Here we go! As promised an Elain chapter! I struggled with this one a lot, like a lot a lot, and would seriously like any input you may have! I hope you enjoy. I am so excited that this fic is getting to the point where plot points are moving along, the set up is always the most difficult part.

I have seen a great deal of Lucien hate, which I understand to some extent but also find like...disturbing? He is loyal to a fault yes, but honestly for as much understanding we have for Feyre's reaction to her trauma there is like little to no understanding at all for poor Lucien and everything he has been through? Of course he has made mistakes, but my goodness this poor ginger child's life has literally been hell, and all of the manipulation and abuse Feyre has suffered at Tamlin's hands Lucien has lived with for like...centuries… and he just thinks that's the way life is because he has never had the opportunity to experience anything better? Oh my goodness talk about heartbreaking. No wonder he needs our little gardening cinnamon roll Elain as a mate. (Sorry for the rant I just had to get that out there.)

Elain

"You might wake with a headache." Mor says, running a gentle hand down my arm, she starts fussing with the back hem of my cropped shirt, straightening it and smoothing it over as though she is some sort of concerned mother. Whether it is concern for me or for my ability to pull off this operation I am not entirely sure. Probably both.

Mor continues, "And you'll likely be fairly disoriented, but remember to keep that amulet hidden no matter what. Don't even mention it to Feyre until you are sure you are alone. Even then, Elain, you must be discreet."

Discreet, secret, wise, resourceful, the list of things I must be in the Spring Court is never ending.

I feel uncomfortable in my Night Court clothing, finding it far more revealing than anything I've worn before. A strip of pale skin from my midriff is peaking out from beneath the pink fabric, and the extra exposed skin on my back makes my neck hairs stand on end. The pants are loose enough that no one will be able to see the amulet that is strapped securely to the inside of my thigh. It is strapped high enough that no one should be touching it by mistake.

The thought makes me blush.

"If I am to be unconscious what's to stop anyone from trying to change my clothes? What if they undress me?" I am blushing even more now despite the fact that it is a legitimate concern. The last thing we need is to have some Spring Court servant find out I have only been returned to smuggle a weapon into their territory.

"Az will make sure you're at least starting to wake as they find you. The hope is that they will bring you directly to Feyre. If not you must be sure to stow the amulet somewhere safe somewhere off your person before they have the chance to find it on you. Do you understand?"

I have a lot of experience lately with functioning while disoriented or ill, I'm sure I can manage stowing a necklace so I nod with as much confidence as I can muster.

Azriel, who has been watching more and I carefully from the corner of the room, rises, shadows swirling around him. He is frightfully intimidating but there is a certain tenderness in his eyes that puts me at ease. I know it is not there for me, but instead for Mor, who is hugging me one last time.

"It's time to go." He says simply. My throat constricts and I am glad I've said my goodbyes to Nesta already. She is packing for her journey with Cassian and as far as she is concerned I've already been gone for an hour. We thought it best not to tell her about the whole unconsciousness part of the plan because it would only set her into a rage that would put us all behind schedule. I've never been deceitful to Nesta before, but in this case it is warranted. Especially as Mor pins a note to my shirt. It reads, in Rhysand's elegant hand:

"As a sign of good faith to the esteemed Spring Court: A mate for a mate. Return Feyre and no harm will come to her other sister. Regards, Rhysand, High Lord of the Night Court."

Of course they won't return Feyre, but the reasoning, and the underlying threat give me a perfect and unsuspicious entry to their apparently impenetrable border.

Azriel comes to stand before me, I search his impossibly beautiful eyes and feel, somehow, nothing but trust for him despite his steely exterior. My lips twitch, offering him half a smile. To let him know that I am ready, that I trust him, and that I see him beneath all of his shadows.

"We will see you again." He says simply and I see his wings begin to expand. I take a deep breath and then I see nothing at all as the world falls into darkness.

I feel a pair of strong arms lift me slowly out of the darkness, one tucked firmly under my knees, the other coming behind my back. I will my eyes to open, my mouth to move, but I can't. The darkness holds me down. I claw at it. Throw myself against it, but it is no use. My head is pounding, screaming in protest at every movement, and despite my closed eyes I feel the world spinning too fast.

I slip under again, unable to hang onto that thin shred of consciousness I am so desperately grasping for.

"Lucien would be the lucky bastard that's mates with female as pretty as this. I just assumed she would be as hideous as he is."I drift back, head still spinning and placed on something hard. A shoulder. The voice of whoever is holding me is harsh and rough, and there is a sick sort of amusement behind it that makes my stomach lurch. Open your eyes Elain. I tell myself. Just open your eyes.

A laugh resounds not far to my right. It makes me stiffen.

" Ah Lucien won't mind if we share, Bron, got to be better for her than getting passed around to those Illyrians at the Night Court."

.

"It's too bad she didn't show up before Calanmai," The voice holding me says, "that would have been a treat for us all. And I tell you what else, we ought to adopt the Night Court's little fashions. This top is simply delicious."

I feel the hand at my back move slowly toward my strip of exposed skin, a calloused thumb barely brushing by. The other one moves from behind my knees up my thighs. Move Elain. I scream at myself. Move. I am about to use all the willpower I have to throw myself out of the male's grasp when I hear a piercing scream.

"Elain!?"

It's my sister.

I have never been more relieved, and if I could I would sigh with relief. Feyre, on the other hand, sounds completely shaken.

"Elain?" She must have moved fast because before I know it I am surrounded by her feminine scent and her familiar embrace. She is crying. Crying and clutching me to her chest. Saying my name again and again.

"We found her at the Autumn Court boarder." One of the voices says, now sounding awkward. "There was a note…"

"Let me see that." Feyre snaps, her grip on me loosens and I assume it is to snatch the note from his hands. She is quiet for a moment, and then there is another sob. "Oh Elain, what have they done to you?"

But I know what she really means. There is a bite behind her tone that really means "What have you done you idiot? Why have you come?"

I want to pry my eyes open, to reassure her with at least a momentary gaze, but all I manage to mumble is her name before I fall into darkness again.

I wake with a start, gasping for breath as a sense of panic rushes through me. How long have I been out? Azriel said he would try to wake me once he left. Why am I so weak? Why did they trust me with this?

There is a warm light pouring through the windows. Though it is probably late day, almost sunset, I find myself cringing against it. I lift a hand to shade my finally open eyes and I squint at my surroundings. I am in a room. In fact not just a room. I am in a bed, a surprisingly comfortable bed.

My head swims and the panic worsens so I sit bolt upright and kick violently at the covers around me. My clothes. They mustn't change my clothes.

"Whoa there. It's alright. Everything is alright. You're safe."

I know who that voice belongs to before I even turn to look at him. It's him.

I spare a glance down at my legs, relieved to see them still clad in the flowing pink fabric of my Night Court garb, before turning toward him.

The mere presence of him is overwhelming. He has risen from his seat which is perched not far from the head bed where I lie, a look of concern furrowing his brow as he leans in my direction. His once long fire red hair has been cropped short, sticking out in different directions like he's been running his hands through it. His one russet eye focuses on me in an instant.

My already racing heart lurches in my chest. His nostrils flare a bit. The swimming of my head turns to full fledged dizziness and I clutch at my head.

"Where am I?" Despite everything I still have my part to play. Even with him. I throw a nervous glance around the room again and realize that we are alone. The door is closed. Dismay floods through me in a rush.

"Where's my sister? I thought I heard my sister!" He must hear the panic rising in my voice because he leans forward even more, hovering just over the side of the bed. His hand is outstretched, like he was reaching for me and then thought better of it and stopped. He is close enough now that his scent washes over me. It is all spicy and masculine and so very very unique to him that I almost recoil. His scent hits me in the gut. I find my heightened senses inconvenient most of the time, but this, this smell it's…staggering.

"You're safe." He repeats, "You were found at the border of the Spring Court. They brought you back directly. Your sister sat with you for hours. I told her to take a break and eat something. She's just downstairs."

I breathe a sigh of relief. Feyre is not far. The plan is working.

His brow is still furrowed, eyebrows knit together in concern.

"Would you like me to fetch her for you?" He asks politely.

I simply nod and he rises to leave the room. I'm glad for it. His presence is confusing.

I fall back on the pillows and shut my eyes, trying to ignore the pain from my aching head. I throw an arm over my eyes, trying to block out the light that still has me cringing.

His scent washes over me once again and I feel more than hear him take his seat next to me again. I have half a mind to pretend I am asleep just so I can avoid the awkwardness that is sure to come, but I know I will have to speak with him sooner or later so I force myself to open my eyes and turn my head toward him. These are so many questions swirling around in his eye, confusion and concern written clearly across his face, but he says nothing, still staring at me.

I offer him a weak smile. "You've cut your hair." I say simply, almost in a whisper.

I swear I hear his heart skip a beat.

"What?" He replies, his voice is almost hoarse like his throat has gone dry.

"Your hair," I say again, a bit louder this time and I point lazily at the top of his head, still not raising my head. "You've cut it all off."

A ghost of a smile tugs at the end of his lips. "Yes. I did." He is silent for a moment and the awkwardness seeps in. I honestly don't know if he even knows my name. It's not as though we've been properly introduced. I don't think "You're my mate." counts as introduction in proper Fae society.

"I'm Elain." I say, with a smile and I realize with a jolt that I want to see him smile too. I want to know what it looks like on his scarred face. I want to hear his laugh. I bet it's lovely.

"Lucien." He says simply. We fall into silence again and I know I should probably say something, probably continue our pathetic conversation, but there is something peaceful about the quiet and it settles over both of us comfortably.

We are sitting like that, him leaning forward in his chair, elbows resting on his knees, and me head turned toward him, blonde curls splayed everywhere on the soft pillows beneath me when the door flies open making us both jump.

It's my sister. And from the momentary look she gives me before rushing into the room and wailing my name with concern I can tell she is not pleased.