Chapter Text
Lucien nervously fidgeted with the ribbon on the bouquet of lavender in his hands he walked up the steps to the townhouse. He had tried to reach out to Elain through their bond several times over the past day, to let her know he was coming home and couldn’t wait to see her, but her end was silent. Rhys had said she was withdrawn lately - he hoped to change that.
Azriel was the first to greet them, no doubt having known of their arrival due to his shadows. He nodded gravely to Lucien and then accepted a hug from Feyre, though he was careful not to actually touch her with his large, scarred hands. Was it because he feared the wrath of his High Lord if he dared to touch Rhys’s mate? Or his own hang up about those scars?
Feyre had told him that the scars came from torture from Az’s own brothers. My brothers left less visible scars.
Mor was next, exclaiming and laughing and hugging Feyre over and over. She looked so bright and happy, despite the fact that she’d had so much pain and suffering in her past as well - some of it at the Vanserras’ hands.
They didn’t mention that they’d seen Eris, much less allied with him. Rhys promised to break that news to Mor later, alone, when the excitement had died down. Lucien didn’t envy Rhys that task.
As greetings filled the room, demands for details on their adventures followed. Amren got a faraway look in her eyes when they described Varian’s involvement. “He is a good male and a valuable ally,” Lucien said.
Amren’s eyes flicked to him. “I always knew you had sense, boy.”
Lucien bowed low under the weight of Amren’s gaze. He couldn’t imagine how Varian looked Amren in the eyes, much less put his hands on her, without trembling.
Then he looked past Amren into the parlor, and saw another being that raised his hackles in the exact same way. Nesta.
Feyre’s oldest sister sat stone-faced in the parlor, reading, her disdain for everything on display. There was something unsettling about the silver fire that glowed behind her eyes, cold yet burning, quite different from his own Autumn blaze.
It was like looking directly into the face of Death.
What happened to her in that Cauldron?
When Feyre tentatively said her name, Nesta’s eyes flicked over each of them in turn.Only Feyre got a dismissive shrug as greeting, while Lucien got no reaction at all and Rhys received a withering glare. What did he do to piss her off?
Rhys caught his eye, and winked. She’s prone to motion sickness. Especially from flying. Especially at high speeds.
You’re cruel, Lucien tsked in his mind.
Best you remember that, Rhys purred back.
Cassian sat across from Nesta, watching her every move and breath, but leaped up when he saw them. “Hello, Feyre,” he exclaimed, sweeping her up into his arms and spinning her around. She laughed and hugged his neck, then cried, “Your wings, Cass!”
“Like new,” he declared, flaring them outward. The healing was near-perfect - such a change from the shredded, bleeding mess he’d been at Hybern.
Cassian put Feyre down and strode to Lucien. “Thank you for taking care of our High Lady,” he said, extending his hand. Lucien shook it, and the general added, “We’re still furious with both of you for putting yourselves at risk like that.”
“You can scold Lucien later,” Rhys said breezily. “His mate awaits.” He gave Lucien a small smile and gestured to a closed door at the end of the hallway.
“Elain is resting. Don’t disturb her,” Nesta barked. It was like a bucket of ice thrown over Lucien’s head. He froze, frightened to disobey.
But Rhys took his arm and steered him toward the door. “Don’t let Nesta put you off. She’s overprotective and jealous.”
Lucien straightened nervously, looking down at the flowers in his hands. “I’ll just see if she’s… I can always come back…”
What if she doesn’t want to see me?
The last time he had seen Elain, she’d just been in the Cauldron… freezing cold, terrified, confused. His heart thundered at the memory. How desperately he’d wanted to hold her close and winnow away, somewhere, anywhere, and damn the rest of the world.
He hadn’t done it. He’d chosen to go to the Spring Court to help Feyre.
It had been the right decision. So why did he feel terrible about it now?
Lucien didn’t know what to expect as he walked quietly to the door, but not too quietly, so that he wouldn’t startle her but she would hear his footsteps.
He could hear spirited conversation behind him, Feyre being peppered with questions, Rhys chiming in here and there, but it was all muffled compared to the blood pounding in his ears.
Elain. Elain, I’m here. I’m back.
He approached the door, fingers shaking as he reached up to knock. But before he could make contact with the wood, a sweet voice inside called, “It’s open.”
Lucien steadied his hand as best he could and turned the knob.
His breath caught as he beheld Elain sitting by the window, pale and lovely in an amethyst colored gown, hair loose in ringlets around her face. She looked pale and drawn - but ethereally beautiful, despite being in poor spirits. Even more beautiful than I remembered.
“Elain,” Lucien said quietly, wobbling on his feet, mechanical eye whirring and clicking as it zoomed in upon her.
Elain’s vacant look sharpened as she turned from the window to the sound of his voice. “Lucien,” she breathed, hands fluttering to her heart. Did she feel the tug of the mating bond? His heart began to race. “You came back.”
“I promised I would,” he said, fumbling for words as his blood roared and his instincts screamed at him. Don’t just stand there. “I’ve wanted to be here for so long.”
Elain gave him a soft, faraway smile. “I spoke to you in my dreams.” He nodded, breathing in deeply as she turned toward him, her hand reaching out to him. He crossed the room to her, checking his impulse to run for fear of startling her, and knelt next to her. He grasped her hand, then looked up at her with hope and terror in his eyes.
Elain reached down to brush a finger against the scars on the side of his face. Lucien went still, forcing himself to keep breathing, as the gentle touch sent tingles skittering through him. “Is this a dream?”
“Yes,” he blurted out, then added, “No. But I feel like it is.”
She closed her eyes, hands stilling. His heart stuttered as her tears began to fall, and he dropped the flowers into her lap as he reached up to wipe them away.
“I had to make sure,” she said softly. “I see things, sometimes. I don’t know if they’re dreams, or real. But you… you feel real.”
“I am,” he said hoarsely, holding more tightly to her hand.
“And you’re staying?” she asked, peering into his face as though trying to memorize it. “The Cauldron isn’t tricking me?” Her sadness, the haunted shadows behind her eyes slammed into Lucien like a gale force wind, as she said, “It calls to me. It’s angry.”
“The Cauldron?” he asked, feeling stupid, terrified, overwhelmed, as he drank in the sight of his mate, his beautiful mate, sitting before him.
A fleeting look of abject horror crossed her face, and with it, waves of panic that seized hold of Lucien like a vice. Elain’s face went momentarily blank, frozen, and Lucien nearly leaped up to grab her, shake her, snatch her from the chair as if he could physically remove her from what troubled her. Only fear of frightening her kept him on his knees, gripping her hand, whispering, “I’m here. I’m here, Elain.”
When she didn’t move, didn’t seem to so much as breathe in or out, Lucien closed his eyes and tugged on the bond between them. I’m here.
Elain didn’t respond at first. She was far away, somewhere he couldn’t find her. But he held her hand, and brushed the hair from her pale face. Come back to me, he silently begged her. Wherever you went, come back to me.
When her hand finally curled around his, he almost cried with relief.
Elain’s soft brown eyes sparkled with new tears as she whispered, “I saw fire. Flames and shadows…” Her hand suddenly squeezed, almost to the point of pain. “They took you… you were burning.”
Lucien’s throat tightened, but he willed himself to stay calm. His fingers massaged a slow circle on the back of her hand. “I’m a child of fire, sweetheart. I’m not afraid to burn.”
A tear slipped down Elain’s cheek. “Why am I seeing these things? What’s wrong with me?”
“Nothing’s wrong with you,” Lucien said quietly. “What you’re seeing, it must be important.”
Elain shook her head, but he kept going. “I’ll face it with you. We’ll figure out what these visions mean.”
She nodded, and his heart ached for her as he brushed the tear from her face.
“We’ll get through this, Elain. Together.”