Elucienweek2024 - Tumblr Posts

𝒯𝒶𝓀𝑒 𝓂𝑒 𝒷𝒶𝒸𝓀 𝓉𝑜 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓁𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉☀️

Happy @elucienweekofficial day 2!!! I’m so excited to share this commission by the incredible summergorgon 💗 They were so lovely to work with, and so kind to let me hold onto this commission for months and save it for Elucien week!

As an archaeologist, I am so STOKED and I have been WAITING FOR THIS SINCE IT WAS ANNOUNCED

Long Live

Summary: All archeologist Elain Archeron wants is answers about the past.

Fate is determined to give them to her

MASSIVE thank you @abbadinfluence for having the idea AND allowing me to write - I've had the time of my life, this has been so fun.

And @octobers-veryown for being my personal Rome/Italy consultant- thank you for your knowledge, your time, and most importantly, catching when I used a particularly offensive and/or wrong swear word

For @elucienweekofficial | Read on AO3 | Chapter 1

Elain waited until she and Arina were alone to turn to her friend. Arina was one step ahead of her. “We’re fucked,” she said in English, face devoid of any true color. “He’s basically got us under house arrest.” 

“They don’t trust us,” Elain said, taking an anxious breath of air. The last three days had been something out of a nightmare. They’d been arrested, put in chains, and then transported from the country estate to Rome, during which they’d been groped and threatened with assault more times than she could count. Elain had never known true fear until that first night outdoors, camping with a group of leering, bored soldiers. 

She couldn’t enjoy seeing Rome, well aware of where they were being taken. Mamertine Prison was a church in the present day, built over the bones of prisoners sent to languish while they waited out their sentences. Elain had expected some low level judiciary to come and decide their fate. Not the newly crowned Emperor himself, accompanied by his older brother. Nor had she expected Arina to react so viciously once they were so close to freedom.

“We simply have to convince them they can trust us.”

“And how do you intend to go about that?” Arina demanded, picking through the clothes set out for the two of them. They knew enough combined history to get through this, she decided. If they could convince the Emperor they were no threat, Elain believed they could make their way back where they’d started and get back to their own home before they changed history. 

“Well, for starters maybe we should stop biting patricians?” Elain said, rounding on her friend sharply. 

“He’s no better than the soldiers who dragged us up here,” she snarled furiously. “He saw two unprotected women and decided we must exist for his pleasure.”

“Of course he did!” Elain hissed softly. “They’ve never even heard the word feminism. You know women are not on equal standing with men. Stop biting them.”

“If he puts his finger in my face again—”

“No biting.”

Elain turned, looking at the spacious room that belonged to her and her alone. Arina had been given a suite just down the marbled hall but had immediately followed after Elain, prompting two servants to lay clothes out for the both of them nervously. Elain knew what was waiting and was desperate to put her hands on true, Roman garments.

“Why aren’t you panicking?” Arina demanded.

“What good would it do to panic?” Elain asked, tennis shoes squeaking against the marble. The heat coming from the nearby hanging lamps made the room feel warmer than was comfortable, and Elain was quick to fling open the shutters of her window so cool air could push in. “Besides…haven’t you always wanted to see Rome as it actually was?”

“Not really,” Arina said, trailing after Elain apprehensively. “Not like this. What if we can’t get back, Elain? Or worse, what if the Emperor decides to make us some other man's problem?”

“This is Rome. We’ll simply kill him if he tries,” Elain said with far more bravado than she felt. Her room overlooked the garden, replete with beautifully manicured hedges, rows of olive trees, and flowers so vibrant she almost didn’t believe they were real. 

“Elain, I’m serious. Aren’t you afraid?”

“Yes,” she admitted, turning back to the room made of marble and gold. Elain knew if Arina wasn’t so scared, she’d be examining the pillars and telling Elain all about the brush strokes and how the tiles beneath them had been cut. Elain, too, wanted to examine the palace piece by piece, committing it all to memory. Her phone was still in her pocket, the battery at seventy two percent. She could take pictures if she was careful…and then, what? No one would ever believe her.

Maybe just to have once she got home. 

“We need to leave,” Arina hissed, her urgency echoing through Elain’s skull. 

“What we need is to be careful. We were spared once, but I don’t think they’ll be so forgiving the second time. Better to play pretend and wait for our moment than to rush out and get thrown back into prison. Or worse.

Citizens were made slaves all the time, after all. Lucien could make them prostitutes in the eye of the law if he wanted and no one would be able to stop him. Here, at least, they had access to means and the privilege that came from being a patrician woman. 

“He could do horrible things to us,” Arina reminded Elain, standing in the middle of the room with her arms wrapped around her chest. “Things he might think are kind.”

“Then we simply have to convince him not to,” Elain replied, thinking it was easier said than done. “Women might not be allowed a true voice, but there are plenty of Roman women who ruled behind the throne. If we can make him care about us, we can thwart the worst of his machinations. He’s a new Emperor, he’s about to meet his wife…he won’t have a lot of time to spend worrying about us.”

“You’re right,” Arina breathed, closing her eyes before exhaling slowly. “If we blend in and give them no reason to think about us, we can slip out in the night.”

“Or better, he’ll put us on a horse with gold in our pocket.”

“So what now? We just…play dress up?” Arina questioned, finally turning toward the stola. “Drink wine and lounge in the sun?”

“We could explore the city?” Elain suggested, reaching for the red dyed garment. “Tell me, doctor. Where do you think the fabric of this dress comes from?” 

“Egypt,” Arina said, rubbing her fingers against the lenin. “It’s not silk.”

“If we could bring this back—intact—think of—”

“Are you crazy?” Arina hissed, cutting Elain off before she could finish her sentence. “We can do nothing. Make no suggestions, inform them of nothing, do not rip any wings off a butterfly. We aren’t supposed to be here, Elain, and we can’t go around meddling.”

“It’s not meddling. It’s history,” she protested. “And if we’re not supposed to be here, why are we here?”

“Maybe we’re not. Maybe we just ingested something toxic, breathed in too much lead. We’re probably in the hospital having a really vivid hallucination.”

Elain sat on the edge of the bed, sinking into the feathers and straw with delight. Covered in blankets, the mattress was softer than she might have imagined. “This isn’t a hallucination. It’s real.”

She’d thought the same thing when they’d first come through. Elain didn’t believe it anymore, though. They’d been gone for three days and some of her panic was beginning to subside into excitement. They were in Rome at the height of its power and living with the current emperor. Elain knew, from having memorized Lucien’s journals, that he would be meeting Helena soon if he hadn’t met her already.

She didn’t need to meddle—she could merely watch, go home, and reconstruct what she knew. If she could just find out what family Helena belonged to, Elain was certain she’d could piece together whatever tragic fate the empress met. 

Like he so often did, Graysen’s face wormed its way into her memories, flooding her with guilt. She needed to get back—where was her urgency? Arina certainly had it, pacing the room like a caged animal. She’d become wilder by the day, viciously spitting curses at the Roman soldiers who’d dragged them to the prison cell, and again when Eris had tried to touch her.

She was afraid in a way Elain simply wasn’t. She ought to be—oh, how Elain knew she should be scared. They were at the mercy of a time period that valued women even less than the one she’d just left, under the care of a man who didn’t know them at all. They had no one to vouch for them, no refuge in which they could seek shelter in. No one to advocate on their behalf. If they angered the Emperor, he could have them exiled or worse.

And yet…Elain simply wasn’t worried about any of it. She believed they’d be fine, that Lucien would continue to be hospitable, and they’d make their way back no worse than they’d come through. If she was honest with herself, Elain felt a small measure of relief. She didn’t have to make a decision about her own life so long as she was here.

Sure, Graysen would move on eventually, but Elain didn’t intend to be gone for years. Maybe just a month—long enough to have one last, grand adventure. Maybe living in Rome would put some things into perspective for her, besides. Help her make a decision on her own life and relationship.

What did it say about her that she didn’t miss him?

Nothing good.

“Bath?”

Arina threw her hands up in the air with exasperation. “You’re not taking our situation seriously.”

“I am. I’m just realistic. We can’t go anywhere and I don’t want to sit in a bedroom all day. Don’t you want to see how they lived?”

“No.”

“Liar.”

“The pipes here are made of lead, Elain. Lead. You’ll be drinking lead tainted water—”

“We’ve been drinking it for the last three days and I feel fine,” she replied, though it did worry her a little. “And we can drink more wine than water, if you’re really that concerned.”

“You want to bathe in lead tainted water?” Arina demanded.

Elain whirled on her friend, her frustration mounting. “There is no deodorant here and I smell like shit from two days of traveling and a night spent in an ancient prison. The water could have sharks in it and I’d still risk it.”

“You’re gonna dress up like a proper Roman lady?”

“Yes, because the alternative is letting them think we don’t belong, grow suspicious of us, and do something horrible. We need to play along, Arina…and we need to stop biting Consuls.”

“I hate him,” she snapped, crossing her arms over her chest.

Elain only shrugged, beckoning for her friend to follow her out of the bedchamber. The hall was brightly lit from both hanging lamps and nearby arched windows that allowed light and air to pour inside in equal measure. It was here that Arina seemed to relax a little, running her finger tips over the gold encrusted walls with awe. 

“Look at this,” Arina breathed, pausing beside a Corinthian style column. “To see it…just…wow.”

The pair touched the marble on the column, craning their necks to look up at the ornate estatis just at the top. The whole thing was pure decoration and though Elain knew it had been built a good several decades earlier, the marble was pristine and vibrant. 

“This is real,” Arina breathed.

Elain couldn’t help her smile.

This was real. 

LUCIEN: 

Lucien was having a difficult time focusing. He ought to be listening to important business of the empire…and yet his eyes kept sliding to the open window where Elena was, walking through his garden in a vibrant red stola. No one had done her hair and so she’d left it wild like a child, half hidden beneath a palla pinned into her dark curls. Lucien was so curious about why she wore it—he had it on good authority she wasn’t married. Was she widowed? 

Did she not know the custom? He was woefully uneducated about life in Brittana, perhaps all women wore the palla. Maybe she was worried about her modesty like a good Roman woman ought to be? The only way to know was to ask and Lucien couldn’t ask without revealing to the men around him that he’d rather spend his time talking to a woman rather than dealing with important matters.

But he did want that. He wanted to try and piece together her rather charming accent…and if Lucien was honest, he wanted to touch her. Wanted to touch the coils of curls blowing in the breeze, wanted to run a knuckle over her unblemished cheek just to see if her skin was as soft as it looked.

He wanted to do other things, too—things that were wholly inappropriate if he was to find a suitable husband for her and get her out of his home. And then he’d spend the rest of his life wondering what it was like to have a woman like that in his bed, until he inevitably took her as his mistress, pissing off whatever man he’d arranged for her in the first place.

Problems for future Lucien, certainly.

Turning his attention back to the room, Lucien’s eyes slid to the map laid out before him. He wanted to invade Germania and succeed where so many before him had failed. Taking that northern territory would allow him to hunt down the saxon’s that plagued his coastlines, too, and take back the treasure they’d been plundering. 

There were a few routes they could take in, but crossing the Rhine was Lucien’s preference. He’d been there during the first campaign and had assisted in building the bridge they’d used to cross—it had terrified the Germanic barbarians to see the might of Rome, sending them scattering further into the interior.

Lucien could build roads and bridges all he liked—getting through the forests was what plagued them. They didn’t have the tactical advantage and Lucien refused to go if defeat was the only path forward. If he was going to lose men, it was going to be in service of victory.

Agreeing to reconvene over wine that night, Lucien sent his advisors away for the time being, intending to meet with a few generals—and Jurian, who would lead his campaign—later that week. Just in time for the games to begin and spread the right amount of propagare that would convince the people of his authority.

Above all else, Lucien needed the backing of the people of Rome just as much as he needed the army. He was drowning in tasks, which didn’t explain why Lucien began his descent into the gardens the mere second he was alone. It was shameful to be so curious about a woman, especially one his brother had accused of being a whore and yet…Lucien’s father had always been especially taken with his mother. There had been no infidelity on his fathers end unless you counted the time he’d been sleeping with Amera while she’d been married to Beron.

Beron had divorced his wife for political reasons and Helion had merely swooped in and married her quickly and quietly before anyone could truly object. And then, when Beron was made Emperor, Helion took off for the outer provinces…just to be safe. It hadn’t been until Lucien had been a man and called back to the city that Helion dared to return, too.

Lucien just needed to know if another man had a claim to her. That was all—it was practical, he swore, adjusting his toga so the purple was especially vibrant in the afternoon sun. He knew he ought to cut his long, auburn hair to conform with the more fashionable short styles and yet…Lucien had left it long because he liked it. It had started on the battlefield, curling around his neck before the length straightened it all out. It had been a joke among the legion he was in—they always knew where Lucien was because of his lovely, effeminate hair. 

What had begun as a joke had somehow transcended Roman norms and though some of the older patrician’s threw him a dirty look now and again, the rest of them didn’t seem terribly bothered so long as Lucien kept it neat and pulled out of his face. No braids or beads like the barbarian’s wore, no adornments of any kind. When he worked, he often tied it off his neck in a bun to give the illusion of short hair.

At least it wasn’t a beard, he reasoned. 

He found Elain among the olive trees, one hand outstretched to touch one of the leaves. Lucien cleared his throat, hands clasped behind his back.

“Where is your friend?”

She turned abruptly, eyes wide. “She ah…” Elain bit her bottom lip. “She found the library.”

Lucien nodded. “Do you like to read?”

She shrugged. “I prefer being outdoors.”

“Do you spend much time outdoors?” he asked, noting the freckles dotting her nose. She must and yet her skin didn’t betray any of it. Most women preferred to stay indoors, far from the sun's vicious kiss that too often left their skin lined and leather-worn. 

“Do you?” she replied, looking up at him through thick, dark lashes.

Lucien offered her a lopsided grin. “Of course. Especially when I have diverting company. Walk with me?”

“Only if you agree to answer all my questions.”

Something warm spread through Lucien. As he’d risen through the ranks, women had begun treating him differently—respectfully. In his mind, he was always thinking of Jesminda and how he’d been just another nobleman’s son and no one special at all. She’d teased him, taunted him—had wanted him without any of the fake modesty he loathed. Lucien had been fortunate to marry for love, once, and having had a taste of true marital bliss, he didn’t want the Roman arrangement his peers often found themselves embroiled in. Jurian was all but married to a woman he barely knew. It was a good prospect for him, if for no other reason than it increased his social standing and available wealth. Lucien didn’t need to worry about any of that anymore, though he would be a fool if he thought he could snub the fellow patrician families and choose just anyone.

Including the beautiful woman standing beside him. She was Roman and yet he knew she had no connection to anyone of importance in the city. He might as well declare himself in love with a barbarian princess and be done with it.

And he wasn’t. In love with her, that is. He was merely fascinated by her mouth and the way her curls caught the sun, making them seem almost golden in the right light. And Lucien had to admit he liked the sound of her voice and the rolling way she spoke.

“I’ll answer anything you ask of me,” Lucien agreed, offering her his bare arm rather selfishly. He just needed to know if her skin was as soft as it looked. She beamed up at him, the prettiest thing he’d ever seen in his entire life, and accepted. Her fingers were warm, gliding over his bare bicep without a care in the world. What would she look like adorned in gold, he wondered?

“How are you enjoying yourself?” he asked before she could get one of her own questions out. He didn’t need to answer anything if he did all the talking. 

She considered his question and only after her silence stretched did Lucien consider that she did not speak Latin as well as he thought. He gave her space, walking her over a careful, stone laid path around the olive grove.

“Your hospitality has been generous,” she began carefully, fingers fidgeting in the pleats of her dress. “I’m sure Arina and I would be fine living somewhere on our own—”

“Who will protect you?” Lucien demanded, getting close to the question he was most interested in. “Two unmarried women shouldn’t be alone in the city.”

She nodded, not disputing his words.

Lucien pounced. “You’re not married?”

She glanced up at him, eyes narrowing. “No, I’m not married.”

“Why?”

She took a breath. “I have a fiance—”

“A what?”

She murmured something under breath in a language he didn’t understand. I forgot french hasn’t been invented yet. He didn’t like that Britanic language—it was too harsh, too angry to be coming out of such lovely lips.

“I am…sponsalia?” 

Lucien blanched. “To who?”

“He lives far from here.”

“And he let you leave unaccompanied?” Lucien demanded, thinking if he met this man, he’d kill him for his cowardice. What kind of man sent his future wife on the road alone where any number of horrible things could happen to her? No, that man was no man at all. Elain had been overtaken on the road and had she not found his home, who knew what might have happened to her?

Lucien didn’t want to think about it. 

“He trusts me,” she said foolishly. What did trust have to do with reality, he wondered?

“And look at how well that worked for you both,” Lucien replied, unable to keep the bite from his words. “You were set upon by bandits and then imprisoned for being a spy. If my brother had his way, you’d be working with the local prostitutes and your fiance would be disgraced to have ever been attached to you.”

Her cheeks reddened, not with shame like he expected, but anger. “Don’t do me any favors, Caesar.”

Why did he like it, he wondered? And yet… “Do you consider this a favor, Elena?”

“I did.”

“And now?”

She kicked a clod of dirt with her foot. “I feel like an imposition.”

“Disavow him,” Lucien commanded, halting in his tracks to look at her. “Say he means nothing to you.”

“I…”

“Disavow him and I will put the backing of Rome behind you,” he swore, wishing he had his sword to swear upon. 

“I can’t—”

“You will.”

It was wrong, perhaps, to force her into ending whatever marriage she’d been entered into. The bond clearly wasn’t strong if he was willing to risk his future wife. Perhaps he hoped something would happen to her. The thought angered Lucien.

“Please don’t,” she whispered, but Lucien’s mind was made up and he would not be denied. 

“Then call him to Rome to answer for his treatment,” Lucien ordered, certain she would not do that. Elain rounded on him, hands on her hips and he wondered with delight if she would deny him.

“So you can slaughter him?”

“You wound me. I believe in the rule of law—”

“What law did he break?” she demanded and oh. She had him there. Technically the man had done nothing other than offend Lucien. Wasn’t that enough? He was Emperor, why should he be offended by some man from Britannia that didn’t value his soon-to-be wife? 

“You broke laws,” Lucien reminded her, scrambling for anything that would give him validity. “Your father is responsible—”

“My father is dead,” she said, some of the fire in her eyes extinguished.

“Then your brother or uncle—”

“I have none.”

Lucien offered her a smile so saccharine it tasted sweet on his tongue. “Which leaves your soon-to-be husband to answer for your crimes. Call him or disavow him.”

Elain looked up at him, arms crossed over her chest. “And if I disavow him, what then?”

Lucien’s grin widened. “I would be delighted to accept responsibility for you and find a suitable husband.”

“A terrifying prospect,” she grumbled. Lucien was half decided on who he’d marry her to—no one he knew was good enough for her. Was he? He wanted to find out. The more she spoke, the longer he breathed the same air, only made him want her more. “Fine. I disavow him. He means nothing to me, I owe him nothing.”

“Would he mourn your death?” Lucien asked curiously, tilting his head to the side. She blinked, eyes strangely glassy.

“I don’t know,” she finally said as her tongue darted out to wet her lips. Lucien’s body went taut for a moment, eyes tracking the way she moved. He felt like a predator back on the killing fields, sword in hand even as he prepared to have his life ended. She could end him, too—not with a weapon but her words, a look, a touch. If she would not marry him, Lucien would take her in any way he could get her. He would deny he’d touched her if that's what she asked, would keep her as an ornament in his home and raise their illegitimate children. She had no father, no brother, no husband. No man who could deny him, though Lucien could not have been denied even if she did. 

Reaching for her chin, Lucien forced Elain to look at him. Elena, he thought with pleasure. She’d need a more Romanized name to be accepted by the people. Would she like Helena, he wondered? He was getting ahead of himself and yet Lucien felt settled.

Pleased, too.

Holding her gaze, he said, “I would mourn you.”

“You don’t even know me,” she replied, drawing a soft, shaking breath.

Lucien shook his head. “I feel the opposite. I feel as if I’ve known you my whole life.” Like he’d been waiting for her. Guilt slithered through him, hot and oily as he remembered Jesminda. He’d once said the same thing about her. Was he the kind of man who could forget love so quickly? Lucien couldn’t help his foolish heart. Looking at the woman beside him, far paler than she’d been when they’d first begun talking, he knew he had his work cut out for him.

He could demand her hand—could assert himself as the sole authority over her and then demand she wed him. And Lucien could imagine just how well that would go. He’d have her in his bed, but she wouldn’t be willing, wouldn’t want him. He knew plenty of men with disinterested wives, who submitted out of duty but not desire. Having tasted love with Jesminda, Lucien wanted it again. Wanted it so badly he was willing to toss out tradition, at least until she got to know him better. 

“Come,” he said with an easy smile, “let me show you the fountain. It’s my favorite.”

—

Arina didn’t care what Elain said—they needed to leave. Elain was too struck by the history of it all that she’d forgotten they were living in an ancient human civilization that was so far removed from their own that any number of horrible tragedies might befall them. Elain had, if nothing else, seen the toilet situation.

Holed up in the Emperor’s library, Arina forced herself to sit in a chair that was deeply uncomfortable, a book laid across her lap. On any other day, finding a first edition transcription of Aristotle’s teachings would have been a dream—she could touch it. Now, though, Arina couldn’t even enjoy herself. 

In truth, she was terrified. Obvious problems aside, they had no way to get back, no way to escape. There were far worse things between Rome and the estate they’d broken into beside just Lucien and his army. But if they could steal a horse, could get some coins…well. Arina figured they could be long gone before anyone in the capital even realized they were missing.

And with some knives—ideally with poisoned blades—they’d be in decent shape. They couldn’t take on a good swordsman, but how many highway robbers were any better than them?

Arina heard the sound of leather on marble, heard the high, bronze doors open and without seeing who came in, she just knew. Eris. He was the blueprint for all modern Italian men—arrogant, certain of his own greatness, and desperate for a woman to subjugate. Just like her father, she thought darkly. He strolled in, dressed like the immaculate senator he was. Did he know that Arina knew everything about him? The would-be Emperor, ousted by his own father who knew ahead of time, had planned to kill his son. He hadn’t suspected Eris had conspirators, but he had destroyed every soldier who might have taken the city for Rome and alerted Helion who then moved quickly to ensure his own son took the city before it could fall into the hands of some hated rival. 

Eris survived—thrived, even. He lived just as long as his brother, had a whole host of children with a foreign born woman known only to history as Agripina, and seemed generally happy in his later writings. Arina had never cared much for this period of time outside of the art, the sculptures, the architecture. Now, though?

Well, Arina would be an expert at this rate. 

Eris made his way into the large atrium, amber eyes finding hers. His impassive expression shifted into a frown, his disdain plain. 

“Who taught you how to read?”

Arina cocked her head and smoothed her blue stola beneath her hands. “Are you looking for lessons?”

She really shouldn’t test him—knew that he could make her life exceptionally difficult. And yet it was fun to see his gaze sharpen and his spine straighten as he recognized the challenge. 

Striding toward her, Eris plucked the book from her fingers to examine the writings. “What do you know of Aristotle?” Arina wanted to laugh in his face. More than he did, she’d wager. “Enough.”

He handed the book back, closing the leather bound cover carefully before doing so. It was tempting to tell him that his own wife would be so literate that in his final years, she was the one who wrote down his every thought. 

“You’re excused,” Eris informed her dismissively, turning toward the arching windows overlooking the garden. He made his way toward them, hands folded behind his back, to do the same thing Arina had been doing—spying on Elain and the Emperor. 

Elain was so beautiful that every man who saw her fell a little in love with her. It wasn’t unusual for men to stop Elain on the street spouting sonnets about her beauty or begging for just ten minutes of her time. If Elain wasn’t careful, he’d be demanding she marry him before the week was out and they’d be in real trouble. 

Arina rose to her feet, unwilling to argue with Eris. She couldn’t argue with him as far as she remembered. His word was law even in this place, and even over her. 

“Che cazzo,” she hissed under her breath, well aware Eris had no hope of deciphering the actual meaning of her words. Italian wasn’t a language anyone spoke yet. Eris’s head whipped around all the same, eyes narrowed to slits.

“What barbarian tribe are you actually from?” he asked, crossing his arms over a broad chest.

Adopting her most brain dead smile, Arina said, “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

“That language…” he wrinkled his nose with disdain. “Is lingua latina not spoken even as far North as Britannia?”

Arina couldn’t help her laugh. If only he knew. “But of course.”

“Tell me.”

“Why? So you can accuse me of any number of untrue things?”

Eris took a soft breath, nostrils flaring. “If I swear not to accuse you?”

“I would still lie,” Arina replied with that same saccharine smile. “Surely you understand the importance of speaking multiple languages? Or can you not speak Greek?”

“I don’t speak any of the barbarian languages—”

“Yet,” she interrupted, holding his gaze. “But who knows? Maybe in five years you’ll need someone who can.”

“What were you really doing in my brother's home?”

Arina’s eyes slid over his shoulders, toward the dots that were Elain and Lucien standing before a marble carved fountain. Studying it. She so badly wanted to tell him the truth—to tell someone all of her fears, of the nightmare she currently found herself in. She couldn’t. Arina pressed her lips shut, eyes returning to the man standing before her.

“I’m going to find out,” he warned her softly. “I’m a terrible enemy to have.”

She only shrugged, heart thudding roughly in her chest. “I’ve already told you everything. I’ll leave you to your thoughts.”

She was nearly at the door when he called out, “‘Che cazzo.’ What does it mean?”

His Italian wasn’t awful—certainly less offensive than when Graysen had bid her a good day in the choppiest drawl she’d ever heard in her life. Arina knew better than to tell him the truth, and yet…

“Capitium,” she said, using the Latin for little head as Eris’s expression darkened. Dick. She could call a man a dick in every language. 

Pleased with herself, Arina attempted to flounce from the room, satisfied she’d at least cut Eris down to size. It didn’t solve any of her problems but it did make her feel better.

She was nearly to the hall when strong fingers wrapped around her bare arm, pulling her back flush against his chest.

Lowering his mouth to her ear, Eris murmured, “The next time you reference my cock, I’ll assume you’re asking to see it.”

“You disgust me,” she whispered without thinking.

He only chuckled, low and soft. He smelled nice, a mix of spices she didn’t immediately recognize. Shouldn’t all men reek of body odor? This one, especially, ought to smell like sewage given how handsome his face was. 

“I’ll bet you’d say that on your knees.”

Arina elbowed him roughly in the ribs, certain he would do nothing but let her go. There was the faintest echo of outrage etched on his features, but more horrifyingly, she found something that read like a challenge gazing back at her. That was dangerous, especially in a place where men could do whatever they liked to women under their protection. 

Forcing herself to smile, Arina wrenched from his grasp to look up at the tall warrior gazing back at her. “If you put your cock in my face, you’ll regret it.”

“Such a filthy mouth,” Eris all but crooned, undeterred by the threat. “I look forward to using—”

She knew better. Oh, Arina knew better even back home, than to slap a man. It was dangerous back home where men were prone to violence when provoked—and literally anything might provoke them.

It was worse, here. He already thought her a barbarian, knew she had no male relative to watch over her, and just barely tolerated her. The two of them stood there, chests heaving as a patch of red bloomed across his cheek. Arina’s palm stung from the force of the blow, hidden behind her back as if she could take it all back.

Bracing herself for his fury, Arina steeled her spine even as she flinched back. Eris watched, head slightly cocked, his own hand rising not to strike her back, but to touch his face. Arina wasn’t going to apologize—he had no right to speak to her that way.

And still, she was scared. 

Eris exhaled through his nostrils. “Watch yourself,” he warned her, lifting his chin as though that might salve his wounded pride, “or I’ll put you in the military since you want to fight.”

Arina exhaled the breath she’d been holding. “I—” I’m sorry. “Of course.”

Eris gestured for her to leave, turning his head and Arina, not willing to stick around and test his good will, tripped over the skirt of her dress in her haste. At the end of the hall, she turned to look over her shoulder, surprised to find him still standing in the archway.

Watching.

Drawn by @velidewrites | Consider tipping the artist HERE

Today's coloring page follows the theme Alternate Universe! How do you like the Star Wars theme?

Make sure you tag us if you color the page!

Elucien Week Begins Tomorrow!!!!! 🌸🦊

@elucienweekofficial: Golden

I'm really excited to share this absolutely gorgeous piece of Elain and Lucien!

I can't wait to get their story in one of the future books! Sarah J Maas herself said that, "Elain was the kind of person both Lucien and I didn't see coming- and without getting too spoilery, there was actually a great deal of tension, growth, and healing to be found for both of them (together)."

I think Elain and Lucien will truly thrive together and bring out the best in each other.

This beyond beautiful art was done by @/zirael_art. Thank you so much for creating this lovely artwork and for being so kind!

Commissioned by @amandapearls and @foreverinelysian and myself!

DO NOT REPOST

LOOK I JUST FINISHED THE FIRST THREE CHAPTERS AND I LOVE IT.

Also, PROPS to @separatist-apologist for capturing the feeling I get on digs, and how you don’t want to leave even if it’s hot and you have no cell service for a month or have to camp with no running water and drive into town an hour away to shower every four days

(Also, as an archaeologist and someone who studied Latin for soooo many years, you’re doing SO well and I am LIVING for it. I am not surprised, but I love you for it).

Long Live

Summary: All archeologist Elain Archeron wants is answers about the past.

Fate is determined to give them to her

MASSIVE thank you @abbadinfluence for having the idea AND allowing me to write - I've had the time of my life, this has been so fun.

And @octobers-veryown for being my personal Rome/Italy consultant- thank you for your knowledge, your time, and most importantly, catching when I used a particularly offensive and/or wrong swear word

For @elucienweekofficial | Read on AO3 | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2

They weren’t invited to the celebration held that night, which disappointed Elain. She knew from the journals she’d read that Lucien spent the majority of his evening thinking about the would-be Empress, who was housed somewhere on the estate. After the walk around the garden, she’d been a little panicked that she’d ruined everything. She was here, though—and Elain merely had to hang back and let the Emperor do his thing.

Arina was back to pacing again, cradling her hand against her chest as though she’d injured it. While Elain felt some measure of calm, Arina seemed more panicked than before. “You’re not taking this seriously,” she complained, unwinding her hair from the pins Elain had used earlier that day. 

“I am,” Elain protested with a nagging feeling of fear. “What do you want me to do? Rob the Emperor?”

“Yes,” Arina hissed, rounding on Elain so quickly Elain nearly toppled to the bed. She, too, was undressing for the evening, preparing to sleep. “Bat your eyes at him and beg him for coins and a horse.”

Elain scowled. “We’ll mess up the future if I start flirting with him.”

“Who cares about the future?” Arina demanded, back to pacing. “I’ll rip off a thousand butterfly wings if it convinces you to do anything besides trail after—”

“Stop it,” Elain whispered, wrapping her arms around her body. “I’m not racing out of here without a plan. If you want to, no one is stopping you. Go bat your eyes at the Emperor for a horse and some coins. Or better yet—”

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence,” Arina hissed, cheeks burning with color. “I don’t want to get trapped here.”

Assuming they weren’t already. Just because they’d somehow come through didn’t mean they’d easily make their way back. That scared Elain enough into not wanting to try at all—at least she couldn’t be disappointed. Giving voice to her own secret fears, she whispered, “Do you think Gray is worried?”

Arina nodded solemnly. “People are probably looking for us.”

“Let’s bide our time—let them think we’re no threat. They’ll forget us soon enough. You know what’s coming…right?”

“We don’t study history the same way,” Arina reminded Elain, plopping beside her on the mattress. 

“A fire,” she reminded Arina, glancing toward the window. “And an attempted coup. They’ll be so focused on keeping their lives and the city safe that they’ll forget us. We can slip away in the ensuing chaos.”

Arina took a breath. “Okay. As long as we have a plan.”

“We can ask the Emperor for money tomorrow. Tell him we need clothes and hope he’ll put it directly in our hands.”

“And when we don’t buy clothes?” Arina questioned. Elain wasn’t sure about that. Shaking her head with a sigh, she only shrugged. Elain didn’t know. 

“We’ll figure it out.”

There was time—about a month of it, assuming she had the date right. Elain was terrified to ask Lucien where they were in the Julian calendar and betray herself as any stranger than she already was. 

“And the stables. And…how to ride a horse,” Arina murmured, ticking off an invisible checklist in her mind. 

“I’m sure one of the gentleman here would oblige—”

“Don’t give them ideas,” Arina ordered, rounding on Elain again. “It must have occurred to them that we don't have a father or brother to supervise us. How long before…”

“Lucien won’t allow it.”

“No, because he’s too busy trying to figure out how to get you into his bed.”

Disavow him. 

Elain shook the thought from her mind. “He’s with his wife tonight,” she reminded Arina, who had no clue how the Emperor spent their time. This was Elain’s passion—bordering on obsession. Helena was here and if Lucien could be trusted, he’d seek her out once the wine wore off before going back to bed to document the moment he knew he had to marry her. In the morning, Elain would be nothing more than a troublesome ward Lucien wanted to be rid of.

“Sure,” Arina replied, making her way toward the door. “Keep this locked.”

And that was that. Arina sauntered across the hall, the lock to her own bedchamber clicking loudly once the bronze was latched in place. Elain took Arina’s advice, well aware that there was little protection afforded to her here, and she lacked even the most fundamental rights she’d grown accustomed to back home. 

Pajamas were simply the night tunic she’d worn beneath her clothes—a simple white shift, truly, that would have been see-through in the sunlight. Here, in the near dark, though, Elain’s modesty was protected. As if that were an issue, truly. She’d been sleeping with Graysen for years, her chastity was a distance dream left back in the states. It had been such a trivial thing to her, a construct easily shed when the right man came along.

And still, she didn’t want to advertise that fact and make people think she was available to anyone with a passing fancy. 

Elain crawled into bed, oil lamps still burning, and realized she was bored. She was so used to scrolling her phone at night, staring aimlessly into the void that now she didn’t know what to do with herself. How did people fall asleep without something to look at? Elain turned on her side, wondering how the party was going. Would they stay up all night? She’d wanted to be invited and had been, at the same time, relieved she hadn’t been. Elain didn’t think she could fool a room full of people who’d been born and raised in this time period.

She couldn’t sleep, though. She was too warm, too awake, too anxious. Kicking the blanket off her body, Elain made her way to the balcony overlooking the gardens. Fate, too, stood beside her, watching as she braced her elbows against the marble. Lucien made his way outdoors, sighing softly as he ran a broad hand over his long hair. In every marble bust she’d ever seen of him, his hair was shorn short—she rather liked his non-conformist ways. Elain couldn’t help but watch, mind racing. She remembered this moment from his journals, had read it a million times throughout undergrad. It had become an obsession, wishing she could feel even an iota of what he described in that moment.

Lucien would turn, locking eyes with his future wife and as they looked at one another from across the garden, he wrote that all doubt melted away, leaving him with a feeling of pure certainty. It could only be her—no one else. At least she’d get to see it in real time. Lucien paused just outside the marble pillars, head tilted toward the starry sky overhead. Somewhere just behind him, she heard a man’s voice call his name.

Lucien began to turn, halting when his gaze snagged on her. He was too far for her to truly read his facial expression which was half relief. Elain’s heart picked up in her chest, beating frantically as she stood there, watching her just as surely as she watched him. 

The insistent voice called for him again, drawing his attention back toward the cheerful flame of the interior of the palace. Only when Lucien’s back faced her did she exhale the breath she’d been holding. With Lucien gone, Elain could stay as she was, leaned against the marble.

The world felt different to her. Newer, somehow. Like a planet she’d never visited, a foreign world with foreign customs and people who looked like her but shared almost nothing in common with her. 

Elain knew she ought to go to bed rather than stand there and reflect. Turning, Elain might have gone, too, had she not heard a grunt of air followed by fingers gripping the railing and then an all-too familiar face.

“This is hardly dignified,” she said dryly and Lucien hoisted himself up onto the balcony, clearly pleased with himself.

“I have no dignity to speak of when I stand in your presence,” he said through a huff of labored air. 

“You smell like wine,” she complained as he righted himself, absurdly handsome in the moonlight. “Are you inebriated?”

He offered her an easy grin. “A little.”

“Go to bed.”

“Is that an invitation?” he questioned, stepping around her with more grace than a drunk man ought to have. Elain trailed behind, hands bunched at her sides as Lucien’s gaze swept over her room. They landed, predictably, on her mussed bed. “Can’t sleep?”

“Don’t you dare say whatever it is you’re thinking,” she warned, hating the creeping flush making its way up the back of her neck. 

Lucien glanced over at her. “I wouldn’t dare.”

She was certain he would, though, if he thought he could get away with it. Instead, Lucien plopped onto the bed she’d recently vacated, stretching his long, muscular body across the sheets. Elain remained on her feet, more nervous than she’d ever been in her life. Even when Graysen had pressed her for sex, agreeing to turn off the lights and that she could keep her shirt on, if she wanted. Unlike Graysen, Lucien was the sort of man lost to history. He exuded something far beyond confidence—some word Elain didn’t know in any language, couldn’t describe but could certainly feel. Pinned beneath his gaze, she thought if he told her to strip herself naked so he could merely look, she’d have done it.

“The man you were bound to. How did that come about?” Lucien asked, plucking at some invisible piece of dust from the bed. 

“Are you asking me about courtship?” she asked, genuinely confused.

 Lucien’s eyes brightened. “Courtship,” he repeated, the word strange in his voice. “Yes. Explain it to me.”

“It’s not much different from what you have here,” she lied, because dating seemed impossible to explain. “We met and he…brought me gifts? Took me places?”

“And your father? He arranged the match?”

God, no. Elain tried to imagine her father arranging husbands for her, Nesta, and Elain. “He’s dead, remember?”

Lucien’s face blanched. “My apologies. Who arranged it?”

“I did.”

There was another long pause. “You?”

There was no missing her indignation. Lucien threw up his palms as she crossed her arms over her chest, frustrated that she couldn’t just explain the customs and culture of her own time period. He didn’t understand, had grown up in a vastly different world where women were little more than cattle. He might value her—might care about her opinion—but he’d never fully grasp the idea that Elain made every decision for herself, male relative be damned. 

“Yes, me,” she hissed. 

“Of course,” Lucien agreed, clearly deciding this was not a fight he wanted to pick. Illuminated in the golden glow of the dying lamps, he pressed on. “This courtship…how long did it take?”

“Eight years,” Elain said with a relish, delighting in Lucien’s confusion. He was clearly trying to do some math in his mind to figure out her age, as well as his own internal misunderstanding. 

“So you don’t love him.”

“I—”

 Elain stopped, the words caught in her throat. A triumphant smile slid over Lucien’s features as he sat up fully again so he could cross the room to see her. She knew what she’d been about to say.

I don’t.

It was the second thought, pushed right behind instinct, that screamed yes you do! You do love him! She didn’t have to lie, here. Elain didn’t have to pretend, here in the ancient world, that she wanted the future Graysen was offering. Maybe she had, once—but not anymore.

It was strangely freeing to admit it to herself. As Lucien approached, Elain only barely paid him any attention, her own internal triumph far more interesting. Whispering, she said, “I don’t love him,” to herself. As if it would matter in this place where love was a nice thing to find, but unnecessary to marriage itself. 

Elain’s gaze snapped upward as Lucien reached for a strand of her hair. Lifting it to his nose, the Emperor himself inhaled the scent, eyes burning. Oh, she thought, heart racing again. Oh no. 

“Alis propriis volat,” he murmured, unaware of how her stomach flipped violently at the words. “Is that what you want, Helena? Jewels? Lovely things?”

“I—” Elain couldn’t move, tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. What did he say? “What did you call me?”

Lucien dropped the strand of her hair, adjusted the shoulder of his toga, and turned for the door. “Helena,” he repeated without a look backward. “The people will demand a Roman, and so I’ve made you one.”

“You…”

“Rest,” he ordered, unlocking her door. “We’ll see more of each other in the morning. Let me show you how a Roman does courtship.”

And then he was gone, leaving Elain in the encroaching dark with only one word echoing through her mind.

Helena.

Fuck.

—-

I saw her eyes, bright as stars—the only bright thing amid the dark and I knew. 

Lucien was in a good mood. He’d seen Elain in a nightdress, which had been enough to fuel several lurid fantasies he’d tell her about once she was in his bed. Afterward, once he was spent and his skin cleaned of sweat and smoke, he slept better than he had in years. Certainly since he’d been named Emperor. It felt like at least one thing might work out for him amid the chaos that was the rest of his life. 

She wanted a courtship before she decided? Lucien wasn’t opposed, though it wasn’t common among [upper class what are they called??]. She’d betrayed herself in that moment as a plebian and Lucien simply did not care. He’d invent an entire lineage for her so he could make her his wife and he’d do it with a smile on his face. 

A nervous servant came stumbling into his office holding a wooden box of the item Lucien had ordered. Hairpins, encrusted with pearls, lay in the purple cushioned interior. He could picture them nestled among the wild, dark curls, shimmering iridescent in the bright sunlight. There were other pieces he was dreaming up, but those would take longer and he wanted to give her something that morning.

It wasn’t Elain who joined him for breakfast, but his older brother. Eris came in looking immaculate and yet exhausted at the same time. “Up late, brother?” Lucien asked as he rose from the chaise he’d been lounging on. 

“What is your plan for the barbarians?” Eris demanded. “I have compiled a list of every man in Britania who has not taken a wife. It was my thought—”

“They’ll remain in Rome,” Lucien interrupted, hackles raised. “I have thought about the blonde…Agrippina?”

“Arina,” Eris practically snarled. “What about her?”

“Sulla…what is he calling himself? Hibernicus imperator?”

Eris snorted. “He’s a friend to no one but the banks, let alone Hibernia.”

“He mentioned last evening he was looking for a wife…and like so many, finds himself entranced by the shade of her hair.”

Lucien was watching his brother carefully while pretending none of this was terribly interesting to him at all. Eris had nearly been married once—the woman in question had run off with another man before the ink could ever be placed to parchment and Eris had seemed relieved by the entire thing. Lucien was resolved to stay out of his brother's affairs…but something was going on.

Maybe he, too, was fascinated by Arina’s shade of blonde hair. 

There was a violence to Eris’s expression that Lucien found fascinating, though he remained as he was. “Are we agreed?” Lucien asked, drumming his fingers against his desk. He knew they weren’t—knew that Eris was going to wreck this somehow, someway. It interested him to watch, given how controlled Eris typically was. 

“Fine,” Eris said dismissively, just as Lucien hoped he might. Nothing would entertain him more than watching what Eris might do next. Lucien had no intention of extending a sincere offer to Hybern, who was supposed to be courting a different bride, besides. 

“Tell me about the provinces,” he said as more of his advisors began trickling in, holding rolled pieces of parchment that held the figures of the empire. As Lucien ticked slots on his own sheet of parchment, he let out a small sigh of relief. Things could  be worse.

They could be better, of course—they always could be—but he had money to pay his soldiers, to repair crucial infrastructure and most importantly, to host his games without worrying it would empty his coffers. Lucien intended to ensure everyone was able to eat something, which would engender the good will of all his people. To a Roman like Lucien, ensuring his military was happy came above all else, but right beneath and nearly as important was the love of his people. If they turned on him, no amount of military control would save him.

One only had to look at how thoroughly Nero had been buried to know that. Too many vanity projects had been the downfall of Nero—Lucien would need to be more careful and ensure his legacy was more than just gold plated halls and fucking his way through the patricians. 

Which, of course, turned his thoughts back to Elain. There was something about her—something that felt more akin to magic, that seemed strange and exciting all at once. It was more than just her ethereal beauty, though Lucien wouldn’t pretend he wasn’t drawn to her for that, either. When she looked at him, he swore she saw through him, those brown eyes cutting through flesh to find the bone. 

What did she know about him, he wondered? What had she discerned since she’d arrived? Lucien wanted to rise from his chair and find her, but business needed to come before women. If his father had learned that lesson, perhaps he would have been Emperor rather than Beron. 

There was talk of the provinces and letters read from the presiding governors who both swore their allegiance to Lucien while offering slimy congratulations and informed him of the politics happening within their borders.

There had been little raiding, which was always a blessing from the gods. Lucien didn’t want to find his first month plagued by barbarians looking for weakness or ship off his soldiers before they got to participate in his circus. 

Clapping his hands together as the sun rose higher in the sky, Lucien offered everyone sweating in that overheated room a smile. “Enough talk,” he said, rising from his chair to stretch out his aching, stiff legs. “At least of business. Tell me about my games.” Smiles split the faces of the once severe politicians, patricians, and generals. Everyone liked a good celebration—or any excuse to get a little too drunk. 

“Emperor,” Hybern stood, dark eyes gleaming with what Lucien wanted to believe was mischief, but was likely something dark, “I had the most inspiring idea.”

Lucien wasn’t unwilling. “Tell me.”

Tracking Elain down was harder than Lucien anticipated. It was a particularly hot day, leaving sweat to slide down his spine. He knew he ought to cut his hair, if only to get it off the nape of his neck. Make himself a proper Roman. The idea, typically revolting, suddenly had merit as he stepped into the steaming heat. All he wanted to do was see her and talk to her. 

And of course she was nowhere in the palace. Lucien accosted several servants before he learned she and Arina had been asking about the stables before they’d been pointed toward the city. If he told his brother, Lucien knew Eris would immediately assume the worst. In truth, he was a little uneasy about the queries. 

Where did they want to go? Stalking through the city, Lucien’s mind turned over the possibility that Eris was right—that they had nefarious goals and he’d been blinded by Elain’s beauty to truly notice. He knew some barbarian societies utilized women as warriors and leaders…did they also utilize them as spies?

Surely.

Lucien was so wrapped up in his thoughts that he didn’t realize he was practically on top of Elain until he half tripped into her. She stood in front of a stall, arms crossed over her chest as her friend, Arina, argued in loud Latin with the vendor. 

“Two denarii is absolute theft. You can take—”

The vendor, catching sight of Lucien standing behind them, immediately averted his gaze and bowed his head, which caused Elain to turn first. Her cheeks, warmed by the hot Roman sun, seemed to pale when she saw him. Arina, however, merely arched her brow before turning on him.

“We’re being cheated by a vendor.”

“I’ll pay,” he said, well aware it was his coins jingling in their pockets anyway. Some of Arina’s fire seemed to extinguish, though Lucien knew she didn’t like that he’d swooped in the way he had. They were dressed like respectable women and oozed money—of course the vendor wasn’t going to negotiate with them. It lended weight to his belief that wherever they truly came from, women held much more power and sway than they did in Rome.

He was curious about all of it. Not suspicious enough, either, which he knew could hurt him. Women had toppled regimes in Rome just as they did everywhere else. It was just…looking at Elain, even as he handed over the denarii, Lucien didn’t believe she’d come here to harm him. Those eyes were too soft, the same color brown as a fawn's coat, her face shaped like a heart, her skin unblemished like polished marble save for the freckles that speckled along the bridge of her nose.

If she was a spy, her people had chosen well. Lucien simply did not want to believe she would betray him. 

The merchant handed over a pale yellow scarf to Arina, who immediately handed it to Elain. Biting her lower lip, Elain told him, “It’s for my hair.”

“Beautiful,” he murmured without meaning to. Then, remembering he’d come to question her, Lucien cleared his throat. “I’ve come to escort you back to the palace.”

“They send emperors for that, now?” Arina asked with a roll of her green eyes. He did believe she was a spy—she could have been a general if she’d been a man. “Lasciaci in pace, porca puttana.”

Lucien’s eyes narrowed. “What was that?”

Elain sighed. “It’s nothing—she’s complaining about the heat.”

Lucien didn’t understand the harsh tones coming from Arina, but he knew an insult when he heard it. It was tempting to demand she tell him the truth and there was no way for Lucien to know for certain. Not without finding a translator, which was notoriously difficult. Most of the people he knew who spoke the local barbarian dialects lived within the provinces they governed rather than the capitol. He’d send an inquiry, he decided. Lucien had a knack for languages.

He led them through the noise and bustle of the city, watching from the corner of his eye as Elain replaced one scarf for another, expertly wrapping it around her hair and neck the way a Roman lady would. 

Once back inside the shade of the courtyard, Arina split off muttering in that language beneath her breath while Elain tried to keep from laughing.

“She’s insulting me, isn’t she?” Lucien asked, rounding on Elain so quickly she nearly stumbled into a fountain of Venus. The image was striking—the goddess of love in her red painted dress, head and hands tipped toward the sky and Elain, who might have been the real-life incarnation of her, sitting on the marble lip with wide eyes. 

“Of course,” Elain replied, wincing as she rose back to her feet. Lucien had offered her a hand which she politely declined, wiping non-existent dirt from her backside. “She doesn’t like men.”

“Oh,” he said. Eris would be devastated, but he supposed it made sense, if not…a little strange to consider. “I—”

“Not—not like that,” Elain said, pinching the bridge of her nose. “She likes men, she just finds them to be very stupid.”

Lucien found her attraction to other women easier to understand. “But…men aren’t stupid.”

Elain blinked up at him, lips pressed in a thin line. “Of course not.”

“All of the greatest minds in the world are men,” he continued, certain she did not believe the words she said. 

“Because they’re allowed to have minds,” Elain snapped, stepping around him with burning cheeks. “While women maintain their homes and raise their children and ensure their every need is met so all they have to do is think and write.”

Lucien trailed after her, heart thudding in his chest. “It is what women enjoy doing.”

It was her turn to round on him, spinning so quickly a couple wild curls escaped the pins beneath her pallas. “Is that what they’ve told you? Or simply your belief?”

“Women cannot handle excitement,” Lucien snapped, frustrated with her. “It’s bad for their constitutions—”

Elain laughed, face tipped upward toward the skies and right then, Lucien truly believed he was in the presence of divinity. She was Venus, fiery and furious as she faced off with him. Who else but a goddess would dare to laugh in the face of an emperor? Lucien’s knees trembled for a moment, palms sweaty, as he wondered how best to show contrition. 

It felt sacreligious to touch her and still he did, grazing his fingertips over her jaw. “Why were you sent to me?”

Her angry laughter faded, eyes widening with fear. “I…” He watched as she swallowed, teeth worrying against her bottom lip. “I don’t know.”

A better man would have promised to help send her back, but Lucien was not a better man. He wasn’t even a good man, because when Elain crept closer, placing her palm against his chest as she asked, “Will you help me get home?”

Lucien nodded his head. “I will.”

And he knew, when he left her in the palace, safe within his walls, what he intended to do. She had no father, no patron—no one to object to the document he drew up. He only required his signature, which he inked to parchment easily.

Lucien intended to keep her on mortal soil.

As his wife.

Arina:

“Congratulations on your impending nuptials.” Arina spun, stola tangling around her legs at the sound of Eris’s voice. She’d heard his words before she registered the angry glint in his eyes. 

“What marriage?” she demanded, fingers skimming over her ribs for a knife that wasn’t there. She’d tied it to her ankle, for all the good it did her at the moment—Eris stalked forward, dragging long shadows in the flickering candle light. Night was nearly upon them and she didn’t want to be seen alone with him. Didn’t want to be seen anywhere. She and Elain were in danger and

Arina knew it—the Emperor looked at Elain as though she were responsible for the very sun in the sky. Arina knew what that meant, knew that unlike back in modern Rome where men looked at Elain that way, too, that Elain had no say if Lucien decided to put her in his bed.

And she had no say if he sold her into a different marriage that separated them. 

“To Hybern,” Eris practically growled, reaching for her. Arina reared back, slapping at his fingers before he could touch her. Eris exhaled, clearly irritated. 

“No one told me about this.”

“Why would they? You are, after all, a simple woman—”

“Vaffanculo!” she hissed, slapping him so hard it made her palm sting. Arina hated Eris so much right then, more when he grabbed both her wrists and, with more force than was probably necessary, shoved her up against the marble wall, hands pinned over her head.

“I’m warning you,” Eris hissed, his breath wine-sweet against her face. “Hybern is a miserable bastard I wouldn’t wish on even a malefica like you.”

Arina struggled against his hold desperately but it was no use. He was battle hardened and strong, the calluses of his fingers scraping over the delicate skin of her wrist. “Why would you help me?”

His eyes glittered and oh, she shouldn’t have asked. He was jealous. He wished he’d been the one who’d been told to marry her, but couldn’t oppose the emperor. Unaware of what she knew—that he did marry and he was happier for it the way so many stupid men were. 

“You’re an ill omen,” he breathed, lowering his face closer, until there was merely a breath between her mouth and his. “You’ll destroy me if you stay.”

That wasn’t true, though there was no point in arguing with him, either. “What makes you think so?”

“I had a dream from the gods before you came,” Eris told her, amber eyes searching her own for some proof he was right. No matter that he’d probably been lost in his cups at the time and half hallucinating. “They warned me about a beautiful woman, they…”

“Help me, then,” Arina urged. “We just want to go home. Give us a horse and we’ll leave and you’ll never see me again.”

Eris looked pained at the thought, his better sense warring with whatever he thought was going to happen between them. Nothing, she wanted to scream. She wasn’t staying in this shithole draped in ivory and gold to play second class to a man when she could do that back home surrounded by antibiotics and air conditioning. 

“Please,” she whispered, snapping Eris back to reality. He seemed to have realized what was happening and the position they were in.

“I’ll leave you two horses,” he murmured. “But if you get caught and brought back, do not look to me for help.”

“I wouldn’t look to you for anything, don’t worry,” she snapped, shoving him back. His words bothered her, for some reason, though Arina didn’t care to contemplate why. Eris’s face twisted with anger and quick as a viper, he reached for her hair to pull her face close to him again, neck inclined so she was looking directly at him.

“I want to hate you,” he said and she knew before their lips touched that he was going to kiss her. Men were painfully predictable, even in ancient history. They never quite graduated beyond pulling pigtails on the playground, unable to just admit they had feelings that made them uncomfortable. 

Just before they touched, Arina had been prepared to knee him roughly between the legs, well aware he wasn’t wearing anything beneath his long, purple embroidered tunic. But then…then. Oh. Arina had expected something gross but Eris’s mouth was soft even when the rough stubble of his cheek scraped against her chin. He smelled nice, like a warm day in Autumn. Even his fingers softened in her hair so his fingers could gently rub at her scalp.

It had been a while since she’d kissed a man, and longer still since that kiss had been interesting. Good. And tragically, for all his talk and stalking around, Eris was a good kisser. He tasted sweet like wine and his skin was sunwarmed despite the late hour.

She should have shoved him backward. Hit him across the face for good measure. Even when he released her wrists, Arina simply brought them to his neck, one hand circling the soft skin while the other moved up the nape of his neck to card through the short, auburn strands. Arina sighed against his mouth, giving him access just behind her teeth. Eris was many things, but he wasn’t a coward. Seizing the opportunity, Eris pushed her harder against the wall so he could press himself against her, letting her feel proof of his tainted want.

The gods had warned him about her. What did that mean? 

She forgot when his tongue swept against her own, eliciting a soft moan from her throat. Eris, too, groaned in pleasure at whatever it was he felt. Did lust streak through his body, too, settling between his legs like an unwelcome and unwanted guest? Arina would have let him drag her to bed—she’d slept with worse men, after all. If Eris had hauled her up into his arms, she would have let him, giving him one good night and a story she could hold on to long after she was back home. 

But Eris pulled back, eyes wild and hair mussed. He must have known they were in dangerous territory. A few seconds more and maybe he would have. “I don’t want to ever see you again,” he said before turning, his words a threat. Arina knew what would happen to her if she failed.

He’d marry her.

Day 4 | high society

they're gossiping about you 🫵 @elucienweekofficial

Instagram ・ AO3 Collection ・ Twitter ・ Event Masterlist

Thank you to everyone who participated in Day 4 of Elucien Week!

We did our best to keep track of all of the tumblr contributions below, but if we missed anyone or made any mistakes please assume best intentions and kindly reach out to one of our mods! 🌸🦊

-

📝Fics, drabbles, and poetry:

Romancing Mister Vanserra by @annaskareninas

Nine by @onlyinmymiiind

Meet Me at Midnight by @starfall-spirit

ACOWAR (Elucien's Version) by @crazy-ache

Destin Enchanté by @fieldofdaisiies

Fortune's Favored by @avabrynne

The Rhythm Of Flames by @animezinglife

Long Live by @separatist-apologist

Waltz of Wit (poetry) by @sonics-atelier

A Heart of Gold by @jules-writes-stories

High Society Poem by @shadowqueenjude

Something About April by @starsreminisce

Reverie by @bonecarversbestie

What Do You Know About Love? by @the-lonelybarricade

High Society by @shadowisles-writes

When Our Fingers Touch, I Find My Way Back Home by @writtenonreceipts

🎨Art:

high society or band of exiles? commissioned by @cauldronblssd from artist @/poppypola

Our joy was so bright commissioned by @moonpatroclus from artist @/honeymariejai

High Society by @the-lonelybarricade and @separatist-apologist from artist @/sen_verse

High Society commissioned by @freyjas-musings and @amandapearls from artist @/Carasalexandra

High Society by @laxibbeb

The Monarchs by @sad-scarred-sassy

Golden Thread of Fate by @artinelysian

After Dark by @velidewrites

High Society commissioned by @acourtdelaluna from artist @/lunart.s

High Society Silly Faces by @highladyofboleyncourt

“Sunshine.” by @jadedbugart

Elucien Autumn Court Royalty by @luciensdefenseattorney

Day court royalty by @nesta-apologist

Elucien as emissaries by commissioned by @lulufoxlainfawn from artist @/rinamoart

Day 4 - “High Society” by @lamija-v

A prince climbing up the balcony commissioned by @oristian from artist @/poppypola_

Elucien Picnic by @lib-arts

High society full of dances, crowded rooms and secret glances by @majuandrad

A moment of peace by @conebrain

Elucien's first Starfall by commissioned by @krssyA_reads, @kbirdie03, @lulufoxlainfawn, @mayreadsbooks27 from artist @/hachandraws

🎶Misc:

High Society hybrid scene and mood board by @onlyinmymiiiind

High Society Moodboard by @iheartfjords

Elucien Fashion Magazine by @lainalit

High Society Moodboard by @climbthemountain2020

Elucien High Society Playlist @sadiegirl2021

High Society Moodboard and Playlist by @octobers-veryown

Elucien in High Society by @lucienarcheron

High Society (Regency) by @spore-loser

High Society Moodboard by @bookishwithathought

-

Thank you as well to everyone who coloured today's Coloring Page!

High Society coloring page by @sadiegirl2021

High Society coloring page by @yaralulu

High Society coloring page by @cauldronblssd

High Society coloring page by @little-fierling

High Society coloring page by @romanticatheartt

-

If we missed one of your contributions, kindly reach out to one of our event runners!

Header art by @laxibbeb

@elucienweekofficial Day 4: High Society

-

For this prompt, @separatist-apologist and I wanted to depict Lucien and Elain slipping away from a ball for a quiet moment together. We were inspired by Victorian portraits of courting couples, and below the cut you can see our reference from Wilhelm Menzler Casel "The Kiss"

We want to give a huge thank you to @/sen_verse for not only doing a beautiful job, but also doing it last minute! She was a wonderful artist to work with and we're so grateful to her!

🚫: DO NOT REPOST

And suddenly, it's my favorite Acotar Appreciation Week of the year again!

I just wanted to paint a very soft and peaceful moment between Elain and Lucien as a couple ♡ Hope you guys like it as much as I do!

For #ElucienWeek2024 - Day I "Fated"

Characters belong to Sarah J. Maas

find my art.

So GOOD! What an ENDING!!! I love it, and it made me cry (as an archaeologist and a reader).

Long Live

Summary: All archeologist Elain Archeron wants is answers about the past.

Fate is determined to give them to her

MASSIVE thank you @abbadinfluence for having the idea AND allowing me to write - I've had the time of my life, this has been so fun.

And @octobers-veryown for being my personal Rome/Italy consultant- thank you for your knowledge, your time, and most importantly, catching when I used a particularly offensive and/or wrong swear word

For @elucienweekofficial | Read on AO3 | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6

Life moved slower. Elain woke each morning to open windows and her husband gone, already up for the day. She’d become lady of the house which was a whole job in and of itself. Was it wrong to weaponize her knowledge from the future to smooth things over between people? Maybe, but she did it anyway. 

Partly because navigating this new world made Elain nervous. She knew everything in theory, but not in practice—and not in-depth. She made mistakes even children didn’t, which caused gossip about the barbarian the emperor had married. 

She knew men had gone to Lucien to complain, though the results of said conversations were never shared with her. She’d asked once, laying on her stomach as she traced designs over his bare chest.

Lucien had merely flipped her to her back and with a kiss, urged her not to think about it. But she did, nervous that it was going to be his downfall. What had she already changed? Elain spun herself in circles wondering if everything they knew about the Empress was simply her, right now, doing exactly what she’d done. Had she been studying herself?

Elain tried not to think too hard about it lest she drive herself insane.

She threw herself into politics much the way Arina did, the pair like university students all over again as they read works long lost to their present day time. So much of it was fascinating but a lot more was painfully dry. Even Arina couldn’t get through half of it, groaning as she stared upward, bored to tears.

“Just ask Lucien for a sword and we’ll start killing people,” she said with a roll of green eyes. “I don’t think he’d mind.”

“We shouldn’t murder the people who annoy us,” Elain hissed at her friend. Marrying Eris had been a mistake—Arina was becoming far too Romanized far too quickly.

Arina shrugged. “When in Rome, do as the Romans do and kill your rivals.”

“Did Eris give you a knife?” Elain questioned.

Arina grinned. “I’m starting a collection.”

Of course she was. 

For all the stress, though, Elain found she was happy. No longer did she have to wonder what things looked like—the vibrancy of the ancient world astounded her. She could see statues as they were, brightly painted in hues of red and yellow and blue. She could read the literature, could sit in grand atriums while philosophers debated passionately on topics they still discussed two thousand years in the future.

Sometimes she wished she could tell them they were immortalized in these discussions and their writings. That academics still taught their works and students still engaged in the same passionate debates. So many things from Rome still existed in the future, from their sewage systems to the roads they’d built, all the way to the language they used and the influence it would have on European languages. Their myths, their gods—all of it still existed as some faint echo of a past humanity would never return to.

And she wasn’t just witnessing it—Elain was part of it. Her mind couldn’t comprehend all of it. The whys, the hows—if it was magic or some other explanation they were too primitive to understand even two thousand years in the future—it didn’t truly matter in the end. Sometimes she thought she’d wake and find she’d merely dreamt it all up.

And other times she was certain she’d been born here for how natural it all felt to her. At times, Elain forgot everything else but the present—at least until something jolted her out of her bliss. She’d see something that reminded her of Graysen or her sisters or her home and spend the rest of the day wondering if they still thought of her. What they made of her disappearance.

She knew her sisters would be in pain over losing her. Gray would move on, eventually, and Elain genuinely hoped he did so with minor emotional wounds. 

Her sisters would never forgive her if they learned she could have returned and chose not to. Elain was grateful they’d never know. Maybe that made her a coward—she simply couldn’t bring herself to care, especially as time went on. They’d continue their lives without her and maybe they’d all see each other again some day.

But not in this lifetime.

What had once seemed like a terrible decision seemed like the best idea Elain had ever had. Maybe that was all the lead water she was drinking, though. She was happy, and that was all that mattered. She watched other women marry, participating in the ceremonies as the Emperor’s Consort. She was part of festivals and just generally seen in the city with a guard of heavily armed soldiers Lucien made swear to protect her, even at the expense of their own lives.

And she had Arina.

That was enough. 

Her favorite part of every day was when Lucien finished with the things he did to tell her everything, eyes bright as he stripped down to nothing. If he found it strange telling a woman about the political machinations of his empire, Lucien never said. He, instead, treated her like one of his advisors. He asked her advice on how to handle delicate situations both with his patricians and Senators and when trying to adhere to Roman diplomacy.  

And then, once he’d said everything he needed to say, Lucien all but got on his knees and kept her up half the night. He acted like he’d only just discovered sex. Sometimes she felt the same way. 

“Tomorrow I will be unforgivably late,” Lucien told her, hand on his stomach as he tried to catch his breath. 

Elain rolled to her side. “Why?”

Lucien shifted, eyes on the dark ceiling overhead. “I’ll tell you when it’s over.”

She’d heard him say that only once before, and in the aftermath it had been an assassination he claimed to know nothing about. Elain very much doubted that was true, though his hands were clean. Eris likely arranged the entire thing, which seemed to be how things were done between them. Elain often wondered if Lucien truly trusted his older brother, or merely kept him close to prevent a coup. 

She doubted being married to Arina would stifle his political ambitions. 

That was a personal question for Lucien to grapple with. She knew he loved Eris, and figured Eris must love his brother to some degree if he was willing to stand by him even when everything he’d worked so hard for had been ripped out from underneath him. Beron had intended to drag his own son down with him, and never planned for his wife’s illegitimate child to take his own full-blooded son's place.

History said Eris remained loyal until he died, but Elain didn’t know how much of history she and Arina had already rewritten. They’d never know without returning to the future to read the books. She assumed something must have been altered since all records of Helena were gone save for Lucien’s own writings. She was here, though she didn’t dare leave a record other than her mere existence which was immortalized on coins and paintings and whatever doodles Lucien left in the margins of his documents. 

She seemed to recall a half naked one with exaggerated breasts that had been so amusing at university and was now a little mortifying to think about. 

“Should I go to sleep without you?” Elain asked, pulling herself from her endless musings. 

“You can try,” he replied with that handsome, slick smile of his. “I’ll wake you up.”

“You’re a devil,” she said, forgetting he didn’t know that word—Elain quickly attempted to explain, foregoing the religious connotations to avoid getting bogged down with the future of Christianity. While Elain liked listening to Lucien talk politics, he loved hearing about the future. He was interested in the culture of her home, the art, the literature. She’d spent a full week explaining the Real Housewives to him in great detail while he’d listened, rapt and glassy eyed in his enjoyment.

Elain intended to explain Star Wars to him later simply to sketch out a lightsaber and see what he thought about it. She thought Lucien would enjoy that. 

Just enough time had passed that Elain had grown complacent. She’d forgotten everything that happened during Lucien’s reign. She forgot the early years.

She forgot the coup. 

The day passed like any other. She and Arina dressed and ate, talked with the other women living with them currently, and spent the later afternoon in the city buying materials for dresses and some rather pretty flowers likely handpicked by the small child Elain gave the coins to.

They returned home and bathed after eating and Elain intended to turn in for the evening mostly out of boredom. Lucien wasn’t coming back until late, there was limited lighting which made reading difficult, and the heat of the day had taken its toll.

“Where is everyone?” Arina asked, looking around the strangely empty halls.

“Wherever Lucien is, I’m guessing,” Elain replied glumly. Arina wasn’t having it through, brows knit together as she truly looked.

“Everyone? Even the children are gone—”

“To bed—”

“Oh please, there are no bedtimes here. I heard one of those monsters screaming at three in the morning last night.”

Elain, too, paused to listen. “Is anyone here?”

“What day is today?” Arina whispered, gripping Elain’s forearm before Elain could go any further. Heart racing, she only shrugged. 

“I don’t remember,” she admitted. The calendar was different, the days rearranged according to the Julian Calendar. 

“With me,” Arina whispered, turning while clasping Elain’s hand. If anyone watched them, it looked like two women merely wanting to be close. Not panicked, not scared—not yet. They walked as they normally did, eyes straight ahead as though nothing were amiss as they both counted back the days in their head.

When had it happened? The attempted coup that ravaged the city in flame—the assassination attempts, the upheaval? In her joy, Elain had forgotten how rocky the early years of Lucien’s transition were.

She’d forgotten his new wife went missing.

Arina closed them into the bed chamber she shared with Eris, locking it for good measure. “It won’t stop them—but we’ll hear the lock turn.”

“And then what?” Elain demanded as Arina made her way across the room for the collection of knives she’d bragged about. “We should leave.”

“They’ll be waiting to ambush us,” Arina replied coolly. “We have the element of surprise.”

“We’re also just the two of us against a bunch of men with swords,” Elain hissed, watching as Arina shoved a chair against a door. “There is no where to go.”

“Wrong,” Arina said with a relish, pushing against the wall. A little cubby opened, big enough for the two to slip through unnoticed. “You didn’t notice servants coming in and out?”

Elain wasn’t about to admit she was too busy admiring Lucien to notice what anyone else was doing, especially when they were alone in their room. Having given Elain a dagger, the pair slid into the wall just as the knob of their door rattled. They both froze, half hidden in the dark. Elain’s heart raced with fear.

“Where can we go?”

“The countryside,” Arina whispered before pulling Elain in. They still had time, though not enough. Not to mention, the last time they’d tried to flee they’d been caught by highway robbers and Arina had nearly died. Staying in the city was suicide, leaving a death sentence. 

Arina’s grip on Elain’s hand tightened painfully. They only thing they truly had going for them was near prophetic knowledge of the future and, hopefully, a memorized map of the city’s layout.

They burst into the kitchen, a place Elain had never seen and was desperate to snoop around in.

“Not now,” Arina replied, tugging her toward an open door leading to the courtyard. 

It would have been a clean getaway had that guard not been standing there. He was clearly just as surprised to see them as they were to see him. The pin on his armor didn’t belong to Lucien—it was another man's crest, another man's loyalty paid out in copper and gold.

“You ah…” he hesitated, clearly unsure what he should do. “You should go inside.”

“We’re just strolling through the garden,” Elain tried, offering up her most charming smile. “Surely you wouldn’t begrudge us an evening stroll?” His hand went to the hilt of his sword and Elain knew he had no qualms about killing them here. Arina took a step back, eyes wide with fear. 

“Stand down,” Elain whispered, hiding Arina’s dagger in the folds of her skirts. She wasn’t going to die this day—not after everything else.

“For what it’s worth, I am sorry,” that dark haired soldier said. 

It was Arina who struck, slamming her blade so viciously into his throat that blood sprayed everywhere. Elain had never seen rage like that, manifesting in each brutal stab. Channeling her inner Brutus, Arina hacked even when the soldiers knees buckled, brown eyes bulging in death. 

“It’s over,” Elain told her, swallowing bile before she vomited everywhere. Oh, the movies made killing seem so easy. So elegant.

It was horrible. 

“It’s over,” Elain told Arina, pulling at her arm. Arina swung, sharp blade slashing through the air. Her beautiful face was coated in blood, staining the blonde hair now hanging over her shoulders. “He’s dead.”

Arina looked down, expression hardening. “Let's go,” she said, reaching for Elain with trembling fingers. She’d lie and say that killing that man meant nothing, but Elain knew the truth of things. She knew the hardened act Arina put on was just that—an act. Underneath it, she was just as soft as Elain was, and just as scared. 

“Do you think this is why there’s no record—”

“Smetti di parlare,” Arina hissed, holding a hand up to silence Elain entirely. “This is not where you die.”

But Elain wasn’t so sure as several more soldiers poured into the courtyard, unable to see them in the dark and yet clearly looking for them. Arina grabbed Elain, hiding the pair behind the large concrete base of the god Jupiter. Elain counted four of them, which wasn’t horrible, but they were well trained and armed, and they were unlikely to get away with another brutal stabbing before they were killed, too.

“This way,” Elain whispered. She knew the garden like the back of her hand—knew every shortcut, ever tall hedge, and where even the bees were kept should it come to that. They were somehow silent, dodging a chicken that hadn’t been put in the pens that evening. The servants seemed to have vanished, too—had they been told to go. Or did they simply know what was coming? 

Trying not to feel betrayed—and failing miserably—Elain continued on, wishing Lucien would come charging in. She strained her ears for any sound of his thundering voice as he heroically cut down anyone in his way to get her. There was nothing but the shuffling of feet and whispering of soldiers looking for them. Elain could see no way out.

“Look,”Arina whispered, turning Elains head toward vivid orange in the distance.

Rome was burning. 

It was a distraction, terrible as it was. A nightmare for her husband, wherever he was—did he know what was happening at home? Would he come back to empty bedrooms and blood soaked floors? Dead guards and her and Arina missing? She’d never wished for a phone more than she did right then, so she could shoot him a quick text telling him her plan. To tell him she was safe—and to hear he was, too.

There was only a stretch of silence before the screaming began. People flooded out of their burning homes both to escape a truly terrible death and in an attempt to keep the flames from spreading. Arina and Elain both stopped for a moment, half hidden by a copse of olive trees. 

“He’ll crucify Hybern for this,” Arina whispered. 

“If he isn’t slaughtered,” Elain replied, her voice cracking at the thought. Arina tugged, and the two took off again. They could consider the horror of the evening another night. For now, all that mattered was survival.

They weren’t lucky. When a soldier stumbled upon them just as they were headed toward the stone walls, it was Elain who struck first. He hadn’t seen them—was simply patrolling, sword still sheathed. Was it honorable to kill him? That was a question for the philosophers, though Elain did throw up when she pulled her knife out of that man’s throat. 

Arina only grimaced. 

“Do you think it gets better?” her friend asked. “How does Eris do it?”

“He’s a menace,” Elain managed, stepping over the still twitching body. “That was…”

No one ever mentioned the way you could feel the slice of tendon and muscle, the snapping of cartilage and the wet sound a human made when they tried to gasp for air that wouldn’t come.

Elain was sick again right there in the grass. 

“In another life, Eris would have been a techbro,” Arina said, trying to take Elain’s mind off of what she’d just done. “And I would have fist fought him in a parking lot.”

That made Elain laugh. “I think Lucien would have been a politician,” she admitted, wiping her mouth on the back of her hand. “I’m not sure I would have voted for him.”

“You’d be such a Jackie though,” Arina told her. “Vogue would have loved you.” It was almost funny. Blood in their hair, hands shaking as they continued their journey through the garden in an attempt to escape Rome with their lives while they made jokes about being in Vogue. 

They were so close to vanishing into the city. Mere steps away when they saw him, coming up the hill on a gray horse. Not Lucien or Eris, or anyone they recognized—but Hybern. He looked rough. Illuminated by orange glow, Elain could see an ugly, purpling bruise on his face. Selfishly, she hoped Lucien had given it to her.

“Arina,” Elain whispered, pulling them both behind the wall.

“No,” Arina hissed, back flat against the stone. “It’s suicide.”

“They think we’re dead,” she reminded Arina. 

“He will kill us,” Arina countered, grabbing Elain’s wrist. “We need to run.”

“There’s nowhere left to go. Rome is burning.”

Arina looked over the wall again before ducking back down, unnoticed as Hybern continued through, flanked by two men wearing wickedly sharp blades. “What do you want to do?”

Elain sighed. “Follow me.”

LUCIEN:

Striding up the steps, Lucien had a sense of deja vu. I’ve been here before, he thought to himself, which—of course he had. Hundreds of times in life, even. But right then, he felt the hand of the gods stopping him. 

Warning him.

“What is it?” Jurian asked, hand already on the sword at his hip. Lucien’s eyes cut to Eris, impassive as always. His brother looked from Lucien to the forum up ahead.

“It’s quiet,” Eris finally said. 

Was that what stopped him? No, he thought, feeling phantom fingers squeeze his shoulder. Minerva was warning him, her presence looming large behind him. It wasn’t just the silence and the lack of bodies milling around—it was her voice whispering against the wind.

Don’t go.

“What do you know?” he demanded as he rounded on Eris. 

Eris raised his palms in defense, eyes narrowed. “If I wanted to see you dead, brother, it certainly wouldn’t be a group effort.”

Their eyes turned toward the Roman Forum again.

“Surround it,” Lucien murmured to Jurian. “No one part of the plot leaves alive.”

Jurian vanished as Lucien took that next step. Eris glanced again. “I have no part in this.”

“I almost wouldn’t blame you if you did,” Lucien replied with a heavy sigh. He understood why so many who’d come before him were so paranoid. He could trust no one, maybe not even his brother. 

Eris turned to Lucien, face blazing. “I won’t pretend I’m not angry. It was supposed to be me, not you,” he hissed, face red with rage. “But it was father, not you, who thwarted my ambition. And I sleep peacefully at night knowing whatever pit in Tartarus he inhabits is made more miserable by the knowledge the bastard son of his wife rules in his stead.”

Lucien took a breath, allowing Eris to add, “I’m with you until the end, brother.”

Lucien wouldn’t pretend he wasn’t afraid as they continued their assent. Even with Juran placing his soldiers strategically, there were simply too many unknowns. He could die here. 

“If I die—”

“You won’t—”

“If I die,” Lucien repeated softly, careful not to let his words carry, “take care of my wife. Swear you will let no harm come to her.”

“I swear,” Eris replied, eyes glittering. “But only because there is no need to uphold it. You will be in her bed this evening while she tends to your minor wounds and praises you for rooting out the conspirators.”

That was a charitable picture of what Elain was likely to do. Lucien knew she was more likely to chew off his ear as she’d done after the games in the Coliseum. Still, that was better than never seeing her again. If he’d known that morning, when he woke up, that he might never see her face again, Lucien would have remained in bed a little longer.

He would have told her he loved her.

Taking a breath, Lucien forced himself into the same place that, nearly two months earlier had been soaked in Beron’s blood. There was a spartan group of senators, led by Hybern. Lucien should have guessed, he supposed—the man wanted war, wanted to push the borders of Rome into territory they couldn’t take. Hybern would fight Neptune himself if he thought it would win him favor and gold. 

He was no better or saner than Nero in that regard. Lucien should have killed him when he first became Emperor. 

“Oh, Hybernius,” Lucien said, adopting the air of a disappointed parent. “Is this what it's come to?”

“You’re weak,” Hybern replied, dark eyes nearly black. “And a bastard from Syria who has no business sitting on the throne.”

Lucien raised his brows. “Challenge me, then.”

Hybern gestured around at the Senators he’d managed to win over, their blades likely hidden beneath their togas. 

“Challenge me like a man,” Luicen replied just as Jurian stepped into the open room, sword in hand. He handed it to Lucien with a grim smile, glancing toward the pair of open double doors. 

“You have a rat in your number,” Jurian lied. 

True fear slithered other Hybern’s features. He’d been so confident of his course of action, so sure things would work out in his favor. Now he’d die on the same marble floor so many others before him had, his reputation tattered. Lucien would get to write history—he’d ensure everyone remembered Hybern as little more than a pathetic traitor intent on undoing the legacy of Rome for his own selfish gains. 

“I’m not going to kill you,” Lucien said, eyes sweeping the room. “I’ll let the birds do that. Your bodies will serve as a reminder to the populace of what happens to traitors of the empire.”

He was going to crucify them. He’d have them beaten and then made into a spectacle, forced to endure the humiliation of the city stares before hung up on the cross. It was, he’d been told, an agonizing death. 

It was what Hybern deserved. 

“Where is your wife, Augustus” Hybern whispered in response. Lucien froze. He wouldn’t dare. Eyes sliding to the windows at the far end of the room, Lucien found he couldn’t see his palace against the blinding brightness of the rapidly setting sun. Beside him, Eris had become taut with rage. 

Lucien’s plans shifted. He’d kill Hybern right here, right now, simply to satisfy his need. The threat against Elain was too far—she was innocent in all this. Lucien advanced, sword unsheathed as Jurian motioned for the Praetorian Guard to swarm in. It was meant to be a bloodbath—and in some ways it was. In the chaos, Lucien lost Hybern. The smell of blood and the flurry of bodies, the unsheathing of weapons—it gave the traitor a chance to slip away.

Lucien and Eris were just behind, Jurian at Lucien’s side.

“Get them to the palace,” Lucien ordered, knowing he ought to go instead. “Get Elain out.” Jurian hesitated—he wasn’t supposed to leave Lucien. 

“Please,” Lucien added, letting some of his fear slip from his otherwise cold countenance. Besides, he knew exactly who he needed for this endeavor. Jurian nodded, branching off as Eris and Lucien stepped into the city.

“You can’t trust him,” Eris hissed. He’d always been able to read Lucien’s mind.

“I apparently can trust no one but you and Jurian,” Lucien replied. “I’ll take men who fight for money over men who fight only for themselves.”

It was night by the time they reached the rather nice home Rhysand had made for himself. Lucien didn’t bother knocking—why should he? Everything Rhysand had was by his grace and mercy, and he could take it all back if he wished. Did the great Thracian General resent it? He had to, Lucien reasoned.

Rhysand looked up from a chair, dressed in a simple chiton and sandals. “Please, come in,” he said dryly.

“I need your sword,” Lucien told him without preamble.

“Why would I accept?” Rhysand countered, clearly bored with the whole spectacle. “I’d like to go to bed.”

“Would you like to kill some Roman’s before you fall asleep?” Lucien shot back, ignoring how the words felt treasonous. 

“We’ll pay,” Eris added in a bored tone. 

“It better be a lot of gold,” Rhysand grumbled as Eris tossed Hyberns emblem into Rhysand’s outstretched fingers.

“Only men wearing that,” Lucien said. “Kill them however pleases you best. Leave their bodies in the street.”

“Stop or I’ll think you’re propositioning me,” Rhysand said, throwing a wink at the pair. “Try not to die.”

Lucien only nodded as Eris sneered, clearly displeased with the whole thing. They turned to leave him, aware he needed to dress, just in time to see fire erupt in the distance. 

“He wouldn’t,” Eris whispered, his expression sliding into fear. Lucien’s heart raced at the sight, mind terribly empty.

Rome was burning. 

By the time Lucien made his way back to the palace, it was well into the evening. He and Eris had raced down to the sight of the flames, organizing the vigiles from their homes and beds to help citizens douse the flames. He trusted they’d get it under control, diverting the flow from the aqueducts so the water was more abundant where it was necessary.

But it took time—time that caused whole neighborhoods to burn to ash. The rebuilding would be costly and time consuming, especially in the middle of summer. If Hybern wanted to fund a war, burning his own city seemed antithetical to the cause.

To Lucien, it felt as though Hybern had decided to take as much with him to the grave as possible. Lucien wanted to kill him. 

Lucien would kill him.

Drenched in sweat, heart pounding in fear, he made his way into his palace to find the entryway soaked in blood. Eris paused, too, sword held in one hand. They said nothing as they stepped over the bodies of traitors, men who’d sided with Hybern and had come to slaughter innocent women sleeping in their beds.

Had they succeeded?

Neither Lucien nor Eris spoke a word as they made their way over more bodies. Blood seemed to stain the marble walls, seeping into the cracks as it dried. How much of it was Elain’s, he wondered with dread in his heart.

His bedchamber door was wide open, the furniture strewn about. Someone had come looking—and hadn’t found what they were looking for. There was no sign of a struggle, that Elain had been woken by violence and dragged out. Still, Lucien wouldn’t be satisfied until he saw her, dead or alive.

“She’s probably with Arina,” Eris whispered, his voice hoarse. They turned for Eris’s bedchamber, which was far worse than Lucien’s. They’d clearly been in the room at some point and the scene of destruction was violent. Furniture was splintered and ruined, clothes pulled from drawers, windows cracked. A panel in the wall was left open—is that how they’d gotten out? Had they heard the commotion and made a run for it? 

Lucien didn’t need to ask his brother to follow behind him. All he heard was his half panicked breathing as his mind began conjuring the most horrific images imaginable. He saw Elain’s body, broken and bleeding, eyes lifeless and her spirit gone. He could see no scenario in which Elain somehow managed to invade a swarm of well-armed soldiers with her life.

They emerged in the kitchen to a grizzly sight. 

Eris exhaled when he saw that dead body. “Arina,” he murmured as though he were some kind of prophet. How he knew, Lucien didn’t ask. He merely followed into the dark where they found yet another body butchered with the unmistakable politeness that belonged to Elain. He could practically see the apology written into the skin beside the smell of vomit wafting upward from the grass.

“Where are they?” Lucien asked, turning to look toward the glow of the palace. “You don’t think they went into the city?”

Eris crossed his arms over his chest. “How much of the future do you think they know?”

“Too much,” Lucien groaned. They sprinted for the palace, though in truth Elain and Arina could have been anywhere. Was Hybern stupid enough to return here, when fleeing the city, living in exile, and amassing an army to better challenge Lucien would have been the smarter course of action? 

In the end, Lucien and Eris found Arina standing before Hybern and six soldiers, kneeling before him with her eyes cast down. He was delivering some sermon, orating before a woman forced to listen. Lucien wouldn’t have wished it on his worst enemy. 

“Step away,” Eris ordered, ending the long-winded explanation.

“You’re outnumbered,” Hybern said. Who had given him the black eye, Lucien wondered? Was it Arina? Gods above, he hoped so. The humiliation at being bested by a woman would follow him straight to Tartarus. There would be no heroes welcome for Hybern in Elysium. “Its over only for you.”

Lucien’s tongue was stuck to his throat. If Arina was here waiting to die, where was Elain? There was only one explanation—she was already dead, body yet undiscovered. It filled him with an icy hatred he couldn’t quite swallow. 

They couldn’t take all seven without letting Arina die. Eris must have calculated the odds in his heads, too, and come to the same conclusion. Was her death acceptable collateral damage? Could Lucien look his brother in the eyes, could he ask for his support knowing he let his new wife die so they could retain control of the empire?

What would he do if it was Elain?

Lucien felt impulsive and reckless. Maybe he didn’t care. Why should Eris get his wife when Lucien’s was almost certainly dead. The unfairness of the fates to bring her to him, only to cruelly snatch her away.

He took a step forward as Hybern raised his blade for Arina. She looked up, eyes blazing not with defiance, but amusement. 

“No—” Eris halted as a shadow moved just behind Hybern, slipping from behind a curtain. A moment later the sharpened tip of a dagger protruded wholly through Hyberns throat, causing his eyes to bulge with fear. He tried to turn, but Arina was on her feet in a flash, taking advantage of everyone's surprise to add her own dagger to the mix. 

“I warned you,” Arina said. “I told you that you died tonight.”

Elain’s face was pale and splattered with old and new blood. She wasn’t built for war—Lucien’s sword was unsheathed, his mission reaffirmed. Hyberns soldiers never got within an inch of her beautiful face. They met Lucien’s sword swiftly, turning their attention to him and his brother while Elain and Arina continued taunting a dying Hybern as though they were Seers blessed by the gods.

It must have been terrifying final words, though, and for that Lucien was grateful for the pair of them. He’d laugh about it later. Right then, all Lucien cared about was Elain, staring at him with the widest pair of brown eyes.

She laughed when she saw him. Laughed even as tears began to gather in her eyes and laughed some more when her knees gave out and he had to hold her against him. It was nothing like Arina, who began yelling loudly at Eris in that strange language, hands flying while his brother merely nodded his eyes as if he understood a word of it.

Maybe he did. After all, Eris did say, “Watch your tone,” in a soft growl.

“Elain, I…” Lucien felt immense shame as he looked upon her. He’d sworn to keep her safe and failed at the first opportunity to prove he was a man of his word. 

Elain merely threw her arms around his neck, face buried against his blood stained toga. “You’re alive. I was so afraid…so afraid…”

Lucien murmured nothing that was reassuring before Jurian returned with a good half of the Praetorian Guard. The night wasn’t over—but his wife was alive. Ordering soldiers to stand outside her door, the three returned to the city to help with the flames and sweep up the last few remaining dissenters. 

They all met Rhysand’s blade while the Thracian General smiled widely, face upturned toward the inky night sky. He’d never seen the man happier which disturbed him. That was a problem for another day, another time. 

Right then—all Lucien needed was Elain.

He didn’t bother washing himself, still coated in blood when he found her standing in their bed chamber.

“I’m sorry,” he breathed, making his way toward her. Lucien meant to cup her face in his hands, but his knees gave way, causing him to once again kneel before this woman. Lucien bowed his head, hair sliding over his neck and if she’d wanted, she could have taken his head from him. Maybe he deserved it.

Elain’s dress rustled as she joined him on the ground, doing what he should have done—taking his face between her hands so he had to look at her.

“It was worth it to be here with you,” she whispered, eyes searching his own. “I have no regrets. Do you?”

“None,” he swore. “You are my empire, Elain. The only fealty I ever swore loyalty to.”

“Then rise, Lucien,” she murmured. Lucien did, taking her hand in his so they came up together. He reached for her then, kissing her fiercely. Elain had defied the very nature of time itself to be here with him, to live in this place. For him. She hadn’t stayed out of duty or some great love of the past, though he suspected it didn’t hurt that she was interested in his home and this place.

“Never again,” he swore, holding his wife close. Mouth pressed to her hair, Lucien repeated his vow. “Never again. 

Two thousand years in the future, historians would examine the events of that July night. Papers would be written, accounts examined, sites dug up. Artists drew their renditions of the Emperor running into the street to put out the fire, of the Thracian Gladiator who fought side-by-side with Romans to quell a would-be coup.

And of the Empress who’d slaughtered the initiator of the plot. Elain understood, now, why there were limited records of Helena—because she was from the future, and couldn’t reveal how much she knew without destroying, perhaps, the very fabric of time.

Lucien wrote very little of her as well, though they did exchange letters that she knew would be mostly lost to time. Her face would be forever etched on coins, her memory preserved in academic works. In that way, she never really left her friends and family, though she doubted they’d ever see it that way.

But for Elain, it was enough. 

When Words Fail

Summary: Elain doesn’t get out of the town house much. But on a rare occasion that she did, she runs into Lucien at a piano studio.

Rating: G

WC: 2.5k

Read on AO3

A/N: Happy @elucienweekofficial (aka one of the best times of the year🥰)! This was originally intended for the day 2 prompt: Golden. BUT I was in bed with a flu so you get it on day 3 instead 🤧 Enjoy ☺️

When words fail, music speaks

- Hans Christian Anderson

The city of dreamers buzzes around Elain, comes to life with energetic shouts across the streets advertising for new shows and wafts of delectable street snacks. Doe eyes widen to take them all in.

A biting wind passes her by and Elain pulls her cloak closer around her, enveloping herself entirely in the thick feathered coat. Tugging the soft hat to cover the pinked edged tips of her ears, delicate button nose twitches slightly to sniff the wondrous buttery scent.

The middle Archeron rarely leaves the confines of the town house, usually content to bide her time in the greenhouse or in the kitchens. But just for today, astounded by Feyre’s artistic depiction of the Rainbow, did it occur to her just how much of the city that she has lived in for years but still has yet to see, so much that she has yet to experience. It stokes the long dormant part of her that once dreamt of adventures on the continent. All before…

Elain shakes her head with a grimace. Tonight is not a night for dwelling. Her thoughts short-circuit when a particularly fragrant scent hits her. The edges of her lips quirk upwards as she holds herself back from bouncing towards the street stall.

She exchanges a silver coin for a rich buttery pastry, wincing as molten chocolate ganache floods her mouth from the very first bite. With a palm still cradling the hot soft pastry, she continues her way through the bustling street.

Then her feet halts in front of a plain beige unassuming building.

Despite the lively chatter of the Rainbow, the sound of light flowing keys of a piano effortlessly reaches her. She turns towards it, stuffing the remainder of her snack into her mouth and hastily swipes the crumbs away from her cheeks. Her feet move mechanically on its own accord, like a rope that has been tied around her waist and pulls her into the building.

The city noises muffle, blocked by the wooden door frame of the building entrance. Elain is able to clearly hear the melody now, muted and uncertain, supported by the gentle running chords in the lower register. A simple but melancholic beauty that tugs on her chest and pulls in the most heart twisting manner.

The music turns as she passes by door after door within the studio. The same melody returns, bright and daring. Her chin tilts upwards, chocolate brown orbs widening. At last, her feet stop. Exactly where she needs to be.

It is a cozy quaint space, barely larger than her bedroom. The room is bare save for a grand piano plonked in the middle, the walls are lined with oak panes with a full length bookshelf pushed into a corner.

A golden spotlight streams down on the pianist, gliding along long auburn hair which has been pulled back into a simple low ponytail. A featherlight caresses an all too beautiful face and neckline, accentuating the contrast of his white billowing sleeves.

He doesn’t see her, she thinks.

Not as his fingers gracefully glide up and down the midnight and ivory keys, never ceasing to stop the flow of the music. Not even the slightest hitch in its tempo.

At that moment, Elain admits quietly to herself.

He is truly the most beautiful being she has ever seen.

She doesn’t sit and neither does she linger. After the piece ends, she gives a curt nod before turning around. It is only in the safe space of her own solitude does she acknowledge the melody that is still a constant flutter in her ears, her chest, her heart.

She returns the following night at the same time.

Foolishly, maybe. She doesn’t even know how long he will be in the city, doesn’t even know if he has left. Yet as she stands, just two steps beyond the doorway, so quiet that not even the sharpest fae ears can register a sound, there is no denying the little part of her that went, oh thank the Mother he is still here.

When the piece ends, the embers in her chest are fanned by a raised eyebrow, an open challenge in the dancing flame of a russet eye. She takes a seat next to him, the bench barely long enough to fit the two of them. Close enough to feel the heat emanating between the narrow space.

She resists the urge to shudder for a different reason and lifts her hands to the keyboard.

He doesn’t rush her, sitting in patient silence as she considers the different pieces she could play. Her mind skips through numerous music, each as showy as the last, each learnt under strict tutelage with the very intention of impressing guests and suitors. She gives herself a mental smack of a head (no, that will not do, she chides) and settles for a simple folk melody from her childhood.

Perhaps it’s anticlimactic and a letdown. Perhaps it’s a peep into years past that she hasn’t shown anyone in Prythian. One that draws a quirk of lips in her peripherals that she pays no mind.

It surprises her when skilled hands join her when she plays a repeated section, effortlessly complements her with his counter melody. A smile plays on her lips in the simple joy of music. The vehicle in which they embark on their unspoken conversation. She goes up, he goes down, then they loop around. The piece stretches and reshapes into a dozen different variations.

But alas, it all comes to an end when another fae interrupts with a knock, signalling the end of the session. It shatters the spell that they have woven with black and white keys, a glass splintering into hundreds of pieces.

It is with a wry smile that they come to a stop. Elain’s hands drop from the board, her insides twisting in disappointment. Lifting her chin slightly, she sucks a breath in and asks, “Maybe another time?”

The smile that blossoms on Lucien’s face leaves her breathless. A crinkle of happiness that threatens to rip apart the seams of intricately weaved vines burying the golden thread deep, deep within her chest.

“I’ll be here.”

The thread lights up with promise.

“So will I.”

***

The duo steps outside back into the frigid night air of Velaris. Before they take a further step, Elain pauses, her hand raises to her cheek to shield her face from a passing wind. Her petite form shivers a little in time with the slap of freeze.

In that moment, her entire being is engulfed in a tall shadow, and a translucent curtain of shimmery maple drapes over her to shield her from the chill. The brunette tilts her head back at a carefully impassive face.

It is the simplest of magics. Something she should be used to after so long with the fae. Even then, it is still a simple gesture that causes rose to dust across her cheeks, a different type of warmth that spreads from her chest. She resists the urge to scoot a little closer to her mate.

“Walk me back?” She asks, brown eyes meeting russet head on, stubbornly holding the stare until the edges of Lucien’s lips slope upwards.

“In need of a personal heater?” He quips.

A smile spreads on her face as she points out, “It’s freezing.”

Elain loops an elbow around Lucien’s as she forces her speeding heart rate to settle.

I can hear your heart beating through the stone. Can you hear mine?

Surely, he must.

Cocooned in their little bubble of warmth, it feels like there isn’t anything that can be hidden from the other. Not the rhythmic drum beats the organ in her chest plays or the shimmery glow of thread tying them together. Thankfully, that doesn’t stop the tall redhead from tightening the space between their arms as they walk down the lively alleyway in companionable silence.

He takes a step back when the entrance to the Town House comes into view, their arms unwinding. And though the shimmering warmth still covers her, Elain feels a smidge colder.

“I will be returning to the Human Lands tomorrow morning.” Lucien informs her softly.

“Oh—”

“But if you would like,” he almost rushes to continue, “I’ll send you a note the next time I’m back in the city.”

“I would like that.” She returns finally as her mate raises one hand to brush the back of her palm. The flame in his eye returns with a spark.

The moment feels surreal and for just a moment, Elain could pretend that she is a simple lady out jn society, and him, a charming suitor. There is no mess of biting cold dark waters of the Cauldron between them. That the rushing beats of her heart and brush of lips on skin is nothing more than the promise of something new, something exciting, something hopeful.

***

Elain’s brows furrow as her fingers speed up to follow the fraught tempo the Autumn son had set. Her frown deepens as she feels herself get pushed out of the music. Two hands drop to one until she eventually lifts her hands back to her chest and sets her gaze higher to the male himself. His fingers continue to fly across the keyboard, so lost in the music that his lips are parted slightly, his mechanical eye clicks to follow the notes. He seemed unaware that she had even stopped.

He throws his weight into the wooden keys, the force of it unravelling strands from his low ponytail. The air rattles around them with the vibrations of his final chord until it dissipates into nothingness.

“Lucien?”

The thread between them pulls taut as her voice brings him out of his reverie and brings mismatched gold and russet eyes on her, round and tinged with the slightest hint of manic.

Even with all the time they had spent together the past few winter months, it is uncharted territory for them to share more than a piano or playful words that mean nothing. Still, Elain gingerly catches the hand that has just fallen back into his lap and draws it close to her.

“What happened?” She asks, rubbing light circles into the soft flesh of the back of his palm, where the index meets the thumb.

She feels his wordless response, of fingers that close around hers, of the tension simmering in each muscle fibre.

She tries again, “Shall we get out of here?”

With a simple nod, her world transforms into the warm licking golden flames of his winnow. It disappears to reveal a simple apartment where familiar city noises continue to trickle in from the windows.

It dawns on her immediately that this is Lucien’s apartment in Velaris.

Utilitarian. Perfunctory. Devoid of personality. Vastly different from the homeliness of the River House or even her own room in the Town House.

Elain had never seen his room in Spring or in the Human Lands but she can say with certainty that it did not look as empty as this. She ignores the slight lump forming in her throat and pulls him over to the plain brown couch. Without letting herself overthink her next actions, she tugged him down with her to settle his head on her lap.

Something twinges in her chest. The bond that she had tried so hard to submerge under the deepest hedge of thorns that threatens to give way to blinding light. She hastily covers his eyes with nimble fingers, lightly brushing the gnarly scars surrounding his left eye, tracing thick brows with her fingertips and easing the tension filled lines.

Slowly but surely, Elain feels the hard muscles relaxing into the plush skin of her thighs and the soft nuzzle of his face into her dress. She shifts her attention to those silky tresses, carding her fingers through them.

“We are losing Vassa,” he mumbles into the soft rolls of her stomach, “the transformations have always taken their toll but it’s getting even harder. To see those sharp cerulean eyes blank and empty, devoid of her usual sharpness and intelligence, even for just a few minutes.”

A sourness pulls at Elain, a sly voice starts to whisper in her ear. Yours. Thief. Claim. Her fingers tremble, entangling digits into thick locks.

“Have you told Rhysand?” She asks instead, not trusting herself to say more yet also, hating her response for its implied immediate deference.

Lucien pulls away, his head turning away as he replies bitterly, “We need more time to gather allied forces from the continent before we can take on Koschei. He’s not wrong,” his eyes flutter shut and the lines between his brows deepen, “but it’s hard to watch.”

“You care for her.” She wonders if she sounds as petulant as she feels.

The look he gives her is reproachful in answer. Yet, he still reassures her, “She’s a good friend.”

Friend, he had seemed to emphasise. But did she even have the right to lay a claim after all these years of nonchalance? Even as the hissing beast prowling the stairs of her ribs calm slightly, placated at the clarification.

Elain continues her ministrations, nimble fingers absentmindedly braiding then combing them out. The monotony diminishes the world around them into the random sounds of the Velarian nightlife and the occasional crackling wood of his fireplace. It envelopes her mind and lets her thoughts stray to the majestic firebird soaring through the skies, screeching as it flies over a lake black as coal. A cold scaly presence yanks her past the line splitting air and water.

It is cold, so cold. Like the Cauldron, like death, like—

CRACK

Elain’s eyes snap open, brown eyes wide with fear. They find mismatched russet and gold instantly, concern and alarm warring within them. She pauses, waiting for the questions that are sure to come.

None came. Just a wary gaze and a firm grip around her hand. Unyielding and grounding.

She asks finally after a few fraught moments, when her heartbeat resembles what felt like normalcy. “What if I can help?”

Lucien sits up, sending a flurry of movement as the mass of flesh and muscle moves in her lap. He is still impossibly near, the heat emanating from his body an entrancing addiction. He asks carefully, “Are you sure?”

“It’s better than…” she trails off because better than what? Better than the comfortable life accorded to her in her sister’s court, surrounded by everything she could ever need? She clears her throat before meeting those assessing eyes. “It’s better than just waiting passively for things to happen to me.”

Lucien stood from the sofa they were sharing, his body angled away from her. And just as Elain opens her mouth to backpedal her decision, he turns back. Eyes gleaming and determined.

“There’s a piano in the manor.”

Elain almost gasps in that moment. Her hand twitches by her side, itching to claw at her chest, to hover over where the golden thread has burst out of its burial site.

It’s bright, it’s dazzling.

It’s iridescent.

END

Elucien Week Masterlist // AO3

Day One: Fated

A huge thanks to @elucienweekofficial for hosting and all the wonderous fun you've created for this ship and spreading so much love and fun in the fandom!

`warnings: angst with a happy ending, ~4.5k words

.*.*.*.*.*.

maybe these lights'll take you home

A street lamp flickers in and out as she drives down the old street that teeters along the edge of the main city.  The winding road passes through the neighborhoods that have either been abandoned or forgotten about as it roams along the bay that stretches out to the ocean.  The sides of the street are overrun by blackberry vines and ferns that haven’t been cut back in years and no one has bothered to complain enough about it for the city to clean it up.  Even here, there is a wildness to the world.  Even here, there is an unknown feeling that lingers in the back of her mind that tells her to stay awake.

It’s not like she has much choice, sleep has been fleeting and hard to come by.  Whether the stress or the general weight of being—Elain doesn’t know exactly.  She does, however, know that these sleepless nights of the past month have been slowly driving her mad, slowly beating her down, slowly leading her mind to places it shouldn’t be.

She’s never sure where she’s going on nights like this.  But when she wakes up in the middle of the night to an empty bed and dark house, she knows there will be no rest.

So here she is now, driving aimlessly among the trees and the silence.

That heartbreaking silence.

When a dirt road appears amid the foliage, Elain takes the turn, quick.  Gravel crunches beneath the tires of her car and she can hear the slight spinout that happens before everything is under control once more.

Not for the first time, she thinks that she really ought to slow down while driving especially if she’s going to take turns like that where there’s a ditch on either side of the narrow road.

Oh well.  Maybe next time.

She’s driven this road dozens, if not hundreds, of times before.  She knows it well and knows how the curves feel beneath her and when to avoid the deeper potholes that no one will bother fixing any time soon.

She lets herself get lost in the familiarity as the dirt road curls through the trees, slowly clawing its way into nothing.  The sky disappears into the overhanging canopy and the thick shrubbery along the side of the road closes up any pockets of open space on the ground.  She’s almost completely surrounded.

The yellow gleam of her headlights illuminates the way as the car crawls along.  There are the occasional turnouts to private property and turn around spots the deeper she goes.  Only a few people still live out here and they can be rather protective of their land.  But she doesn’t let that change her mind.  She’s driven up this way so many times before in the past that she feels immune to the wary stillness of the world.

When the road finally opens up to a clearing, Elain feels a thread of disappointment pull through her mind.  For now, her journey is over.

Patches of moss and grass encroach along the edges of the clearing in an attempt to reclaim the earth.  Soon the heat of the summer and the occasional hikers that stalk through the area will put a stop to any chance of new growth.  For a moment, Elain wonders how long it will take the plants to stop trying all together, for their genetics to realize that no matter how hard they try to change, to reprogram—it won’t happen.

She pulls her car to a stop nearly right in the middle of the clearing.

It’s the middle of the night, no one will bother to come out here.  

No one at all.

She tries to convince herself that she doesn’t care.  There’s only a scant possibility anyone would bother coming out here now.  And an even smaller chance of it being the one person she wants to see.

She gets out of her car and grabs a blanket from the back seat.  It’s still earlier enough in the year that the nights continue to hold a slight chill.  With the blanket wrapped around her, Elain settles herself onto the hood of her car.  She takes a moment to let the silence of the woods envelop her.  She’s always loved being out here.  There’s something about the trees and wildness that makes her feel alive.  And even in the middle of the night, she can still feel a bit of peace.  It would be better if it were the middle of day with an unencumbered sun filtering down on her, but she will take what she can get.

Leaning back, Elain looks up at the sky where dashes of stars are visible against the inky darkness.  Prythian isn’t quite in the middle of nowhere so it's not quite as brilliant as it could be.  But its enough.  For a moment she can pretend she isn’t there alone, sitting atop her car.  For a moment, she can pretend that there is more to life, to the universe, then just simply existing.  For a moment, she can pretend anything is possible.

And then the moment is gone when the soft rumble of another car makes its way up the road directly toward her.  There’s no other place for the car to be going, not this far up the path.  

Elain freezes, eyes darting to the side.  She hadn’t really been expecting anyone to come up here despite the silent hope of him.  Now, with someone approaching, she’s ready to get out of here.  Her solitude’s been ruined.  She hopes that she won’t need the pepper spray in the glove compartment.

She’s about to slide off the car when she realizes she knows the newcomer.  Because of course she does.  Of course fate would give her exactly what she wants when it terrifies her most.

Unmoving, Elain watches the white jeep (that really should be taken to a junkyard at this point) as it pulls into the gravel lot and comes to a stop, leaving plenty of space between the two vehicles.  It’s too dark to see through the windows but Elain watches anyway.

She watches as the driver door opens, the dome lights illuminating just enough that she can see he’s watching her too.  It takes several heartbeats before he moves again and gets out of the car with slow and deliberate care.  Elain swears she can hear his mind race, his heart thudding.  Or maybe it's her own mind that has turned to wild thoughts and her own heart that won’t simply be still.  She doesn’t know.

Because there standing maybe twenty feet away is Lucien Vanserra.  Summoned as if he could hear her thoughts, feel that inexplicable pull she always feels where he is concerned.  She doubts that he feels the same.

“What are you doing here?” he asks.  The shock is plain to hear and in better light Elain is sure she would see his face twisted in that confused way of his—utterly endearing but she won’t ever tell him that.

“I could ask you that same thing,” she says, desperate to remain casual in the way she’s sitting on her car.  

He hasn’t moved, hasn’t even shut his car door. 

The night practically clings to him in an unsettling way.  Lucien has always been light, he’s always been that one stark difference in Elain’s day, her entire life really.  Tonight is different.

“Come on, Vanserra,” she says and pats the space on her car that’s waiting for him.

He doesn’t move.

It has always been like this—this stilted silence, the awkwardness, the careful conversation.  They used to be friends.  They used to get on.  They used to simply be.

Elain has no way to explain it, but from the first moment she laid eyes on him nearly ten years ago when they’d been fifteen-year-old kids—she knew he was someone she would have in her life forever.  That he would be that constant presence, he would be someone to trust, to lean on.  There would be no getting rid of him.

They’d been friends in a fit of circumstance that slowly bled into necessity.  An escalation that she has no way to explain.  But Elain wouldn’t have had it any other way.  And she’d give anything to go back to the simplicity of youth where he was hers and she was his and nothing else mattered.

Time, of course, waits for no one and things inevitably change but she can still hope for some taste of what used to be.

And then they were eighteen with the world before them—just theirs for the taking.

And he’d left.

At the time, she supposed that was the way things went after high school, but Lucien—Lucien was supposed to stay.  She’d always thought he would.

And even if she had Graysen—a boyfriend she thought would be everything—it was never the same.  Graysen had been too good to be true and he left her with a broken heart and an uncertainty of the future.

“I don't bite,” Elain says when Lucien still won’t come closer.

“I don’t want to bother you,” he replies.

The words are soft but hold an edge sharper than a knife and Elain can’t help but recoil.  Barely.  He notices of course, he always notices.

“You were here first,” he adds quickly, but the damage is done.

Elain scoots back on the car hood, dragging her knees to her chest.  She looks away, off into the trees that hold onto the nighttime shadows.

“You’re the one that first brought me here in the first place,” she says.  She can’t help it.  She can’t help but to try and cling onto what used to be and hold onto the past as though it will somehow keep them both afloat in a raging sea of misery.

But she’s still hurt.  

Once he wouldn’t have hesitated in joining her.  Once his words would have been laced with humor and flirtatious undertones.

Once.

Not anymore.

Elain misses him.  Has for a while, but there’s been no way to tell him.  Not since he left in the first place and very nearly forgot about her aside from the occasional text.  There’s been no way to reach out to rekindle a friendship because there was Graysen and for whatever reason Elain felt guilty in even thinking about Lucien while she was still with another man.  

It’s fear, she knows.  Fear in the reality that things will never go back to what they once were.  And fear in the fact that he can still reject her.  Leave her again.  And she doesn’t know how to fix it, this rift between them that feels like a chasm.  

Elain misses him, though.  And it hurts like hell.

“Lucien,” she says when the silence grows too heavy.

She doesn’t know what else she wants to say or if there is even anything to say.  All she knows for certain is that it has been too long since she last spoke his name.

The headlights of the jeep continue to burn bright even as Lucien does step around the front of the car and towards her.  It’s good, she supposes, to not remain together in total darkness.  It’s far too easy to get distracted that way.

She watches him, entirely too tall with a lean build of muscle.  She knows he’s fit, has always played one sport or another and taken care of himself.  It doesn’t help that for some unholy reason he’s wearing a neat button up and slacks looking as though he just came out of a business meeting even at two in the morning.  His red hair is loose around his shoulders, only one piece hanging over his scarred eye.  He looks good, like she’d always imagined he’d be once out of the gangly teenager phase.  

“I thought you were leaving Prythian,” Lucien says.  He comes to a stop a few feet before her, hands in his pockets, head tilted to one side.  “You always wanted to.”

Elain laughs humorlessly. “Yeah, I did.”

But Graysen hadn’t wanted to.  Said it would mess up his plans for law school too much.  There was no time for such frivolity and she should think so too.  And by the time she and Graysen were finished her motivation left too.  The thought cuts deep and reminds her just how little she’s accomplished with her life and how far she’s strayed from her hopes, her dreams.

Shaking her head, Elain turns away from Lucien and resumes her casual lounge on the hood of her car.  The residual heat of the engine has worn off and she’s more aware of the chilly spring night than she had been before Lucien’s arrival.  She draws the blanket tighter around her shoulders as she settles back and looks up at the stars.  

When Lucien’s feet crunch on the gravel coming towards her, Elain’s heart picks up pace.  As much as she wants to be immune to Lucien, she can’t.  There’s always been something about him that she cannot shake.  Even though she hasn’t seen him in almost a year since his last visit home, he’s always been on her mind.

Lucien hauls himself onto the car beside her, long legs stretched out before him.  His motions are so casual and easy that Elain wonders if he’s even cared about the time that has passed since they last spoke, if its affected him as much as her.

“I didn’t think you’d want to come back,” Elain says, because even though she’s not sure where they stand, she doesn’t like the silence, not now. “You hate Prythian.”

“I don’t hate Prythian,” he says, but there’s an edge to his voice and Elain thinks he’s lying.  At least in part.

So she calls him out. “Liar.”

He gives an undignified snort and glances over at her. “My, my, Elain, you’ve never been so blunt before.”

“And you’ve never been such a bad liar.” She narrows her eyes at him.  The force of her ire doesn’t seem to bother him though.  Lucien’s grin only broadens and he leans back, folding his hands behind his head as he stares up at the sky.

Illuminated by the lights of his jeep, Elain takes a moment to observe him.  She can’t see his scarred eye at this angle, instead all she can observe is the careful way he lays.  Just like she noticed before, he has a healthy look about him.  He has sharp cut jaw and straight nose (though she swears he’d broken it once after a fight with Tamlin Doyle).  His muscular frame is relaxed, for the most part.  Elain knows him well enough that he is still on guard, ready to leap away, to act, to move.  

“If you don’t hate Prythian, why did you leave?” Elain asks.  She isn’t sure why she asks, isn’t sure why it matters to her, but she can’t help it.  Besides, she still can’t help but be hurt by his decision to leave.  It’s been ages, she should be over it, she shouldn’t care.  But they used to be friends she deserves at least a little bit of closure.  Doesn’t she?

He doesn’t speak for a long moment.  Elain watches his chest rise and fall and light glint in the eye she can see.  Silence isn’t something that bothers her, not really.  She can appreciate the beauty in it, the connection.  But she swears there’s a distance between them, something like never before and that, that, is what she doesn’t like.

“You know why I left,” Lucien says. “Same reason you always wanted to.”

To live, to explore, to have something else in this life than the same rut of loneliness.  He knew better than anyone what it was like to want more out of life.  Just like her, he didn’t want to be defined by others' expectations.  Just like her, he wanted to be his own person.

“And was it worth it?”  She isn’t sure she wants to know the answer.  Even though there’s a bit of hope in her chest burning bright, nothing has ever worked out for her in situations like this.

Lucien continues staring up at the sky. “How’s Graysen?”

The question nearly knocks her over the side of the car hood.  He’s never asked about Graysen.  He’s politely listened or read her texts when she’s mentioned him, but he’s never brought him up before.  It’s no secret that Lucien doesn’t like the other man, but he’s been civil enough.  For her sake.  Because that’s Lucien.

Now Elain turns her attention to the stars.  She doesn’t want to answer him.  Doesn’t want that finalized truth ringing through the night.  No matter how badly she wants to forget about that part of her past, she can’t.  And when Lucien finally shifts, his gaze boring into her, she feels her chest constrict.  

“I don’t know,” she says, “he left me.”

The words are slow and painful as they rip from her.  It feels like she’s admitting to a failure, that she’s laying too much bare that she’ll never get back.  It’s a confirmation that she never was good enough—no matter how hard she tried.  Still tries.  But no one really knows her now and no one really sees her.  She’s just another cog that spins out of control and no one knows how to help her realign.

His gaze burns into her.  It’s inescapable and real, always has been.  But she can’t look at him.  If she does, she knows the tears that are burning behind her eyes will start to fall.  And if she starts crying now she won’t stop.  And she knows from Graysen that tears and crying and emotion is a certifiable sin.

“I never liked him,” he says.

“I know.”

Lucien may have tried to hide his dislike of the other man, but she knew.  She didn’t know the semantics and exactness of the why, but she knew.

“Elain,” Lucien begins, the soft scrape of his voice is too gentle.  Too gentle. 

“Don’t,” she says.  She can’t bear to hear his pity; she doesn’t think she can handle it.  That will most certainly push her over the edge.  Because it’s Lucien and where Lucien is concerned, she always tends to lose her mind, just a little bit. “It doesn’t matter anyways.”

“Of course it matters.”

He wraps his hand around hers then, his fingers lacing between hers.  Elain stiffens at the action.  She certainly wasn’t expecting it and the heat of his skin and rough glide of the calluses on his skin.  The contact takes her back to the early days: when they were just kids trying to get through messy high school days and instead winding up on the bathroom floor while Beron was on a drunken rampage.  It takes her back to road trips through the dead of night only to wind up wondering if any of it was worth it.  It takes her back to saying good-bye and feeling as though her heart was ripped straight from her chest.

Over the years she’s felt as though something is missing.  And she’s known, even while trying to ignore it, she’s known it’s been Lucien.

And just that contact, just that feel of his skin against hers (no matter how innocent) is enough to remind her of what never was and what never could be.  Because they’d both made their choices.  And there was no going back, was there?

“It doesn’t matter,” Elain says again, voice harder than she intended.  She has to protect herself, after all.  

She tries to pull her hand from his but he won’t let her go that easily.  His fingers tighten around hers and she can feel his warmth radiating through his palm straight through her skin until it’s as though her own blood is sitting under a heat lamp.  She should have known he’s impossible to escape.  Impossible to forget.  No matter how hard she has tried in the past all she can think about is him.  How he’s endured these years, if he’s alright and happy with the way things have gone. 

She tells herself it’s because they’re friends and she cares for him like that.  But she is a fool.  She’s always been a fool when it comes to him.

“Don’t pull away from me now,” he says.

She has no choice but to look at him, he has that gravitating effect about him.  No matter how hard she tries—it comes back to him.

Even in the dark she can make him out, his strong jaw, the concerned furrow in his brow, the way his hair never quite stays contained in the band he uses to tie it back.

I’m not going anywhere, she would say if she could.  If she had that bit of strength within her to admit.

It’s the fear of rejection that keeps her quiet though.  She already put enough out on the line with Graysen.  He so fully wrecked her that she doubts she’ll completely recover.

Never good enough.  Never good enough.  Never.  No matter how hard she tried.  In the end, him leaving is the best thing to ever happen to her, really.  Though, it still feels like she is missing pieces of herself.

“You’re just as annoying as before, aren’t you?” she says.  She needs the distraction, something to take her mind away from those paths it dares to wander.

Lucien scoffs. “Not as bad as you.”

“I am a delight.”  Whatever anger or resentment or pain she’s holding onto dissipates, somehow.  And she tries, and fails, to hold back a smile so she turns away from him to settle back onto the car.

“Right,” he drawls, “which is why you blackmailed Feyre into helping you replant your entire garden?”

“Is it really blackmail if she deserved it?”

“Yes.”

Elain grunts a dismissal. “Whatever.”

Lucien throws his head back and laughs.  The sound of it warms Elain straight to her marrow.  She’s missed the sound of it; rich and full and complete.  And she’ll do anything to keep it with her.

I miss you, she wants to say.  But the words are stuck on her tongue, her lips, and they wait.  Just like they did ten years ago.  Just like ten years ago when he was getting ready to leave and she had the chance to tell him to wait.  To stop.  To just stay with her.

But she couldn’t.  Because there was her dad and Graysen and—

“I miss you.”  This time the words spill out before she can stop them.  

It’s the horror that does her in first.  Horror that she actually admitted it.  And then it goes into embarrassment because why, why, would she let the words even be a fleeting thought on her mind.

So, it’s with the utmost lack of grace that she tries to launch herself off the hood of the car.  She doesn’t make it very far because she is still holding Lucien’s hand.  Or maybe he is still holding on to her.  She isn’t clear on that front.  All she knows is that there is no escape from this mess that she finds herself in.

Hanging half off the car—her car, dammit—she looks up at him, the overhead lights inside the car bright enough to brighten his face to where the shadows have fled and his eyes are bright, so bright, as they watch her.

“Elain,” he says softly.  Too soft.  Soft enough that her heart threatens to shatter right there in that space between them.  

“I-I don’t,” she begins, not sure what she’s leading into saying but now that the initial admission is out—the floodgates remain open. “I don’t know why I said that.  I shouldn’t have said that.”

Why did she let him sit on the roof of the car with her?  

Because now she only has two options of escape.  Shove him over the edge and into the dirt.  Or get in and start driving hoping the momentum of a moving vehicle will fling him off.  Neither are very good solutions.

“Elain,” Lucien says again, his fingers tightening around hers.  

She feels like a deer in the headlights as she stares at him.  Her two options of escape are ludicrous and won’t do her much good if her body won’t move.  All she can do is watch him watching her while her heart beats so heavily in her chest and the warm night becomes too tacky and she can feel sweat bead against her back.  

“I wasn’t supposed to say that,” she whispers.

“But you did.”  He raises one brow to punctuate his words and the unspoken question hangs heavy in the air.

Her mouth goes dry and she considers shoving him off the car again.  But the man is built like a brick wall and she doubts she could even move him an inch.  She doesn’t know what to say—if she can’t shove him out of the way, she has to say something.  Anything.  Maybe that’s good, though.  Speaking has never been her forte.  Acting has never been her forte either.

But she does now.

She doesn’t think as she leans forward, snaking her free hand around Lucien’s neck and tugs him closer to her.  Before she can think and talk herself out of it—Elain kisses him.

She’s thought about it before.  For years.  Even back before there was that driving wedge of Graysen and growing up.  Back when they used to be kids who stayed up late trying to figure out life.  She’s thought about it when she was with Graysen while she wondered why things weren’t clicking the way they should have been and while she wondered why she always missed Lucien so much more.  She’s thought about kissing him when she’s been alone and wishing that things had been different.

And she thinks now, that reality is so much better than her imagination.

His body is hard against her—muscles firm and strong.  And she can taste a hint of apple lingering against his lips, mixing with the woodsy scent of his cologne.  Beneath her fingers, the ones curling against the back of her neck, she can feel his soft hair and the warmth of his skin.  

It is then that Elain comes to her senses.  Because really—what the actual hell is she doing?

When she tries to pull back though, Lucien doesn’t let her get far.  His fingers twine with hers against the hood of the car in a vice like grip that she wouldn’t have been able to break even if she’d wanted to.  He leans in close, his nose brushing hers, their foreheads grazing.

“Didn’t mean to do than either, I guess?” he says, amused.

Elain narrows her eyes and pulls back enough to shoot that glare at him but Lucien doesn’t seem to notice or care as he captures her lips with his again.

For the first time in nearly ten years, Elain finds that she’s right where she wants to be.

.*.*.*.*.*.

Not in love with the ending but my eyes are tired so here we are.  Happy elucien week friends! Love you all! Follow @writtenonreceiptswrites if you want notifs for my writing.

the mother and the cauldron

The mother: Say it slowly, so I can get it. What did the Archeron girl said?

The Cauldron: she said that she doesn't want a fae for a mate. Or a mate.

The mother: she doesn't want a-? Is she nuts? I gave her the best one I have!

The Cauldron: She's a bit traumatized, but she's nice.

The mother: I know she's a bit traumatized! But he is-he's- has she seen him? He's perfect! Even I want him as a mate!

The Cauldron: I know. How do we fix it?

The mother: not a mate, not A MATE! Well,give them forced proximity, give them pent up desire, give them loneliness, give them hormones! Make her see him shirtless! Make her see him shirtless and sweating and with his hair on a bun!

The cauldron: I like that! That's nice! Should we do the one bed trope?

The mother: Smart! I love it! She's gonna be eating out of his palm soon enough.

The cauldron: he's gonna be eating her soon enough.

The Mother and the Cauldron - creating Elucien

@elucienweekofficial2024 here is my contribution for elucien week 2024! Hope you enjoy!

The Mother: Cauldron, come forth.

The Cauldron: What do you need, Mother?

The Mother: I have a question.

The Cauldron: Nothing new.

The Mother: May I ask the question?

The Cauldron: You are strangely polite today but sure, you may.

The Mother: we know hybern has the Archeron sisters

The Cauldron: Yes, we do.

The Mother: And we know that in about five seconds, Elain will come out of the Cauldron as a Fae.

The Cauldron: Still wondering why I am an actual Cauldron, but yes, she will.

The Mother: And you found her beautiful

The Cauldron: I did, she's nice and scared

The Mother: so you gave her a nice gift

The Cauldron: I did. She's a seer.

The Mother: wonderful. So I was thinking: My calculations about mates are always right, so I did some work and she will find her mate as soon as she comes out

The Cauldron: She will? That's nice, they usually have to put a lot of work for it. Who's it gonna be? Cassian? Tamlin? Azriel?

The Mother: Not Cassian, he already has a mate.

The Cauldron: Right, I forgot. Tamlin?

The Mother: No, I have something else in store for him.

The Cauldron: Then...Azriel? He's been waiting for 500 years.

The Mother: no, no. Not him. That would be more toxic than Hybern.

The Cauldron: so whom? And if you say the King of Hybern I will open up and swallow this universe-

The Mother: Calm down, not him. I was thinking about a handsome red head with a russet eye and fire in his blood...

The Cauldron: ....

The Mother: what do you think?

The Cauldron: didn't he have a mate?

The Mother: I honestly don't know who gave him that impression, but no. He is mateless.

The Cauldron: well, that ought to mess him up. Angst, fluff...I mean, it could work?

The Mother: Right? She can braid flowers into his hair...

The Cauldron: And he can bring her to the continent...

The Mother: and she can go to spring...

The Cauldron: And she is a flower so she needs sunshine...

The Mother: yeah, and he is the heir of day...

The Cauldron: I see it working.

The Mother: Right? The fox and the faun

The Cauldron: The spell breaker and the seer...I like it. I see the plot

The Mother: yeah, impossible to miss the clear signs

The Cauldron: Yeah, they're made for each other. Here comes Elain!

The Mother: okay, to your position. We have a story to start!