Chapter Text
The nursery in the River House was awash with the soft golden light of early morning, casting long, slanting rays across the wooden floors, ivory wainscoted walls and the gently swaying curtains. The air was filled with the sweet, familiar scent of lavender and milk, mingled with the faint salt of the Sidra drifting through the open windows.
Elain sat on a plush armchair, the skirts of her dusky dress pooling around her as she gently tickled Nyx’s tiny foot. His answering giggle was a sound so pure, so joyful, that it tugged at her heartstrings every time.
“Are you in a better mood now, sweet little thing?” Elain cooed, her voice as soft as the morning itself.
She had found her nephew fussing in his crib before dawn, having heard him as she passed by his door in the hallway. But upon seeing her, he had stopped fussing altogether, reaching his hands towards her that made her heart ache and soar at the same time.
Elain never thought it was possible to love in such a capacity as she did, to feel the inherent urge to protect her nephew, from the moment she held him in her arms.
The world had quieted that day, when Rhysand passed her nephew from Feyre’s arms to hers. Elain could only smile through her tears as she gazed upon the sleeping babe. It was as if all the horrible things in the world, past and present, had vanished in that instance. The fear and agony of losing all three of her family at once had seemed like something from a far off, distant dream. Elain could not bear to keep her newborn nephew from her sister and her mate, not after what they had been through mere hours ago, so Elain had passed Nyx back to them after having only held him for a few minutes.
But the light feeling in her chest had remained.
Elain was beyond grateful to the Mother that Feyre, Rhysand and Nyx were all spared. Grateful to Nesta for saving them. And she was grateful to be able to share the experience of watching Nyx grow.
Nyx, all bright blue eyes and cherubic cheeks, chirped in delight, clapping his tiny hands together. He was a radiant bundle of energy, his small wings fluttering sporadically as he tried, and failed, to balance himself on his wobbly little legs on his aunt’s thighs. Elain reached out instinctively, her hands steadying him before he could topple over.
“You’re growing so fast,” she murmured, brushing a stray dark curl from his forehead. “Soon, you’ll be flying circles around all of us.”
Nyx responded by tugging on the end of her golden brown hair, his strength surprising for someone so small. Elain laughed, untangling his tiny fingers from the silky strand. There was something grounding about these moments with him, a sense of purpose that had felt elusive since she’d become… this. Fae. Immortal. Changed.
Whenever the void crept in on her mind—cold, consuming, and endless, redolent of her time in the Cauldron—the small noises Nyx made to capture her attention would always chase away the dreadfulness that threatened to drown her. His babbling, the soft patter of his tiny hands against her skirts, the gleeful giggles that echoed whenever she smiled at him—all of it pushed back the weight that threatened to drag her under.
And whenever she was in the same room, Nyx would always try to get to her or get her to go to him. Her sweet little nephew always sought her out, no matter who else was in the vicinity. Whether by crawling in her direction, wings fluttering with unsteady determination, or stretching out his little arms to her, he always chose her.
Feyre had quipped once, laughing, that if not for her and Rhys, Elain would undoubtedly be Nyx’s favorite person in the world. The words had been accompanied by a warm, teasing smile, and Elain had returned it with a soft laugh of her own. While Elain had bashfully brushed the statement off, she could not help the cluster of emotions that wound tight around her heart. Happiness, relief, and gratitude bubbled to the surface—emotions she clung to like fragile lifelines. To be someone’s favourite, to be chosen, to be wanted at all, filled her with a fleeting sense of belonging.
Elain was happy to be someone’s favourite. Especially to be one of Nyx’s favourites.
She lifted Nyx into her arms, settling him against her hip as she carried him to the window. Together, they looked out over Velaris, the City of Starlight glimmering in the morning haze. The sight always made her breath catch—each spire, each cobblestone street, a reminder of the beauty she had found in this strange, wonderful new life.
Nyx babbled something unintelligible, pointing at a bird soaring high above the rooftops, his small wings reacting. Elain smiled, pressing a kiss to his soft, downy hair. “Yes, little one. One day, you’ll soar just like that.”
Elain continued to speak softly to Nyx, pointing out birds that flew by and clouds in interesting shapes to him. In between, she placed soft kisses on his chubby cheeks, his unblemished forehead, his little fist. She pressed a kiss onto the crown of Nyx’s head, inhaling the downy baby scent as she hummed one of his favourite tunes. One that she often sang to him.
Nyx’s little fist tapping and pushing against her sternum made Elain open her eyes and gaze down at him. Nyx made a loud grunt, a noise of what could only be frustration, as he curled his tiny fingers against the glass of the window they were looking out of, and brought his clenched hand to Elain’s chest. Again, and again. It took her a while to realise what Nyx was doing, and when she did, a giggle drifted out of her.
“Are you trying to give me flowers from the garden?” Elain cooed, her voice dripping with endearment. She gently took his hand and kissed his small fingers. “Sweet boy.”
Nyx was far too young to understand depth perception. Her poor, sweet nephew had stretched his chubby little fingers toward the flowers blooming in the garden a floor below, convinced he could pluck them to give to her. The gesture—pure and untainted by the reality he couldn’t yet grasp—filled her chest with irrevocable joy and warmth.
Overcome with adoration, Elain scooped him closer, pressing a flurry of kisses to his cherubic cheek until his delighted laughter filled the air. It was a sound like sunlight, warm and weightless, chasing away the lingering shadows in her heart.
“Shall we go to the garden after breakfast?” asked Elain. She couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled out of her as the little Illyrian perked up.
Whether at the word garden or breakfast, only the Mother knows. But seeing as he was an Illyrian, as tiny as he still was, Elain would bet on the latter.
Somehow, in his endless curiosity, Nyx’s tiny fingers found a loose curl of her hair. He tugged gently, then ran his fingers over the golden brown strands as though committing the texture to memory, his blue eyes—Feyre’s eyes—wide with fascination. Elain smiled, her heart swelling as she watched him discover the simplest of wonders.
In moments like this, it was easy to forget everything else.
The quiet creak of the door drew her attention, and she turned to see Feyre leaning against the frame, her arms crossed and a knowing smile on her face.
“How’s my little troublemaker?” Feyre asked, her gaze warm as it settled on her son.
“Your little troublemaker is quite preoccupied with my hair,” Elain teased, her tone light. She bounced Nyx gently, earning another delighted giggle before he tucked his head against her chest, eyes gazing up at her with what can only be described as awe and endearment. “But he’s perfect. Absolutely perfect.”
Feyre stepped into the room, her smile softening as she approached. “And how are you, Elain?”
The question lingered in the air, heavier than it should have been. Elain hesitated, glancing back at the glittering city beyond the window. At the garden below.
“I’m… fine,” she said at last, the answer reflexive, though not entirely untrue. The words rattled against her ribcage, in the hollowness of her. But it ached less.
Because in moments like these, with Nyx in her arms, her sister close by, and the sun rising over Velaris, she could almost believe it.