Remember when I said I should’ve turned the Headcanon Oh Baby into an actual fic…? Well, here we are! I decided to use @elriel-month as the opportunity to do so, as there may or may not be a part 2 coming out next week to wrap up the month celebration (can you believe we’re at the end already? ). Anyways, this has some small differences to the original HC, but follows it fairly closely. Hope you enjoy it. I truly adore this little family.
Please let me know what you think about this update. I love getting your feedback. Constructive criticism is always welcome.
Trigger warnings: tooth-rotting fluff
Word Count: 3,080
Azriel remembered the day Elain got pregnant was the day everything in his life changed. Their morning had started normal, waking with the dawn, making love in their bed. Twice—it was always multiple rounds with them—before rising out of bed to get ready for the day. He had left to tend to some stuff for Rhys and returned to find Elain hunched in the garden.
He landed on their terrace as she was walking towards the house. A breeze shifted her hair, sending her honey and jasmine scent floating over to him. Az inhaled it deeply, and went ramrod straight, staring at her.
“Azriel?” she called out to him, head cocked to the side. “Are you quite all right?”
Shadows swarmed out of him, flitting to her side, around her protectively. They sang the news in his ear, but he already knew. He could smell the beautiful, innocent, new scent that had delicately weaved with hers. His eyes flicked over her body, looking for any changes he knew were too soon to be seen, but sought out anyways. And then he was moving towards her, dropping to his knees before her as some sappy, pathetic sound came out of the Night Court’s deadly shadowsinger.
She seemed startled by his actions but gripped him tightly, offering him comfort for whatever was wrong just the same.
“Elain,” he choked out, tears welling in his eyes. “You’re pregnant.”
The Seer blinked down at him, hands settling on his shoulders. “I—what?”
His arms wrapped around her waist, fingers splaying across her lower back. “You’re pregnant, Elain. We’re going to have a baby.”
Silver lined her brown eyes, the golden strands reflecting the sun’s rays. “A baby?” she reiterated.
He nodded, rubbing his hands up and down her hips. “A baby.”
They had talked about kids but never made any official plans about actively trying to have any. The Mother, it seemed, continued to gift her favorite Archeron.
Elain threaded her fingers through his hair. “Oh, Az,” she cried, falling to her knees with him. “You’ve made me so happy.” She kissed him, tugging him down on top of her right there on the grassy pathway of her garden.
Fingers laced and the sun high in the sky, Azriel made love to his beautiful, pregnant wife in the middle of her garden.
The next month when Elain returned to Illyria with him to continue her volunteer work at Rhys and Feyre’s orphanage was an ordeal in itself. They had decided to take a month off to get themselves situated, let their family know of the news, and help prepare Azriel for overcoming that territorial nature ingrained into him.
It wasn’t easy.
The moment they landed in Devlon’s camp, he went full Illyrian—as she so kindly put it. Snarling and snapping at anyone who got too close to his Elain and the new life she then carried.
Most of the Illyrians took in her new scent and the shadowsinger’s wrathful stare and kept a healthy distance away from her. But there were a few that dared to toe that line and came out worse for wear as a result.
Elain couldn’t help but roll her eyes at the antics, muttering Illyrians under her breath as she made her way into the orphanage.
In the few years that she helped out here, she had taken to the young children, but one more so than the rest.
Little Kaden couldn’t have been more than four years old but was much smaller than the other children his age. She had suspected of malnourishment before he was brought in, something she made Azriel aware of. Kaden was incredibly shy, kept to the back of the group, and never spoke.
To anyone.
About three months into her pregnancy, still not even showing at this point, she approached the little boy, clutching a tattered book to his chest. “Hi Kaden,” she greeted, squatting down to put herself at eye level with him. “What do you have there? A book?”
A small nod was her only response, not that it had surprised her. Elain smiled at the little Illyrian. “Would you like me to read it to you?” she asked, sitting down on the floor.
The boy hesitated but eventually caved and crawled into her lap, falling asleep within a couple of minutes of her reading. Her motherly instincts had her cradling his sleeping form to her chest, carding her fingers through his hair that was as dark as her husband’s was.
That was how Azriel found his wife that afternoon when he returned to the orphanage—holding the snoozing Illyrian child, his small hand clutching the front of her dress. He looked at them fondly, seeing the beginnings of this beautiful bond between the Seer and the little one. His heart swelled with pride not just for the work his wife was doing at the orphanage, but also for giving these children a maternal love they never had.
Over the next several months, Kaden seemed to be glued to Elain’s side. Even in the presence of Azriel—the fearsome shadowsinger held a reputation even amongst the children—Kaden stuck by her side, little hand gripping the swaths of her dress. She had asked him one night if that was common in Illyrian culture, to cling that tightly to someone.
It wasn’t. He worried that Kaden appeared afraid that Elain would be taken from him and that was why he was so attached to her.
“That’s awful,” she had said over dinner. “Do you think it has anything to do with his history and how he came to the orphanage? Why he’s there?”
Azriel took a sip of his wine. “It could be. There isn’t much information on him.”
“I’ve been reading to him for months. Spending time with him. And he still won’t speak to me. I’m worried about his development. Isn’t there anything we can do? Try to find?” Her hand rubbed her rounded stomach, growing with new life.
He smiled softly at her. “Of course, my love. I’ll see what I can find. I’ll ask a couple of my sources to look into it. See what they come up with.”
Unfortunately, the information doesn’t come before Elain becomes too pregnant to continue volunteering at the orphanage.
“I’m sorry, Lady Elain, but you’re nine months pregnant and measuring ahead of schedule. Having you outside of Velaris is risky should you go into labor,” Thea, her preferred Healer had told her. “That is my recommendation, but I will leave the decision up to you and your husband.”
With that, she bid them goodbye and let them hash out their plans.
“What about Kaden?” Elain worried.
The shadowsinger’s lips curled up. He cupped her face, thumb brushing over her cheek. “You are a good female, my love. A kind, generous, lovable, beautiful, female. And you will make the best mother—that I have no doubt.” Leaning in, he kissed her softly. “I will check in with the little one.” His thumb stroked her cheek again. “Stay here with the twins. Settle in and prepare for the baby. Let me handle what’s left on the to-do list outside of the house.”
She huffed out a breath. “Well, when you put it that way.” Elain pushed her way off the sofa, her husband instantly there to help her up. “If I can’t go back, then I need to give you something to take to Kaden,” she announced, padding her way over to the kitchen.
Though he knew Kaden would be looking for his wife, Azriel is still surprised to feel the tug on the pant leg of his leathers the next morning when he shows up at the Orphanage without Elain. He smiles, kneeling to make himself less imposing for the little Illyrian. “Hello, Kaden.”
As expected, he gets no vocal response, but he knows exactly what the child wants to know. “I’m sorry Kaden. Elain is too pregnant to come to visit right now. But she did give me something to give to you.” He pulled out the wrapped cookie, baked with love and devotion by his beautiful wife the night before.
Kaden gave him a toothy grin, took the cookie from his outstretched hand, and mumbled the smallest “Tank you,” the t-h sound not coming through.
Azriel is stunned into silence, especially when Kaden threw his arms around his neck before running off to enjoy his treat. Still kneeling, he watched as the little one disappeared, running through all the possible individuals in his head that he could ask to look into his past. He needed to know—for his sake, for his wife’s. For Kaden’s. He needed to know how he ended up here, what happened to his parents, and how they could help him.
“I can’t believe he spoke to you!” Elain complained, sitting against the headboard of their bed, arms crossed over the heavy swells of her breasts. “I’ve spent months with him. Months, Azriel! You bring him one of my cookies and he speaks!”
Azriel chuckled, striding in from the bathing chamber to their bedroom in a pair of his drawers, his golden-tan, tattooed skin on display. He crawled over her, trapping her in the strength of his arms, his body, and kissed her; let his tongue stroke hers. When he pulled back slightly, he smirked at her. “Guess he just likes me more.”
Elain’s face scrunched in disdain and she placed a palm on his chest, shoving him over to his side of the bed. “I dislike you,” she muttered.
He barked out a laugh. “Now that’s a lie and we both know it.” Wrapping his arms around her, he pulled her snugly against his chest, letting her rest her belly on his stomach to offer her some relief. His beautiful wife, the mother of his child. They drifted together into a blissful sleep cocooned by his wing and the scent of their nearly arrived baby.
~~~
Two weeks later, Az was in the kitchen preparing breakfast when his shadows went wildly out of control. He flipped everything off as one curled around his ear, whispering in that singsong voice of it, Elain.
Panic erupted in him like nothing he’d ever felt before. “Elain!” he called out, running through the house.
And then he heard it—her screams of pain.
The shadowsinger tore through their home, finding her at the back in the library. She was hunched over the table there, hand gripping the side of her stomach. A small puddle of clear fluid was on the floor beneath her. His eyes widened as he took in the scene. “El,” he murmured.
She was panting heavily. “Az.” Her eyes were shining.
This was it. The baby was coming. He sent a thought to Rhys down their mental bridge that he left open for him, asking him to summon the healer, then swooped down to lift her into his arms and carried her to their bedroom. He stripped her dress off her, leaving her in her shift, and then gently laid her on the bed, propping her up with pillows to make her as comfortable as possible.
Elain touched his cheek, catching his attention. “You ready to be a father,” she asked, a lovely smile growing on her face.
He gripped her hand in his fist, a watery laugh bubbling out of him. “We’re having a baby.” Leaning down, he rested his brow against hers, savoring that last moment before they became parents.
A short while later, an exhausted yet elated Elain placed a beautiful, healthy baby Illyrian girl in his arms—the Cauldron once again blessing its favorite Archeron with a relatively easy birth.
With her father’s dark hair and skin tone and her mother’s eyes, she was easily the most beautiful thing Azriel had ever seen, and he sobbed in utter joy as he held his newborn daughter for the first time. “Hello little one, my little love,” he wept to her. “Daddy loves you so damnmuch.”
Elain swiped the pad of her fingertip over her daughter’s plump cheek, letting her husband have his moment with her.
Those hazel eyes, filled with tears, love, and so much happiness gazed down at his wife. “Have you settled on a name?” he finally asked. They had gone back and forth on two for weeks now until Azriel decided that Elain could decide after the birth.
She smiled nodding, propping her chin on his bicep. “I have. Rosalie Archeron.”
“Rosalie,” he repeated, letting the name curl off his tongue. “It’s perfect. She’s perfect.” Leaning down, he kissed Elain slowly, deeply. “You did so well, my love. Thank you for this. For giving me this life—this gift,” his gaze shifted back to the sleeping baby in his arms, so tiny in comparison to their size.
Elain snuggled into his side as they just stared at their daughter, peacefully dozing in her father’s presence.
They spend the next month on a babymoon at their cottage, sending both Rhys and Cassian to the orphanage to check in on Kaden, though neither was successful in their attempts.
When Elain finally returned to the orphanage, she immediately went in search of him, a pink bundle still in her arms.
The Illyrian brightened immediately at the sight of her, running to grab at her skirts.
“Hi, Kaden,” she said, kneeling in front of him to bring her daughter to his eye level. “I’ve missed you.”
But the little one’s hazel eyes are glued to the face he can see through the swath of blankets. “What’s her name?” he asked in a voice so soft that Elain almost missed it.
She’s so surprised by it that it takes her a second to answer. Once she shook off her stupor, she told him, “Kaden, this is Rosalie.” Elain tilted her daughter up a little more so he could see her better.
“Wosawie,” he repeated, his r’s sounding more like w’s.
It tugged at her heartstrings, seeing how intently he looked at her, how he tried to pronounce her name. She carefully watched as his fingers traced over the soft fabric of her blanket, not daring to touch the baby herself. From the entrance, Elain felt a shadowed figure observing them, the Night Court’s spymaster keeping watch over the intimate moment between his wife, daughter, and the little Illyrian.
Elain ruffled Kaden’s hair. “I need to get some work done if you want to help me,” she announced, setting Rosalie down in one of the cribs. A single shadow lurked beneath the swaths of blankets, Azriel’s form of protection when he was away. As she made her way to the doorway, she realized he hadn’t followed her. Turning around, Elain saw Kaden was still standing by her daughter’s crib, guarding it like her own little protector. She cocked her head to the side but left him to it.
Over the next several weeks, Kaden watched over the Seer and the shadowsinger’s daughter like it was his duty. Elain stood hip propped against the door jam as she studied them when she felt her husband appear at her side. “Do you think they’re mates?” she asked, curiously but also concerned knowing her first mate wasn’t a good match.
Azriel crossed his arms. “No, they’re too young for it to be a mate thing.”
Some underlying worry whooshed out of her at that. She looked at him. “You know something.”
His jaw feathered. “Kaden’s mother was forced into a marriage with his father. They had him early on. She ended up falling in love with another male and got pregnant. When his father found out, he killed her and the unborn child in a fit of rage.”
“Oh my god,” Elain breathed, horror coiling in her gut. That poor female. Her brown eyes found Kaden across the room; looked at him with sorrow.
“He dropped Kaden off here afterward, not wanting anything connected to his unfaithful wife,” Az continued. Tension radiated off him in waves of pure, untamed, fury.
“Was Kaden present for it? The killing of his mother?” she asked, though Elain had a feeling she already knew the answer.
“Yes, he was.” It was barely controlled rage in her husband’s tone. Shadows swirled around his ankles, the talons of his wings. “I think Kaden could smell your pregnancy and clung to you, afraid that you would be ripped from him like his mother was. And now he’s watching over Rosalie.”
The sibling he never got.
Elain was struggling not to cry—something that wasn’t a result of the hormones still raging in her body. “Is his father still alive?”
Azriel was looking at the two children when he answered, “For now.” He had to release a breath, turning to face his wife who watched the children with sorrow. “You want to take him home.” It wasn’t a question. Az had a knack for reading her so well.
She took his scarred hand in hers, looking up at his face. “Yes. He adores Rosalie and I adore him.”
The wrath on the shadowsinger’s face from earlier vanished at her words. “And I adore you,” he whispered, pulling her closer to kiss her. “Two kids. Do you think we’re ready?”
“There’s nothing we can’t do, my love,” Elain breathed, taking his face in her hands and pressing her lips to his again, further proving just how much their love could conquer all.
“I’ll go speak with the head mother of the orphanage. Go wait with them and we’ll tell him together.”
Elain squeezed his hands. “I love you, Azriel. So much.”
“I love you, too, Elain. And I love this family. Thank you, my love, for giving me this.” He threw an arm around her waist, tugging her close to him. The Seer and the shadowsinger watched over the two children with awe on their faces and love in their hearts as their family of three became four.
Now Azriel stood in the doorway of the nursery, watching as Elain rocked their children in the large rocking chair, Kaden perched in her lap against her chest, Rosalie already fast asleep in the crook of her arm. She was reading one of their son’s favorite bedtime stories. He smiled as took in the scene in front of him. Az never thought he’d get this life. Have this beautiful, chosen family with the love of his life. And the Mother knew he would never change a thing.
~~~~~
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I’m not doing a tag list anymore because they’re really more trouble than their worth. For notifications, you can follow and subscribe to my fanfic account where I will be reblogging updates and snippets only. You can also find me on ao3.
As I write this, it saddens me to know that this is my last @elriel-month fic. This month went by so quickly, and there was such amazing content produced from it. I want to recognize all of the fantastic people who participated in Elriel Month, both in producing content and those who consistently like, comment, reblog, share, etc. the work that is produced. It’s been such a fun month, and a huge thank you to all of those who put it on. A lot of time, effort, and work goes on behind the scenes to keep these appreciation monthsrunning. Y'all are amazing.
Now on to the fic. This is part 2 of Little One. I’ve had this fic written for months and I’m super excited to share it with you. Please let me know your thoughts!
Please let me know what you think about this update. I love getting your feedback. Constructive criticism is always welcome.
Trigger warnings: tooth-rotting fluff, some descriptions of canon-typical violence, very minor adult descriptions
Word Count: 4,127
Elain sat at their kitchen table, a gurgling Rosalie tucked in the crook of her arm, Kaden sat across from her munching on some freshly baked pastries, cured meats, and sipping on fruit juice. A cup of tea rested against her palm as she smiled down at her son who happily hummed while eating his breakfast, bare feet kicking under his chair. It was just the three of them this morning, Azriel having been called away by their High Lord for an urgent meeting at nearly the crack of dawn.
He apologized profusely for not only waking her so early but also for having to leave her, to which he made up for with his head between her legs as the sun broke the horizon, casting an orange glow into their bedroom.
“How do you like your pastries, Kaden?” she asked, readjusting her swaddled daughter who had started to fuss in her arms. Though thoroughly sated, once the shadowsinger left their bed this morning, Elain knew she wasn’t going back to sleep and decided to get up and try out a new pastry recipe for breakfast.
The little Illyrian flashed her a big, toothy grin. “I wuv them, momma!” he shouted excitedly, crumbs smeared on his pink lips.
Elain couldn’t help the way her heart swelled at being called momma by him. It had taken quite a while for Kaden to grow comfortable in his new home. He had been living with them for right around five months now and had only begun calling her “momma” a few weeks ago. He had yet to bless Azriel with a fatherly name, much to his dismay, but they both knew that with Kaden’s early childhood ordeal, his attachment to Illyrian males would be a slow one. It would come, he just needed to be patient she assured him.
They also took introducing Kaden to his new family slowly, only allowing them over one at a time so as to not overwhelm him. Meeting Elain’s sisters and Mor went easily enough, but that wasn’t where they were concerned. Though Rhys was the High Lord and half Illyrian, Kaden was clearly more intimidated by Cassian’s larger stature and permanent presence of wings. The general, hoping to bond with the little one, proceeded to sit on the floor with their son for an hour and played with the stuffed bear he brought with him. It wasn’t until Nesta showed up looking for her husband that Cassian departed, happily receiving a shy hug on his one leg before he left.
“I’m glad, sweetie. Maybe next time I make them, you can help momma? Would you like to do that?”
Little hands hit the table in excitement. “Yes! Yes, pwease momma, can we?”
She smiled down at him with so much love. “Of course, baby.” Elain propped Rosalie on her shoulder, running a soothing hand down her back as the terrace door opened and her husband entered. “Look, Kaden. Daddy’s home. Why don’t you go get dressed now so we can head out soon?”
Despite not calling Azriel “daddy” yet, both he and Elain had decided to refer to each other by paternal names in hopes that it would encourage him to make the connection as to who he was to them, and who they were to him.
He was their son.
And they were his parents.
No matter the blood or lineage, nothing would change that.
“Okay!” He wiggled from his chair and made a mad dash from the table to his bedroom as the shadowsinger approached, a soft smile on his face watching Kaden run from the kitchen.
Azriel dropped a kiss to her lips, and then one to the top of Rosalie’s head, his fingers brushing her rogue wisps of curls. “Good morning, my little love,” he whispered.
She couldn’t help but smile at their daughter’s coo of greeting. “What did Rhys need you for so early this morning?” Elain asked as they began clearing the table of the breakfast spread.
Hazel eyes met her gaze and something twisted in her stomach at the worry she saw there. “There’s been a scuffle at one of the Illyrian camps,” he stated, setting dishes in the sink.
Elain’s brows furrowed. “How bad?”
“Rhys, Cassian, and I are about to head there to handle the situation.”
The inflection of his voice told her that there was information left unsaid. “There’s something else.”
Azriel huffed, leaning back against the counter. His strong arms crossed over his broad chest. “It’s the camp that Kaden’s biological father is at.”
The thought of that awful male made Elain want to find her son, cradle him in her lap, and never let go. “Do you think we should be concerned?”
He ran a scarred hand through his inky locks. “He’s a camp Lord and we are within the twenty-four-hour window of the Blood Rite, which means he has magic and can winnow. I don’t think that’s a coincidence.” Those golden irises blazed in fury.
“Lorenzo didn’t want anything to do with him. Why would he be making a fuss now?” It didn’t make sense. That male lost any right to claim Kaden as his son when he dropped him off at that orphanage and didn’t come back. Elain had later learned that her son had been there going on a year now and the Lord hadn’t made a peep about his child. It was both heartbreak and rage that had warred within her at that knowledge.
The shadowsinger shrugged. “Maybe word got back to him that he was adopted?”
“He left him at an orphanage!” she hissed, patting Rosalie’s back when she started to squirm.
Azriel took a step closer to her, his hand touching the back of his daughter’s head. “I think it could be about who adopted him too,” he said a bit quietly.
Elain’s heart twisted. She knew what he was hinting at. That the camp Lord wouldn’t deem Az worthy enough to raise even a child he gave up. “If he believes you unworthy to love that boy then I’ll kill him myself.”
The corner of his lips turned up briefly. “I will never stop being grateful for your devotion to me, my love.” He brushed his knuckles over her cheek. “I know you don’t like to be sidelined and that you can protect yourself, but I think you and the kids should stay away from Illyria today. I just—” a frustrated hand ran through his hair. “I can help but worry that the scuffle at the camp is to pull me away from you three at the orphanage.”
“Az,” she breathed, reaching out to grip his forearm, thumb swiping soothing strokes over his tanned, tattooed skin. “You’re scared.” It wasn’t a question.
He ducked his head. “Of course, I’m scared. He’s my son. Our son. I will do anything to protect him, Rosalie, and you.”
Elain nodded in agreement. “We don’t take chances here, not when it comes to our children. If you think there’s a risk with the three of us going to the camps, no matter how small, we won’t go. I won’t put our babies in danger.”
Her husband let out a sigh of relief, tugging her and Rosalie into his arms. He kissed her softly, conveying all his love and emotion for her and their little family from his lips. When they broke apart, he rested his forehead against hers. “Feyre said she has a morning class with some younger children at the studio today and that you’re more than welcome to bring Kaden by to paint.”
“I think he would like that. Maybe we’ll take a stroll through the Rainbow and the park by the Sidra, too.”
It was rare to see the Night Court spymaster drop all his masks and show his true self. A male so full of love, joy, and devotion. But since the birth of Rosalie, and the adoption of Kaden, Elain had seen it more and more on Azriel’s face. It was her favorite look on him, one he tended to wear when he fed and rocked his little girl to sleep, or when he’d peek in on his son as he slept, checking to make sure he was okay. It was the same look he wore now.
“I think that sounds like a wonderful idea.”
Padded feet tore down the hallway and slid into the kitchen. Both parents turned to look at a disheveled Kaden.
“Azweel! Can you but-tin my wing slots, pweeze?”
A low chuckle rumbled from Azriel’s chest as he stepped out of her embrace. “Sure buddy, come here.”
Kaden’s undeveloped magic prevented him from being able to button the flaps of his shirt around his wings alone. He’d be able to eventually, but for now, either she or Az would have to help him, not that they minded.
“Wings up,” Azriel said, reaching underneath the membranes to snap the flaps together.
“Where are your shoes?” Elain asked, once his shirt was secured.
Little, tanned toes fluttered on the stone floor. “By the door, momma.”
Her husband helped Kaden tug on his shoes as Elain secured a now sleeping Rosalie to her chest, allowing both her arms to be free. It was a wrap that Feyre swore by when she had Nyx, and Elain was inclined to agree. Having both arms available while she ran errands was indeed a lifesaver.
After explaining the change of plans to Kaden, he reached up and took Azriel’s ring and pinky finger in his small hand. “Are you coming with us?”
Her husband knelt, “Sorry, buddy. Uncle Rhys needs daddy’s help right now.”
Kaden’s lower lip jutted out in a way that Elain knew Azriel struggled to say no to. Even now, she could see the war of his vow to his High Lord and the need to protect his son dance across his face with his desire to stay with them.
He cleared his throat. “Tell you what; as soon as I’m finished with your uncle, I’ll meet up with you guys and we’ll spend the rest of the day together. How does that sound?”
The little Illyrian brightened, and he shouted in glee.
Az tugged him to his chest, kissing him on the top of his black hair. “I’ll see you later, son. I love you.”
“I wuv you too, Azweel.”
He stood, turning back to her.
“Be safe,” Elain said lowly enough to not let Kaden overhear them.
Az nodded. “I will. I’ll come home as soon as I can.” He slid a hand to her jaw to kiss her, careful of their daughter between them, then pecked the top of Rosalie’s head. “I love you,” he whispered to them both, before vanishing into the shadows.
Elain’s stomach turned restlessly. Something about the whole situation still didn’t feel right, but she would stay strong for both her husband and her son. Swallowing her nerves, she took Kaden’s hand to make their way into the bustling streets of Velaris.
~~~
The three of them strolled through the park along the glittering waters of the Sidra River having finished their painting session earlier and a delicious lunch at a small café moments ago. Kaden’s painting was sitting at Feyre’s studio, which Elain was to go pick up in a few days once it was dry. It was mostly strokes of colors and handprints, but she still thought it was the most beautiful artwork, biased or not.
Warm rays of the sun beat down on them, bringing about a flush of color on her skin and the golden hues on both of her children’s darker complexions.
Kaden had taken off, chasing after a colorful butterfly.
Elain followed the sounds of his giggles. “Stay close, Kaden!” she called when he got a bit too far for her comfort.
Ever the good listener, he rounded back towards her, stopping to look at a small coping of rose bushes. “Look, momma! Woses!” he shouted, the r sound still coming out like a w. It was something they were working on with him.
“Yes, they are, good job!” she said back, stopping beneath a shaded tree for some much-needed cooling. Kaden had taken to her garden and she took the time to teach him the names of the various plants and flowers she was growing.
Elain placed a hand on the top of Rosalie’s head, feeling the warmth of it. It was an unusually balmy spring day, one that predicted the early onset of summer.
A blip on the horizon caught her eye. She watched it as it came closer, membranous wings flapping to send it hurtling through the sky towards her.
Elain’s head cocked as she studied the movement, so unlike her husband’s elegance, Cassian’s strong presence, or even Rhys’s regal grace. Brown eyes widened as she realized who, exactly, was flying towards her.
Towards her son.
She was moving then. “Kaden!” she screamed, “Kaden, come here, right now!”
At his mother’s distressed voice, he turned, running towards her.
With a hand holding onto the back of Rosalie, Elain cradled Kaden’s head and shoved him behind her just as the Illyrian male slammed into the ground in front of them. She felt the impact through her feet.
The park was fairly empty, but the few fae present took off at the sight of the unknown Illyrian, leaving her utterly alone with him.
Kaden’s fists gripped the skirts of her lilac dress, and though every instinct in her told her never to back down from a threat, she would not risk it with both of her children in the line of fire. Elain stepped back, moving her son with her.
The male, a version of what her son may one day have features of, savagely grinned down at her. A sharp jaw, high cheekbones with a long nose. His hair was worn similar to how Cassian kept his, but a shade or two lighter. He wasn’t as large as her husband, she realized. Az had him beat by several inches and his shoulders weren’t nearly as broad. But even with that knowledge, everything about the male in front of her screamed warrior.
Dangerous.
Threat.
Her magic rumbled in her chest in response. The siphon on her ring flared once, throwing up a thin barrier between them and him—Azriel’s magic sealed away for when she needed it. The shadow that adorned her finger as a wedding band vanished.
“So,” he drawled, sounding utterly bored. “I finally get to meet the pretty, little pet that has captured the heart of the bastard-born shadowsinger.”
Elain snarled at the taunt. “Watch your tongue, Lorenzo,” she snapped.
That malicious grin grew. “And you’ve heard of me. Perfect. Hand over my son, and I’ll be on my way.”
She angled herself, shielding Kaden further behind her. “He is not your son. Unless you have a death wish, I suggest you flap your way back to where you came from.”
The smirk faded and something far deadlier took its place. “My blood runs through his veins—”
“Blood doesn’t make you a father,” she spat, vehemently. “You lost your right to claim him when you left him at that orphanage. Kaden is mine and Azriel’s son. Now and forever.”
“If you think I’m going to let you and that pathetic excuse of an Illyrian raise—”
Her blood raged like a weathered storm. One that toppled the largest of ships and swept armies into the depths of the sea. Her magic responded in kind, light bursting out of her and shoving him back a step. His eyes widened at the surprise drop she got on him. “That pathetic excuse of an Illyrian is a thousand times more of a male than you could ever dream of being. And if you say one more thing like that about my husband, I will gut you here in this park.”
The red siphon flickered on his chest in response to her attack. “Do you have any idea who you’re speaking to?” he demanded, voice edging dangerously close to levels Elain knew meant he was about to lose his temper.
She curled the corner of her mouth up. “A low-level camp lord with a single siphon? Yes, I know exactly who I’m speaking to.” She threw as much disdain in her voice as she could muster. “I think the better question is, do you know who you’re speaking to?” At his silence, she grinned. “Cauldron-blessed Seer. The Mother reincarnated. And what are you here doing? Trying to take a child away from his mother. Believe me when I say I won’t let that happen.”
“I’ll end you and your brat if need be,” he countered, taking a step forward to try and intimidate her.
But Elain had felt another’s presence as he neared. Saw in her peripheral vision the dark swath of shadows above their heads. “You hurt me or my daughter, you take my son, and I can promise you that you won’t make it out of Velaris alive.”
Before he could respond, a solid mass of muscle and wings dropped from the sky, forcing Lorenzo to take a step back lest he wanted to be smashed beneath Azriel’s large frame. Her husband’s knees bent as he landed, absorbing the impact. As he stood to his full height, his wings stretched out, blocking her and their children from the other male’s view.
The ground shook from his landing, and Elain felt Kaden push himself further into her legs. She brushed her thumb over the back of his head, hoping to soothe him with her touch.
“Get back,” Azriel growled, voice colder than what he used as the Night Court spymaster. Shadows skittered out, flitting around her and the kids, searching for any signs of injury. When they finished their assessment, they turned their attention back on Lorenzo, swirling like shards of ice, pushing him back, back, back. “Stay away from myson.”
“He is not your son.”
“We adopted him. We took him into our home. We fed him, and clothed him, and loved him. He is as much our son as our daughter is and nobody is going to take that away from us.” He took several steps forward, forcing the male backward again.
With the added space between them, Elain felt the shield in front of her reinforce itself.
“Momma,” Kaden croaked through the plaits of her skirts. Large tears filled his hazel eyes.
Her hand swept through his hair. “It’s okay, Kaden. You’re safe.” She pulled him closer to her hip, letting her other hand come down to rest protectively on his cheek. Her thumb brushed away the tears that spilled over his dark lashes.
Kaden buried his face back into swaths of her dress.
Thunder cracked like two boulders crashing together.
Elain’s head snapped to the side to see Rhys step out of rolling darkness, decked in his full Illyrian leathers. His lack of normal attire told her he had come ready for bloodshed.
“Lorenzo,” the High Lord drawled. “You’re far from home.”
The other Illyrian, seeing he was now outnumbered, grew even more furious. “I came to take what was is mine,” he fumed, reaching back for the sword sheathed across his back.
“He is not some object for you to collect,” Az stated furiously.
“He is mine,” the Lord shot back.
Azriel tensed, glancing back at her and then looking down at Kaden who was peeking at them behind her skirts.
Elain saw his hand twitch for the legendary dagger strapped to his thigh, but he didn’t grab it.
He returned his gaze to Lorenzo. “I’m not going to end your life here, no matter that you deserve it. My son has already seen enough bloodshed in his short life because of you. I won’t add to that.”
The camp Lord just smiled, “Then you’re only going to make him as weak as you are.” And then he struck, the Illyrian metal singing as it aimed for a killing blow—decapitation.
Seven blue siphons flared. Lorenzo went flying backward, his sword ripped from his hand by shadows.
“Daddy!”
“Kaden!” Elain screamed, reaching out to try and stop the little Illyrian from running into the fray, but it was too late.
His little legs carried him fast over the ground and Azriel barely had a chance to whip around before a little body tackled him. “Daddy!” he cried again, clutching at his leathers with small fists.
A blue shield shot up, enclosing her husband and her son in a protective barrier. He wasted no time lifting Kaden into his arms, a scarred hand threading through his black tresses to hold him close.
Tiny arms went around his neck as Kaden pressed his damp face above the collar of his Illyrian leathers. “I don’t wanna go,” he whimpered into his shoulder.
Azriel moved his hand from the back of his head to between his wings, rubbing strokes like he would when his son would wake with nightmares. “You’re not going anywhere, Kaden. Nobody is taking you from us.” He kissed the side of his head, allowing a few minutes to comfort his son.
Elain’s heart ached, wanting to go to them, but also not wanting to let a second child get too close to Lorenzo’s unhinged state again.
Azriel nodded towards her, assuring her that their son was safe.
It sent a wave of relief rushing through her.
He turned, finding Rhys hauling Lorenzo to his feet.
The disgust on the Illyrian male’s face at her husband holding their son made her hackles rise, enough so that her magic rumbled in response. She dampened it, not wanting to wake her daughter that somehow had stayed asleep through everything so far.
The look of the spymaster replaced Az’s hardened features. “I granted you a chance to walk away. I want you to remember that when your High Lord winnows you back to the camp to face him and your general. But if you come after my family again, you even have thoughts about my son, your life is forfeited.” Azriel gave his brother a curt nod, watching as the High Lord and Lorenzo winnowed away.
Shields lowered and both parents were striding for each other. Tears pricked her eyes as her husband embraced her and Rosalie with one arm, still holding Kaden in his other. Scarred fingers found her jaw, tilting her head up to bring their mouths together in a desperate kiss, needing to feel her presence. “Are you hurt?” he asked, his eyes darting to check over their daughter.
“We’re fine,” she breathed, her hand reaching up to lay it on Kaden’s lower back, rubbing it. She glanced back up at her husband’s face, seeing a look of awe that had settled there.
He called me daddy, he mouthed at her, silver lining his eyes. He had been waiting for Kaden’s willingness to grace him with that name—had been getting antsy for it.
Elain let out a choked sound, gripping her husband’s wrist with her other hand. I know, she mouthed back.
Kaden twisted his head, propping his cheek on Azriel’s shoulder, his arms were still wrapped around his neck.
The shadowsinger dropped a kiss to his forehead as Elain let her nails scratch at his back. “I was going to suggest we go get a frozen treat after our walk,” she started, catching her son’s eyes. There was a far-off look that she didn’t like seeing. “Does that sound good to you, Kaden?”
The little Illyrian nodded, though he gave no vocal response.
It worried her, his unwillingness to speak. They had broken through so many barriers in getting him to open up after he came home with them—she hated the idea of this setting him back. “Do you want to see if daddy can join us?” she tried, seeing how he clung to his father, though she knew Az had no intentions of leaving them alone.
Not for a while.
She also knew Az was well aware of what she was trying to do too.
Kaden was silent for a moment, but both parents waited patiently, giving him the time to voice his thoughts. “Can you, daddy?” he finally whispered.
The shadowsinger visibly hugged him tighter, resting his cheek on the top of his head. “Of course, we can,” he choked out. The emotional vulnerability rang clear in his voice. Lifting Kaden higher up on his hip, Azriel took Elain’s hand in his scarred one and brushed a light kiss over her knuckles.
Her heart swelled. Resting a hand on the back of a still sleeping Rosalie, the family of four strolled through the park and spent the rest of the day enjoying treats and each other’s company.
~~~~~
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Soft steps padded from under the stair archway, and there she was.
The faelights gilded Elain’s unbound hair, making her glow like the sun at dawn. She halted, her breath catching in her throat.
…her breathing quickened as she again paused, now a scant foot away.
…He didn’t need his shadows to read her tone, the slight tightening of her face.
Elain’s large brown eyes flickered, well aware of all that. Just as he knew she was well aware of why Azriel so rarely came to family dinners these days.
*
I think it’s worth noting how SJM decided to subtly emphasize how Azriel views and acts with Elain and in fact, how deeply their feelings actually run.
Firstly he certainly sees her as something beautiful and desirable. We are in his head for the very first time, and when she approaches, he hears her, before he sees her and becomes poetic (again). Upon seeing her, he immediately notices her reactions to him (bobbing throat) and her quickening pulse. Both, of course, indicate interest and nervousness–we are, in fact, ‘told’ by SJM that Elain is attracted to Azriel before we even know that he desires her as well.
But let’s examine this further.
Even though we are in his head, she is the one who is driving the interaction. She is the one who came downstairs, she is the one who spoke first. She is the one who brought his present and the one who handed it to him first. She is the one who told him to put the necklace on her. The one who pivoted into his touch, and the one who gave him offer and permission.
This also aligns with her buying him a gift last Solstice, and even prior–her taking his hand, her standing up silently and going with him to the garden. Back then, he might have offered, but she was the one who took the action.
There is a sense of equality throughout the entire scene. And even though he becomes aroused, we know that she does too.
I think it hints at an interesting dynamic between the two of them–he is perceived as very dominant and harsh at times, and she is viewed as soft and passive, but their interactions would actually imply something else. It seems like she might actually be pulling the strings in that relationship. For the lack of a better term–Azriel is a simp.
Secondly, in only a paragraph or two, we find out one very important thing–they can understand each other without words. Both are so acutely aware of the other’s emotions and ‘tells’ that the normally unreadable Azriel is an open book for Elain. What’s more–he knows it, and he doesn’t try to hide it. Both of his brothers, whom he’s known for over half a millennia, repeatedly point out how he is impossible to read and how his ‘mask’ covers all his inner thoughts and emotions. Here, we have Elain, who’s known him for less than two years and she’s been able to break through the shields just like that.
This again hints at the depth of their attraction to each other, but also Azriel’s inability to keep her out. That, to me at least, is indicative of Elain’s powerful presence and actually somewhat dominant nature, which has always been hidden and underestimated. She’s been able to barrel through his barriers, without trying very hard, or at all.
I am very curious how this dynamic will play out in the future.
This theory was written in honor of @elriel-month and combines prompts from weeks 1-3. Okay, so week 3 might be a stretch but gardening on a grander scale is proposed and I think it counts. Spoilers for other Sarah J. Maas series, including TOG and CC.
Two Secret-Keepers
Sarah has talked about planting secrets for the next ACOTAR book, so naturally my mind turns to our notorious secret-keepers: Azriel, the spymaster, and Elain, the seer. Both are, as Sarah explicitly points out for us, skilled in the art of uncovering and keeping secrets.
Feyre smiled. “Elain was the only one who guessed. She caught me vomiting two mornings in a row.” She nodded toward Azriel. “I think she’s got you beat for secret-keeping.”
Azriel’s got no shortage of lovers, though, don’t worry. He’s better at keeping them secret than we are, but … he has them.”
On a Forbidden Adventure
Not only are both matched in secrecy, but they are also forbidden from doing what they want.
“Then go off on adventures,” Nesta said. “Go drink and fuck strangers. Butstay away from the Cauldron.”
Rhys bared his teeth. “So you will leave Elain alone. If you need to fuck someone, go to the pleasure hall and pay for it, butstay away from her.”
But, you see, they have a tendency to challenge commands (even if that is a more recent development for Elain, I think it’s here to stay):
Elain remained in the doorway, her face pale but her expression harder than Nesta had ever seen it. “You do notdecide what I can and cannot do, Nesta.”
“Youcan’torderme to do that.”
I believe these parallels are designed to set up an adventure for Azriel and Elain that involve the sacred sister peaks. Both Feyre and Nesta have overcome challenges in these mountains, so it would make sense for our spymaster and seer to continue this trend with a different kind of mission that suits their powers: together, they can explore and unearth the forbiddensecretsthat lie beneath the sacred peaks.
Mapping the Secrets of the Sister Peaks
In ACOSF, Sarah refers to the sacred mountains—barrensisterpeaks, at odds with those around them—in a way that reminds us of the Archerons and sacred trio (Mother, Fate, and Cauldron, or Urd as I have theorized elsewhere).
Eris was waiting for Nesta and Cassian when they arrived in a forest clearing nestled in the Middle. But Nesta didn’t bother to do more than glance at the High Lord’s son—not with the sight rising above the trees.The sacred mountain—the mountain under which Feyre, Rhys, and all the other High Lords had been trapped by Amarantha. Itrose like a wave on the horizon, bleak and barren and somehow thrumming with presence.
Sound familiar? It should. Sarah has been planting this water imagery since at least ACOMAF, starting with Elain’s emergence from the Cauldron:
And as if it had been tipped by invisible hands, the Cauldron turned on its side. More water than seemed possible dumped out in a cascade. Black, smoke-coated water.And Elain, as if she’d been thrown by a wave,washed onto the stones facedown. Her legs were so pale—so delicate. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen them bare. […] Elain sucked in a breath,her fine-boned back rising, her wet nightgown nearly sheer. And as she rose from the ground onto her elbows, the gag in place, as she twisted to look at me—Nesta began roaring again. Pale skin started to glow.Her face had somehow become more beautiful—infinitely beautiful, and her ears … Elain’s ears were now pointed beneath her sodden hair.
And then when Nesta makes her bargain with the Cauldron:
And as it faded, dark ink splashed upon Nesta’s back, visible through her half-shredded shirt, as if it were a wave crashing upon the shore.A bargain.With the Cauldron itself. Yet Cassian could have sworn a luminescent, gentle hand prevented the light from leaving her body altogether.
To Cassian’s chagrin, we learn more about these sacred peaks from Eris:
Eris shrugged, and Nesta knew Cassian monitored his every breath. “There are three of them, you know. Sister peaks.This one, the mountain called the Prison, and the one the Illyrian brutes call Ramiel. All bald, barrenmountainsat odds with those around them.”
“We don’t know why they exist, but do you not find it strange that two out of the three have underground palaces carved into them?” […] Eris gave him a mocking smile, but continued, “Unsurprisingly, the Illyrians were never curious enough to see what secrets lie beneathRamiel. If it, too, was carved up like the others by ancient hands.”
“I thought Amarantha made the court Under the Mountain herself,” Nesta said. “Oh, she decorated it and made us act like a sorry imitation of your Court of Nightmares, but the tunnels and halls were carved long before.By who, we don’t know.”
There are palaces buried deep under these sacred mountains, or at least two out of three that have been confirmed. Ramiel remains a mystery. These underground palaces seem to be linked in unexpected ways, and lead all the way back to the Middle—a place with its own forbidden secrets.
The Middle
“Oorid was once a sacred place,” Amren said. “Warriors were laid to rest in its night-black waters. But Ooridchanged to a place of darkness—don’t give me that look, Rhysand, you know what I mean—a long time ago. Filled with such evil that no one will venture there, and only the worst of the faeries are drawn to it. They say the water there flows to Under the Mountain, and the creatures who live in the bog have long used its underground waterways to travel through the Middle,eveninto the mountains of the surrounding courts.”
Feyre frowned. “It can’t be more specific, though?” She asked Rhys, “Do we have a detailed map of the Middle?”
Rhys shook his head. “It’s forbidden to map the Middlebeyond vague landmarks.” He pointed to the sacred mountain in its center, where he’d been held for nearly fifty years. “The Mountain, the woods, the bog … All can be seen from land and air. But itssecrets,those discovered on foot—those are forbidden.”
Feyre’s frown didn’t lighten. “By whom?”
“An ancient council of the High Lords. The Middle is a place wherewild magic still dwells and thrives and feeds. We respect it as its own entity, and do not wish to provoke its wrath by revealing its mysteries.”
When they travel to Oorid in the Middle, the darkness Amren spoke of is readily apparent. It seems to be in a death-like slumber, and evokes imagery connected to the sacred trio and Elain in surprising ways:
But then gray, watery light hit her. And the air—the air was heavy,full of slow-running water and mold and loamy earth. No wind moved around them; not even a breeze. […] Oorid stretched before them. She had never seen a place so dead.
The oppressive air muffled even the sound of their wings, like Oorid would abide no sound disturbing its ancient slumber. […] Islands of grass dotted the expanse, some so crowded with brambles that he could find no safe place to land. Thetangles of thorns were a mockery of what might have been—as if Oorid had ever produced roses.Not a single flower bloomed.
He screamed, but it was soundless. Just as the dead were soundless, surging from the murkybottom, some in marching formation, and converging on him. […] “Mother save us,” Azriel whispered, and it was undiluted terror, not awe, hushing his voice as the dead rose from Oorid’s depths.
As an aside, we know that Nesta raised the dead in Oorid with the Mask. And it’s likely that she will, indeed, need to call upon thousands to help defeat an ancient enemy in the future:
Thousands and thousands of bodies. But she would not call thousands.Not yet. Her blood was a cold song, the Mask a slithering echo to it, whispering of all she might do. Home, it seemed to sigh. Home.
From the information we are given in the text, it seems like Oorid—which is corrupted and lacks life—is the source of the water flowing deep within the earth, into the sacred peaks, and even other courts. Is it possible that, if the Daglan were indeed related to the Asteri, they used this source as a way to drink power from the land like wine? And did they take too much, causing its most sacred places to become bleak and barren? Did the land fall into a deep, death-like sleep to protect itself?
Rhys lifted a hand, and a book of legends from a shelf behind him floated to his fingers. He laid it upon the desk. He flipped it open to a page, revealing an image of a group of tall, strange-looking beings with crowns atop their heads. “The Fae were not the first masters of this world. According to our oldest legends, most now forgotten, we were created by beings who were near-gods—andmonsters. The Daglan. They ruled for millennia, and enslaved us and the humans. They were petty and cruel and drank the magic of the land like wine.”
Ramiel and the Illyrian Mountains
The Illyrian Mountains surrounding Ramiel are described similarly: ancient,slumbering,secret…and connected by water-carvedcaves,like the Middle.
It was all so still,yet watchful, somehow. As if she were surrounded by something ancientandhalf-awake. As if each peak had its own moods and preferences, like whether the clouds clung to or avoided them, or trees lined their sides or left them bare. Their shapes were so odd and long that they looked as if behemoths had once lain down beside the rivers, pulled a rumpled blanket over themselves, andfallen asleep forever.
The full moon had shown her face, so bright the mountains, the rivers, the valley were illuminated enough that even the leaves on the trees far below were visible. She’d never seen such a view. It seemed like a secret,slumbering land that time had forgotten.
But Cassian paused before a landscape painting of a towering,barrenmountain,void of life yet somehow thrumming with presence. Snow and pines crusted the smaller peaks around it, but this strange,bald mountain…Only a black stone jutted from its top. A monolith, Nesta realized, stepping closer. […] The sacred mountain from the Blood Rite. Indeed, three stars faintly glowed in the twilight skies above the peak. It was a near-perfect, real-life rendering of the Night Court’s insignia.
Like the sacred mountain in the Middle, Ramiel is also surrounded by water imagery:
Ramiel might as well have been across an ocean. It loomed straight ahead, with two mountains and asea of forest andthe gods knew what else between her and its barren slopes. It looked identical to Feyre’s painting.
Around a river, she’d learned on her hike with Cassian, cave systems were often carved out by the water.
Even before the spin-offs, Elain stared at the barren ground when they entered the Illyrian war camp for the first time. I can’t help but wonder if the sight of it made her hands itch to make something—anything—grow there. If she looked at it and saw its potential, like she did with her family’s cottage.
Warriors and females laboring around the fires silently monitored us. Nesta stared them all down. Elain kept her focus on the dry,rocky ground.
But Elain wrapped her own blue cloak around herself, averting her eyes from all of those towering, muscled warriors, the army camp bustling toward the horizon … She was a rose bloom in a mud field. Filled with galloping horses. […] If Elain was a blooming flower in this army camp, then Nesta … she was a freshly forged sword, waiting to draw blood.
The language Sarah uses in this scene has already proven to be foreshadowing for Nesta (who is compared to a freshly forged sword; she then forges swords in ACOSF with her magic). Elain is a rose bloomin a mud field, a place that is bleak and barren, preparing for death. Is it possible she might map the secrets of the land with her powers, and help it bloom in earnest again?Her powers—which seem to involve tracking and mapping like the mystics in CC—may allow her to uncover secrets that were either lost or forbidden before even setting foot in these places. This would provide a significant advantage to missions that require any recovery of important objects on foot. And the mysteries buried within the earth may lead her to those above:
Emerie’s eyes shone. “Long ago—so long ago they don’t even have a precise date for it—a great war was fought between the Fae and the ancient beings who oppressed them. One of its key battles was here, in these mountains. Our forces were battered and outnumbered, and for some reason,the enemy was desperate to reach the stone at the top of Ramiel. We were never taught the reason why; I think it’s been forgotten. […] This Rite is all to honor him. So much of the history has been lost, but the memory of his bravery remains.”
Why, exactly, were the ancient enemies (who I believe were the Daglan and related to the Asteri in CC) so desperate to get to the top of the mountain? Is it possible the obsidian stone—that heals and transports—is one of the Made items that was forgotten after this epic battle?
Amren’s eyes glowed with a remnant of her power. “The Cauldron Made many objects of power, long ago, forging weapons of unrivaled might.Most were lost to history and war, and when I went into the Prison, only three remained. At the time, some claimed there were four, or that the fourth had been Unmade, but today’s legends only tell of three.”
Rhys threw her a frown. “Those who possessed them grew careless. They were lost in ancient wars,or to treachery,orsimply because they were misplaced and forgotten.”
“Made objects tend to not wish to be found by just anyone,” Amren cautioned. “That they have faded from memory, that even I didn’t think of them immediately in the fight against Hybern, suggests that perhapsthey willed it that way.Wanted to stay hidden.True things of power have such gifts.” […] “They were Made in a time whenwild magic still roamed the earth, and the Fae were not masters of all. Made objects back then tended to gain their own self-awareness and desires. It was not a good thing.” Amren’s face clouded with memory, and a chill whispered over Nesta’s spine.
Rhys mused, “Just as I’m able to alter a mind to forget, perhaps they have a similar gift.”
“When Briallyn was Made, it likely removed from her the Dread Trove’s glamour, for lack of a better term. Recognized her as kin. Where she might have glanced over a mention of the items before and never thought twice, now it stuck. Or perhaps called to her,presented itself in a dream.” All of them, all at once, looked at Nesta. “You,” Amren said quietly, “are the same.So is Elain.”
Is it possible that the Illyrians can’t remember why they enemy was desperate to reach the top of Ramiel, where the stone remains, because it is Made and willed it that way? True things of power have such gifts.Is that why Elain has already been forgotten in the narrative of the most recent war?
“I …” Nesta blinked. “Do you not know who I am?”
“I know you are the High Lady’s sister. That you slew the King of Hybern.” Gwyn’s face grew solemn, haunted. “That you,like Lady Feyre,were once mortal. Human.”
Nesta sank into the chair beside Gwyn’s. “I’m not a warrior.”
“You slew the King of Hybern,” Gwyn repeated. “With the shadowsinger’s knife.”
“Luck and rage,” Nesta admitted. “And I had made a promise to kill him for what he did to me and my sister.”
Did she, like Rhysand and Made objects, will it that way?
Elain fell into step beside me, peering at Lucien. He noticed it. “I heard you made the killing blow,” he said.
Elain studied the trees ahead. “Nesta did.I just stabbed him.”
Would the stone recognize Elain as kin, like the Trove objects’ response to Nesta? What might she be able to heal, or explore, with that stone? This special kinship may be one reason why Elain, with her sisters, is Starborn. It allows her to find and wield Made objects unlike other fae. It sets them apart—at odds with those around them like the sister peaks. And as @offtorivendell,@silverlinedeyes, and I have discussed before, if others use these objects without that connection, there are consequences. Helion’s reaction to the Mask is a stark contrast to Nesta’s kinship and use of it; he is repelled by it, and wonders if the consequences of its past use were written in his very blood. Could those consequences involve the betrayal and death of Fionn? Did he ultimately become corrupted by the power of the Trove because he was not kin, not protected from its influence like those who are Made?
Helion whirled to Nesta, all sensuality vanished. “You truly wore this and lived?” It wasn’t a question meant to be answered. “Cover it again, please. I can’t stand it.” […] “Doesn’t it rake its cold claws down your senses?” Helion asked.
Helion shuddered, and Nesta threw the cloth over the Mask. As if the cloth somehow blinded it to their presence. “Perhapsan ancestor of mine once used it, and the warning of its cost is imprinted upon my blood.”
Rhys’s eyes flicked to Ataraxia, then to Cassian. “Some strains of the mythology claim that one of the Fae heroes who rose up to overthrow them was Fionn,whowasgiven the great sword Gwydion by the High Priestess Oleanna, who had dipped it into the Cauldron itself. Fionn and Gwydion overthrew the Daglan. A millennium of peace followed, and the lands were divided into rough territories that were the precursors to the courts—but at the end of those thousand years, they were at each other’s throats, on the brink of war.” His face tightened. “Fionn unified them and set himself above them as High King. The first and only High King this land has ever had.”
The Prison
The sacred mountain on the prison island has also been changed, and it can no longer sustain the wild creatures that once lived there.
Helion’s most beloved pair—this black stallion, Meallan, and his mate—hadn’t produced offspring in three hundred years, and that last foal hadn’t made it out of weaning before he’d succumbed to an illness no healer could remedy. According to legend, the pegasuses had come from the island the Prison sat upon—had once fed in fair meadows that had long given way to moss and mist. Perhaps that was part of the decline:their homeland had vanished,and whatever had sustained them there was no longer.
We are told that Clotho discovered ancient songs in the lower levels of the cavernousNight Court library. These songs are a wave of sound and function like a dream that transports Nesta to the Prison. She even flows into the mountain, like she might if she were traveling through an underground waterway.
“Some of the songs you’ll hear are soancient they predate the written word. Some of them are so old we didn’t even have them in Sangravah. Clotho found them in books shelved below Level Seven. Hana—she’ll be the one who plays the lute—figured out how to read the music.”
As that seventh bell finished pealing, music erupted. Not from any instruments, but from all around. As if they were one voice,the priestesses began to sing,a wave of sparkling sound. […] It was like a braid, the song—a plait of seven voices, weaving in and out, individual strands that together formed a pattern. […] She’d never heard such music. Like a spell, a dream given form. The entire room sang, each voice resonating through the stone.
Themusic took form behind Nesta’s eyes as the priestesses sang lyrics in languages so old,no one voiced themanymore. She saw what the song spoke of: mossy earth and golden sun, clear rivers and the deep shadows of an ancient forest. The harp strummed, and mountains rolled ahead, as if a veil had been cleared with the stroke of those strings, and she was flying toward it—toward a massive,mist-veiled mountain, the land barren save for moss and stones and a gray, stormy sea around it. The mountain itself held two peaks at its very top, and the stones jutting from its sides were carved in strange,ancientsymbols,as old as the songitself.
Nesta’s body melted away, her bones and the stones of the cavern a distant memory as she flowed into the mountain, beheld towering, carved gates, and passed through them into a darkness so complete it was primordial; darkness that was full of living things, terrible things.
SoNesta drifted down and down,the harp and the voices pulsing and guiding, until she stopped before a rock. She laid a hand on it to find it was only an illusion, and she passed through it, down another long hall, beneath the mountain itself,and then she stood in a cavern, almost the twin to the one the priestesses sang in,as if they were linked in song and dreaming.
Is it possible that these mountains are not only linked physically, but magically? If so, this makes it even more likely that Elain might use her murky realm of dreams, which I believe is connected to the sacred trio and the waters of the Cauldron, to navigate the magical waterways that may exist between the peaks. And who knows what she might find…or even wake in the womb of these sacred mountains?
Healing the Womb of the Earth
The language Sarah uses to describe the sacred sister peaks and their cavernous depths is not exclusive to Prythian. Healers in TOG use a sacred underground cave called Silba’s Womb. Silba was believed to be the goddess of healing and she was associated with owls,purple, and water.
Candles had been tucked into natural alcoves, or had been clumped at either end of each sunken tub, gilding the sulfurous steam and setting the owls carved into every wall and slick pillar in flickering relief.
A plush cloth cushioning her head against the unforgiving stone lip of the tub, Yrene breathed in the Womb’s thick air, watching it rise and vanish into the clear, crisp darkness squatting far overhead.
Some ancient architect had discovered the hot springs far beneath the Torre and constructed a network of tubs built into the floor so that the water flowed between them, a constant stream of warmth and movement. Yrene held her hand against one of the vents in the side of the tub, letting the water ripple through her fingers on its way to the vent on the other end, to pass back into the stream itself—andinto the slumbering heart of the earth.
An acolyte had been waiting with a lightweightrobe of lavender—Silba’s color—for Yrene to wear into the Womb proper, where she’d discarded it beside the pool and stepped in, naked save for her mother’s ring.
Water—Silba’s element. To bathe in the sacred waters here, untouched by the world above, was to enter Silba’s very lifeblood. Yrene knew she was not the only healer who had taken the waters and felt as if she were indeed nestled in the warmth of Silba’s womb. As if this space had been made for them alone.
Thedarkness above her was that of creation, of rest, of unformed thought. […] Yrene stared into it, into the womb of Silba herself. And could have sworn she felt something staring back.Listening, while she thought through all Lord Westfall had told her.
It is perhaps no coincidence that Elain is inspired by Blodeuwedd, who was transformed into an owl, and has begun to glow with health while wearing the color…purple. Her emergence from the Cauldron even evoked the water imagery most associated with the power of the sacred trio, which includes the Mother. Silba’s healing waters are compared to a womb. And like a womb, it is calming and creative, and allows the healer to emerge renewed. We learn of another dark womb from Nesta in ACOTAR:
There was night, and there was the darkness of extinguishing a candle, and then there was this. Not only the true absence of light, but … a womb.The womb from which all life had come and would return,neither good nor evil, only dark, dark, dark. […] Her name drifted to her as if rising from the depths of some black ocean. […] The darkness pulsed, beckoning.
This language reminds me again of the sacred trio, especially the Mother, who is believed to be a primal goddess associated with creation and wild magic:
Her gaze shifted to the carved wooden rose she’d placed upon the mantel, half-hidden in the shadows beside a figurine of a supple-bodied female,her upraised arms clasping a full moon between them.Some sort of primal goddess—perhaps even the Motherherself.Nesta hadn’t let herself dwell on why she’d felt the need to set the rose there. Why she hadn’t just thrown it in a drawer.
For whatever reason, Nesta placed Elain’s carved rose—a symbol of love and beauty and color in the bleakness of winter—next to the Mother. It is half-hidden in shadows, like Elain herself. There are many symbolic meanings for roses, including (1) love and beauty, (2) strength through silence, (3) healing, and (4) divination and secrecy (more on how those apply to Elain here). Like the Mother, Elain is also elusive and associated with symbols of rest and renewal.
The Faelights gilded Elain’s unbound hair, making her glow like the sun at dawn.
Her sister’s delicate scent of jasmine and honey lingered in the red-stoned hall like a promise of spring,asparkling river that she followed to the open doors of the chamber. Elain stood at the wall of windows, clad in a lilacgownwhose close-fitting bodice showed how well her sister had filled out since those initial days in the Night Court. Gone were the sharp angles, replaced by softness and elegant curves. […] Her sister turned toward her, glowing with health. Elain’s smile was as bright as the setting sun beyond the windows.
And as though the Mother is indeed next to her, Azriel mentions her as a witness to their secret, forbidden encounter:
But he could have this. The one moment, and maybe a taste, and that would be it. “Yes,” Elain breathed, like she read the decision. Just this taste in the dead of the longest night of the year,where only the Mother might witness them.
Could these two secret, forbidden lovers merge their powers of sight and sound to find the source of the corruption in the Middle? It will likely involve unearthing events of the past that were lost, including—potentially—the actions of Theia’s forgotten daughter. And the secrets they uncover as they navigate time and space might help Elain, like a rose bloom in the mud, clear the corruption at the root and heal the wild magic that once bloomed and thrived throughout the land. Together, Azriel and Elain could create a thing of secret,lovely beauty, showing the Spymaster that he can help heal rather than torture, and finally—finally—feel hopeful about his future with Elain at his side.
“ Azriel’s fingers lingered at her nape, atop the first knob of her spine. Slowly, Elain pivoted into his touch. Until his palm lay flat against her neck.
It had never gone this far. They’d exchanged looks, the occasional brush of their fingers, but never this. Never blatant, unrestricted touching.
This is for all my lovely, beautiful Elriels. Let’s keep going!
Please do not repost without permission.
PERFECT, GORGEOUS, EXCELLENT, AMAZING.
This is so beyond stunning, I’m just a mess right now. The bent leg, Azriel’s on the bed beside her. His hand on her ass (because he’s a certified ass man).
But also, Elain, your hands. Baby, you know EXACTLY what you’re doing.
I’m fine. No really, I’m fine. I was not attacked by this. It’s not like this is going to plague my thoughts now. No, certainly not.
@tswaney17 shes knows exactly what she’s doing with those hands (I mean, I would to Elain). Certified ass man is correct, it’s just a steady glide down the thigh from there
