Work Text:
Elain’s brain threatens to beat its way out of her skull as she weaves her way through throngs of preoccupied shoppers in the Palace of Hoof and Leaf.
She prefers to do her shopping here, despite its distance from the River House on the other side of the Sidra. It is usually quieter.
But six days ago, she’d had a vision of an oncoming winter storm and alerted Rhysand, who had sent out citywide notices. Ever since, the streets have been overrun with families preparing to shut themselves in their homes for an indeterminate amount of time.
She shouldn’t have come today. The River House is perfectly well-provisioned. But she is grasping at any sense of normalcy to feel like herself again. It is not working.
She feels as though some fearsome beast raked its claws through the folds of her brain, leaving it in irreparable tatters.
She suspects this headache has something to do with Lucien. Headaches frequently followed her visions, and her visions frequently followed his visits to the River House. And his most recent visit had been…significant.
For years, they had abided by an unspoken agreement of polite indifference. But he had broken the code. He had breezed out of Rhysand’s study after giving his report and stopped matter-of-factly before her and invited her to dinner.
She had been so shocked by the request that she agreed before she could think better of it, and much to her surprise, had enjoyed herself immensely.
Lucien, it turned out, was an excellent conversationalist and a shameless flirt. Actually speaking to him—actually looking at him, allowing him to brush his fingers over hers— had created an ease between them that she had not felt before. It was addictive.
But the day he left, the visions flooded in like the tide. Vivid and intense and beautiful and unrelenting. They had tossed her mind in their waves for days, leaving her in this state when they finally receded.
Today, the chatter of people, the bright sunlight reflecting off the white stone of the square make her head feel too full.
It’s unseasonably warm for the first month of the year, and the air is heavy, burdened by the weight of the impending storm.
The handle of her basket digs uncomfortably into the flesh of her arm. The smell of raw fish in a nearby stall turns her stomach.
She pauses to take a deep, steadying breath, but is buffeted to the side by a crowd of passing shoppers.
She is too hot. Invisible hands beat on the inside of her skull. Cold sweat breaks out across her brow.
She ducks into an alley between shops and sits on the ground, pulling her knees into her chest and leaning her forehead against the cool stone of the building. She presses a hand over her eyes.
Make it stop.
Make it stop.
Make it stop.
She swallows bile.
The boning in the corseted top of her dress digs into her hips, but she ignores it.
She decides she will stay here until nightfall. Until dark. Until quiet. Perhaps she will not even be missed.
A single hot tear escapes.
She cannot remember what it is not to be in pain.
All her pent-up frustration, desperation, and resignation stream in fevered tracks down her cheeks. She cannot stop her tears now.
“Elain?” The voice is nearby, but she doesn’t open her eyes—doesn’t need to—it is Lucien. She would recognize his voice anywhere.
No, she groans internally, taking in a shuddering breath, trying to stop her tears from turning to humiliating, slimy sobs that would only compound her headache.
“Elain?” He is very close, his tone is laced with concern. His clothing rustles, and his knees crack softly as he crouches beside her.
“What’s wrong, Elain?”
She doesn’t answer but squeezes her hand more tightly over her eyes, and more tears escape between her fingers.
Lucien is quiet for a moment, making up his mind about something. Then his arms are around her, one beneath her shoulders, the other hooked behind her knees. He lifts her, tucking her against his chest.
He is warm, and his scent of fresh orange and balsam is overwhelming, but it doesn’t provoke nausea, like the heat and smells of the market square.
And then he steps with her into blessed darkness, into the space between the fabric of the world.
They emerge into a small but elegant apartment.
The walls are lined with windows, but with a jerk of Lucien’s chin, the curtains draw themselves, and the faelights dim.
Lucien sets Elain on the sofa, tucking a pillow beneath her head. The feathers inside pop and scratch at the fabric beneath her ear.
She watches him through heavy-lidded eyes.
He is moving hurriedly around the small kitchenette, shooting her anxious glances as he fills a tea kettle and lights the stove beneath it before rummaging in the cabinets.
She blinks, and Lucien has disappeared from the kitchen.
He is winnowing from room to room, she realizes as water begins sloshing heavily into a tub in the adjoining room. Glass bottles clink together lightly as Lucien shuffles through them.
She closes her eyes again. Does he expect her to bathe here? Does he intend to watch? Surely not.
She admits the hot water would be welcome on the stiff muscles in her neck and shoulders, but the thought of being exposed so near to him is unnerving despite their budding relationship.
The telltale rattle of a tea tray being set on a table sounds from the other room. The bath stops running.
Soft padding footsteps approach, and Lucien brushes the backs of his fingers across her cheek.
“Can you stand?”
She cracks an eyelid to peer at him. His brows are furrowed, his eyes tracking all over her face, the golden prosthetic whirring and clicking quietly. She likes the sound. She finds it strangely charming.
She blinks her assent, and Lucien helps her to her feet, steadying her as her vision sparkles at the edges.
He guides her to the bathing room, pulling a cushioned stool from thin air, setting it at the edge of the tub, and gesturing for her to sit.
Thick, lavender steam curls up from the surface of the water.
One by one, Lucien removes her shoes and lifts her feet into the water. It is scalding, immediately painting her skin a bright red.
Lucien lays a cold cloth across the back of her neck. The raging storm in her head begins to abate.
Beside her is the tea tray he prepared. He pours her a cup of tea, pushing it into her cupped hands. It smells strongly of peppermint, but she detects notes of lavender and chamomile as well.
She takes a sip, and the steam clears a path through the thick fog in her mind. The tossing sea in her stomach begins to settle. It has a slight bitter aftertaste—headache powder, she realizes.
Lucien takes a seat close behind her and tugs at the laces on the back of her dress. “May I loosen these?”
She nods, no longer occupying herself with embarrassment over impropriety as her torso melts out of the confines of the tight boning.
Elain sets down her tea and picks up a small covered bowl from the tea tray. She opens it to find an assortment of cut fruits. She pops a slice of banana into her mouth.
Lucien is quiet. Doesn’t force her to entertain him with conversation. The silence between them is comfortable and sweet.
Behind her, he is shaking something from a glass bottle into his palms and rubbing them together.
He presses his fingers against her temples, rubbing peppermint oil into her skin in slow circles, working his way back along her scalp and neck, to her shoulders and upper back.
His hands are hot. Supernaturally so, and her muscles melt beneath the near-pain of his touch, the peppermint leaving a trail like cool water being poured from the top of her head down her back, washing away the remaining traces of burning, throbbing pain.
Finally.
Her eyelids hang heavy, her mind and body desolate, every resource consumed. She is a husk.
She leans back against Lucien’s chest. He allows it but seems unsure what to do with his hands, finally settling them on his thighs.
She tips her head back to rest against his shoulder. “Thank you,” she breathes.
“Better?”
She can hear the smile in his voice.
“How did you know?”
“I felt your distress,” he murmurs, rubbing the excess oil on his hands into the fabric of his trousers. “Something has been off for days, but today I felt you hit a breaking point, and I couldn’t resist checking on you any longer.”
“You knew exactly what to do.”
She feels him give a slight nod.
“I get headaches like that sometimes.”
Elain raises a brow in question without opening her eyes.
“Life with one eye isn’t all sunshine and roses. Sometimes the prosthetic…overwhelms me.”
She wonders what he must be able to see with it, but she is too exhausted now to even open her mouth to ask him.
He takes one of her hands. “I am sorry I didn’t come sooner.”
She shakes her head slowly, turning to place a grateful kiss on his cheek, her lips brushing against the raised edge of a scar.
Heat radiates off Lucien’s skin, and Elain wonders if he is blushing.
“You should sleep,” he says, carefully extricating himself from behind her before she can peek at him.
She mourns his warmth.
He lifts her feet from the water and dries them with a warm towel. Then, for the second time that day, Lucien scoops her into his arms. She loops an arm lazily around his neck.
He carries her into his bedroom and sets her on the feather mattress, tucking the comforter around her.
He brushes a curl out of her face, tucking it behind one ear. “Sleep. You may stay as long as you wish.”
He straightens and heads for the door, and Elain stops him.
“Please stay.”
Her eyes are glazed and heavy, the bags beneath them substantial, but her expression is so earnest that it stops him in his tracks.
He nods and makes for the chair by the window, picking up a book from the windowsill and bending to sit.
Elain bites her lip.
“What is it?”
She looks suddenly bashful. Lucien waits.
“Will you hold me?” The plea comes from a place deep within her, and the vulnerability of it threatens to shatter him.
“Of course I will.”
He doesn’t wait another moment. He unbuttons the cuffs of his sleeves and unlaces his shirt at the neck, and kicks off his shoes.
He joins Elain, opening his arms to her. She wriggles closer, tucking herself into his side, tangling her legs through his as he closes her into his embrace.
“Thank you for finding me. And for helping.”
“I will always find you. And I will always help.”