Tag: elain

Love Me For My Bread (Elriel)

breccia-domain said:

I’m about to challenge you/break your heart as you write. Elriel fluff, pls?

“Is it supposed to look like that?” I frown at the mass of dough in front of me. I’m the cauldron-damned spymaster of the Night Court and I can’t make a single loaf of bread without messing it up. Elain looks up from her own dough–which looks perfect–to inspect my catastrophe on the counter. She tries to restrain it, I can see, but Elain giggles all the same.

“Don’t laugh at me, I’m trying my best.”

“It’ll still taste the same,” she offers. “Here, let me help you”

“I don’t need your help. I can shape my own bread.”

“Oh, hush now. It just needs a little rounding, a bit of a tug… there.” I don’t know how she does it, but Elain reshapes the dough with no effort at all. She makes it look so easy. Is it normal to be jealous of someone’s bread-making skills?

“Put that in the pan, and we’ll get these beauties cooking.”

“Maybe you should do it.”

Elain levels me with a look that tells me what she’s thinking without a word. Illyrian baby. Sighing, and avoiding the female’s eyes, I carefully place the dough in the pan. I only mess it up a little bit.

As Elain said, It’ll still taste the same.

“It’s really not as bad as you think, Az. Stop being so hard on yourself.”

“What, I’m not allowed to want to make a nice loaf of bread for you?”

“Right, because what I want most from you is bread. It’s the entire reason we’re together.” She washes the flour of her hands in the sink as she speaks. “‘Why did you marry Azriel, Elain?’ ‘Oh, I just wanted someone to make bread for me’” She moves aside, and I wash the flour off my own hands.

“Alright, I get it. But here I was, all this time, thinking you married me for my bread.” I close the remaining space between us, resting my hands on her hips.

“Trust me, I married you for so much more than your bread.”

“Like what?”

She taps a finger on my forehead. “Your brain.” Her hands travel down to my chest. “Your heart.” She presses her lips to mine, slow and sweet. “Your lips.” She smiles, that mischievous glint in her eye. “I could go on, but we might be here a while.”

“I’ve got time.”

The bread in the oven becomes forgotten in the time that follows. It comes out burnt, but that’s okay. She didn’t marry me for my bread, anyway. I know that for certain.

tags: @lady-katkat @illyrianbeauty @mariamuses @hxghlady @runesandfaes @lorcanswife @wolffrising @faelightsstarfall @acourtofredqueens @halcyon-havoc @highlady-of-night @my-ships-will-never-be-sank @musicmaam @starzablaze @abimomeopectore @rhysand-darling @alexisnm95 @destiny14444 @leulivy @ame233 (let me know if you would like to be tagged in my writing)

btw, @queen-archeron, this is what I told you I was writing like months ago… better late than never!

For the prompt thing: Elain fiercely protecting her child from a naga or something?

Elain sprints as fast as her legs can carry her. Her lungs burn and her body threatens to give out at any moment, but she doesn’t stop. Not with him behind her. Not with her child clutched against her heaving chest. She should have known he would find her again, that she would never be safe.

Visions of dark, cold, unforgiving water flash through her mind. She feels it as if it’s really there, forcing its way down her throat, into her lungs, stinging her eyes. The memory clears after a moment, but the terror doesn’t. She holds her daughter closer still and runs faster, dodging trees and underbrush as she comes to the edge of the wood.

Branches scratch at her face and arms, thorns at her legs, but she keeps going. All she knows is that she must run. The sound of branches snapping and leaves crunching behind her tells her that he is still coming, getting closer and closer as her body begins to fail.

Knowing it is the only option left, she reaches for the small dagger at her hip. She places one last kiss to the face of her sleeping babe, and leaves her in between two roots of a tree, praying to any gods that are listening that she will be safe. The child does not stir.

Elain starts to run again, leading him away from the tree that protects her precious daughter. When she is a safe distance away, she turns and faces her enemy.

She stares into the eyes of the King of Hybern, and he stares back.

She raises her dagger with a shaking hand, backing away a few steps. “I killed you before, and I will do it again. No matter how much you torment me, you will always reach the same fate.”

The King laughs, the sound echoing through the trees like a summer wind. “You cannot kill me,” he says, his voice echoing the same as the laugh, “I am the one who made you this way.” He advances, dagger in hand, and Elain catches the scent of rot and decay.

With a dense line of trees and bushes behind her, Elain has no choice but to fight. She brings to memory all the fighting techniques she had been taught since she became fae–techniques she hoped she would never have to use. She takes up the wide-legged stance she was taught, and when the King attacks, she is ready to deflect with her dagger.

She does not hit flesh, but is successful in dodging this first attack. She anticipates his next move, but only barely misses the sharp blade. Pain shoots up her arm, but she knows it could have been much worse.

He advances again and again, until Elain is nearly too tired to carry on, close to giving in. But by some miracle, some blessing from the Mother, an opportunity arises. A broken tree branch juts out behind the King, and with a final burst of energy, she pushes him, suffering a long slice from his blade in the process.

The King falls back onto the branch, pierced through the stomach. Elain sinks to her knees on the forest floor, struggling to catch her breath.

Then, before her eyes, the lifeless form of the King transforms into dust and water, air and flame. It blows away on a breeze, leaving nothing in its place.

Elain had heard stories about the puca. They disguise themselves in order to capture and devour you, and are immortal but can be killed. But the terror of seeing the king does not go away with the knowledge that he was never really there.

Elain does not allow herself to weep. Not until she hold her child back in her arms, not until she is safely back in the field, where her picnic blanket and basket wait. She does not begin to weep until she is back in her home, her daughter asleep in the nursery. Not until after she tends to her wounds. But when she does start, and tears come hot and heavy down her cheeks, she does not stop for a long time.