thunder springs

Winter Stole Summer’s Thrill- An Elucien Fic

Prompt fill for anonymous from the angst thing I reblogged the other day. Longer than anticipated (*sobs into my hands because i’m HOPELESS*) so it’s getting Formatted. As per, unplanned, unedited..have at it. 

Title: Winter Stole Summer’s Thrill 

Summary: prompt: “Remember when you promised we’d always be together? Because I remember when I thought you meant it.” Pain to follow. Elain’s POV. 

Teaser: ‘She was going to hold him to that promise he had made to her, those words he had whispered the night before he had left. They had lain in bed together, naked, spent, their arms around one another, their chests heaving in time as they panted for breath, and he had whispered those words to her. “We will always be together, Elain. Always.” 

She had fallen asleep with those words warming her heart. She had let him walk onto that battlefield with them ringing in her ears. They were the last words he had ever spoken to her and by the Mother and the Cauldron and whatever other forgotten gods stalk the heavens and play with the lives of men and fae alike, she will hold him to them.’ 

Link: AO3 

His hand is cold in hers. The room is quiet, unusually so. Even when they had lain together here in the mornings there had always been the soft sounds of birds singing outside, the breeze wafting through the trees, the servants padding quietly up and down the halls. 

The silence now seems an omen. The windows have all been shut up tight, keeping the room as warm as possible. The birds and the breeze are exiled from this place of cold death and dark shadows. They belong to the world beyond, full of life and colour and hope, not here in this place. Elain has the urge to run to the windows, to throw them open, let the sun and the sounds of this place fill the room, lift her out of the dead feeling that’s sunk its claws into her heart. 

She doesn’t though, can’t bring herself to leave his side. The servants have all been sent away. There is only her and him, a few others who come and go. But this manor is big and they are far away, their footsteps and voices not managing to echo this far through the empty corridors to break up the quiet. 

When she speaks, her voice sounds too loud, intrusive and imposing, like a sudden rumble of thunder on a warm spring day. “Remember,” she whispers to him, “Remember when you promised me that we’d always be together?” A single tear slips down her cheek. The taste of salt is like an explosion on her tongue, ripping her from the bland, empty oasis she’s been stranded in since it happened. 

Another tear but she brushes this one away with her free hand. She shouldn’t cry in front of him, that would upset him. What would he think if he woke and found her cry at his side? She has to be strong for him. She will be strong for him. 

But she can’t help the words that fall from her lips, spilling out of her along with a fresh wave of tears she can’t hold back no matter how hard she tries. “Because I remember when I thought you meant it, when I was sure that nothing could ever take you from me; or me from you.” They’re the words of a child, that human girl she had been so long ago that’s been broken by the things that she’s seen, the things she’s endured, the things that she’s done. 

The next words are a plea, desperate and shattered, “My mate, my mate, my mate…”

They had sealed the bond two years ago. In the middle of a war but neither of them had cared about that. It was right. It was real. She had found him again on a battlefield, on two different sides of this war. She should never have been there, but they had needed everyone to fight they could and she had refused to sit safely at home alone while everyone else went out to do what they could. 

She had regretted it from the first charge. The blood. The chaos. The death. She had never been able to stand the sight of blood or gore. Even after years of living with it, the sight of Feyre cleaning and dressing a kill in their kitchen had made her feel sick. This had been a hundred times worse than that. People screaming and crying and dying and killing all around her, and she caught in the thick of it, like a doe with a shattered leg in the eye of a storm. 

Then he had been there. A blade in either hand. His red hair flying around him like fire. Fire itself bursting from him, for the first time in centuries, to protect her, his mate. They had looked at each other, standing a foot apart, both armed, both spattered in blood and filth and gore, wearing different colours. He in green and gold and she in black and red. 

They had both known what should follow. They had both know that honour, duty, loyalty, love to all those they followed, demanded their next actions. They were to take up arms against one another, fight, hurt, kill. This male…This male had helped drown her and Nesta in that Cauldron, had held Feyre under while Tamlin drowned her in his own selfish trauma after what they’d endured. He was on the other side. He had chosen. She had chosen. She owed him nothing. She didn’t know him, didn’t care about him, didn’t feel anything for him but…

But she had met those mismatched eyes, full of all the pain and terror and sadness she’s come to know so intimately, and she hadn’t been able to do it. Their swords had faltered at the same time, their power dulling, a hurricane turned to a quiet shower of rain in the face of this one they could not hurt. She had taken his arm, had begged him to do something, to rally his forces. They would listen to him, they would follow him, he could end this, end it all. 

He had. They had. 

At least that day, that one battle, they had managed to stop. She had brought him before Feyre and Rhys and he had spoken for Spring, had told them he wanted this pointless slaughter to end. The men they had saved that day had simply died the next but for that moment…She had seen something in his eyes. She had seen a hatred for this battle and bloodshed that everyone else seemed to accept as inevitable and right. She had seen a desire for peace, for true peace, what she longed for more than anything. She had seen hope. And she had never looked back. 

Still they fight. The first War had raged for seven year, she had been told. This one has lasted five already and everyone involved believes it might easily double that. More and more peoples from across the sea are getting pulled into this, taking sides, summoning armies, dragging this on and on and on, filling the world with death and pain and screams. 

Already she has worn so many faces in this game of chance they play with people’s lives, where the roll of dice sends them to fight, to kill, to die. She’s been a victim; fresh from the Cauldron, in shock, in pain, with nothing left but her skin and her sisters.

 A hope. Her powers could change this war, could give them an edge, but she doesn’t want to fight, doesn’t want to hurt, doesn’t want to kill, just wants to hide. 

A  soldier. Despite her feeble protests she had still been trained to fight - just so you can protect yourself- they had told her, but she knew, even then, that protecting herself would come at the cost of harming others and she had hated every second of it.

 A spy. She was his mate, ready made, she could get close, could make him trust her, he would never hurt her, never, never, never.

 A traitor. They knew he wouldn’t hurt her, knew he wouldn’t hurt them, not while they held her. They had never suspected she might turn on them, that her love for a stranger might be more than her lust for war and deceit. They had never suspected that might not be able to hurt him, either. 

A High Lady. The power came to her when Tamlin had fallen and Lucien had smiled and sworn his blade to Spring once more. To her. She had allied them again with Night, with her fierce sisters who found ways to thrive in this war while she felt sometimes she was barely surviving it. She and Lucien had fought and strived, turned former enemies to allies; turned former friends to dust and ash. 

But now…

A widow. 

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Somewhere in Savannah

 2k word count. Post season 4 James/Thomas bliss :))) Beginning and ending with lofty ideals on paper but a lot of loving in-between. NSFW. Sorry I haven’t been writing for this blog as much lately; my other one keeps me plenty busy. But I am writing a nice long post-show reunion fic on AO3 so if you haven’t checked it out yet you should! And without further ado…

——–

James leaned in close over his shoulder.

“Another treatise? What’s this one?”

Grateful for the interruption, he placed his quill back into the nearly empty pot of ink and leaned back in the chair, close enough that James’s ruddy beard tickled his ear.

“Actually I am basing it on piracy,” he replied with smile.

“Oh?”

James came around and picked up the topmost parchment and skimmed it.

“It is a call for democracy,” he said proudly. “The very same ideals you have told me about in detail, except of course I am not using the term ‘piracy’ anywhere.”

James put down the paper and raised his eyebrows.

“So this is why you’ve kept hounding me about my knowledge about the inner workings of pirates these last weeks.”

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6

I actually wore this dress for my first ever post on this blog! That was something like 5 years ago, and I styled it pretty much the same way. Which makes me feel very, very old. It’s warm and springlike here with occasional thunderstorms, so I felt like embracing all the boho wows again ❤

Old Anthropologie hazel dress  //  Flower crown by Elle Santos  //   Leather sandals from Exotic India Art

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Places I’d Like to Be in the Rain
  • A ship at sea
  • London, with a black umbrella, on my way to meet a stranger in a dark, little pub where we will plot a revolution.
  • A garden in April. Everything smells fresh and damp. 
  • The middle of the Amazon rain forest, joyfully diving into a river, the call of howler monkeys and green parrots accompany the pouring rain.
  • A moor. In Scotland. Preferably riding a horse.
  • A great library. The kind with sliding ladders, floor to ceiling shelves, and maps on the wall. And maybe a fireplace. Ancient tomes are stacked around me. I’m so immersed in the book in front of me that I barely hear the rain on the rooftop.
  • Kissing someone