It’s okay! My only ship from the ACO series I still care about is Elucien, even though they’re not technically canon. But since I’m not really in the fandom so much anymore, I don’t really engage with much of the shipping conversations these days!
Because Elain is sweetness and gentleness and quiet, unyielding strength with a half-hidden streak of savagery that her sisters underestimate, and Lucien is wit and cleverness and blazing loyalty with these depths of sensitivity and kindness that go ignored/ suppressed in the service of his abuser and then Feyre in ACOWAR (who is, frankly, a dick to him).
And there’s a lot to be said for Healing Together, after all that they’ve endured and their weird similarities in losing fiances and never being able to go “home” and being continually dismissed by the people closest to them, but more importantly, their personalities compliment each other, bring out the hidden sides I talked about in each other. Elain tempers Luciens GONNA INSULT EVERYONE [fire emojis] inclinations and draws out his soft side, and Lucien’s playfulness challenges Elain just enough that he gets to see and appreciate her sharpness. And they’re both incredibly empathetic, observant, emotionally articulate people who get a lot out of– rather, who need– a parter who reciprocates that.
Like, consider Lucien, who has made a lot of fucked up decisions and burned a lot of bridges and done a lot of soulless political shit and basically had every good thing in his life ruined or taken from him, being in just. complete awe. of how Good this woman is, how undeserving he is of breathing the same air of a creature who was suffered so much but stayed so kind and gentle, how completely fucking baffling it is that the cauldron would tie them together but how if she’d let him he’d happily spend eternity just… making her happy, making her laugh, holding her while she puts herself back together, anything she wants. And consider Elain, who is broken, who thinks she’s never going to love again, who no longer has a home but begins to find one in this man who’s smart and endlessly witty and has a fire in his soul despite the weight he carries on his shoulders and who believes in her like no one ever has, who sees all of her, not just the delicate little flowergirl parts everyone else sees, and loves her for it without ever asking anything in return so of course she comes to reciprocate it.
that was not 100% coherent but anyway, those are my #thoughts on why elucien is The Best Ship. for further reading please see: all of my fics.
but also who decided that Lucien would call Elain “dove” and “pet” and occasionally “fawn” and somehow this transferred across literally every single fic and I actually love it so much
“Pea/Sweet Pea” is definitely mine (from ACOWAS), and I think “Dove” was jointly conceived by @illyrianazriel and me? Like, I definitely remember multiple conversations about pet names lmao. “Pet” I’m pretty sure was also @illyrianazriel but maybe also @valamerys. The three of us are basically co-parents of this ship and you’ll pry it from our cold, dead hands (that includes you, SJM)!!!
It IS adorable aier;toienoac okay okay have some more thoughts in return that this Spawned: (listen i’m fully aware that u were probably just ‘wouldn’t it be nice if Elain handed Lucien a little bunch of flowers one day, that’d be sweet, but like GO BIG OR GO HOME MEABHD. and u sent this to me i honestly don’t know what else u were expecting…)
Elain says at the end of ACOWAR that she wants to fill the world with more gardens. No doubt she makes the one she’s started in Velaris spread and enthusiastically throws herself into it after the war. It’s a place that she’s comfortable and a place that’s hers so Lucien, being tactful and polite, probably chooses to court her there more often.
He lets her talk endlessly about the flowers that she’s growing there, all the different seeds, the things that will grow in Prythian that she’d never even heard of in the mortal realms (she scolds his people for that because dammit, if I’d known about this before I’d have come here much sooner. And Lucien offers her a very grave apology on behalf of all fae-dom which makes her giggle)
Lucien literally lived in the Court of Flowers for the past 300 years or something, right, and he spent an inordinate amount of time riding the rails, on border patrol, etc, etc. The boy knows his plants, okay. And he’s probably delighted to have someone as enthusiastic as he is to share that with. (Listen, Lucien spent his free time in the Autumn Court camping out miles away from his home and learning how to catch trout with his bare hands – he loves the outdoors just as much as Elain, who spent all her time wherever they were carving out a garden, does. Elain spreads life wherever she goes and Lucien basks in it. This is a beautiful point of bonding for them).
Lucien tells her all about the Spring Court. It was toxic and unhealthy for him in Tamlin’s court and Elain gets very grumpy about the abuse that he suffered at Tamlin’s hands (and starts to encourage Lucien to look and think about Tamlin’s treatment of him too) but the court itself was beautiful. He tells her about the deep forests. About the plants that would bloom all year round. The gardens of the manor and the wild, untamed beauty found in the heart of the court.
Partly he talks to share this wonder with Elain the only way he knows how. He would take her there but with his relationship with Tamlin being what it is that isn’t possible…But he knows that he needs to tell her everything he can about it. Elain laps it all up and so he starts sharing things from the Autumn Court as well, diving into memories he thought he’d long forgotten because that court, too, had its beauty.
As he talks Elain starts to realise that this is for her benefit that he’s sharing these things, to see her smile and light up in wonder imagining all of the things he’s telling her about…But she also starts to sense a pang of longing and nostalgia in him and she realises that a part of him is homesick for these parts of those courts he once called home.
Elain hatches a cunning plan.
Using that sweet, diplomatic charm she cultivated in human high society she charms merchants and vendors from other courts into getting her what she needs and sets to work.
There’s a corner of her garden that she keeps fenced off and made such ferocious threats to Cassian when he tried to peek inside that he swears of all the Archeron sisters, he fears Elain the most. No-one is allowed to go to the part of the garden but especially not Lucien, it’s kept so secret from him that he doesn’t even know it exists.
Not until Elain comes to him one day, bursting with excitement and glowing so brightly people start questioning which one of them, exactly, is the heir to Day. She takes Lucien by the hand and quite firmly ignores his baffled babbling as she ties a blindfold over his eyes and leads him outside. She just tells him to trust her and Lucien shuts his mouth and obeys and that’s that.
She leads him out into the garden (Lucien stumbling a few times because, well, Elain is very excited and enthusiastic and that tends to dull her noticing things like loose stones and protruding roots, all of which poor Lucien trips over) but they manage to make it to this special little corner relatively intact.
Quivering with anticipation Elain takes off Lucien’s blindfold (standing on her toes and having him bend down a little while she curses him for being so damn tall) and waits with baited breath for his reaction as she stares around at what she’s created for. A little part of her garden is a miniature Spring Court, with a small section of Autumn too, both of them filled with all of Lucien’s favourite plants and flowers, that she spent a great deal of time researching to make sure she got it just right.
Lucien steps forwards on slightly trembling legs and moves deeper into the garden. It feels like he’s home, at last, like this strange, alien court that spent so long as the subject of his most twisted nightmares, could some day be his. Elain tentatively follows him and murmurs that she knew he was missing home and she thought this might help but if he doesn’t like it…
Never in all his many, many years of life has Lucien ever been this lost for words. After a very long moment and several tries, instinct and training kick in at last and he’s finally able to wheeze that he loves it, he loves it and that no-one…No-one has ever done anything like this for him before.
That little line he’s learning to love creases between Elain’s brows at that and she says that they should have done…Then she softens and smiles and murmurs quietly that she supposes she just has a lot of making up to do, in that case.
Lucien walks towards her and pulls her to him and tells her that he would very, very much like to kiss her right now, if that would be agreeable to her. Elain giggles and informs him that she didn’t very well go to all this effort for the simple pleasure of watching him gape at her like a fish, she thinks he should most definitely kiss her, after all her hard work.
Lucien doesn’t need to be told twice. He laughs at her boldness, even as she blushes for him, and wonders if this woman, this soft heart who just might be the strongest person he’s ever known, will ever stop surprising him.
He concludes, as she, impatient with his overly-polite dilly-dallying, takes his face firmly between her hands and draws him down to kiss her, that she most certainly will not. And he’s absolutely fine with that.
Once he’s spent a good long time properly appreciating Elain and all her hard work and their lips are red and swollen from said appreciation, he lets her lead him around the garden.
She shows him every single plant she’s brought here and lets him talk, tell her silly little facts about them, how that one is good to put on burns and that one should absolutely not, under any circumstances and no matter how much gold she’s offered, ever be drunk as a tea.
She tells him how much trouble she had getting hold of that and he tells her he’s not surprised, that it almost died out a few decades ago and he can’t believe she managed to get it to grow at all. Elain swells with pride and Lucien appreciates her some more.
He laughs and laughs and laughs over a small, insignificant looking little plant and tells her about the memories that it brings back from Spring, when things were better, a lifetime ago. Then he asks about her favourites, of the new ones that she’s found here and they bond and Lucien appreciates her a great deal.
Lucien, ever the graceful courtier, plucks up a delicate blue rose and tucks it into her hair. And then nothing will do but that Elain has to weave an entire bouquet into Lucien’s hair. They lie in the shade of a tree while she does this, Elain’s legs folded into a (highly unladylike, as Lucien teasingly comments and gets a swat on the arm in return) basket, Lucien’s head in her lap. As she works she confesses, giggling and blushing, that she’s been wanting to play with his hair for a very long time. Lucien smiles and tells her she’s welcome to do this as often as she wishes. Elain leans down and kisses him upside down.
Lucien refuses to take off his flower crown and proudly wears it to the family dinner the Circle have that night at the House of Wind. During which, Feyre smiles knowingly at them and just smiles some more when Elain sidles over to thank her for helping her find out what flowers Lucien likes.
Aww thank you!! I’d love to be able to get back to writing them. I’m low on Feysand inspiration right now. But I’m really enjoying writing Foxeye and eventually I’ll get to a bit of Elucien in there, too! Thanks so much for your art and your nice note, seriously! ❤
Elain shifts occasionally so that she is reminded of the warmth of the
water. Taking a bath is a luxury. Or it was. When she was with Feyre and Nesta
and their father in that cabin, it was a weekly occurrence, if that. And now?
Now she can not only count on cleanliness, her nails gleaming, her hair having
taken on a healthier sheen, but she can lounge in the water. She realizes that
this is also something she can take for granted – an excess of time in which to
contemplate what she and her sisters have been through in the last months. And
before. How others have failed her; how she has failed herself.
Upon reflection, perhaps she has been a bit too closed off. Always
being what people need, trying to anticipate their wants and meeting them
before they even knew they existed. It leaves little time for one’s self. Of
course everyone says she is so accommodating, so kind, so giving. But she has
given so much of herself, carved out parts of herself to leave space for
others, that some days she can’t see the line where she begins to exist as a
separate being.
Now, this is her favorite moment of the day. Alone, aware of every inch
of her own skin, how it sings and hums and cries out with certain attentions.
Elain reminds herself of this new body, its potential, what she might chose to
do with it. And after training, easy as it is compared to what others
experience, she lets the warmth soak into her muscles.
She lifts her legs out of the water one at a time, testing to see which
of her bruises are painful, and which are merely aesthetic. It is difficult to
tell which slights are going to hurt her, at first. Sometimes they are skin
deep, fading quickly and leaving no memory. Others are more stubborn, resisting
healing. They don’t always look like they will cause her harm. So she pokes and
prods and considers and ponders her memories, what people have said to her and
how she has minimized herself to make room for them.
Elain finds a particularly painful bruise and gasps with a sharp intake
of breath. She smiles. Here. This is a place in which she has felt, been
injured, something that has lasted. And it was of her own doing. Not for anyone
else, this unevenly-shaped discoloration is something she chose and she
relishes in what she can claim for herself. She presses her thumb into it
harder, testing her limits, reminding herself that on occasion, she acts.
Elain initiates their first kiss. Left to his own devices Lucien would just spend the next fifty years being blissfully delighted that he’s allowed to breathe the same air as her. Occasionally holding her hand is like the highlight of his existence. Kissing is much too much to hope for. Elain, however, has her priorities in order and she knows what she wants goddammit.
It’s quite gentle and careful. They’re probably sitting together somewhere having a picnic. Lucien has just finished making her laugh until her stomach hurts and there are tears in her eyes and she looks up at him and smiles and realises that he makes her feel so….Light and free and happy again. That she looks at him and she finds hope there and starts to dream of her future once more.
So she kisses him.
Lucien is very taken aback by this and doesn’t respond at once he just goes very still. Elain is afraid she’s made a mistake and draws away, babbling and blushing about how maybe she shouldn’t have done that. Lucien grabs her hand and squeezes it to get her to stop and then murmurs that he’s very pleased she did that…He’d be even more pleased if she’d do it again.
Still blushing, Elain leans in and cups his cheek with her hand and then draws his mouth down to hers. This kiss is still gentle and still tentative but lasts much longer than the first one did.
They spend the rest of the afternoon experimenting with kisses.
Elain has made a grave mistake and wished her sisters away to the dangerous realm of the goblins. To get them back, she’ll have to navigate a maddening labyrinth—and go toe-to-toe with its powerful, enigmatic ruler. Elain finds herself drawn to the red-haired Goblin King, but is he the tragic, lovesick prince from her mother’s stories, or a wicked faerie who’s only toying with her?
Their mother did not spend a great deal of time with the Archeron sisters, even before she died. Their father was in charge of their education, and he passed it on to a rotating series of tutors; the nanny minded them at play, the cooks fed them, the dogs cuddled with them when they were upset.
But mama Archeron did one thing, often in her elaborate party dresses, putting them to bed while her guests laughed and drank downstairs: she told stories. Elain remembers them well, remembers how often little Feyre fell asleep halfway through, how Nesta would sulk and declare that she didn’t need stories, she was too old for them, and would end up listening raptly by the end anyway.
She remembers one story best of all, would request it over and over again.
“The Goblin King,” her mother says, her beautiful painted mouth tugging into a smile. “Was one of the High Fae, a very long time ago.”
Sarah Viehmann 