was concerned:

Repeatedly traumatizing Mor and then INVALIDATING her very reasonable responses to him full-on not giving a fuck if the Darkbringer legion raped and pillaged their way across a battlefield, bringing Eris Vanserra into a meeting without warning her, opening Velaris to the night court, and invalidating her (heavily implied to be) sexual trauma and abuse by saying he'd have worked with Amarantha so she should work with whoever he tells her to. Like...holy shit Rhys, you say you're over here to help women recover and heal from these kinds of traumas, so WHAT THE HELL IS MOR TO YOU? All of this was shitty and Mor lets him off the hook way, way too easily. I'm not going to, though. Rhys was actively playing "my trauma was worse than yours" with Mor and that's a SHITTY thing to do to literal family--both blood and chosen.

Rhys letting Feyre off the hook for invading Lucien's mind. Let's be super real here: Feyre has been kind of a bad friend to Lucien from minute one. She has no boundaries, no ethics, and is possibly the worst person to have her particular set of powers. But it's not like she's getting EFFECTIVE HELP AND GUIDANCE from the one other person with that particular skill. She apologized to RHYS about it and he accepted the apology and told her she wouldn't cross the line again. Like...Sir. That was LUCIEN'S APOLOGY to either accept or reject, and I no longer love that you don't have ethics around this power use either. Shaky magical ethics are NOT GOOD. Adhere to them or don't, as is appropriate for a character, but like...have them well-established and strong. (It is possible I read Arrows of the Queen at too formative an age, but y'know, magical ethics are a thing I think about!)

Rhys's self-sacrifice obsession. This is one of those "your mileage may vary" things, but it absolutely did not work for me as a reader. I am too steeped in the "Dying for people is easy, it lets you off the hook" mentality to appreciate Rhys over here constantly going "If there is a price, I will pay it with my life." It also made fixing the cauldron REALLY fucking frustrating for me, because they had the five minutes to get the rest of the inner circle over there (or literally any of the other high lords or people with magic) to help. There was also an opportunity for a found family save, with Rhys going for the sacrifice play and the fam going "Hell no." But no, we had to LIE TO OUR WIFE and DIE. For all of about five minutes before we do a Twilight where "OH-EM-GEE FEYRE NOW YOU TRULY UNDERSTAND HOW I FELT UNDER THE MOUNTAIN" because apparently empathy isn't something Feyre is capable of...? I keep getting told not to try to logic this book, but some of this just defies even vibe reading, you guys.

I found Rhys a STRUGGLE and deeply unsympathetic this book despite a tragic backstory that should have done a lot of heavy lifting. Like, he's had some genuinely harrowing and traumatizing experiences. But then he invalidates other people's trauma and is super willing to INFLICT it on people. And he's not even got the courtesy to ENJOY it, so then I'm just over here drowning in angsty man pain that is in no small part of his own making...like there were moments I genuinely went "Did Rhys and Harry Dresden go to the same school of man pain?" I lack patience for this kind of non-self-reflective nonsense these days. I understand being protective of family and wanting your family to be ok, but Rhys gets smothery and toxic in ways that I am not here for.

Since a fair amount of my issues with Rhys are how he treats Mor, I think that makes for a decent segue into my issues with how Mor is handled. These come in two somewhat intertwined branches. The first is Mor's treatment of Nesta. The second is how SJM handles Mor's sexuality.

I'm going to say right here and right now, these books were DYING for LGBTQIA+ representation. These books are SO heteronormative, and adding representation would have been lovely...except that I would argue that the rep was handled poorly, leaned into harmful stereotypes, and poked holes in both Mor's characterization and the narrative structure of the book. I'm not here to disbelieve Mor when she says she prefers women, but finds pleasure with both men and women. I believe Mor. What I do think is that SJM coded Mor as straight for two and a half books, and that last-second pivot does a couple of things.

First, it calls Morrigan into question as a reliable narrator out of absolutely nowhere. Nowhere in ACOTAR or ACOMAF do we get a sense that Mor is an unreliable narrator. She has her perspective and biases, as any character does, but nowhere do we get the sense that she is hiding anything or lying. The inner circle TRUSTS her, that is established and shown. To suddenly have her go "Yeah, I've been lying to Cassian and Azriel for 500 years, and every time Azriel gets too clingy I sleep with a man where he can see to remind him to back off" is deeply toxic and this is sort of...never addressed? Not to mention that until this point, I had read Mor's leaning into open sexuality as a way to take agency and control after what her family did to her, and the reveal that she's bi kind of changes that into the "promiscuous bisexual who is often toxic" stereotype, which like...HATE THAT for Mor. The writing directly undercut something I was reading as strength and made it stereotype-y and toxic, and I hate that. And the book doesn't even address it! I could see a plotline in which Mor recognizing and addressing this toxicity and evolving herself and her relationships with the inner circle to a point where she is out, happy, healthy, and supported, and her boys are just happy she trusts them enough to be her whole self with them, but the book doesn't do that. It just reiterates stereotypes and keeps Mor with one foot in the closet and one foot out of it. LET MORRIGAN BE HAPPY AND HEALTHY AND HER WHOLE SELF!!!

And for the love of god have her stop actively being nasty and aggressive at Nesta over Nesta's interest in Cassian. That was uncalled for on every possible level. Before we get the bi reveal, it was the tired, toxic, girls fighting over a man thing. Afterward, it's another really ugly layer of Mor trying to keep Cassian trapped as a permanent buffer between her and Azriel. Literally nothing about this dynamic is good, but again, the book just kind of...presents it and does nothing with it. And I really don't love that because the potential for strong communication and growth in the inner circle dynamics was THERE and it was INTERESTING and then it was SQUANDERED in favor of the Feysand show. And it's not like there are any other characters to give another perspective on this--we just have Helion who also falls into that bisexual stereotype. So I would have loved some more representation here, but the representation we got was...not ideal.

I also have a bit of a bone to pick with the Illyrian wings. They got SO SET UP as delicate and difficult to fix if you fuck them up. But then all three of our bat boys have them absolutely shredded in this book and like...it's not fun but it's also not given the weight I'd have expected from how they were built up in ACOMAF.

We cannot talk about this book without also talking a little bit about the bigass High Lords Alliance Meeting. This thing got SO HYPED in the first half of this book. Like it was constantly being talked about, planned, and reiterated in terms of its importance. I was expecting an actual discussion about politics and alliances and the practicalities of working together to defeat Hybern. And in SJM's defense...we do get a little bit of that. But MOSTLY what we get is high-school level sniping, aggravated assault, and FEYRE FUCKING FIREBALLS BERON. Which pretty much could have torpedoed the meeting except for Nesta. NGL y'all, I was SO LET DOWN by this whole series of chapters. But at least these chapters had actual effects on the story...unlike the next bunch of scenes and chapters.

The latter half of this book, and particularly once the war gets going properly, this book is FULL TO THE GODDAMN BRIM of cul-de-sac scenes and chapters that go nowhere and affect the status quo not at all. Big standout examples of this include Elain getting kidnapped by Hybern and Rhys being dead for like five minutes.

Elain getting kidnapped by Hybern was literally just payoff for Feyre's flying lessons. Which didn't end up mattering anywhere else. Az and Feyre do a quickie side quest to rescue Elain and some random girl and Az gets his wings shredded, but it's ok, they have healers and he can *checks notes* MAGICALLY PATCH WOUNDS LONG ENOUGH TO GET BACK. Sure. Whatever. At this point I didn't even care, nothing mattered and there were no stakes. They get Elain back. It's fine.

Rhys was dead for less than ten minutes. Holly Goddamn Short could have brought him back easier than she brought Butler back. And it's not like we genuinely thought that Rhys was going to die after all that, this isn't that kind of book. Literally I'm so pissed off though, because SJM full-on did the whole, "Now you know what I went through when you died under the mountain, Feyre" thing. Like...is empathy not one of her skills? Or is Rhys so insecure that he can't imagine empathy without a 1:1 experience relationship? I hated this so much because it was dumb, it isn't how EMOTIONS work, and frankly? Why didn't Rhys want to SPARE her that experience? Because it sounded like it sucked.

I also need to address the Jurian/Mirayam/Drakon/Seraphim thing. It was underdeveloped as hell, doesn't come to a satisfying ending, and "OOPSIE POOPSIE OUR SHIELDS DON'T HAVE FRIEND FILTERS" so they were exactly where they were meant to be the whole damn time was fucking infuriating. This either needed development or to be left in draft, and at this point I don't care which.

Finally, the end of this book just felt limp. We half-assedly attempted to get everyone to renegotiate the treaty, and then went back to Velaris and broke out the good stuff. It is possibly the limpest ending I've read in a longass time.

This book didn't need to be this long. There was too much padding and not enough development, and a lot of it was just infuriating. The Mirror of Ouroboros was super underdeveloped, the character dynamics got driven into the ground, and the writing was deeply problematic on a bunch of technical levels. I have NOT forgiven the use of "twisted" or "Seraphim" or "Myrmidon" wildly out of context. These terms do not just...decouple from their connotations and contexts because SJM think they sound cool and yeet them at a book. The truly infuriating thing was the squandered potential after ACOMAF, because I genuinely enjoyed that book. I can't say the same of ACOWAR.

#acowar #a court of wings and ruin #acotar #faeries #fantasy books #books and reading #books #books and novels #books & libraries

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aoibhinnslater04 · 6 months

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SOC x ACOTAR

Chapter 8: Hiding in the shadows

Word count: 2352

Trigger warnings: mind control, kidnapping

Next chapter I'm planning is the parley, and then gonna have an interlude where I reveal the villains- any guesses?

Nina wasn’t happy. First, Kaz woke her up an hour earlier than she planned on getting up, so he already wasn’t off to a good start. Second, he was now late to the very meeting he had demanded she attended.

But most of the time he understood the consequences for disturbing her sleep, so she wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt before she nailed his balls to his bed so, one way or another, he wouldn’t wake her again in a hurry. And who knows, that sleep deprived bastard could probably do with being stuck to the bed for a bit.

Just as she was imagining this, the smell of waffles and chocolate drifted over to her. She sniffed the air, her nose high, before she heard, deadpan, “figures you would have your own secret power, Zenik. Only you would smell breakfast before I get here.”

Nina gave a half hearted shrug. “Figures you wouldn’t dare disturb me this early without breakfast, Brekker.”

Jesper nudged her gently. “No one with sense would wake you up without having breakfast, love, if they value their lives. But considering I happen to know both you and Wylan were up late with Kaz, maybe we should get this over with as soon as Inej gets here, hm?”

He directed this last part at Kaz, but Kaz shook his head instantly. “No. No Inej. I think… I think she’s being controlled by Rhysand.”

A few things happened directly after this statement. Nina sunk into the couch behind her, her chewing slowing down, her eyes going wide. Wylan and Matthias started arguing with Kaz, no WAY would Inej be taken over, they would have realised if she had been and fixed it, he’s made a mistake. But Jesper… he just stood there. His face turned pale, and Nina realised, with sudden alarm and a quick check of his pulse, that he was about to have a panic attack and he didn’t even realise it. So she put down her waffles, grabbed his arm and dragged him out of the room as his breathing quickened, pulling him into her room and pushing him down on her bed before his legs gave out first.

She then squatted before him, bracing against his legs and started exaggerating her breathing so he would start to follow. At first, she wasn’t sure he would be able to, as he looked like he was struggling to inhale at all. But she persevered, squeezing his legs gently to get him to look at her. And then they sat there, silently, until Jesper’s breathing matched Nina’s tempo, and they had both stopped shaking.

~~~~~

Azriel was pissed. He really did not want to go with Inej to find out information on this new couple. Rhys had seemed to find it curious that Brekker had such an interest in them, especially with all that was going on between both gangs currently. They must appear a risk, then. The only reason he was tolerating Inej right now was because Rhys told her to obey Azriel, and she would.

Otherwise it would make him feel ill, working with a Crow. Everything they had done to his family since they arrived, taking Nyx, taking Truth-Teller, it was all too much. Which reminded him-”When you go back to the Crow Club tonight,” he said, turning to whisper to Inej, “make sure to grab the dagger you stole and bring it back to us tonight.”

The girl nodded, her face calm and blank. Azriel reckoned she was hardly taking in anything, and sighed inwardly before turning back to the house. Great. What was the use in her being here when she was this useless to him?

But he didn’t have time to think about it right now- they needed to get inside and get as much information as possible before he had to make sure Inej got back ok to the Crow Club and that she knew what she could say without giving too much information.

As soon as he was positive that the guards had passed for their rotational shift, he hissed at Inej to follow him and ran. He hated being exposed, amongst ash trees of all things. He couldn’t help a little shudder of dread, although he doubted it meant anything. The only people who probably recognised they were Fae yet were the Crows, and there was practically no information out on what hurt Fae, no matter what was found on the Court of Dreams themselves. It was all oh, iron! Or, Fae can’t lie! The only thing possibly true they could find would be on ash trees, but unless they wanted to go hacking down trees in this garden they would struggle to find ash. And considering they wanted to learn about these people he doubted they would draw attention to themselves.

He told Inej to focus on the downstairs, while he flew up to a balcony and picked the lock on the door. As soon as he got inside he started feeling funny. No doubt a delayed reaction to the ash, he told himself, as he forced his legs to move forward. All he had to do was get information, get Inej, and get out.But when he sank to the ground, he got the strange sense that it mightn’t be that easy after all.

~~~~~

Wylan didn’t know what to expect when he saw the incoming call from Inej. He figured Rhysand had told her to call one of the Crows who mightn’t know her as well, and while he and Inej had a good friendship, it would never be close to what she had with Nina or Jesper, and he doubted anyone would ever know her quite as well as Kaz. So that left her with either Wylan or Matthias, and Matthias was far too suspicious. He was sure Inej knew it too, so that left her with Wylan. The gullible one. Well, she probably wouldn’t phrase it like that, she was too kind, but Wylan was the obvious choice. He called the other Crows into the room quickly, before picking up.

They could hear Inej breathing before anything else, as though she was out of breath. “Wylan?” she said quietly. Wylan gulped when the other Crows looked at him expectantly. “Heyyy Inej,” he choked out, suddenly nervous. “What’s up…girlfriend?” He saw Kaz glower at him, Jesper put his head in his hands, Nina looked away with a hint of laughter on her face. Matthias stood over him, stoic as always.

Well, if she didn’t think they suspected anything, she likely did now. Wylan could act. He knew he could. It had worked at the auction last month. But everything was different without Inej, or a solid plan. They’ve never had to work against her before, and she knew them. If Rhysand decided to get her opinion on anything, it could end really badly. Hopefully he wasn’t the trusting type.

“Wylan I need you to listen, I don’t know how long I have,” she whispered. They all tensed, leaning towards the phone. She didn’t sound possessed.

“I’m being controlled by Rhysand. He got me the other night, when I was going to spy on the new house. I’m here now. Azriel is upstairs, he could come down any second. I need help. I don’t think I will stay free when I leave. So I need you, “she cuts off for a minute with a small sob, before continuing, voice shaking, “I need you to find some way to fix this properly. Nothing feels real anymore. I don’t even know if I’m actually talking to you or if this is a trick to see what I would do. I’m so, so scared.” And here she properly started to cry, each sob making Kaz flinch. Wylan spoke up, the others too in shock to say anything. “We’ve got you Inej, don’t worry. We’ll fix this. One way or another.”

They all looked at each other, coming to some silent agreement. This cat-and-mouse game they had going was at an end. Time for a parley. Let’s see what Rhysand and his gang wanted once and for all.

~~~~~

Inej gave herself a minute to cry before standing up after her phone call with Wylan. And, she assumed, the other Crows. She thought Kaz knew her too well to miss whatever Rhysand had her do, or say. But honestly, at this point, she was just ready to give up. She couldn’t stay here forever, although the thought of leaving and possibly being put under his spell again made her knees buckle in fear. She took in a few breaths, remembering, at least she got through to the Crows. They would help. They wouldn’t leave her with them. But… maybe they would? Maybe it, she, was too much hassle to spend their time on?

No.

That was Rhysand talking, it had to be.

Maybe she was broken. Maybe he had taken what was left of her heart and tore it to shreds, as well as her mind. But she needed to believe in them. She wasn’t sure she could believe in herself anymore.

She heard a soft voice, singing to a crying baby, as well as a few men muttering. More guards, probably. She hadn’t heard anything about them having a baby, she was sure. But clearly the people of the house were close, and she couldn’t let them catch her. Rhysand hadn’t hurt her physically, yet, at least. She wasn’t sure which was the lesser of the two evils yet, but she would rather stick with the devil she knew. Hopefully he wouldn’t realise she had broken free, so she wouldn’t need to tell him. Although she couldn’t deny how much her head and heart were aching, right now. Maybe it would be best… She didn’t hurt so much when he was in control. She wasn’t sure how much longer she could stand it.

As she was thinking this, disgusted with herself, she was making her way upstairs. Hopefully Azriel didn’t overhear her conversation. Either way…

She gasped before covering her mouth. Azriel was on the floor, his face pale and feverish, his chest hardly moving. She knelt before him, checking his temperature, before pulling off his top. She could see he was awake, but he was really struggling to open his eyes. She didn’t understand what had happened in the ten minutes they had been apart, but she didn’t want to leave him here. Something in here was sickening him, she didn’t know what, and despite their…issues… she couldn’t bring herself to leave him to die. She grabbed his muscular body and heaved, dragging him with her. It was almost impossible, but she persevered, wiping the sweat from her brow. She lugged him to the balcony, barely pausing to consider before she hauled him over it. It wasn’t too far, he would survive, if with a few bruises, she reckoned.

Luckily, by the time she had climbed down a pipe beside it, his eyes were opening and he was conscious. She paused to help him up, about to help him across the lawn, before he put out a hand to stop her. She froze, watching as the shadows came towards them, before Azriel was pulling her against the wall. A second later, two guards rounded a far off corner, guns in hand. Had they gone when she tried to go, they would both have been shot. Once they passed, they both staggered to the gap in the hedge across the garden with trees and through it.

Azriel looked at her, his brain not seeming to comprehend the last few minutes. “You… you shouldn’t have been able to do that. Not without me telling you to. Not that I’m complaining, you saved my ass, but...”

Inej started shaking, she didn’t know what to say, but luckily a wave of calmness came over her then, and she breathed out while she waited for Rhysand to take over. He would explain.

~~~~~

Rhys dragged a hand through his unruly hair. Nothing had worked out during Azriel and Inej’s job today. And, it looked like he couldn’t send either of them back too, because Az blacked out and Inej called her friends for help. So…shit.

He had looked through her mind, but nothing stuck out to him, bar the woman singing to the child. He had no idea what might have affected Az like that either, The ash wouldn’t affect him from inside the house, and the damn thing would have had to be built with Faebane to have such a strong effect. He couldn’t see any of the blue stones either in her memory, and they would have known if there was so much Faebane here anyway. But…

“Feyre!” He called to his mate. She came into the room where he was with Inej, a half finished smoke bomb in her hand. “What Rhys, I’m busy,” she replied, not even looking at Inej. He noticed she had struggled to look towards the girl ever since she had learned about her past, but he ignored it right now. “I’ve looked at her memories from today, but did you hear anything about these women having a child?”

Mor, who happened to be walking past, stuck her head in. “What do you mean? It’s a house with two women, and a shit ton of security. No child. Me or Amren would have discovered it by now.”

“Then I want to show you both what I saw,” he responded. They paused while he showed them Inej’s memory. And Feyre began to sob. “That’s Nyx,” she whispered. “I feel like I know that other voice too, but…That is definitely Nyx’s cry.”

Mor reached forward to hold Feyre’s hand, tears in her own eyes too. “What do you want us to do, Rhys,” she said, her voice cracking a little.

Rhys paused for a second. Inej’s cover had been blown. It was only a matter of time…

“Call Kaz Brekker. Let’s see if we can come to some sort of agreement.”

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moon--mama · 1 year

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When Elain says “somehow all you think of is what my trauma did to you,” she is standing up to Nesta for the first time, and it’s necessary for Nesta’s healing.

Welcome to my TED talk, with evidence:

Their introduction:

The relationship between Elain and Nesta, at first, is written so that they come as a pair. It hurts Feyre to see her two older sisters clinging together so much. At first, it’s just a play on the fairy tale trope of having two awful sisters. Nesta and Elain are selfish and spoiled, sending Feyre out into the woods and failing to protect her.

“Elain sometimes just…didn’t grasp things. It wasn’t meanness that kept her from offering to help; it simply never occurred to her that she might be capable of getting her hands dirty.”

Feyre doesn’t blame Elain like she blames Nesta. She knows Elain has been kept sheltered, even after they went into poverty, and she just doesn’t understand some of the danger they face.

“Nesta lifted a hand, pushing down the sleeve of her coat to show the iron bracelet there. The same one Elain wore; they’d bought matching adornments years ago.”

Elain lets Nesta take care of her. Nesta doesn’t bother taking care of Feyre, and this plays briefly into the idea that they’re “wicked” sisters. It fits with the whole Beauty and the Beast vibe of the first book.

“I couldn’t remember the last time Nesta had tried to warn me about anything; Elain was the only one she bothered to really look after.”

The first time Nesta tried to help Feyre in any way. But the warning comes too late, because Feyre has already killed Andras.

“Nesta hushed her sharply through her own sobbing, but pushed Elain farther behind her. My chest caved in at the sight of it.”

Her “chest caves” because she knows that no one in their family would protect her in the same way. But Elain’s description as a “gentle heart” with a “lack of understanding” clearly means that Feyre absolves her of any wrongdoing in their early lives—because Feyre believes she isn’t capable of fighting, or understanding what it means to take on the sort of personal risk that protecting someone else entails.

“I wondered how they’d feel on my throat, and how loudly my sisters would scream before they, too, died. But I knew—with a sudden, uncoiling clarity—that Nesta would buy Elain time to run. Not my father, whom she resented with her entire steely heart. Not me, because Nesta had always known and hated that she and I were two sides of the same coin, and that I could fight my own battles. But Elain, the flower-grower, the gentle heart … Nesta would go down swinging for her.”

Feyre and Nesta are two sides of the same coin because they share the same anger, but Feyre becomes powerful and acts on it while Nesta bottles it up. At first, Nesta is waiting for their father to take some action to save them, so she refuses to do anything on her own as a punishment to him.

“She would lie and steal and sell anything for Elain’s sake—and her own as well.”

But Nesta hasn’t needed to do this yet, as Feyre has been taking on the whole burden of caring for their family. She even says later in the series that she shouldn’t need to do anything herself when she’s capable of manipulating others. It’s how their mother raised Nesta—to be a queen, making use of her resources.

Things do briefly begin to turn around in the Nesta/Feyre relationship. Re-read chapter 30 of ACOTAR for a glimpse of the relationship between Feyre and Nesta starting to heal.

“Nesta fell into step behind us, a quiet, stalking presence. I didn’t want to know what she was thinking. I wasn’t certain whether I should be furious or relieved that they’d gotten on so well without me—and whether Nesta was wondering the same.”

Nesta shadows Feyre when she first returns home. She was the only one who saw through Tamlin’s glamour. And the only one who went looking for Feyre, which suddenly helps Feyre see her in a new light. Elain, meanwhile, is completely swept away by the glamour. She’s innocent to the ways of the world around her and so it’s easy for her to be overcome. Nesta can’t do anything about it but watch, though.

“Elain had said she missed it, and I wondered what she saw when she looked at the cottage. If she beheld not a prison but a shelter—a shelter from a world that had possessed so little good, but she tried to find it anyway, even if it had seemed foolish and useless to me. She had looked at it that cottage with hope; I had looked at it with nothing but hatred. And I knew which one of us had been stronger.”

Feyre and Nesta don’t allow themselves to have the hope or joy that Elain has. That’s why they coddle her and protect her so much. She thinks of others in a way beyond their basic survival—getting their father a chisel and buying Feyre paints—in a way that doesn’t come easily to Nesta and Feyre. Later, comically, it’s why Feyre struggles to choose gifts for her friends. She knows they have everything they need. Elain is the only one who gives gifts that have real personal meaning.

“Father once told you to never come back,” Nesta said, “and I’m telling you now. We can take care of ourselves.” Once I might have thought it was an insult, but now I understood—understood what a gift she was offering me.”

What gift was Nesta offering? Twice, Feyre’s family tells her to forget about them. She went into the woods, went to Prythian, and sacrificed herself for years to keep them fed and sheltered. Nesta is telling Feyre that they don’t need her—and that freedom from the promise to her mother allows Feyre to free Prythian.

“After what had happened to her sister, what Jurian had done, she would never let me leave here alive. I couldn’t entirely blame her; I doubted I would ever forget or forgive something like that being done to Nesta or Elain, no matter how many centuries had passed.”

And Feyre knows that, like Nesta, she would scorch the earth if anything happened to her family. Since they’re the same. Nesta is just as trapped in her devotion to Elain as Feyre was by their mother’s promise.

Their development:

When Elain and Nesta are changed, all the sisters are traumatized. But Elain knows that Nesta is willing to destroy herself for revenge on Elain’s behalf.

“And as she moved, Nesta angled herself—ever so slightly. Between me and Elain.”

When Feyre returns, Nesta instinctively knows that she’s powerful. The only thing she can do is shield Elain with herself. She’s already seen that fae magic is overpowering.

“Nesta studied the dark ring on Elain’s finger, the way she still seemed to cradle it. A lady—that’s what Elain would become. What she was risking for this.”

At this point, Elain has finally grown. She is more understanding of the world around them, if all that means is that she’s frightened of the fae. So frightened that she’s fallen in love with a human war lord’s son, brimmed to the teeth with an iron arsenal. And Nesta knows, after raising her iron bracelet against Tamlin in the previous book, that she isn’t capable of protecting Elain on her own. She saw Elain’s mind change in ACOTAR and she was powerless to do anything but watch. Elain had been talking about traveling with Feyre, but if she married Graysen, she’d be locked up in their fortress at home tending to their ash grove. Nesta is on the cusp of letting Elain go, from one protector to another.

“It is your choice,” Nesta said with unusual gentleness. For her, Nesta would go to Prythian.”

Whether they stay or go, Nesta believes the outcome will be the same. She’s guarding Elain again with this comment, not really giving her a choice. If they go, Elain will be heartbroken to leave Graysen. If they stay, Nesta knows that they will be in danger—but Rhysand has just promised to send soldiers to guard them. Elain’s decision either way will result in Nesta being there to watch over her. “Going to Prythian” doesn’t mean that Nesta is going to give her freedom. No one believes yet that Elain is capable of taking care of herself.

“Nesta was bellowing at the guards, at the king, as Elain yielded step after step toward that Cauldron.”

When they’re brought to Hybern, Nesta is the only person in the room who is still fighting as Elain is taken.

“Elain’s foot hit the water, and she screamed—screamed in terror that hit me so deep I began sobbing. “Please,” I said to none of them. Nesta was still fighting, still roaring through her gag. Elain, who Nesta would have killed and whored and stolen for. Elain, who had been gentle and sweet. Elain, who was to marry a lord’s son who hated faeries …”

Feyre is trapped by her loyalty to Rhysand and their friends, unable to lash out. Nesta can’t lash out as a human, and hasn’t had the training yet to do anything to protect Elain. So this is doubly traumatizing for her, because she’s forced to recognize that her own decision to use Feyre for survival has left her powerless. Elain’s transformation isn’t just a reflection on Feyre, it pinpoints the moment that Nesta realizes she’s incapable in her current form. That’s why she takes power from the Cauldron—because when she goes in, she knows that she will not allow herself to be powerless again.

“Nesta slammed into Lucien, grabbing Elain from his arms, and screamed at him as he fell back, “Get off her!” Elain’s feet slipped against the floor, but Nesta gripped her upright, running her hands over Elain’s face, her shoulders, her hair— “Elain, Elain, Elain,” she sobbed.”

It’s like Nesta is saying goodbye here. Goodbye to the idea that she could protect Elain on her own, or that she’s responsible for Elain. This trauma they’ve both experienced is twice as impactful for Nesta. Until this point, Elain hasn’t done anything on her own other than falling in love with Graysen.

“I didn’t let Lucien’s declaration sink in. Nesta, however, whirled on him. “She is no such thing,” she said, and shoved him again. Lucien didn’t move an inch. His face was pale as death as he stared at Elain. My sister said nothing, the iron ring glinting dully on her finger.”

Nesta, having taken power from the Cauldron, now knows that she is no longer powerless. She is guarding Elain more fiercely than ever, because now she has the ability to do so.

Elain’s silence says a lot about her character transformation here. Her future has been stripped away, her sisters have failed her for the first time, and she’s just blank. She’s blank for chapters, actually. Because until this point she was a two dimensional character who had very simple motivations. Now, the one thing she’d done for herself in life (falling in love with Graysen) has fallen apart. It’s why she reacts to her trauma by doing nothing…what’s the point of acting, if it results in such a disaster? That’s why she spirals into depression.

“Why should I allow any of you”—the last word was shot at Cassian with as much venom as a pit viper—“to get near her? It is no one’s business but our own.”

Nesta is still protecting Elain from the others at the start of ACOWAR. She sees Rhysand, Feyre, and Cassian as a mild threat to Elain—especially once they bring up Lucien.

“You won’t join me for practice, so you sure as hell aren’t going to hold your own in a fight. You won’t talk about your powers, so you certainly aren’t going to be able to wield them. And you—”

Cassian calls her out for the first time, voicing the things Nesta has realized. But until later, she’s determined that she doesn’t need any of those things to keep protecting Elain. It’s why she’s so crushed when Elain is taken by Hybern.

“A stinging dismissal, if not admission that she still trusted me enough to consider Elain’s needs first.”

This is a little reminder that Nesta and Feyre are the same. They’re both capable of coddling and protecting Elain. With either sister present, there’s no reason for Elain to experience any sort of growth. She doesn’t need to do anything because they’re both willing to provide her protection and support.

“To look at the hardness of the world and choose, over and over, to love, to be kind. She had been always so full of light. Perhaps that was why she now kept all the curtains open. To fill the void that existed where all of that light had once been. And now nothing remained.”

Again, Feyre is noting that Elain has become a blank slate. Where she was previously an accessory for Nesta and Feyre to clash over, she will shortly become a character with her own agency.

“Then it is not my problem if you’re unreliable. I’ll help you with the wall, but I am not going to whore my story around to everyone on your behalf.” She shot to her feet, color rising to her ordinarily pale face, and hissed, “And if you even dare suggest to Elain that she do such a thing, I will rip out your throat.”

Nesta is still asserting her control over Elain at this point, and perhaps she’s so threatening because she can sense that Elain will begin making choices that cause her to experience hardship and growth. Without a journey, Elain will remain this symbol of purity and hope that both Nesta and Feyre have admired and protected.

“Nesta bristled, teeth flashing. I gripped her harder, and threw a new wall of air around us—holding her there. Weeks of cloistering Elain had done nothing to improve her state.”

Feyre can see that Nesta’s “protection” of Elain is killing her, just like Tamlin’s “protection” of Feyre resulted in disaster. She’s recognizing that Elain needs that opportunity for growth and healing, while Nesta is digging in her heels and trying to hold Elain in the state that she was before their Making. But at this point, there’s no returning to the way things were.

“Why didn’t you ask us to teach you?” I trailed a finger over the neat row of spines. “Because I doubted you would agree to help.” Nesta stiffened like I’d hit her, coldness blooming in those eyes.”

Nesta and Feyre address their long-standing fissure here. Nesta’s defense mechanism for all emotional issues is to close off and bottle up. She stiffens because it’s the closest that Feyre has come to pointing out that Nesta has coddled Elain to a fault.

“Nesta let out a sound that might have been a sob as I realized what he’d found at the edge of the forest. What the Cauldron had left behind in its haste to return to Hybern’s war-camp. Or as a mocking gift. Elain’s dark blue cloak, still warm from her body.”

Even with the magic she took from the Cauldron, Nesta is forced again to admit that she’s powerless. Hybern stole Elain away, and Feyre’s friends were unable to protect her. Elain’s trauma is still about Nesta’s development, just another piece in the puzzle that she solves in ACOSF. It’s another reason why she finally gives in and begins training her body and powers.

“Elain stepped out of a shadow behind him, and rammed Truth-Teller to the hilt through the back of the king’s neck as she snarled in his ear, “Don’t you touch my sister.”

And here is the very first moment that Elain has acted with any sort of agency in defense of her sisters—and she not only takes the king of Hybern by surprise, but she rescues Nesta. It’s fitting, because Feyre observed earlier that Elain was the most powerful sister. And this is the proof—Elain kills the king, but Nesta beheads him and takes credit for the kill. Because no one would believe that gentle, soft Elain was capable of harming anything, let along a centuries-old monster.

Their crossroads:

At this point in the series, Nesta and Elain are facing a major change. They have been made Fae, or something more than fae, and there’s no way for either of them to return to their previous lives. It’s a major point of development for both sisters, with Feyre watching from the sidelines.

“Elain faced me. “Do we help her?” I fiddled with the end of my braid. “Yes—but not today. Not tomorrow.” I loosed a breath. “When—when she’s ready.” When we were ready, too. Elain nodded, smiling up at me, and it was tentative joy—and life that shone in her eyes. A promise of the future, gleaming and sweet.”

Because Elain reads people better than Nesta and Feyre. She knows all about Nesta’s unresolved issues with their father. And now that she has some agency, she’s able to start healing and finding joy and purpose in her life. Yet she still defers to Feyre’s decision regarding Nesta, because that’s been their dynamic for so long. Elain still hadn’t fully developed as an individual.

“No.” Anger—there was anger in Elain’s face, too. “She just said … She said that we have our lives, and she has hers.” To say that to me, fine. But to Elain?”

In ACOFAS, Elain reaches a turning point in her relationship with Nesta. Until that point in the series, Nesta was constantly shadowing Elain. But repeatedly being shown that she was powerless drove her away from the Court of Dreams. Elain is angry that Nesta is lashing out at her because they had been devoted to each other before. Elain was Nesta’s only “friend”, and Nesta protected her at all costs. But after killing the King of Hybern, Elain proved to everyone that she didn’t need Nesta or anyone else’s protection. And she’s angry that Nesta is “punishing” her for it.

“Elain’s brow furrowed before I could leap in. “What do you mean?” “There’s no going back to being human, girl,” Amren said, perhaps a tad gently. “Amren,” I warned. Elain’s face reddened further, her back straightening. But she didn’t bolt. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I’d never heard Elain’s voice so cold.”

And this is the big hint for the future. Will Elain’s book be about her journey to reclaim her humanity? That coldness in her voice, and the fake smile she showed Feyre before dinner began, certainly hints that there’s something hidden beneath her soft surface. Some of that Archeron grit, maybe. Nonetheless, it’s another moment where Elain’s agency shows through. It’s the first thing she’s really asked for herself.

“For a moment, I just stared at my sister, the wisdom she’d spoken. Not a whisper of those oracular abilities. Just clear eyes and an open expression. “You’re right,” I said, taking in the insignia rising before me.”

This is Elain’s real power—observation. Like Mor, she sees the truth in many situations, perhaps to a fault. The “seeing” gift is just a magnification of the abilities she already possessed.

“Nesta watched warily from her chair, Elain’s present—her only present—in her lap. Her spine stiffened slightly. Not at the words, but at Elain, laughing with them. With us.”

Nesta storms out of the solstice party because she’s confronted with clear evidence that she’s an outsider. Even though Elain gave her a box set of smut for the holiday, because she knows her sister, no one else has included her. And Elain’s acceptance of the group throws in her face that she’s unnecessary now. It’s setting up Nesta’s fall to rock bottom in the subsequent book.

“Just as it was her fault that Elain had been captured by the Cauldron after Nesta spied on it with that scrying, her fault that Hybern had done such terrible things to hunt her and her sister down like a deer.”

So Nesta admits in her own words that she’s afraid of scrying because of the consequences it had for Elain. Not worried about herself, per say, just worried about calling down more danger on the one person she really cares about.

“Elain had walked in halfway through. She’d been toiling in the estate gardens since dawn, and had been solemn as Rhys filled her in. Feyre had been unable to say a word. But Elain’s gaze remained steady as she listened to Rhys.”

Elain already knows that Nesta is self-destructing, and needs a large change to overcome her depression. Nesta needs a new purpose, since Elain has broken away. And most likely, as Feyre has noticed, Elain sees the tension between Nesta and Cassian before anyone else.

“Elain needs to be able to see me—” “Elain agreed to this hours ago. She’s currently packing your things. They’ll be waiting for you when you arrive.” Nesta recoiled. Feyre didn’t relent. “Elain knows how to contact you. If she wishes to visit you at the House of Wind, she is free to do so. One of us will gladly take her up there.”

At this moment, Nesta believes that Elain still needs her for some sort of protection or support. That’s how she has defined her life so far, aside from her deep abiding resentment of their dead father. It’s really the only thing left of Nesta pre-cauldron. To hear that Elain has agreed to pack Nesta away, and that Elain will come if she wants to, just throws in Nesta’s face that Elain has achieved a new autonomy. But she needs to hear this from Feyre, because Nesta still hasn’t admitted to herself that Elain is no longer her purpose. Elain is so well cared for at the River house that Nesta is self-destructing because of her lack of direction.

“Nesta didn’t want to talk about it. About the fact that it had always been her and Elain. And, somehow, now it had become Feyre and Elain instead. Elain had chosen Feyre and these people, and left her behind. Amren had done the same. She’d made it clear on the barge.”

Nesta spells it out for us: Elain was her purpose, and now that purpose is gone. She is feeling abandoned.

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

And this is why Nesta was so loyal to Elain: that power of observation. Because she always felt that Elain was the only person who truly saw and understood her. And now that they have staged an intervention for Nesta, she’s the most angry with Elain. It’s because Elain still sees the truth—that Nesta is now without purpose—and that is something she hasn’t admitted to herself.

“Why?” Elain demanded. “Shall I tend to my little garden forever?” When Nesta flinched, Elain said, “You can’t have it both ways. You cannot resent my decision to lead a small, quiet life while also refusing to let me do anything greater.” “Then go off on adventures,” Nesta said. “Go drink and fuck strangers. But stay away from the Cauldron.” Feyre said, “It is Elain’s choice, Nesta.”

Nesta’s thrown face to face with her hypocrisy here. She’s been angry with Elain for allowing Feyre to provide for her, but now she’s angry with Elain for trying to be useful. Rightfully, Elain points out that Nesta can’t have it both ways. Then Nesta admits that the wild lifestyle she’s been living has been an attempt to live a loud life while avoiding danger. But as her sisters realize, those choices haven’t been fulfilling to Nesta.

“Look who decided to grow claws after all,” she crooned. “Maybe you’ll become interesting at last, Elain.” Nesta saw the blow land, like a physical impact, in Elain’s face, her posture.”

Nesta throws this out there, reminding readers that Elain was a flat character at the beginning of the series. It devalues the progress Elain has made to develop her own agency and purpose. That’s why Elain is so hurt by this comment, because she knows by her careful powers of observation that Nesta is right. She hasn’t done much of value before coming to Prythian.

“Elain’s eyes brightened with pain. Something imploded in Nesta’s chest at that expression. She opened her mouth, as if it could somehow be undone. But Elain said, “I went into the “Cauldron, too, you know. And it captured me. And yet somehow all you think of is what my trauma did to you.”

Elain’s response takes in to account all of her character growth so far. She’s telling Nesta that she’s developed as an individual, and she’s struggling with the transition to Prythian in her own way. As Feyre observed before, Elain found beauty and hope in their family’s cottage. She’s always been strong enough to find the good in any situation, and that’s what she’s done slowly but surely in Velaris. But while she used to drag Nesta along, Nesta’s choices to push her away have prevented her from sharing that healing with her sister/partner. Elain is telling Nesta that they’re no longer tied together as they were before.

“And with Elain, she’d failed as well: first in letting her get taken by Hybern that night they’d been stolen from their beds; then by letting her go into that Cauldron. Then when the Cauldron had taken her into the heart of Hybern’s camp.”

And there it is at last—Nesta blames herself for what happened to Elain. As long as she keeps thinking Elain’s trauma belongs to her, she will keep punishing herself. She needs Feyre and Elain to cut her loose from the punishment she thinks she deserves for the ways she has failed them.

In conclusion:

Elain’s reminder is similar to Nesta telling Feyre not to return to the human lands. Feyre’s promise to their mother bound her to keep sacrificing herself on their behalf. Elain is freeing Nesta from a similar, but unspoken, promise. If Nesta no longer needs to protect Elain, and that purpose is very clearly removed, then Nesta is free to grow and find her own way. This break between Nesta and Elain was necessary, and it wasn’t valuing one sister’s experience more than any other. Without cutting Nesta free, Elain knew that she would continue to fight and self-destruct. Her excessive ability to observe and understand allowed her to hurt Nesta in order to help her.

Elain’s book will certainly resolve her “mate” issue and shed some light on the Cauldron’s gifts. Feyre thought that Elain was the most powerful of the three, and I really think that was foreshadowing. Will Elain resolve the situation between Azriel and Morrigan? Lucien and Helion? Tamlin and Feyre? It’s possible she’s the key to all the loose ends in this series.

#archeron sisters #elain archeron #feyre archeron #nesta archeron #acotar analysis #thank you for coming to my tedtalk #pro nesta #pro elain #pro feyre

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phoebe-ofthe-cosmos · 11 months

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A Court of Thorns and Roses | Recap & Analysis, Ch. 14-16

Feyre traps the Suriel and Tamlin officially starts to win her over.

Spoilers for ACOTAR the book and the series.

Chapter 14

Feyre goes off to find the Suriel and ask it if there is any way she can go home, maybe some other loophole in the Treaty

Clever little writing trick: SJM writes Feyre wondering about the High Lord of Spring, specifically about Tamlin's relationship with him and how fearful this High Lord must surely be. Since we are mere paragraphs away from the Big Reveal of Tamlin's title, this is a nice way to prime the reader and get THEM wondering about the same thing. If SJM had just sprung the reveal without this primer, the reader would be kind of taken aback, feeling like the information comes out of nowhere, or not realizing the importance of the info.

Feyre lays the trap for the Suriel and I am once again impressed by her intelligence. She waits for the Suriel in a tree, which feels like a callback to Chapter 1 and a nice way to show both how Feyre is adapting to new circumstances, but also still the same badass huntress she always has been

The Suriel reveals that Feyre has no way to go home and that Tamlin is the High Lord of the Spring Court. We get the famous "stay with the High Lord" lines and I have a lot of questions about this! I know in ACOWAR this part is given more context and the Suriel reveals that he was referring to Rhys the whole time. But has SJM ever said that she wrote these lines with that intention when she wrote ACOTAR, or was this a retcon? If this is supposed to be intentional foreshadowing, I kind of hate it. Feyre only JUST found out that Tamlin is a High Lord, and doesn't even know about Rhys's existence. And if Feyre doesn't know then the reader certainly doesn't know. What are we supposed to think other than the Suriel is telling her to stay with Tamlin, that she will be safe and everything will be okay if she does? I just don't find this to be clever the same way I find Feyre thinking of the night sky to calm herself to be clever. I dunno, I'm willing to admit I'm wrong here if anyone has more info to give.

Chapter 15

The naga appear to attack Feyre and the Suriel. Feyre assesses them and says that these are the kinds of faeries that she "would have been glad to kill that day in the snowy woods". This is an important point of character development for her, because in Chapter 5, when Tamlin took her from her home, she said she couldn't bring herself to feel badly about killing a faerie. So then, she didn't feel bad about killing Andras—but now she says that the naga are the kind of faeries she wouldn't feel bad about killing, implying that now she does feel bad about killing Andras. Her hatred of the High Fae is waning.

Feyre frees the Suriel from it's trap.

She then shoots one of the naga and runs, the other three on her tail. Feyre is determined not to die. She stabs another naga in the neck. Feyre's kill count is up to 3 if we include Andras.

Feyre is being pinned down by one of the naga when Tamlin appears and slaughters it, as well as the final naga.

Feyre is still laying on the ground, shaking in fear, as Tamlin approaches her. Tamlin keeps trying to show her kindness, reaching to comfort her, but Feyre flinches away, probably due to a combined shock from being so close to death and fear at knowing just how powerful he is. But once Feyre realizes that Tamlin had come to help her, she lets him touch her cheek.

Tamlin uses his magic to heal her cuts and bruises. He offers her his shirt since hers is torn and Feyre can't help but notice his muscles. Feyre remembers that she killed naga too, and realizes that Tamlin killed for her.

I made a note here about this whole scene maybe influencing Tamlin's behavior in early ACOMAF. Sure, in that part of the story he's traumatized from watching Feyre be killed by Amarantha, but he also remembers what Feyre was like as a human, how helpless she was. His overprotectiveness when she becomes fae is maybe more understandable with that in mind.

Feyre thanks Tamlin for saving her, and thinks to herself how much it means to her that a High Lord thought she was worth saving. And this is the key moment when Feyre's disposition towards Tamlin starts to change. Recalling the first few chapters, I wrote that Feyre's core desire is to have a family who loves her and fights for her as much as she fights for them, people who would protect her from danger. Tamlin has just done that. For the first time, Feyre has someone who wants to protect her, and she isn't on her own against the dangers and hardships of the world.

Chapter 16

Feyre bathes and asks Alis some questions about the other key piece of info the Suriel told her, about the blight affecting the lands. Alis basically tells her to mind her beeswax. Feyre and Alis briefly bond over a shared devotion to their families, the people they love.

Feyre says that Tamlin is exactly like the Children of the Blessed described the high fae to be.

Lucien leaves Tamlin and Feyre alone after dinner. Tamlin shows real concern for Feyre's wellbeing after the naga attack, and surprise that she could snare the Suriel. Feyre hits him with the classic Elle Woods 'what, like it's hard?'

Tamlin laughs at her comment and then extracts from his pocket that piece of paper that Feyre had been practicing reading and writing on so she could send a letter to her family. He tries to tease her about it, asking if it's a poem about wanting to kill him. Feyre, in her immense insecurity about her illiteracy, isn't able to laugh along with him.

Tamlin: "I wonder if your family realizes it. That everything you've done wasn't about that promise to your mother, or for your sake, but for theirs." While he's talking about Feyre here, and while this assessment seems accurate enough, I think he's really revealing something about his own psyche here. Since Tamlin feels that he and Feyre share a burden of being forced to take care of others, he is telling us that he believes that he does his duties for other people, for the people of his court. He's framing this as something that is true about Feyre because he thinks they are the same.

Tamlin once again offers to help her write, Feyre once again refuses. Tamlin says it's clear she doesn't need his help, considering she can kill faeries and naga and trap a Suriel. He says her family are fools for not seeing it. Once again, back to Feyre's core desire, Tamlin is affirming and validating Feyre's worth.

He asks Feyre if she "even knows how to laugh" which just feels so patronizing. Feyre must agree because she says she doesn't want his pity. He asks if he can be her friend.

Tamlin reveals that he glamoured her family's memories so they know she is safe, they think she is with some long lost aunt, they are being cared for, and they know about the threat to Prythian. He says that he did this in part because he worried that her father would try to come rescue her. Feyre says her father wouldn't do such a thing, and Tamlin insists that he would have. Why is Tamlin acting like he knows Feyre's family better than she does!! Again, patronizing. Anyways Feyre thinks to herself that she knows her father wouldn't rescue her and she realized it after the ordeal with the puca.

Feyre asks for paints and Tamlin learns that she likes art. He offers to show her the gallery he has. He grins and says it would be his pleasure to show her, and Feyre believes he's telling the truth.

The chapter ends with Feyre thinking about Tamlin's smile, noting that Isaac Hale never smiled at her like that, never made her breath catch. Feyre tries to resist it, but she starts to smile in return.

#marissareadsacotar #q #feyre archeron #tamlin #tamlin critical #my color coding is gonna stop making sense soon #and i need to pick a color for the romance that's picking up #should i use the ship tag.....

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rainforestvag · 1 year

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Summer TBR (so far)

A Court of Silver Flames (ACOTAR series) by Sarah J. Maas

Nesta Archeron has always been prickly-proud, swift to anger, and slow to forgive. And ever since being forced into the Cauldron and becoming High Fae against her will, she's struggled to find a place for herself within the strange, deadly world she inhabits. Worse, she can't seem to move past the horrors of the war with Hybern and all she lost in it. The one person who ignites her temper more than any other is Cassian, the battle-scarred warrior whose position in Rhysand and Feyre's Night Court keeps him constantly in Nesta's orbit. But her temper isn't the only thing Cassian ignites. The fire between them is undeniable, and only burns hotter as they are forced into close quarters with each other.

Meanwhile, the treacherous human queens who returned to the Continent during the last war have forged a dangerous new alliance, threatening the fragile peace that has settled over the realms. And the key to halting them might very well rely on Cassian and Nesta facing their haunting pasts. Against the sweeping backdrop of a world seared by war and plagued with uncertainty, Nesta and Cassian battle monsters from within and without as they search for acceptance-and healing-in each other's arms.

House of Earth and Blood (Crescent City series) by Sarah J. Maas

Bryce Quinlan had the perfect life-working hard all day and partying all night-until a demon murdered her closest friends, leaving her bereft, wounded, and alone. When the accused is behind bars but the crimes start up again, Bryce finds herself at the heart of the investigation. She'll do whatever it takes to avenge their deaths.

Hunt Athalar is a notorious Fallen angel, now enslaved to the Archangels he once attempted to overthrow. His brutal skills and incredible strength have been set to one purpose-to assassinate his boss's enemies, no questions asked. But with a demon wreaking havoc in the city, he's offered an irresistible deal: help Bryce find the murderer, and his freedom will be within reach.

As Bryce and Hunt dig deep into Crescent City's underbelly, they discover a dark power that threatens everything and everyone they hold dear, and they find, in each other, a blazing passion-one that could set them both free, if they'd only let it.

Braiding Sweetgrass: Indigenous Wisdom, Scientific Knowledge, and the Teachings of Plants by Robin Wall Kimmerer

As a botanist, Robin Wall Kimmerer has been trained to ask questions of nature with the tools of science. As a member of the Citizen Potawatomi Nation, she embraces the notion that plants and animals are our oldest teachers. In Braiding Sweetgrass, Kimmerer brings these lenses of knowledge together to show that the awakening of a wider ecological consciousness requires the acknowledgment and celebration of our reciprocal relationship with the rest of the living world. For only when we can hear the languages of other beings are we capable of understanding the generosity of the earth, and learning to give our own gifts in return.

The Red Tent by Anita Diamant

Her name is Dinah. In the Bible, her life is only hinted at in a brief and violent detour within the more familiar chapters of the Book of Genesis that are about her father, Jacob, and his dozen sons. Told in Dinah's voice, this novel reveals the traditions and turmoils of ancient womanhood—the world of the red tent. It begins with the story of her mothers—Leah, Rachel, Zilpah, and Bilhah—the four wives of Jacob. They love Dinah and give her gifts that sustain her through a hard-working youth, a calling to midwifery, and a new home in a foreign land. Dinah's story reaches out from a remarkable period of early history and creates an intimate connection with the past. Deeply affecting, The Red Tent combines rich storytelling with a valuable achievement in modern fiction: a new view of biblical women's society.

Orlando by Virginia Woolf

Virginia Woolf's Orlando 'The longest and most charming love letter in literature', playfully constructs the figure of Orlando as the fictional embodiment of Woolf's close friend and lover, Vita Sackville-West. Spanning three centuries, the novel opens as Orlando, a young nobleman in Elizabeth's England, awaits a visit from the Queen and traces his experience with first love as England under James I lies locked in the embrace of the Great Frost. At the midpoint of the novel, Orlando, now an ambassador in Constantinople, awakes to find that he is now a woman, and the novel indulges in farce and irony to consider the roles of women in the 18th and 19th centuries. As the novel ends in 1928, a year consonant with full suffrage for women. Orlando, now a wife and mother, stands poised at the brink of a future that holds new hope and promise for women.

I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings by Maya Angelou

Here is a book as joyous and painful, as mysterious and memorable, as childhood itself. I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings captures the longing of lonely children, the brute insult of bigotry, and the wonder of words that can make the world right. Maya Angelou’s debut memoir is a modern American classic beloved worldwide.

Sent by their mother to live with their devout, self-sufficient grandmother in a small Southern town, Maya and her brother, Bailey, endure the ache of abandonment and the prejudice of the local “powhitetrash.” At eight years old and back at her mother’s side in St. Louis, Maya is attacked by a man many times her age—and has to live with the consequences for a lifetime. Years later, in San Francisco, Maya learns that love for herself, the kindness of others, her own strong spirit, and the ideas of great authors (“I met and fell in love with William Shakespeare”) will allow her to be free instead of imprisoned.

Crying in H Mart by Michelle Zauner

A memoir about growing up Korean American, losing her mother, and forging her own identity.

Michelle Zauner tells of growing up one of the few Asian American kids at her school in Eugene, Oregon; of struggling with her mother’s particular, high expectations of her; of a painful adolescence; of treasured months spent in her grandmother’s tiny apartment in Seoul, where she and her mother would bond, late at night, over heaping plates of food.

As she grew up, moving to the East Coast for college, finding work in the restaurant industry, and performing gigs with her fledgling band—and meeting the man who would become her husband—her Koreanness began to feel ever more distant, even as she found the life she wanted to live. It was her mother’s diagnosis of terminal cancer, when Michelle was twenty-five, that forced a reckoning with her identity and brought her to reclaim the gifts of taste, language, and history her mother had given her.

Cunt: A Declaration of Independence by Inga Muscio

An ancient title of respect for women, the word cunt long ago veered off this noble path. Inga Muscio traces the road from honor to expletive, giving women the motivation and tools to claim cunt as a positive and powerful force in their lives. In this fully revised edition, she explores, with candidness and humor, such traditional feminist issues as birth control, sexuality, jealousy between women, and prostitution with a fresh attitude for a new generation of women. Sending out a call for every woman to be the Cunt lovin Ruler of Her Sexual Universe, Muscio stands convention on its head by embracing all things cunt-related.

Women Who Run with the Wolves: Myths and Stories of the Wild Woman Archetype by Clarissa Pinkola Estés

"Within every woman there is a wild and natural creature, a powerful force, filled with good instincts, passionate creativity, and ageless knowing. Her name is Wild Woman, but she is an endangered species. Though the gifts of wildish nature come to us at birth, society's attempt to 'civilize' us into rigid roles has plundered this treasure, and muffled deep, life-giving messages of our own souls. Without Wild Woman, we become overdomesticated, fearful, uncreative, trapped."

In her now-classic book that spent 144 weeks on the New York Times hardcover bestseller list, and is translated into 35 languages, Clarissa Pinkola Estés, Ph.D., shows how woman's vitality can be restored through what she calls "psychic archaeological digs" into the ruins of the female unconscious. Dr. Estés uses her families' ethnic tales, washed and rinsed in the blood of wars and survival, multicultural myths, her own lyric writing of those fairy tales, folk tales, and stories chosen from her life witness, and also research ongoing for twenty years… that help women reconnect with the healthy, instinctual, visionary attributes of the Wild Woman archetype.

Glenstone Field Guide 02 Edited by Emily Wei Rales and Fanna Gebreyesus

This Field Guide intends to serve as a lighthearted, by no means exhaustive primer for the curious Glenstone visitor. Structured as an illustrated index, it is divided into three sections: art, architecture, and landscape. Each section includes related terms and entries written by Glenstone staff and collaborators. Collectively, these voices share the multiple ideas, histories, anecdotes, and facts that make up the Glenstone story, and offer a glimpse into what can be seen onsite. Integrated throughout are statements from founders Emily Wei Rales and Mitchell P. Rales that highlight the key principles of community, sustainability, design, integration, and direct engagement, which guide Glenstone’s mission. Glenstone exists for you, our visitor, and we hope you will explore, engage, enjoy, and return often. You are always welcome.

#books #tbr #summer tbr #a court of silver flames #acosf #crecent city #sarah j maas #house of earth and blood #braiding sweetgrass #the red tent #orlando #i know why the caged bird sings #inga muscio #clarissa pinkola estes #women who run with the wolves #maya angelou #glenstone #crying in hmart #booklr

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youcantkillamutant · 2 years

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Deeper Into The Drink: Chapter II

Author: youcantkillamutant

Fandom: ACOTAR (SJM)

Pairing: Tarquin x Black Fem!Reader

Summary: You’ve always known that Cresseida would do whatever it takes to protect the Summer Court. You just didn’t realize that you were a part of that equation. So you vow to do all you can to help Cresseida and protect your court, which is proving to be difficult, what with the scheming lords of Summer, human refugees from the war, sly overtures of kindness from the Night Court and the growing desolation of the neighboring Spring Court. And yet, you think you might have been able to handle all of that, if the High Lord Tarquin wasn’t so…himself. It would have been easier still if your heart didn’t take notice of that fact.

Warnings: Depictions of violence, angst, mentions of death, slow burn (as is my custom), no smut (probably), lots of IC slander

Rating: 18+

Words: 7K+

A/N: Um… Yeah idk how to explain this one honestly? I’m in my “let’s get some critical thinking going about the IC and their shitty actions” era and just can’t deal with how dirty they did Tarquin. So…yeah. I just want Tarquin to have more people on his side honestly. This story is set post-ACOSF in terms of timeline. This is my first time writing in this fandom, so be nice. Don’t like it don’t read it and all that jazz. Not Beta’d we die like men. I own nothing, all characters belong to SJM.

Prologue | Chapter I | Read on Ao3 | Mood Board |

To succeed in court is to make friends out of enemies.

🐚☀️🐚

You loved Cresseida. She was your best friend. Your sister. You absolutely adored her and absolutely would not murder her for waking you up before sunrise, but you really, really wanted to. Your wakeup call this morning was the door to your room banging against the wall as glided in, ripping your duvet off of you and pulling you out of bed before you could wipe the sleep from your eyes.

Before you could blink, she’d pushed you into your bathing room, heated the bath and dropped a mix of scented oils in that made you feel like you were walking through a summer field. According to Cress, you didn’t have time to “luxuriate” but you still moved a little slower than normal. Aside from the fact that you were still waking up, you were also working to quell the anxiety that twisted your stomach in knots. Today would be your first day as advisor to the Princess of Adriata.

You hadn’t spent much time actually thinking about the work you’d be doing with Cress on the journey to Adriata. Sure, you’d thought about Court and the city itself, but Cresseida merely asked you to advise her when she found you back home, and you were so out of it that you’d agreed without actually asking for more information. Rising out of the bath and drying off, you figured now was as good a time as any to start asking questions, starting with that incredibly rude wake up call.

“Cress, why exactly did you wake me up so early today? I thought we didn’t have a meeting until after lunch.” You finished rubbing lotion into your skin, spraying a bit of leave-in in your hair and slipping on a robe.

“If you’re to be my advisor,” You opened the door to see Cresseida pulling clothing from your closet. You hadn’t brought much, and she was clearly annoyed by that. “you aren’t allowed to dress like a villager any longer.” She flounced out of the closet and yanked a dress from a rack by the door. “Take this.” Thus began your Summer Court Makeover. To be fair, it wasn’t so much a makeover as it was a closet overhaul. Most of your clothes were appropriate for farm chores only, and everyone you’d seen in Adriata so far seemed to be dressed for a weekend on a pleasure barge, so Cress was definitely doing you a favor.

Two hours later, your closet was full of clothing you’d never be able to find in your village, silken slippers and golden sandals, and lots, and lots of bathing suits. You’d never really bothered with them before, living so far inland, but Cress swore by all 15 she’d stocked your closet with. While you two had plucked items off of racks for your closet, you asked your questions about your position in the the court as her advisor. It was mainly basic stuff, reading over missives, planning appearances, managing her schedule. You’d attend council meetings with her as well, your first one being later today after lunch. With your closet stocked and questions answered, Cresseida left you to get dressed for the day promising to meet her in her office once you were finished.

You pulled on the dress you’d been eyeing all morning, and slipped on some sandals to match, stopping at the mirror beside your door. The dress was gorgeous and like a wave lapping at the shore, the silk fabric floated around you lazily. The sleeveless gown dipped low in the front and even lower in the back, leaving the hem to kiss the floor as you walked. Cresseida had gifted you a few “Summer Court Staples” as she’d called them: a pair of pearl earrings dripping gold, a few golden armbands crafted to look like rolling waves, even a ring of marine diamond that signified your position as a member of the royal court. Each piece glittered on your brown skin, practically glowing.

You allowed yourself three deep breaths at the mirror, taking in the Adriatan version of you. This version showed a lot more skin, glittered like faelight off of the sea and wore a face that was just a second away from grinning coyly. You looked just as you imagined Cresseida did when out on official Summer Court work. It was…odd, so you pulled the necklace with your father’s ring over your head, letting the metal rest against your heart. One more breath and you were out of your room, starting your first official day as Advisor to Princess Cresseida of the Summer Court.

Cresseida’s office was on the west wing of the castle, and it took you nearly ten minutes to make it to the right wing. It took you another ten to find the right door after peeking into four others that remained empty in the early morning glow of the sun. When you finally pulled the correct door open, you gaped at the size of the room. Two desks sat beside each other, one cluttered with stacks of papers and letters and books, the other completely bare. Sunlight streamed through the windows above the desks and on the opposite wall, shelves of books climbed up the wall, to the glittering ceiling of the room. Normally, the bookshelves would be enough to excite you, but your eyes caught on the wall next to them.

There was a map of the Summer Court painted on wall, and at first glance, it was merely a colorful mural. But when you stared at the piece, you could see that the streets in glittering city of Adriata bustled with small dots, people. The mountains were sun-bleached barren rock and, snow even drifted down on the mountains closest to the Winter Court borders. The fields where your village lay were lush and green, and you could practically hear the wind blowing through the grass as it swayed.

“It’s spelled to reflect everything in the Summer Court lands.” Cresseida stepped to your side as you continued to gaze at the map. “My aunt crafted it for me when I officially took on my title and role in Adriata.”

“It’s amazing Cress.” Your awe only grew when you brushed your hand along the fields and you could actually feel the grass and the breeze and the sun. “Amazing.” You took one more beat to gaze at the map, then turned to Cresseida. “All right, where do I start?”

You spent your first hour in the office acquainting yourself with…everything. Cresseida had more messages to answer this morning than you’d ever received in your life, and it took and hour to get through half of the first stack. You didn’t realize just how much of being a princess was communicating with other courtiers and maintaining relationships through droll little letters. Another hour slipped by as you sealed the response letters with golden wax and the Summer Court crest. A few more minuted dripped by when a series of chimes sounded through the room.

Cresseida pulled her head up from whatever tome she’d been reading, blinking dazedly. She murmured something like ‘already?’ before dropping the book on her desk, folding and creasing the unsuspecting reports below, and pushing to stand. She stalked to a table in the center of the room, this one filled with a few copies of the parchment, static version of the map on the wall.

“Okay, I may have lied about this being easy.” Cress plucked a map off of the table and walked back to your desk. “After the war, the humans below the wall needed somewhere to go. Tarquin volunteered the Summer Court, which is all well and good, but I’ve been getting complaints from the fae nearby.” She placed the map in front of you, and you noticed that it was a flat map of Adriata. “The trouble is, we’re still rebuilding a third of the city and honestly I don’t know what to do with them. Integrating them has proved…difficult.”

“In what way?” You studied the map, noting the few areas circled in red listed as the human encampments. There were about three large ones, but if the numbers beside them denoted population, then there were less than 200 humans in the Summer Court. You wondered what exactly the fae nearby were complaining about.

“The High Fae…they aren’t taking kindly to them, well, existing in Adriata. We’ve never had them here before.” You waited, because you could see there was more she wanted to say. “When Tarquin offered refuge for the humans, I knew it was the right thing to do. I also knew that it would cause problems.” She let out a loud sigh, and sunk into the seat at her desk. “Tarquin…he’s a good male, but that doesn’t always make for a good High Lord. His goals are noble, but if he—Cauldron, if we aren’t careful, he won’t survive this new Court. And we need him to survive.”

“What do the humans think of their…situation?” Cresseida snorted at the question.

“No idea.” Your face must have shown your shock, because she rolled her eyes. “Don’t look at me like that! What am I supposed to do? Walk down there and ask how they’re doing? Humans are terrified of us on a good day, you know.”

“Cresseida, there is an entire group of beings in the Summer Court that you haven’t spoken to at all? They’re on our lands. We can’t just leave them to their own devices!” Your mind began thinking up all of the ways that unattended humans could destroy the Summer Court and you did your best to push the thoughts aside. “Look, forget about the High Fae for a second. The humans, weak as they are, deserve to have a say in their life here.” Cresseida nodded, listening intently. “So we engage with them like we would any other Fae, invite them to the city council meetings, get them a representative, help them make a life here.” You blew out a breath, mind spinning.

If Cress was worried about Tarquin’s foothold in the Court, then he’d need more than Cress and occasionally Varian supporting him. Humans weren’t anything to fear for the fae, not without faebane at least, but if Tarquin could get them to support him quickly, the other court lords might think twice about attempting any sort of coup. You hoped.

“Make sure the humans know that Tarquin is the one behind it all. The lesser fae like him well enough right? If we get the humans on his side as well—”

“We’ll have willing soldiers.” Varian strolled into the room, armed to the teeth, and shot you an appraising look. You hadn’t even noticed the door opening, trying to puzzle out the best way to speak to the humans now that they’d been in Adriata for at least a month with no contact from the Court. You shook your head at Varian, happy to see Cress similarly disturbed by his bloodlust. You were about to launch into a well constructed tear on the lack of basic respect for humans that his comment clearly displayed, but you remembered something your father had told you about his time at court.

“To succeed in court is to make friends out of enemies.” He’d worked with fae he hated in court, convincing them that he was their ally, to gain a stronger foothold in the court. He’d used their hatred and arrogance and entitlement to his advantage. You decided to do the same, starting with Prince Varian.

“No. No. If we’re to truly coexist with the mortal realm, we need to show them that we aren’t the monsters they believe us to be.” You’d never be able to say Fae weren’t monsters entirely, but humans couldn’t either. No matter how much they believe they can. “We need them to exist in colonies here. We need them to be happy. Safe.” Varian didn’t look convinced, clearly uninterested in anything other than using the humans to his wartime advantage. You merely let your lips curve into a smirk, sliding on that cunning mask. “And what better way to show them that than to allow the sheep to sleep amongst the wolves?” At your tone, Varian grinned, and it was a sharp, nasty thing.

“So how do you suggest we fool the sheep?” Varian awaited your answer, eyes trained on yours.

“A party, of course.”

☀️

Your first Council meeting at the palace didn’t start until after lunch, so instead of eating in the royal hall with Cresseida and whoever else happened to be there today, you decided to do a bit of your own research. Which is exactly how you found yourself in a walled off portion of Adriata, far from the sea and baking in the heat, with the humans. You didn’t bother to introduce yourself and it wouldn’t have mattered anyways. Most of the humans shrunk back from you in fear, and the older ones merely looked on warily as you glided by, silk skirts whispering and gold gleaming on your skin.

Dodging a few clumps of rubble, you peeked into one of their…shelters. Canvas draped over a crumbling shop entryway. Bedrolls glinted with broken glass. There were sounds of tinkering and the low murmur of conversation, but this was beyond abysmal. How the hell were you going to get the humans to love Tarquin if he allowed Cresseida to put them here? Why the hell did Cresseida put them here? Cauldron boil you. You had a lot of work to do.

You turned slightly, studying the man in the doorway next to you. He was round bellied and cautiously looking at you from the side of his eye. He perked up when he noticed that you’d returned his stare, and stumbled back as you took a step towards him.

“Please wait,” You held your hands in front of you, as if attempting to soothe a frightened animal. He began to shake but remained still. “I only wanted to ask if you had enough food and water?” You gestured to the humans still milling around. “For everyone?”

The man only nodded looking ready to piss his pants and bolt, when a woman spoke from behind you. You were surprised to hear her steps, confident and steady. Not common for a human interacting with a fae.

“Aye, we’ve water an food but we sleep on beds of glass.” She paused, allowing you to take her in. She was small, shorter than you remembered full grown humans could truly be, with brown wispy hair and eyes to match. She was also covered in grime. “An we’ve no place to bathe.” She tilted her head and her brows scrunched together. “Milady?” You nearly smiled at the uptick in her voice. You were no lady, not officially at lease, but she didn’t need to know that.

“I see.” You studied the woman again. You could see she was tired, probably still shell shocked all these weeks after, but she stood steady on her feet. Her hands did not shake and her eyes did not waver from yours. You noticed a loose crowd forming behind her. A group of sentries ready to protect their queen. Perfect. “What is your name?”

“Aida. Milday.”

“Thank you Aida. You’ll be hearing from our High Lord soon.”

🐚

The Council Chamber of the Summer Court was as beautiful as everything else in this palace. Arching windows with stained glass borders depicting ocean creatures glowed across the far wall, the white tiled floor was as grandiose and pristine as any other room here but the table in the center of the room gave you pause. It was a sand-colored, hulking slab of marble, only the legs, carved with seahorses and squids resembled the elegance of the Summer Court. The males surrounding it also gave you pause, but Cresseida breezed in with you by her side, so you had to study the males that made up Lord Tarquin’s Court up close. Cauldron save you.

Each of the men wore at least one item with their family crest, a conch shell matched a narrow faced male with umber eyes and skin. A cresting wave belonged to a male with wrinkled male with greying hair. You continued to let your eyes slide over the signs: sailing ship, starfish, even a glowing sun. The only one you’d recognized from your time in the village belonged to Lord Hasu, the ripe berry and fields of wheat making your heart yearn for a home you’d never have again. You nodded to Hasu, and he even greeted you with a wave and a smile. Your heart cracked a bit more for that memory of home. You turned to Tarquin before your eyes could mist over. There was no time for tears. Not in front of these Lords.

Tarquin’s crest was a mix of the all of them, the main elements being a cresting wave under a beaming sun. When he called the meeting to order the lords meandered to their seats, hardly in a hurry. Something about their casual attitude irritated you, but Tarquin didn’t seem bothered, and only nodded to Varian, who had slipped into the room so silently you hadn’t noticed, to close the doors. Once the meeting commenced you regretted stepping foot in this room at all. You should have known that war wouldn’t be the last hell you’d see.

“Lord Tarquin, I want to discuss the human encampments here in the city.” There was rustling of fine robes, tightening of lips and narrowing of eyes when Cresseida spoke. You couldn’t tell if it was because it was Cresseida speaking, or because of the subject itself. You’d been sitting at the meeting for too long. Twenty minutes in, you wanted to jump straight into the sea. Forty minutes in, you were contemplating murder, but you did everything you could to refrain from showing it on your face in your seat beside Cress. You hadn’t taken off your courtier mask around anyone but Cresseida, and you weren’t going to start with this gathering of old men and fools.

“They are quite the eyesore Tarquin, when will you do away with those?” The ‘and do away with the humans’ was implied. Heavily. It irked you that none of the courtesans from Nostrus’s reign bothered to address Tarquin with his title. He had survived under the mountain while these elders sailed around in their ships and languished in their own palaces. He was stronger than the lot of them. He was High Lord. Cresseida hardly paid the male any mind.

“They’re sleeping on rubble with no where to bathe. They may be humans, but we need to get them to a better location at least.” Tarquin nodded, listening intently. “We have plenty of suitable shelters for them, I just need a few volunteers to help me winnow them over.” The males at the table tittered, and finally, one spoke up. It was your least favorite lord so far. One your father had mentioned with annoyance in passing.

“Princess, with all due respect, you are not a High Lady,” The droning Lord turned to you and continued. “and your father would never agree with—” You stopped the man there with a hand. Lord Karrian was the sort of man who so arrogantly assumed that everyone worshipped the ground that he walked on that he didn’t notice most people spitting at his feet. You’d be happy to spit in his face if you got the chance.

“You do not know what my father would have wanted, as you and him were never close. Please refrain from using him in your arguments in the future…” You cut him a look, and his jaw clenched. “Lord Karrian.” You could see Varian smiling sharp, bright and feral, so you knew you’d struck with just the right amount of force, at just the right time. Cresseida knocked her leg with yours in celebration.

“Humans are worthless.”

“There’s no such thing as a useless bargaining chip Lord Karrian.” At your cool tone and callous words, he reevaluated you. You held his eye, grey brow rising in challenge. Before either of you could speak, Tarquin interrupted.

“Cresseida, see to it that the humans are moved to my Adriata estate. There are a few hundred correct?” Cress nodded. “Then there will be plenty of room.” Tarquin turned those blue eyes to you, and you let out a slow, silent exhale to calm your beating heart. “Would you be willing to assist my cousin in this?” The question stopped you short. Of course you would, it was your idea, but the fact that Tarquin, the High Lord had asked if you were willing? And in front of his courtiers too? Tarquin had his work cut out for him, and his kindness wasn’t doing him many favors with the old guard, but you couldn’t quell the rapid beating of your heart. Not as he held your gaze, waiting for your answer.

“Of course, my Lord.” Tarquin stared at you beat longer and you could have sworn his eyes went…soft, but the look was gone in a blink and he returned his attention to the other lords of his Court to listen to them bicker about something ridiculously bourgeoisie and elitist. Before you could curse them to boil in the Cauldron for all eternity, you breathed deeply, shared a look with Cresseida, and began your plans for the human move. You and Cress could handle the bulk of it, but Tarquin needed to be there too and you could only hope he’d be willing.

☀️

“Lord Tarquin, do you have a moment? Princess Cresseida and I would like to discuss a few things.” The lords of the court weren’t watching, but you’d bet they were listening, so you stuck with formal titles. The meeting ended without bloodshed or elaborate curses, but it had long and tedious. Tarquin turned to you and gave you a small smile and nod.

“Of course. Do you mind if we walk and talk?” You shook your head and Cresseida grabbed your arm, looping it with hers. The three of you strolled out of the Council Chambers and into the hallways. Cress directed you all to the gardens and when you reached the verdant archway leading out, she slid your arm into Tarquin’s with a wink.

“We’ve already discussed what you need to know T, so I’ll let my lovely advisor fill you in.” Your eyes were wide and you did everything you could not to shake your head. Cress could not leave you alone with Tarquin. You’d never been alone with a High Lord, and certainly not a High Lord like Tarquin. For a split second, you wished your were a daemati so you could scream at Cress in her head. She caught your eye and grinned wider. Bitch.

Tarquin only nodded and guided you further into the garden. It wasn’t like any garden you’d ever seen in the village, this one was full of small ponds. In each one you passed, aquatic flora, coral and rocks glittered like jewels. There were even fish and frogs in some of them. Mosaic sea glass paved the walkways in the garden, and the way the sun glinted off of them made you love the beauty of your court just a bit more.

“So, what is it you’d like to discuss?” Your head whipped to meet Tarquin’s eye. You hadn’t realized how long the pair of you had walked in silence. He held your gaze, and nodded encouragingly.

“Right um, the humans.” You breathed out a short laugh, embarrassed by how flustered you were. Honestly, the man was just looking at you and you couldn’t keep it together? Cauldron boil you. “Cress and I were talking, well strategizing really, and we need the humans to fall in love with you.” You stopped your stroll, turning to stand in front of the High Lord. “What I said about the humans being a bargaining chip? It’s true. Not pretty, but if we’re honestly looking to coexist with the humans, they need to see that they can live with us. Without being hunted or enslaved.” Tarquin nodded along, listening so earnestly it surprised you.

“My estate will certainly ensure they live in comfort.”

“Which is a start, a good one, my Lord. But they need to see you. You need to be the one winnowing them to your estate, you need to speak with them, ask them what they want and need. Cresseida and I can help, but they have to fall in love with you.” Tarquin nodded, and clasped his hands behind his back. You itched to wrap your arm back into his, but clasped your hands in front of you instead, falling into step beside him.

“When Cresseida told me she wanted to bring you to Adriata as her advisor, I’ll admit I had to wonder why.” Tarquin turned to you. “Don’t get me wrong, I’ve been dying to meet the woman my cousin calls her sister, but I wondered what a village girl could advise a princess on.” You laughed and nodded, his question was fair. “When I heard who your father was, it made more sense, but still, I wondered why a village girl would leave her family farm to come to the city. If given the opportunity, I’d stay in the fields forever.”

“Have you spent much time in the country, My Lord?” Tarquin scrunched his nose in distaste.

“You know you can call me Tarquin? You don’t have to bother with that High Lord nonsense.”

“My father taught me that names and titles are important. Especially for anyone looking to maintain power.” You said it carefully, because you weren’t trying to offend him, but you knew the stakes at play here.

“Perhaps I should have brought you on as my advisor.” You released a light laugh, and Tarquin graced you with a smile so bright that your breath caught. He continued on like he hadn’t just put you into cardiac arrest. “I’ve been to the country a few times. I was only a Prince then, but I had been planning a village tour when we all…” Went under the mountain. You nodded in understanding. You wanted to kill Amarantha yourself for the icy look that fell over Tarquin’s eyes.

“Well I assure you my Lord, this village girl had plenty of time to read and research after the summer harvesting and chores were done. My father wouldn’t have had it any other way and Cress brought back all the best gossip of the courts I’d learned about. Did you hear about Lord Horanu's cousin’s niece? When I heard she fell straight off the pleasure barge on her own birthday?” You did your best to stifle a smile. “Something so ridiculous shouldn’t be so funny, but when Cress acted it out for me, complete with the squeal and bratty diatribe? I laughed all night.” Tarquin laughed loudly then, the sound ringing through the garden. His head was thrown back, and you allowed yourself just one second to admire the line of his neck, the dark skin wrapped around it warming in the sun.

“My Lord, can I ask you something?”

“Only if you don’t call me ‘my Lord’” Tarquin teased. You rolled your eyes.

“Fine…What do you want for our Court Tarquin? In a decade, a century, half a millennia?” Tarquin went silent at that, like he was surprised at your question. Almost like he was hoping for something else.

“I want…too much it seems. An alliance with the seasonal courts. Wealth redistribution. Societal reconstruction. And perhaps a farm, in a small village.” He winked at you for the last one and you could feel your face heat. “The only problem is that though I’m High Lord, I don’t feel very adept at…I don’t know what precisely, but somedays, it feels like I’m merely playing High Lord, and everyone in the palace is humoring me. We were Under the Mountain for so long…” His voice went distant at the last words, but he had already been sounding small. You didn’t like the self-doubt that colored his words.

“Add to that the fact that I seem to be shit at making any sort of worthwhile alliance and the fact that the Lords of Summer would be more likely to murder me than pay higher taxes to the Court or higher wages to their workers? Not to mention keeping the humans in our borders alive and the gap between lesser and higher fae from growing? I want too much.”

“You don’t have to get it all at once, my Lord.” You used the title, hoping to snap him out of whatever reflective sadness he’d fallen into. It didn’t work.

“Helion has told me that progress takes patience over and over, but I look at the High Fae and I look at everyone else and I just…I can’t stand it. Some days I can’t stand myself. I was born into this position, this wealth, and it’s my duty to make things right. The people in our Court deserve it, they deserve better.” The sadness had been burned away, passion blazing in his eyes now. This was the High Lord the humans needed to love. This is a male that will take care of his people.

You were overcome with an incredible sense of relief. Tarquin so easily could have been…anything but who he was. He could have been selfish. He could have taken the easy route, Lording over our court until it was time for him to pass on the mantle. You wouldn’t blame him for it. Not after Amarantha. Not after the war. But still, he fought and dreamed and hoped for your court. For your people.

“Well, we’ll take it one step at a time then, but don’t ever think that your dreams for us — for our court, are too much.” Tarquin gave you a rueful smile.

“Your words are kind but…Sometimes I am afraid that I’ll fly too close to the sun.” And with those words, you knew you’d have a hard time keeping your heart in check when it came to the High Lord of The Summer Court. Fuck.

“We won’t let you.” You couldn’t resist grabbing his arm then, stopping him in and turning him in front of you. “Tarquin, you are going to change our Court for the better and you won’t have to do it alone. Ever.” This was a vow you would do everything in your power to keep, because you could see the world that Tarquin wanted, and you wanted it too.

Tarquin’s brows rose in surprise, his blue eyes searching your own for…something. You could feel the the warmth of his arm in your grasp and looked down to note the faint scars on his brown arms. A result of the War or Under the Mountain? You weren’t going to ask, but a spark lit fire simmered inside of you, dying to know who exactly had hurt your High Lord.

“What did you have in mind?” You looked at Tarquin, confused by his line of questioning. “You said that my winnowing the humans would be a start, what else did you have in mind?” You were grateful for the subject change, unwilling to look into your irrational rage at the idea of Tarquin being harmed. You released his arm with a smile.

“How do you feel about festivals?”

🐚

You didn’t see Cresseida, Varian or Tarquin until later the next day, Tarquin and Cresseida having spent all day winnowing the humans to his Adriata estate. You’d spent nearly all of your day answering the rest of Cress’s messages, your hand cramping from so much writing and wax pouring and crest sealing. Without direction from Cresseida on what to do after that was done, you decided to take your chances and find the library. Your father had mentioned it once briefly, and really, you’re surprised you were able to wait this long before seeking it out. The village was too small to warrant one, and you’d always wondered what it might be like to be surrounded by books in a room solely dedicated to parchment and bindings and ink and stories.

The library was closer to the center of the palace, down a set of marble winding steps and a short hallway glinting with amethyst and faelight. The doors to the library were carved of black stone, a silver handle nestled in a scene of creation. An eight pointed star rose over a waved line, making an arc across the double doors. As it made it to the other side, it exploded in a splash of glittering jewels which trickled down to a rolling hill meeting the sea. It had been a long time since you’d read the old myths, but you thought that maybe this was a creation myth of the lands. The birth of Corealis, goddess of the sun. You ran your hands over the jewels, all rocks plucked from the sea you were sure, and pondered the myth. It was an old one, and you may have only heard it once. You could only remember that Corealis crashed into the sea, and instead of stealing her life, the sea goddess…Ocea? Ogea! Ogea imbued Corealis with the will of the ocean and guided her back into the sky. Corealis returns to the Ogea every night in thanks, warming her waters as the sun falls below the sea. At least…that’s what you can remember.

The clicking of heels on stone above pulled you from your memory, flawed as it might have been. Taking in the doors once more, you admired the craftsmanship and pushed them open. The door led to a dark hallway. Your bare arms shivered in the cool air and if you listened closely, you could hear the sound of waves. No, not waves exactly, but water. It sounded like you were underwater. You continued on, noting the slick obsidian walls in the faelight lining the hallway. After a few minutes of walking the dark hallway opening into a cavernous space. And as you surveyed the space, you wondered if this wasn’t actually an underwater cave. Or at least, had been in the past.

The walls were rough and dotted with moss, giving way to openings the size of small rooms. Each one, as far as you could see, was filled with books. Light floated into the space between dripping stalactites, bathing the room in an ocean blue hue. Stepping further into the cavern, you noticed a series of staircases carved into the curved walls. The stairs led to upper levels filled with more books and larger rooms, with tables and fluffy chairs. There were a few people in the space, reading quietly or scribbling furiously on parchment. As you began a circuit of the Library of Adriata, you couldn’t believe your father had only mentioned the place once. Something settled in your soul as you listened to the waves and breathed in the parchment, gathering books in the crook of your arm until you couldn’t see over the pile.

Tarquin found you hours later, studying a book on the families of the Summer Court. It was a newer version you hadn’t had the chance to read, used to your father’s older volumes. It must have been well into the evening as you blinked up at the male, noticing faelights lighting a grand chandelier of bleached coral in the center of the room.

“I’ve been looking for you.” Tarquin looked at you and the piles of books you’d gathered around you like a firedrake. “Looks like the library found you first.” You grinned.

“This place is amazing. I’ve never seen anything like it.” You clutched the book to your chest as you leaned forward. Tarquin had seated himself in the chair opposite yours and watched you with a soft smile.

“I’m glad you like it.” You nodded furiously , and Tarquin huffed a laugh. It wasn’t barbed and boorish like Varian’s, no, The High Lord of Summer’s muted laughter was honeyed whisky and your stomach flipped at the sound. “I was hoping to speak with you about the festival idea you had for the humans.” Tarquin paused for a moment, as though debating what to say. “I was also hoping to get your opinion on a few ideas.” You nodded and slid away the surprise at his request, along with the book you were reading, onto the table before you.

“Of course. How did the winnowing go?”

“It was…interesting.” Your face must have shown your confusion, because he continued on. “The humans are so…fearful of us. I had an idea of it. I knew that we had been the monsters in the wood to them for centuries, but I don’t know… I suppose I assumed most humans were like Jurian, or Feyre.” You nodded. From what you’d heard, the both of them were quite fearless. For better or worse.

“I went to see them yesterday. They couldn’t even look me in the eye.” Tarquin’s mouth twisted in distaste at your admission.

“About that—There was a woman, Aida. She asked about you.” Your brows flew up in surprise. “We came to an agreement, and I’m hoping you’re willing to agree as well.” You gestured for him to continue. “I’ve promised to meet with the humans and whoever they choose to represent them every two weeks, but Aida would only agree if you were there as well.” Tarquin leaned back in his chair just a bit, drawing your eyes to the gold that glittered in the threads of his tunic. “I know you’re Cresseida’s Advisor and this doesn’t really fall under your duties, but would you be willing to join me?”

“Of course I’ll come. Though I am surprised.” And you were. You’d hardly spoken to the woman, but apparently you’d made an impression.

“She trusts you. On some level at least.” Tarquin’s shoulder rose and fell, an elegant shrug. “It’s a good sign. If you’re the fae that gets them to trust us, or our court at least, I’ll gladly take it.”

With that answered and out of the way, you both spoke about what kind of festival you could create for the humans and fae. You had no idea how long you spent volleying ideas back and forth, writing ideas on parchment Tarquin had magicked in front of you when you cursed at not having anything to take notes with. Somehow, you’d veered off the subject, and Tarquin was yet again asking you about your life in the village. You told him about your daily chores and how Cresseida would whine about helping with them while doing them perfectly.

“I just can’t see Cresseida shoveling anything, let alone manure!” You laughed, and defended your friend.

“Just because you can’t see it doesn’t mean it didn’t happen. Cress is strong, and honestly, she was faster than me. Probably because she wanted to get it over with.” You felt like you’d been spending too long speaking about yourself, so you redirected the conversation.

“What kind of chores did you have as a prince? I can’t imagine it involved any sort of shoveling.” Tarquin smiled at the teasing tone of your voice.

“No shoveling, but tons of sailing. I’m pretty sure I spent most of my time on a boat or in the sea the first two decades of my life.” He sighed, blue eyes lost in a memory. “It feels like a dream now, after everything that’s happened. I miss it.”

“Don’t you have a pleasure barge? And an entire fleet of naval ships?”

“It’s not the same. Firstly, they’re all large, and secondly, those vessels have a specific purpose. They’re meant for war or parties, but a small sailer is built for nothing but the sea and the wind. There’s nothing like it. It’s freedom.” He glanced your way. “I’d be happy to take you one day. Everyone should experience the sea like that.”

“Well, I’ve never been on a boat before, so…” You met Tarquin’s gaze willing your face to stop heating. “I’d like that.” The High Lord released a smile that made your breath catch.

“Great. Good.” Another huff of laughter, and Tarquin shook his head. “If you’re lucky, I’ll even teach you to sail.”

“Oh how generous of you, High Lord.” Tarquin let out a laugh that was entirely too loud for a library, and received a few annoyed glances, even as High Lord. You held back your own laugh at the look of shock on his face. You were so busy trying not to laugh that you didn’t notice Cresseida stalking towards you.

“I should have known you’d be in here.” The words were harsh, but her tone was fond. “I’ve been looking for you for hours.” At the look of surprise on your face, she backtracked. “Okay, maybe it’s only been an hour, but it felt like forever.”

“Always so dramatic cousin.” Tarquin rolled his eyes at Cress, but she only studied the two of you.

“And what exactly have the two of you been doing down here all this time, cousin?” His narrowed eyes met her smirk and you had a feeling you were missing some silent conversation between the two of them. After a beat, Cresseida rolled her eyes. “You know what? Maybe I don’t want to know.” She grinned at the embarrassment on your face and continued on. “Anyways, I came to find you because you’re the only fae I know with knowledge of the old world.”

“I wouldn’t say I have any special knowledge, just what I’ve read.” You took another look at Cresseida, noticing the tightness around her brown eyes and the way she held a bit of her hair tightly, rubbing it between her fingers. “Why? What are you looking into Cress?” She bit her lip.

“During the war, I heard the Night Court whispering a name.” She dropped her hair, wringing her hands instead. “I didn’t think much of it then, but now…I don’t know. I have this feeling.” You nodded, encouraging her to continue. “I need you to tell me everything you know about Koschei.”

“The Death God?”

________________________________________________

A/N: I’m not 100% happy with this chappie but I needed to leave it alone because good and done is better than perfect and non-existent so…I have plans for Koschei in this one, I am so excited for it to unfurl, like!!!!! *excited squealing* Anyways, look, I love my Summer Court babies but I have no doubt that Cress was not thinking that hard about the humans after the war, especially as they try to gauge where all the court lords are in their fealty to Tarquin. Issa mess right now, but imma try to fix it for them. This will have an HEA so we gon get this figured out.

On Varian: I don’t think Varian is evil in canon. Not by a long shot, buuuuuuut I think a man dating Amren has to be a little callous towards humans. So yeah…he’s a little snake in this bit. I don’t know if he’ll get worse or better at the moment, but for now….he can stick with Amren.

Also wanna share my outline notes for this chappie cause they make me laugh every time I read them:

-GRWM Summer Court Edition

-You attend your first Advisor’s meeting and get mild civil war energy

-Talk to Tarquin about his dreeeeeammmssss (for the Summer Court) big swoon alert.

-Love letter to the Adriata library cause I know that shit is some underwater cavern business that I would eat right up 🥰

-IC comes freaking knocking (I didn’t get to this bit, but it’s coming.)

This has already eaten my life and I’m only on chapter 2. Cauldron boil meeeeeeeee.

Thank you to everyone who’s been reading!

@yuhhhhhhhhhhhhhh here’s another chapter 😊

#My writing #mine #Deeper Into The Drink #Tarquin #TarquinxBlack!FemReader #Cresseida #varian #summer court #acotar #acomaf #acowar

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c-e-d-dreamer · 3 years

Text

Let Our Hearts, Like Doors, Open Wide: Part Four

A/N: Cue my evil laughter at this ending... Sorry not sorry. But is anyone really surprised? Have you met me and my writing? ;) Also, I guess sorry to Mor, but making her the “villain” incapable of keeping her nose out of other’s business in the name of “looking out for them” is a fave acotar trope of mine.

Chapter Masterlist // Previous Part // Next Part

Nesta

Nesta continues to stare at the coffee pot as it brews, hoping that her narrowed gaze will somehow will the coffee to appear faster. Another minute passes, and finally, the pot begins to fill, the delicious scent of coffee winding around her small apartment kitchen. She pulls down a mug from the cabinet, filling it with coffee. She’s just stirring in some milk and sugar when the sound of her phone ringing cuts through the quiet morning.

Nesta grabs her phone from where she left it on the counter, finding Cassian’s name displayed across the screen. She blinks a moment in surprise at the early call, but she supposes that with Mellie, they’re probably a household of early risers.

“Hello,” Nesta greets after hitting ‘answer’ and pressing the phone to her ear.

“Nesta! Hi. It’s um… It’s Cassian.”

Nesta snorts softly at that. “I know. Caller ID?”

“Right… Listen, this is going to sound like a really weird question, but how do you do your hair?”

“My hair?” Nesta asks slowly, double checking she heard correctly.

“Yeah, the um…” There’s rustling on the other line, and Nesta can easily picture Cassian gesturing to his own hair in demonstration before he seems to realize she can’t actually see him. “The braid thing that you know wraps around?”

Nesta is barely holding her laughter in, bottom lip snug between her teeth like that will somehow prevent the amusement from escaping. “Trying a new hairstyle?”

Cassian’s own chuckle at her teasing words echoes down the line of the phone. “It’s Mellie. She wants her hair to match yours. Her exact demand was that I have to make it pretty like Nesta’s.”

Nesta is certainly glad that Cassian can’t see her now, especially as heat starts to spread across her cheeks at the compliment. She can’t say she’s ever had anyone look up to her like that before. If anything, she’s used to quite the opposite. The berating words. The pursed lips. The judgmental eyes when they think she’s not looking. Not to mention her mother’s words that still seem to echo in the back of her mind despite the years and years since her passing. But she never gets that from Mellie, from Cassian either. Like father, like daughter clearly. There’s always just an openness, a soft familiar welcoming swimming in those matching pairs of hazel eyes. It has warmth niggling its way into Nesta’s chest, threatening to burrow and take root each time she sees them.

“It’s just a dutch braid that you work around,” Nesta explains, finally pulling herself back into the present. “To avoid any weird bumps, I like to only do the dutch braid to my other ear then finish it as a regular braid and pin it.”

“A… dutch braid?” Cassian asks, the confusion clear in his tone. “And that’s different from a french braid?”

“It’s under instead of over.”

There’s silence on the other end of the line, and Nesta realizes she may have overloaded Cassian’s brain. She has to press her lips firmly together around a laugh, swallow down another tease trying to bubble its way out. The last thing Nesta wants is to accidentally offend him, or make him think she’s mocking him.

“Cassian?” Nesta asks cautiously instead.

“Yeah, I can do that,” Cassian assures her, but Nesta isn’t fooled for a second. Even without seeing his expression, his unsteady tone gives him away.

“What’s your address?”

“What?”

“Text me your address. I’ll come and do Mellie’s hair for her. I have time before work.”

~ * * * ~

Cassian’s house sits on a quiet street, tucked away from the hustle and bustle of downtown. The streets of the neighborhood are lined with matching houses, like each was shaped from the same cookie cutter before being decorated just slightly different. Large trees create pockets of shade and brightly colored flowers still bloom and break up the greens of the lawns despite the fall weather.

Nesta makes sure she drives slow enough that she can see the numbers displayed on each house, counting until she reaches 513. Like the other houses on the street, Cassian’s house is a single story, a mix of stone and gray paneling patterned along the front with burgundy red shutters. A large oak tree stands just to the right of the front walkway, a swing strung up on the lowest branch.

Nesta parks her car out front, following the pathway to the front door. It’s not long after she knocks that she can hear the sounds of little feet running across the floor. Then the front door is being pulled open and Nesta is met with Mellie’s wide, shocked eyes, a big smile pulling her cheeks until those dimples appear.

“Nesta! Nesta! You’re really here! Papa said… he said you were coming to do my hair, and I didn’t believe him, but you’re here,” Mellie tells her excitedly before letting out a small gasp. “I have to show you my bookshelf!”

Nesta has barely stepped through the threshold, before Mellie is grabbing onto her hand and pulling her along. She catches a glance of Cassian standing in the kitchen to the left, but Mellie leads her to the right, down a hall that Nesta assumes leads to the bedrooms.

Mellie’s bedroom has simple, light gray walls. A white, single bed frame sits in the center, a pink duvet atop it along with what looks like a stuffed wolf. A small tent has been set up in the corner, full of blankets, pillows, and fairy lights. It’s the perfect little reading nook, and Nesta can’t help but smile softly at the sight of it.

“Look at all the books I have,” Mellie says, pointing to the white bookshelf, a rainbow of spines stacked neatly together. “Papa bought all the ones that you suggested. And this one Auntie Mor bought me. And this one Uncle Rhys bought me, but it wasn’t very good, but Papa says I’m not allowed to tell him because he’ll be sad, and I don’t want him to be sad, but he likes boring books. And this one—”

“How about,” Nesta cuts in before Mellie rambles on about every single book on her shelf. “You show me where you keep your hair things.”

Rather than answer, Mellie sprints out of her room. It’s not long before she returns, a small pink basket carefully balanced in her hands. Nesta takes the basket from her, discovering it’s full of different hair ties, clips, and bows, a hairbrush neatly placed on top. Nesta instructs Mellie to sit down on the floor and settles down behind her. She grabs the brush first, carefully removing the knots from Mellie’s hair and trying not to tug too hard. A gentle knock draws Nesta’s attention before she can begin on the braid. When she looks toward the door, she finds Cassian leaning against the frame, a soft smile on his face as he watches the scene before him.

“And what do you ladies want for breakfast?” he asks, hazel eyes shining in the morning sun that floods Mellie’s bedroom.

“Chocolate chip pancakes!” Mellie answers immediately.

“How about blueberry pancakes? Or banana? Something with fruit?”

“Definitely chocolate chip pancakes,” Nesta agrees, barely biting back a smirk at the unimpressed look Cassian settles her with.

“Two against one it seems,” Cassian mutters, but Nesta doesn’t miss his smile as he turns away and heads back down the hall toward the kitchen.

With that, Nesta turns her attention back to Mellie’s hair. Luckily, Mellie sits still while Nesta carefully braids around her head, creating a coronet, but she spends the whole time telling Nesta all about school and her friends there. From Caedyn who has the coolest shoes because they light up when he runs to Mackenzie who has the sixty-four count of crayons. Mellie talks about her teacher and even the nice lunch lady who always compliments her dresses.

“There,” Nesta says, sliding the last pin into place. “All finished.”

Mellie hops to her feet, practically running over to the mirror that’s hung on her wall. She gasps quietly when she sees herself, letting out a squeal of glee and sprinting out of her room. Nesta makes sure everything she didn’t use is back in the basket and sets it on Mellie’s bed before following behind the little girl.

“Papa! Papa! Look at my hair!” Mellie is telling Cassian, having run all the way into the kitchen.

“It’s very pretty,” Cassian assures her. “Did you thank Nesta?”

“Thank you thank you thank you!” Mellie exclaims, sprinting back toward Nesta.

“You’re very welcome.”

Mellie takes Nesta’s hand in hers again, leading her toward the dining table. There’s a whole spread waiting for them there, stacks of delicious looking chocolate chip pancakes. They settle at the table, Nesta across from Mellie. Cassian sets a cup of black coffee in front of Nesta before taking the seat beside Mellie.

“I didn’t know how you take the coffee,” Cassian explains apologetically.

“That’s alright,” Nesta dismisses, preparing her cup how she likes it. “This all looks amazing.”

“I may not be that great when it comes to doing hair, but I’m pretty good when it comes to cooking. Isn’t that right, Mellie?”

“Yes,” Mellie agrees, watching excitedly as Cassian cuts a pancake into bite size pieces and slides it over to her.

Nesta fills her own plate with pancakes, the sweetly delicious taste of chocolates chips blooming across her tongue when she takes a bite. She tries to keep the emotions on her face in check, lest Cassian’s ego get too inflated about his cooking skills. Judging by the twinkle in his eye though, the victorious smile pulled across his face, he clearly already knows.

~ * * * ~

Cassian

“Alright, pick your one treat,” Cassian tells Mellie, pulling the grocery cart to a stop in front of the rows and rows of candies and sweets.

Mellie considers all the options carefully, her eyebrows dipping low together and mouth twisting to the side. She steps forward, hand reaching out toward the gummy bears before she seems to think better of it. She spins to face Cassian again, an adorable pout marring her face.

“What kind of candy do you think Nesta likes?”

Cassian chuckles softly at the question. “I don’t know. But it’s your treat, not hers.”

Mellie thinks this fact over and turns back to candy on display. Another minute of deciding, and she grabs the chocolate peanut butter cups. She practically skips back over to Cassian, holding that bag out for him to place in their cart.

“We should invite Nesta to movie night,” Mellie tells him as they continue down the aisle.

“We should?” Cassian asks teasingly, stopping their cart in front of the baking supplies and stooping down to grab a bag of flour.

“Yes,” Mellie says, her tone serious and offering a finality that has Cassian biting back a laugh.

“We can invite her,” Cassian offers before realizing this may be an opportunity to have a more serious conversation with Mellie. “But she might say no, and that’s okay. Sometimes, adults are busy.”

Mellie settles him with a look that seems to scream that that’s the stupidest thing she’s ever heard. He knows he shouldn’t be amused at the look, should probably reprimand her about it too, but it’s just too adorable. With a shake of her head and a small huff, Mellie turns away from him, leading the way to the next aisle.

~ * * * ~

Cassian tears the plastic packaging off, placing the popcorn bag in the microwave and setting it cooking. He glances over to the living room where Mellie is perched on the sofa, her little legs dangling and bottom lip tucked firmly between her teeth while she decides what movie they’ll be watching tonight. She’s taking the task very seriously as she scrolls through the options on DisneyPlus. Cassian considers making a suggestion before thinking better of it. Instead, he busies himself with getting out a bowl for the popcorn when it’s finished popping. It’s then that his phone starts ringing, and when he pulls it out of his pocket, he finds Mor’s name displayed on the screen.

“Hey, Mor,” Cassian greets after pressing ‘answer’. “What’s up?”

“Hey, sorry. I know Friday night is movie night. I’ll make it fast,” Mor offers on the other end of the line. “But I was wondering if you and Mellie had any plans this weekend.”

“I don’t think so… why do you ask?”

“Perfect! I’m kidnapping your daughter, and we’re having a girl’s day.”

Cassian snorts softly at the joke. “I’m sure she’d love that. Just let me know what time to meet you or if you want to pick her up.”

“Papa,” Mellie interrupts, tugging on his arm to get his attention. “Do you think Nesta will like Moana?”

"I'm sure Nesta will like whatever movie you pick," he offers her; although, he's not sure if she's satisfied or not with that answer as she tromps back into the living room.

"Nesta?" Mor asks in his ear. "The girl from the bookstore?"

"Yeah, she's coming over for movie night," Cassian explains.

“She’s coming over to your house? You don’t think that’s a little fast?”

Cassian barely swallows down a sigh at Mor’s tone. He knows that tone, and what it means. Although, he’s not sure the thinly veiled judgment is fully directed at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I’m just saying, I still remember how you were with Tanwyn. You were together over a month before you let her even meet Mellie.”

“It’s different,” Cassian defends, shifting the phone so it’s balanced against his shoulder as he empties the popcorn into a bowl. “Besides, Mellie adores Nesta.”

“You don’t think that’s a problem either?” Mor asks, her voice sounding a bit exasperated. “How attached she already is? Too attached some might say.”

Cassian pinches the bridge of his nose, letting out a heavy breath. He knows Mor means well, that she’s just trying to help, but it doesn’t stop the annoyance that flares in his chest at this conversation.

“I’m just looking out for you and Mellie,” Mor offers at Cassian’s extended silence.

“I know, I know,” Cassian assures her with a sigh. “Look, I have to go. Nesta will be here soon. Just text me when you want to take Mellie for your girl’s day.”

It’s not long after Cassian hangs up with Mor that there’s a knock on the front door. Cassian barely has time to glance toward the door before Mellie is jumping off the sofa and running to open it. Nesta is standing on the other side, offering the little girl a friendly smile in greeting.

Mellie had demanded that the attire for the evening be comfortable, which is why Cassian is currently donning a soft pair of gray sweatpants and a worn cotton tee. But Nesta makes comfortable look amazing somehow, dressed in a pair of black leggings and an oversized dusty blue crewneck that brings out her eyes. Her hair is still braided back in her usual coronet style, but that just emphasizes the cut of her cheekbones and jaw. Cassian is glad the attention isn’t on him and he’s able to give himself a moment to compose himself.

Mellie leads Nesta to the living room, and Nesta finally catches Cassian’s gaze as she passes by the kitchen, offering him a small smile. Cassian can’t help but smile back, even as Mor’s words from earlier prickle at the back of his mind. He shakes the thoughts away before they can ferment, grabbing the bowl of popcorn and the bag of chocolate peanut butter cups and following behind Mellie and Nesta.

Cassian sets the bowl of popcorn down on the coffee table and takes the seat on the sofa beside Mellie, Nesta on her other side. He hands the bag of chocolate peanut butter cups to Mellie, his daughter excitedly accepting it and shoving her hand inside to take a handful of her treat.

“Do you want some, Nesta?” Mellie offers, holding that bag out toward Nesta.

“My favorite,” Nesta tells her, taking a chocolate peanut butter cup and popping it into her mouth.

Mellie seems ecstatic with that response, happily eating another chocolate peanut butter cup herself. With everyone settled, Cassian grabs the remote and presses play on the movie before relaxing back against the sofa cushions.

He can’t help but smile fondly at baby Moana playing with the water on the screen, glancing down toward where Mellie is enraptured by the movie. He still remembers when she was that small, barely able to walk and always smiling and giggling. He’s still not quite sure when he blinked and she turned six. He’s half afraid he’ll blink again and she’ll be sixteen.

Mellie’s gasp pulls Cassian back to the present, and when he looks back toward the movie, Moana’s boat is capsizing in the waves. He tucks an arm around Mellie, pulling her gently against his side in case she gets scared. It turns out to be a good idea when Moana and Maui face off against Te Kā, as Mellie hides her face against his chest and cautiously peeks out to watch the scene unfold.

By the time the end credits are rolling, Mellie is trying to hide her tiredness, but Cassian sees right through the yawns she tries to swallow and the sneaky way she rubs at her eyes. He reaches forward for the remote, turning off the television much to Mellie’s tired huff of annoyance.

“Alright,” Cassian declares. “I think it’s someone’s bedtime now.”

“Can Nesta read me my bedtime story?” Mellie asks, hopping up onto her knees and looking at Cassian with wide, imploring eyes. “Please, Papa. Please.”

“You don’t want me to read you your bedtime story?” Cassian asks teasingly.

“No.”

Cassian wants to be annoyed at the jab against him, tries to give his best pout at his daughter so she’ll change her mind, but Nesta trying and failing to hold in a laugh has Cassian biting back his own smile. “Fine, but you still have to brush your teeth and change into your pajamas first.”

“Okay,” Mellie agrees, hopping down from the sofa and skipping off down the hall toward the bathroom and her bedroom.

“Looks like you’re chopped liver again,” Nesta tells him, her tone teasing and eyes glinting with amusement.

“Rejected by my own daughter,” Cassian laments, adding in a long suffering sigh for good measure. “I thought for sure I wouldn’t have to worry about that until she’s a teenager.”

“When you try and come between whatever boy or girl is after her heart?”

“Oh, she’s not allowed to date until she’s thirty.”

“You know that won’t actually deter her, right? She’ll just sneak out.”

“Speaking from personal experience?”

Nesta rolls her eyes at that, but she can’t hide the small, soft smile still pulled across her face. There’s no denying the way Cassian’s heart flutters within his chest at the sight, at the way Nesta seems so comfortable here already, seems to fit.

“Not me,” Nesta explains. “My younger sisters. Feyre, she’s the youngest, she was always sneaking out to meet up with this boy Isaac from her class.”

Cassian isn’t sure what Nesta sees on his face, probably horror, but it causes her to laugh, the light sound echoing around the living room. He tracks the way the freckles along her nose and cheek scrunch as she laughs, the way crinkles crease beside her eyes.

“Well, I suppose any boy or girl will have to go through you first anyways,” Nesta offers.

“And my brothers. I’ve never met anyone as fiercely protective as Azriel.”

“I’m ready!” Mellie interrupts, standing just inside the hallway in her bright pink nightgown.

Nesta gets up from the sofa, following Mellie down the hall and to the little girl’s room. Left in just the silence of the living room, Cassian gets up too. He grabs the now empty bowl of popcorn and what remains of Mellie’s treat and heads into the kitchen. He’s not really sure what else to do now that everything is put away and cleaned up, and he can’t help but glance toward the hall to the bedrooms.

Before he can think about it another moment, Cassian creeps down the hall on quiet feet. He peeks his head around into Mellie’s room, and his breath nearly catches at what he finds. Mellie is tucked up against Nesta’s side, her head resting against Nesta and little hand curled around Nesta’s forearm.

“She began to walk forward, crunch-crunch over the snow and through the woods toward the other light,” Nesta reads, her tone soft, while Mellie’s eyes dance across the page as she follows along. “In about ten minutes she reached it and found it was a lamp-post. As she stood looking at it, wondering why there was a lamp-post in the middle of a wood and wondering what to do next, she heard a pitter patter of feet coming toward her.”

Cassian knows he’s probably being a creep, sneaking just outside his daughter’s bedroom and smiling like an idiot. So, instead he heads back out into the main room, tries to find some way to keep himself busy. He’s sitting back on the sofa, scrolling through his phone, when Nesta returns. He’s surprised to find her carrying Mellie’s basket of hair supplies.

“What’s that for?” Cassian asks her, his confusion only growing when Nesta returns to the living room and sits on the floor rather than the sofa.

“You still need to learn how to dutch braid,” Nesta explains, reaching her hands up and beginning to undo her hair until it tumbles down in waves along her shoulders and back.

For a moment, Cassian is struck dumb, caught up in the way the soft strands reflect in the lamp light of the living room. But then it hits him what she’s implying. He tries to pay attention as Nesta explains the braid, demonstrating on her own hair, but it’s easier said than done. The one saving grace is that Nesta is sitting with her back turned to him while he basically ogles and swallows his own tongue.

“Now it’s your turn,” Nesta states, undoing her braid again and glancing at Cassian over her shoulder.

“What?” Cassian chokes out.

“It’s your turn to try the braid.”

Cassian clears his throat awkwardly, but he scoots forward slightly so that Nesta is practically resting back against his legs. He reaches his hands up and gently runs his fingers through her hair. It’s exactly as soft as it looks. He tries to remember everything she said to him as he starts to braid her hair, tries not to tug too hard on the strands. It’s clumsy and not at all as good as when Nesta had done it by the time he’s finished.

Nesta pulls her phone out, using the camera as a makeshift mirror as she examines Cassian’s work. The quiet hum she lets out has Cassian grimacing.

“Sorry. Kind of hard to braid hair with these bear paws,” Cassian tells her, holding his hands in front of Nesta’s face for emphasis.

The gesture just makes Nesta laugh again, and she knocks his hands away before undoing the mess he made of her hair. “And that’s why practice makes perfect. Try again.”

This time, Cassian makes sure he stays extra focused as he braids her hair, and by the time he’s pinning the ends to the top of her head, he’s actually feeling quite proud of himself and his work.

“Not bad,” Nesta comments when she gets a look at it, setting her phone back down and reaching up to undo the braid.

“Hey! You’re ruining all my hard work.”

“And I told you practice makes perfect. Now, do it again.”

Cassian sighs, but he reaches up to start a fresh braid. “Has anyone ever told you you’re kind of bossy?”

“You like it,” Nesta deflects, and even though Cassian can’t see her face, he can hear the smirk in her voice.

Cassian doesn’t disagree, but he gets to work carefully braiding her hair. He has to admit it has gotten easier as he braid around in the crown style. His hands brush against the nape of Nesta’s neck when he reaches the back, and he swears he can feel Nesta try to suppress a shudder at the touch. It has Cassian’s hands pausing, his breath quietly hitching in his throat, before he continues. When he finishes the braid, Nesta checks it again in her phone’s camera.

“It’s perfect,” Nesta tells him, turning to properly look at Cassian and offering him a soft smile.

Cassian offers his own smile in return before realizing with a jolt how close they are. He can count every eyelash as they kiss Nesta’s cheeks, can see every line and explosion of color in her blue gray eyes. As if they have a mind of their own, his own eyes dip down to her lips before dancing back to her gaze. Nesta shifts slightly closer still, and it’s with a violent force that Mor’s words from earlier slam back into the forefront of his mind. He always swore that he’d put Mellie first, that she would always be more important than anything or anyone else, that her feelings and wellbeing would always take precedence over his own.

“It’s getting late,” he tells Nesta suddenly, clearing his throat and shifting away from her. “I’m sure you want to get home.”

Nesta looks surprised at his words, but she recovers quickly. “Right. I suppose I should get going.”

They both stand up, and Cassian walks Nesta to the front door. It’s stiff and awkward in a way it’s never been since they’ve first met, and Cassian knows that he’s to blame.

“Well, thanks for having me,” Nesta offers, pulling open the front door.

“Yeah, of course.”

There’s another uncomfortable silence between them, and Cassian wonders if he should say something more, but then Nesta is stepping out into the night without a second glance. He watches as she gets into her car before closing the front door, letting his head fall against the wood.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” Cassia mutters to himself, knocking his forehead against the door with each word.

Gods, what is he doing? What is he thinking? The obvious answer, of course, is that he has no idea. He just feels like one big tangled mess that he doesn’t even know how to begin to unravel. But what he does know for sure is that he definitely needs to figure it out.

—

Taglist (let me know if you would like to be added or removed): @moodymelanist @hellogoodbye14 @nestaspegasus @nesquik-arccheron @sv0430 @lady-winter-sunrise @talkfantasytome @secretlovelybeauty @dontgetsalmonella @swankii-art-teacher @mis-lil-red @bookstantrash @vinylcryes @sleeping-and-books @wonderland--memories @theoverlyenthusiasticwriter @sayosdreams @ubigaia @cannellefawn @duskandstarlight

#my fic #nessian kid fic #LOHLDOW #acotar #nessian #nesta x cassian #nesta archeron #cassian #nessian fanfiction #nessian fic

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rosanna-writer · 1 year

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Right There Beside Him All Summer Long - ACOTAR Writing Circle - Part 1

Summary: After months of bitter cold, Illyrian summers just hit different. When the other Solstice rolls around, Rhys brings Feyre there, a chance to indulge in a little nostalgia and show her around his old stomping grounds. Pairing: Feysand Warnings: None Chapter Word Count: ~2.5k

Thank you to @azrielshadowssing for organizing! After living Up North in a freezing cold climate for a while, it's been a headcanon of mine that Illyria is super beautiful in the summer, so when I saw the prompt, I knew I wanted to explore that a bit and send Feysand on a little mountain getaway! This is a canon-compliant fic set between ACOFAS and ACOSF.

You can read it here on AO3 or below the cut.

A warm spell at the end of spring had Feyre wishing she could curl up and sleep like a cat in the afternoon sun. Instead, she was in a meeting room in the House of Wind with Rhys and the Inner Circle, discussing the usual business of running the Night Court, and the only thing curling up was her hair in the heavy humidity. Their last day off had been the Winter Solstice—nearly six months ago now—and Feyre was tired.

When Rhys finally ended their business for the day with a quick "meeting adjourned," she didn't bother to hide her relief. The change in the air was palpable as the six of them made the mental switch from "work mode" to "off-duty." As Feyre stood up and stretched, Rhys twined an arm around her waist. Just to her, he said, "By the way, I've made plans for Summer Solstice."

"Summer Solstice?" Feyre said, wrinkling her nose. "Why would we celebrate the shortest night of the year in the Night Court?"

Cassian grinned. "Because in Illyria, summer is the only time you can go outside without freezing your balls off," he said.

There were few places colder and harsher than an Illyrian camp. Picturing the winged warriors relaxing was difficult enough. But celebrating? That was impossible.

The disbelief must have shown on Feyre's face because Mor said, "I know, right? It's fun, though. Bonfires, drinking, ridiculous athletic competitions for bragging rights, that sort of thing. I'm going."

Before Feyre had a chance to ask about those ridiculous athletic competitions for bragging rights, Rhys smirked and said, "Cassian, Azriel, and I still hold the record for the fastest time climbing as a team to the top of a greased pole." He sent Feyre an image of him as a young male standing on Cassian's shoulders, one arm wrapped around a pole covered in lard and the other outstretched to haul Az up. A flag at the top of the pole flapped in the breeze.

"That always gets the most spectators, but there's also archery, javelin throwing, stone put, all the classics," Cassian said.

"The drinking comes after the events involving weapons," Azriel said. "Usually."

Feyre's brows lifted in surprise. "You're going?" she said.

"And miss having peace and quiet without all of you in Velaris? Of course not," Az said, though there was a bit of a strained quality to his humor. He didn't have the same nostalgia for Illyrian traditions as his brothers did.

"We can't leave Velaris without one of us there to defend it. Azriel volunteered. Since you and Rhysand will be away, I'll be visiting the Court of Nightmares as your Second," Amren said with a vicious smile. "Do you think they've missed me?"

Down the bond, Rhys said, When we get back, she's vacationing in Summer with Varian. And I've already bullied Azriel into taking time off a different week because he refuses to come with us.

Reassured no one was feeling left out, Feyre said, "I'm in."

Because even on holidays, Illyrians woke up early, Rhys, Feyre, Mor, and Cassian flew to Illyria the night before the Solstice, planning to stay the night in Rhys's mother's old house. Feyre's wings were getting stronger every day, but she still wasn't quite ready to make a full long-haul flight from Velaris to Illyria. So for the first time in a long while, she found herself nestled in Rhys's arms, high above the ground. They could have winnowed, but there was no reason to pass up an opportunity to fly on a beautiful day.

Rhys had been quiet since they'd shot into the air in Velaris. Not that Feyre minded—the day was far too warm for a coat, so she could hear Rhys's heartbeat through his shirt when she rested her head against his chest. Plus, the setting sun bathed him in golden light, and she was perfectly content to stare at her mate a bit and think about how to best capture the view on canvas.

But still, this was Rhysand, the male who had a smug comment for nearly every occasion. She should probably check in if he was being so quiet. "A thought for a thought?" Feyre said.

"I'm thinking it's been too long since I've gone to Illyria for anything other than business. I hadn't realized how much I missed it," Rhys said, a little wistful. "It really is beautiful in the summer, and I can't wait to show you."

Feyre went silent, turning that over in her mind. She didn't know what it was like, she realized, to miss the place you grew up. There was nothing left for her in the mortal lands, and certainly nothing about it she loved enough to share with Rhys.

"I can't wait to see it," she said, smiling. Rhys leaned in and kissed her softly. When he pulled away, Feyre let her head fall against his chest again. "I'm thinking I'm in the most comfortable place in the world right now."

Rhys leaned in and kissed her again, a little more deeply this time. Cassian said something Feyre couldn't quite hear, but from his tone of voice, it was obviously a complaint about them being overly affectionate in front of other people. Without breaking the kiss, Feyre raised one hand in a vulgar gesture. Rhys laughed against her lips.

It wasn't much longer before they approached the Illyrian mountains. Unlike when Feyre had been here last, they were carpeted in lush, green grass dotted with wildflowers. The lakes and streams between them had been frozen solid then, but now they were clear blue, the still water reflecting mirror images of the mountains above. There was still a harshness to the landscape—even in the summer, the tall, jagged peaks were topped with snow. The Summer Court might be beautiful, all eternal warmth, but here in Illyria, summer was sweeter, something to be earned after merciless winters. Feyre considered how best to capture that feeling on a canvas, and her fingers twitched for a paintbrush again.

They arrived at the old stone house a few minutes later, the wind whipping Feyre's hair in all directions as they gained speed on the descent. Rhys brought them to the ground in one smooth motion and set Feyre down.

Mor, however, had already winnowed herself out of Cassian's arms and to the ground as the other Illyrian landed next to them. "Five hundred years," she said, "And you still can't manage a gentle landing."

"Five hundred years, and you're still scared of a little free fall," Cassian shot back.

Mor stuck her tongue out at him, but Feyre didn't notice. She was too distracted by the sight of Rhys pulling his shirt off and using it to wipe away the sweat that had beaded on his forehead after the exertion of a long flight on a warm day.

Mor made a small noise of disgust. "Ugh, you haven't even been in Illyria a full minute and you're already regressing," she said.

"Regressing?" Feyre said, not taking her eyes off Rhys's muscled chest and swirling tattoos. Gods, her mate was just so beautiful. Rhys answered her stare with a cocky grin and flared his wings out wide behind him.

"Once Rhys put on some muscle as a teenager, it took a few decades before it wasn't a battle to get him to put on a shirt around pretty females," Mor said. Cassian started to say something, but she whirled around and pointed a finger at him. "And don't say anything because you know you were just as bad, if not worse."

Cassian shrugged. "It worked. We were sleeping with a lot of pretty females back then," he said matter-of-factly.

Feyre could see it, the arrogant young warriors they'd been, fresh from winning the Blood Rite and before they'd gone to war and everything changed. And Rhys, devastatingly handsome and a Carynthian and a High Lord's heir, must have had legions of females falling at his feet in particular.

Rhys reached for Feyre's hand, tugging her closer, and she leaned back against his warm, bare chest. "Now there's only one female for me, and 'pretty' doesn't do her justice," he said.

"Cad," Feyre said, elbowing him in the ribs.

Mor and Cassian both shook their heads and went inside the house. Rhys and Feyre didn't move. The sun was dipping low over the mountains in the distance, and he kissed her temple as the first few stars came out. "And because I know you were worried," he said, his breath grazing the shell of her ear, "I'll tell you now that I haven't forgotten tomorrow is your half-birthday."

Feyre groaned. "Don't tell me now I have two days a year to hope you forget."

"And miss out on an excuse, no matter how flimsy, to celebrate my favorite High Lady? Never," Rhys said, nipping at her earlobe.

Feyre stepped away from him, towards the house, but didn't drop his hand. "Let's go inside before Cass and Mor send a search party."

Cassian and Mor had just finished starting a fire in the small yard behind the house, and Rhys and Feyre found them sitting near it and bickering about whether the sports team Amren was such an obsessive supporter of had any chance at making the playoffs this year. As Feyre spread out another blanket to sit on, they didn't stop their argument, even as she and Rhys sat next to them.

"I brought something for us to share," Rhys said, which quieted them both down. He grinned and added, "Because Feyre darling hasn't tried it yet."

Three sets of eyes watched with curiosity as Rhys reached into the pocket dimension and pulled out a bottle of very, very pink wine. At the sight of it, Mor and Cassian both broke into smiles, but Feyre's brow just furrowed in confusion.

"Gods, Rhys, I didn't even know they still made that swill," Cassian said.

Rhys snapped his fingers and the earthenware mugs in the house's kitchen appeared in their hands. He twisted open the cap on the wine—there was no cork—and started to pour.

"When we were younger and stayed in this house, Rhys was in charge of smuggling in the booze," Mor said, catching the look on Feyre's face. "This is the only kind he ever brought."

"No one cares if the cheap stuff goes missing, and if they did, they wouldn't believe the three greatest Illyrian warriors in history would ever deign to drink something this pink. It was the perfect crime," Rhys said, smirking like a cat at the memory.

Something warm bloomed in Feyre's chest at the thought of the male Rhys had once been, always sly, scheming, and smug, even back then. She sent a pulse of affection down the bond, and Rhys returned it with a soft look as he filled her mug.

To the stars who listen, she said mind-to-mind.

And the dreams that are answered, he said, lifting his own cup and clinking it against hers with a wink.

Feyre took a tentative sip of the wine. It wasn't nearly as bad as she feared, just overwhelmingly, cloyingly sweet. She swallowed it and managed not to make a face.

Between the wine and being back at the house where they'd spent so much time when they were young, it was only natural that the conversation turned to things that had happened centuries ago. The war with Hybern and working around the clock on rebuilding efforts had left them with precious little time for one of Prythian's most sacred traditions: telling your friend's mate every single embarrassing story from before they met.

To his credit, Rhys—ever the stoic Illyrian warrior—endured the ribbing admirably, even all the way through a story about a time he'd been caught quite literally with his pants down and Azriel's subsequent dry comment about his lack of operations security had followed him for months.

There was no one in Feyre's family who would ever call their younger days idyllic. But in Illyria, there were occasional cracks in the misery of it all, chances for Rhys, Mor, and his brothers to get in a little trouble and make a little mischief. Snowball fights and drinking games and sneaking out after curfew.

There was nothing Feyre loved more than Rhysand and the Night Court. Tonight, though, after hearing more about the person he'd been and what this corner of their territory meant to him, she understood both a bit better. And she loved them even more deeply for it.

The four of them went to bed not long after emptying the bottle of wine and snuffing out the fire. Feyre climbed the stairs with Rhys's hand in hers. Last time she'd been here, she'd shared with Mor, too afraid to cross the hall to Rhys's room. Now Mor had a room to herself (they'd offered to get Cassian something more comfortable, but he'd insisted this was Illyria and a bedroll on the living room floor was fine), and Feyre wouldn't dream of sleeping apart from Rhys.

By the Cauldron, so much had changed in the past few months.

Feyre fell into bed with Rhys, letting their limbs tangle together. With the temperatures rising in Velaris, the last few nights had been warm enough that they couldn't do this comfortably, at least not without kicking off the blankets in the middle of the night. But Illyria was just just cool enough to be comfortable.

She lay on her side, and Rhys's arms around her chest and lips on her neck and the slight chill in the air brought memories from a freezing inn rushing back. Rhys's hand dipped lower—he must have thought the same.

"Keep that up, and the smell will let everyone know exactly what we're up to," Feyre whispered. In a house this small, the scent wouldn't have to travel far to reach Mor and Cassian.

Extra careful to be sure they weren't overheard, Rhys let his voice float into her mind. Then I know somewhere else we can go.

Feyre rolled over to find Rhys smirking yet again, his eyes glinting like stars in the darkness. Do you now?

Rhys slipped a hand under her nightgown, skimming it up her side. At the touch, Feyre arched into him and pressed closer.

You know, for all of Cassian's talk of pretty females, no one ever figured out where I used to take them to get a little privacy. Would you indulge me and let me bring my mate there?

Feyre hooked a leg around Rhys's hip, which was answer enough. But she still replied, You know I'd follow you anywhere.

Rhys took a moment to kiss her one more time, then winnowed them both away.

#acotarwritingcircle #acotar #feysand #a court of thrones and roses #feyre x rhys #feyre x rhysand #rhys x feyre

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offtorivendell · 2 years

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Evidence of the Asteri in Prythian history books?

Please don't screenshot or share this post without credit.

Disclaimer: this is 100% a crack theory that relies on false reporting of Midgard history to be plausible.

Spoilers: for ACOTAR, CC and TOG series to date.

ACOSF, chapter 55

CC HOEAB, chapter 6

I know the HOEAB quote mentions that humans had once portrayed the angels as having "divine auras," but what if that wasn't strictly correct?

Did the early humans actually intend to depict the Asteri, rather than the Malakim, as having these halos instead?

Alternatively, could the Asteri have taken the form of a deity that the early humans of Midgard already worshipped, and then designed the Malakim around that, in order to be better received as deities in their own right?

If so, the tall, crowned beings mentioned on the page of a Prythian history book (in ACOSF) sound eerily similar, in terms of headwear, to the ancient artwork that Isaiah had mentioned, though I assume Nesta would have mentioned wings if the image had depicted the illustration had had having any.

Could this be Prythian textual evidence of the Asteri's past occupation, whether they were known as Daglan, or by another name?

Are "Asteri," "Valg" and "Daglan" simply clan or family names for beings of the same species, or are they, potentially, examples of intergalactic evolution fluking the creation of three different beings with similar... eating habits?

It's a stretch, yes, but it does raise some questions, too. I'm trying not to head full "conspiracy theorist" about the history we were given, but it's a struggle.

#cc acotar crossover theories #hosab spoilers #the asteri #the daglan #cc hoeab #cc hosab #acotar #acosf #crack theory #acotar crack theory #cc crack theory

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cassianandfenrysaremyboyos · 3 years

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hey! I only recently started reading acotar (i'm on the third book) and I love love love Lucien, and I'm super excited at the prospect of him and Elain... actually they are the main reason I'm reading at this point but all I've seen on twt is about the other ship for Elain 😔 Is there any hope for Elain x Lucien in the later books?? I'm asking bc I don't want to get major spoilers but also I'm tired of getting my heart broken by non endgame ships lol

Welcome to the Lucien and Elucien train!! We're very happy to have to you! 😊💕

I wouldn't worry about what people are saying on twitter. Just because one part of the fandom is more vocal doesn't mean their ship is more popular or that it has more chance of happening in canon. Right now neither ship is canon. But absolutely there is hope for Elucien!!

First Elucien are mates. Sarah loves mates/soulmates. We've seen that with Feysand and Nessian, and I don't know if you've read Throne of Glass but the main ship in that series are also mates and the main ship in Sarah's other series, Crescent City also show signs of being soulmates. Sarah loves writing about that deep soulmate type of love! They might have to overcome obstacles but ultimately they choose each other.

Also Sarah has talked about how in her early planning she briefly considered making Nesta and lucien mates but quickly realised they wouldn't work together/would tear each other apart. If Sarah really wanted to write about a rejected mating bond she could have left Nesta and Lucien mates and had them reject the bond. But she didn't because she loves soulmates.

Sarah has also said this about Elucien "there was actually a great deal of tension, growth and healing to be found for both of them together" She's never said anything ever about the other ship as far as I know? Certainly nothing romantic.

There is so much potential for healing between Elain and Lucien. One of the things I love about Elucien is they have so much in common. They're both gentle souls. Some people might not realise that about Lucien, but he really is. Lucien is someone who is deeply traumatised from violence, you see it in the first book in the scene when the injured Faery is brought into the Spring Court manor and he's deeply distressed by it. It clearly triggers his ptsd from his own trauma, but it also shows us that Lucien is someone who can't stomach violence, at least not in the way some of the other characters do. And Elain, well at this stage, since we haven't really seen her development or gotten her pov yet, being a kind gentle heart is really her defining character trait. They're two characters who would cherish a peaceful life away from war and violence. Two characters with the potential to be so soft together, to provide each other with a safe space to be vulnerable, and show their weaknesses and talk about their trauma. And be comforted by the other and have the other understand. They have such complimentary personalities. Something the other ship doesn't have. Azriel is a torturer (I love Az btw so this isn't a critiscm just observations about his character) he is filled with a cold hard rage, something Elain hasn't seen from him/doesn't truely know about him. And currently he's most definitely not one to open up and share about his own trauma, which certaintly doesn't work for two characters making a healing journey together. Something Sarah, as shown above see's as important. Elain and Azriel are simply too different imo. And I know people can argue opposite's attract. But opposite's attract only applies to a certain point, with certain things. If two people are just fundementally different a relationship won't work between them long term.

Meanwhile Elain and Lucien have just enough differences that they're not too similar but have enough in common to mesh really well together.

And even their differences are complimentary. Lucien has a bit of bite and sass about him, and that's something I think Elain needs to help bring her out of her shell. Elain is someone who has been coddled and infantalised and sheltered, people don't challenge her or speak freely to her, they censor themselves around her. Very minor spoilers seeing as you're only up to the third book, but in the 5th book, Acosf there's a moment where Nesta snaps/swears at Elain, and Nesta immediately regrets it because you don't talk to sweet precious Elain like that. But Elain just laughs. Elain wants people to speak freely to her, to stop sheltering her and show her some sass and bite. And who's the perfect person to do that, our boy Lucien!! Again some minor spoilers but I love this comparison

Lucien in Acotar

Elain in Acosf

Look at this parallel between them *chefs kiss*

Like Sarah said these are two characters that will push growth in each other and challenge each other. In a way that Azriel and Elain don't. Azriel, and this is very apparent in Acosf, coddles Elain, he speaks for her, makes choices for her, wants to stops her from doing things, without ever thinking about or asking Elain what she wants. He does it to protect her but is disregarding her choice. Lucien on the other hand, and again some spoilers if you haven't reached the end of Acowar yet this is after the final battle

He's clearly worried about her but he doesn't let HIS worry/fear get in the way of HER agency.

"And I heard you made the killing blow" He sounds almost proud of her, like he would encourage her despite his own worry, and wants to see her strong and flourish.

What I also love in this scene is that again it shows how their both gentle hearts. "Well I never want to fight in another battle as long as I live" Lucien will fight and do what he needs to (and so will Elain if she has to). But Lucien isn't a warrior he would much rather never have to see war or battle ever again.

And then we have multiple references to Elain needing sunlight, needing to get outside, needing light to thrive. Again minor spoilers but there is also a scene in Acosf where Elain is wearing black and it's mentioned how she looks plain, overwhelmed, subdued by the colour, like it doesn't suit her at all. There are a lot of subtle references suggesting Elain doesn't quite truely belong in the Night Court, that it's not where she can thrive. And who is associated with two courts, Spring and Day, where Elain could thrive? Who is associated with fire and warmth and light? Who is the heir of the day court? You got it our boy Lucien. Elain needs light and Lucien is light!! Literally the name Lucien means light! Coincidence? I think not.

Another similarity between them is Lucien is a diplomat, someone who uses words and charm and communication to keep the peace between courts. And Elain is said by Feyre to be be able to convince people to do anything, to charm them, to excel in social settings. And she was the one who kept the peace between her family, was the bridge between her father, Nesta and Feyre. And Imagine if in the future Lucien takes on a role in the day court or (and I'm sorry Helion) for whatever reason becomes the High Lord of Day Court, Elain could be an amazing Lady of Day, would flourish and charm at court balls or social occassions. Not to mention they both have great hair and are always put together/dressed immaculately. Like they would be A PAIR!

Then there's the gifts Lucien gives Elain (again minor spoilers for Acofas and Acosf) which are so thoughtful. In Acofas he gives her magical gardening gloves knowing gardening is something she loves and that she doesn't have any. And in Acosf he gives her pearl earrings, and pearls are somehing that are mentioned in relation to Elain a couple of other times. But it's like Lucien has noticed they're something she likes? These are just minor things but it's interesting that Sarah included them in her writing. It's almost as if she's subtly trying to hint that Lucien notices things about Elain, and see's her in a way that perhaps other's don't?

Also there's that Elain is very traditional and adheres to a quite a traditional type of femininity and Lucien is a complete and utter gentleman, who absolutely respects Elain and her needs. The potential for them to have an old fashioned courting romance asdgjkgfsa my heart the softness!! I also think they're going to end up being the epitome of your lover is your best friend.

And lastly, in Acosf there is a bonus chapter from Az's pov which ends with Azriel's focus on another character, and I would say personally that this chapter very clearly sinks that other ship.

Anyway in conclusion Elucien are going to be the most beautiful, softest, sweetest, supportive, with some sass as well, ship. So don't worry my friend. And even in the very small chance they don't become canon we can still enjoy all of these things about them in fanon. They will be canon though lol

#elucien #lucien vanserra #elain archeron #lucien #elain #asks #long post #this got really long I'm sorry lol #but i hope this allays some of your fears anon

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