Chapter Text
chapter ones. mates
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Their mating ceremony would happen on the Feast of the Risen Sun, the most sacred of the Day Court holidays when the power of its High Lord was at its peak. It would be a grand, public affair to be witnessed by friends, family, the court, and the people. All lords of Prythian and countless foreign authorities were invited to attend months beforehand.
Nesta and Feyre might have preferred simpler, quieter mating ceremonies for their family and close friends alone, if any at all. Elain was different: she had always dreamed of a Princess’ wedding, and Helion was all too willing to indulge her.
It wasn’t a purposeless waste of gold and resources, either: Lucien had been born outside of wedlock and raised beneath the coppery leaves of the Autumn Court, far away from the Day Court, its traditions, and culture. A mating ceremony as grand as this would help cement Lucien as the Prince of the Day Court and their future High Lord in the eyes of the nobility and the people.
Elain brought a hand to her mouth, lush pink lips lifting as she remembered how Lucien had tried — unsuccessfully — to talk her and his mother out of such a huge celebration.
“Are you sure you wish for such a grand ceremony, love?” Lucien asked, eyeing the array of fabrics displayed on the mahogany table. “You don’t need to do this for me, you know.”
Elain snorted, not bothering to look at him. “Were I doing this for you, you wouldn't be so recalcitrant about everything.” She inspected a piece of gold damask embroidered with vines and sun motifs and handed it to Phoebe. “I think this one would go well with the copper gossamer we picked earlier.”
Lucien pinched the bridge of his nose. “Mother, please —”
“Do be quiet, dear,” his mother said cheerily, taking the fabric from Elain's hand and nodding approvingly. “It's better this way. Why don't you go ask your father about the statues and help him there, hm?”
“Statues?” He stared between them, mouth hanging open. “That wasn't in the original plan.”
“Neither was distributing gold bars to the citizens as small gifts, but you don't plan the mating ceremony of the millennium by skimping on the details.”
Lucien muttered something that sounded like I give up , extracting a peal of laughter from his mother and mate.
The two females him go with twin smiles of fondness etched on their faces.
“He doesn’t think he deserves any of this, does he?” Elain whispered, tightening her grasp on her dress. “The extravagance, the big mating ceremony — after all we've been through, he still thinks he's not good enough.”
“And he won't. Not for a while, at least. Such deep wounds take time to heal. But he's getting better every day. He has me, his father, and even Eris. He has you, too.”
“I wish there was more I could do. If only I could... I don't know. Help more.”
Phoebe smiled and got up, collecting Elain's hand within her own and giving them a tight squeeze.
“You already do enough, sweet girl. You are here, and you will help him through the worst, just as he will help you — my son isn't the only one with scars that need time to heal, is he now?”
Elain chuckled, a tear gathering at the corner of her eyes. “No,” she said, “he isn’t.”
She had come a long way in learning to be more assertive since the quest to defeat Koschei, the trials she had faced forcing her to come out of her shell and face her problems head-on. Lucien didn’t allow her to retreat and ignore the mounting problems either, dragging her out of her cocoon of security if demanded.
“And that is the beauty of the mating bond. You have someone who understands you to your core, and you, him. He will help you grow as you will help him. Hand in hand, side by side, to help you up when you stumble and give you a push forward when required. It's work, as all relationships are, but it's not a burden to be placed solely on you or him. You carry it together. And if either of you starts slipping, you stop, reassess, and ask for help.”
“Has Lucien ever told you about my mother?”
“Very superficially, I'm afraid,” Phoebe said, shaking her head.
“She was arrogant, petty, and cruel. She only loved me and my sisters in so far as we were an extension of herself she could parade and brag about to her friends. Her name meant love, but I don't think she had any love left in her to give to anyone but herself.” Elain swallowed a sob, a tear sliding down her cheek. More than a decade after her death, the ghost of Carys Archeron still cast a long shadow. “You are nothing like her, my lady. You never became cruel, no matter how thoroughly the world tried to break you. l… would be honored if you allowed me to call you mother, Lady Phoebe.”
“Oh, Elain.” Lady Phoebe stood and enveloped Elain in her arms. “You already are my daughter in my heart.”
They stayed like that for a while, until one of the handmaids arrived in a rush to announce that the tailor they had invited to create the ceremony's dress had arrived from Xian. She was an old friend of Nuan, famed for her ability to weave magic into cloth, and the favorite seamstress at the employ of the Golden Empress of Xian.
And here Elain was months after that day, wrapped in the dress of her dreams. Its design mixed the traditional human styles with day court ones, woven from white silk and pale pink and yellow gossamer. Gold filigree covered her shoulders; a chain of gold, diamonds, and topazes hung on her neck. The skin of her back lay partially exposed, gold chains encrusted in diamonds obscured her skin from view.
Her golden-brown hair had been curled and pulled up in buns and braids, decorated with gold rings and a massive headdress that she couldn’t wait to get rid of. Phoebe had explained the weight was on purpose, to remind the Ladies of the Day Court of their heavy burden.
After her handmaids were done with her dress, her makeup, and her accessories, Elain was allowed a moment to herself in the dressing room to collect her thoughts and relax — or as much as it was possible to relax in these circumstances.
She had sat in a similar room a lifetime ago, fitting dresses and fabrics for her wedding to Graysen. She had been happy then, eager to leave behind her father’s house and make a home of her own, a place she could call hers and where the shadow of her sisters and her mother wasn't as thick. Her plans for the future had crumbled to the dust of hope when she and Nesta were kidnapped and turned into fae.
She had died that day in Hybern, all traces of her humanity scrubbed clean as she succumbed to the black waters of creation. Feyre and the others liked to say that the Cauldron loved her and had, therefore, showered her in gifts, but Elain hadn’t felt particularly blessed or gifted. The Cauldron had trampled on her wishes, given her things she did not ask or want, and taken everything else. It was powerful and as most powerful things with near absolute power, selfish.
In the aftermath, Elain had mourned her human life, resented the mate she became keenly aware existed, and the very being she always had feared and had been turned into. For months, complete oblivion seemed kinder than to continue to live and breathe.
And yet, if Feyre had never killed the wolf, if Elain hadn’t been dragged to Hybern, she wouldn’t be here now. Her sisters likely never would have met their mates; Nyx wouldn’t exist. Elain would never have met Vassa, Nuala and Ceridwen, Jurian, Nuan, or Lady Phoebe. There would be no vision of her and Lucien in the far future, old even by fae standards and surrounded by children and grandchildren, light and happy.
There would be no future Princess of the Day Court smiling back from the mirror, brimming with light and joy, with gold dust splattered across her nose and cheeks.
Elain Archeron had died, but Elain Archeron had also lived, happier than she had ever remembered being.
The door swung open and her sisters strode in. Feyre was clad in pale, shimmering blue, crowned in starlight, truly the Stars Eternal. Nesta wore the silver and blue uniforms the Valkyrie generals adopted for celebrations. They were Elain's sisters, but they were also the High Lady of the Night Court and the General of the Valkyries.
“Oh, look at you!” Feyre squealed, coming to stand at her side. She had left Nyx with Mor and the rest of the Inner Circle. “I had seen the drafts you sent to Velaris, but seeing it in person and how they complement your beauty and jewelry — you look like a queen, Elain.”
“Thank you,” she answered with a giggle. “Madam Haolan thinks it is one of her finest works.”
“Isn’t that headdress a bit heavy, though?” Nesta came to stand in front of her, placing her hands on her waist.
“ Terribly ,” Elain admitted, “I can hardly wait to get rid of it for the reception. Did I tell you I’m going to change dresses for it? The next gown will have sun lilies woven into it that —”
“That you bred and planted yourself and that will shine with sunlight. Yes, we know.” Nesta rolled her eyes, exasperated. “You showed it to us last time we were here, when they had yet to bloom. You wrote to us about them too. Multiple times.”
“Well, then.” Elain sniffled haughtily, lifting her nose into the air. “You will get to see them soon. They’re my masterpiece, if I may say so.”
Nesta seemed like she wanted to say something, but Feyre cut in, placing a hand on Elain’s shoulder.
“Far be it from us to go against the bride on her mating ceremony —”
“Good, else I might have you both thrown out of here until it's time to leave.”
Feyre ignored her. “— but we need to ask: is this truly what you want?”
Elain blinked once, then twice, shoulders going slack. She looked at Feyre, wide-eyed and gaping, then at Nesta, who nodded somberly in agreement.
“You are both aware that this is merely the formal ceremony, aren’t you? She said slowly, pointing to the fully decorated city outside. “That I’m already mated to Lucien in all ways that matter, right?”
“We know,” Nesta said, “but regardless. If this ceremony is too much, if it’s too big for you —”
“This is the ceremony I wanted,” Elain snapped, feeling the heat rise to her cheeks. “It was I who insisted on a grand event. The dress, the food, the flowers, everything — I spent hours, days, months even, painstakingly working on all of it. So why in the world would I not be fine with it?”
“It’s just —” Feyre hesitated, bit her lip, and continued, “You have always tried to please everyone. Even when you disliked it, you kept quiet. We want to ensure you are fine with what is happening, Elain. That is all.”
“Your concern is touching,” she replied without meaning, grinding her teeth. “But it's also unwarranted and patronizing. Must we have this conversation again today of all days?”
“We don’t mean it this way.” Nesta insisted, taking Elain’s hand. “We just want you to know that we are here for you and will support you in whatever you want to do, even if it is leaving Lucien at the altar to run off with Azriel.”
Elain gagged, horrified. “You did not just say this.”
“You did have a crush on him.” Her older sister smirked, a mischievous glint in her blue eyes.
“Everyone makes mistakes and foolish decisions they regret.” Elain squared her shoulders, crossing her arms. “I don't need you to remind me of mine”
Nesta barked out a laugh, Feyre soon joining in. Elain glanced between her sisters, taken aback by their mirth and giddiness, and soon found her mouth twisting into a smile, her shoulders shaking and shaking until she, too, was roaring with laughter.
When they had quieted, Feyre left Elain’s side to stand beside Nesta, each offering her a hand. In her dreams, it was her father who walked her down the aisle, but her father was no longer here, nor was her mother, and it hadn’t felt right to ask Rhysand or Cassian to step into his place.
But she could ask her sister, her family. Her father lived on through all three of them, after all.
With a brilliant grin, Elain took their hands and rose.
༻ ❁ ༺
Elain had never seen so many people gathered together.
A crowd of thousands lined the cobblestone streets of the City of Haemera, females and males and children waving olive tree branches and tiger lilies. They cheered her name with huge smiles, clapping excitedly as her chariot passed by, pulled by two pegasus. An honor guard that consisted of Day and Night Court soldiers and her brothers-in-law followed behind.
A basket lay on the crook of her elbow, and she distributed flowers and branches and gold to the populace. Her heart hammered in her chest as the Temple drew closer, her hands shaking with nervous excitement.
She reached for the cord on her rib tying her to her mate, clutching it tightly, almost not believing she was here, after all this time. From the other side of the bond, Lucien responded, as nervous as she was, but full of love and warmth.
The chariot stopped by the great steps of the Temple. Feyre and Nesta were already at the foot of the stairs, waiting.
Rhysand helped her down, placing a kiss on her cheek and wishing her good luck. Cassian, for his part, clapped her on the back and muttered that Lucien was a lucky male to wed her.
“He is,” she agreed, “and I am a lucky female to have him.”
Her sisters lifted her veil from the ground, a translucent fabric shimmering with all the colors of the rainbow under the bright solstice sun. Taking a deep breath, she took a step up the stairs, the cheers drowning out her thundering heartbeat.
Elain held onto the gold thread connecting her to Lucien more tightly, using it to ground herself. She hardly remembered to greet the guests that had come to see their ceremony, but she didn’t think they expected her to. It was clear to all that there was only one thing in her mind.
They reached the top of the stairs, the huge columns of the Temple hanging high above, holding up a façade sculpted with the great, legendary myths of the Day Court.
Beneath it, there was a young Priestess in her gown, ready to officiate the ceremony. There was Vassa, her maid of honor, triumphant in her iron crown and her gown of flames. There was Morrigan and little Nyx, who brightened up at the sight of his aunt and started to wave enthusiastically. There was Helion and Phoebe, arm in arm, all fire and sun and warmth and mist-eyed emotion as their son had the ceremony they never could.
And there was Lucien, staring at her as if it were the first time, the well-fitted white toga revealing his muscled chest, dusted with gold. His arm was decorated with gold bracelets and the sunburst crown he wore was haloed in sunfire, shining with power. His smile was so joyous and so radiant it could eclipse even the blazing sun.
He looked at her as if she was the only thing that mattered in the entire world, and Elain fell in love all over again.
Without taking her eyes away from him, like a woman in a dream, she took the first step towards her mate and their piece of forever.