A/N: Huge shoutout to thewayshedreamed (on tumblr & ao3) for beta reading this fic! Thank you so, so much!
Thanks to bookstantrash (ao3 & Tumblr) for the advice, too!
I've been struggling to write both creatively and just in terms of finding the time in college, so I decided to try something, stream of consciousness style (it seems that works best for my brain!)
I'm pretty happy with how this one turned out. I love Nesta, but I've always been more of an Elain than a Nesta (or a Feyre) so I've always had the desire to write something about her. She's always been at the center of love triangles and fandom fights though, so I've pretty much steered clear thus far. I feel like it says a lot, though, that we as a fandom have a hard time view such a traditionally feminine character as more than a love interest.
Anyway, I hope you enjoy!
Nesta was a weapon, a sorcerer, a goddess who could destroy kingdoms with a flick of her fingers and save lives with a thought.
Feyre was a queen, a warrior, a hero who had saved all of Prythian and then saved herself.
Elain was… a girl.
She had prided herself on being a lover, on being kind even when she didn't need to be and yet, when Feyre had needed her most, she'd frozen. What was kindness in comparison to strength?
"Pretty little thing," her grandmother had whispered once, stroking her cheeks with nails that were just a little too strong and long. They'd all fawned over her, telling her how lucky she was that she could get any man to obey her with a few saccharine words and smiles. She'd believed it too — had been fooled into believing that her doe-eyes and pink cheeks were a blessing, that they'd bring her happiness and love and prosperity.
What an idiot she'd been.
All her soft looks and acts had done was convince the world that she was a doll, a fragile princess, a child. How could sweet, kind Elain have thoughts? How could she disagree? How could she bear the news? No. She was to be hidden away, protected, displayed in a glass case.
Everyone loved her — how could they not? Pretty, perfect Elain.
Oh, they loved her, even as they hated that others loved her. Girls scoffing at her behind her back, mothers glaring at her as they scolded their own daughters for not being like her. Oh, how they loved her. The men that thought they could use dolls as they wished, that she would agree to anything and everything, that she was a prize to be won. Her sisters who idealized her, who looked to her to be their mother and father and sister and friend as their world fell apart, wracked with illness and poverty and debt.
Oh, yes, she was loved, as long as she was silent. As long as she dolled herself up every night, painted her lips into a perfect smile, nodded and laughed at the right times. Even when she broke, she couldn't break into sharp pieces — oh, no, the shards couldn't scratch anyone else. No, she could only be a damsel in distress, a ghost of the doll she'd been, waiting to be saved by someone's kiss or sword.
Because she was Elain, defined by others.
"Elain was the closest to our father. She must miss him."
"Elain was engaged. She loved her fiancé, Graysen."
"Elain is Lucien's mate, but she doesn't seem to want to accept the bond."
"Elain seems to be spending more time with Azriel lately."
Because there was no way Elain could grieve for herself; no, everything about her was for others, of course. How could she be Elain, a human girl whose humanity had been stripped from her? How could she be Elain, grieving for a life she'd lost and struggling to cope with the vast expanse of immortality? How could she be Elain, trying to find her path in a world full of traps?
Feyre and Nesta had never been afraid of speaking up. The world couldn't silence them or tame them. They were warriors, breaking social norms without giving a fuck. Elain wished she knew how to color outside the lines, sit without pressing her knees together, or say no. She wished she knew how to put herself first without feeling like she was committing a crime.
"What brings you joy?" she overheard Nesta ask Cassian once, before they took off to fly back to their house.
What brought her joy?
Elain had been taught to feel joy by bringing others joy. "If you're happy, I'm happy," she'd said to Graysen, and before that, to her father, her mother, her sisters. Elain didn't even know if she knew how to be happy.
She liked flowers — pretty girls were supposed to like flowers.
She enjoyed dancing — dancing made her mother and her sister happy.
She liked planting — planting made flowers and vegetables grow, which her father enjoyed.
Now, she gardened because Feyre seemed to think she loved it. If she stopped now, Feyre would surely be worried. She smiled, because she was supposed to smile — it would cause needless problems if she stopped now. She danced and laughed and talked because it was easier than doing anything else — if she went through the motions like she was supposed to, if she continued on in the background, everyone else could carry on being happy. It wasn't like there was anything else she wanted to do, anyway.
But sometimes, in the darkness of the night, Elain wondered if they would even notice the difference if another pretty doll took her place. Greysen had found another picture-perfect wife. Azriel had found another kind girl to wear his necklace. Why would they care who it was that laughed at their jokes or smiled demurely? Why would they care if she left, when they'd never bothered to know her beyond her sugar-coated lips?
Elain had been a doll for so long, sometimes she wondered if there was anything left inside her. She had given and given and given, just like her mother had taught her to do, given until there was nothing left, and then still somehow found more to give. She was hollow, empty, but there was no reason to care as long as her pretty, porcelain smile was still intact.
She could still be perfect Elain, lovely Elain, oh-so-sweet Elain. Because Elain had never been a person; she'd only ever been a puppet. And she was okay with that, because she didn't know how to not be okay, didn't know how to break or scream or bleed. So she lived without living, kept smiling without smiling and laughing without laughing because no one ever cared to know Elain Archeron.
On her birthday, Elain returned to her room at sundown, after a day of smiling and speaking sweet words. They'd organized a party in the garden she was supposed to love, and Feyre had gotten pretty little cupcakes with flower-themed icing. Morrigan had bought her a pretty little lavender gown — modest but beautiful. Rhysand had gotten her a exotic seeds to plant, because she was supposed to love planting. Azriel had given her a set of pretty pearl drop earrings.
She was supposed to love it all, and so she did — she was generous with her thank yous and her smiles. After all, what more could she lose? She was already hollow.
Except when she returned to her room, and she peeled off her dress, her smile fell to the floor alongside it. And Elain let herself feel — feel disappointment that Feyre hadn't remembered that Elain didn't like chocolate, annoyance that Morrigan thought she knew Elain's style when she'd never bothered to ask what she wanted, sadness that Rhysand had never bothered to pay enough attention to her to know that Lucien had bought her that exact same pack of seeds last year, and most of all, anger that Azriel thought he could just give her another piece of jewelry as if he could play with her heart without consequences.
It was only now as she stood naked in her bedroom that she realized how heavy the weight of her smile was. She was tired of bearing it. So as the sun set, painting the world golden, she wondered what it would be like to break free. To shatter the perfect porcelain doll she'd created into a million shards, to prick them with her thorns until their blood coated the floor in red like cherry blossom petals in the spring, to lock them all in cages and silence them while she talked for hours on end about topics they couldn't care less about.
As the last rays of the sun disappeared over the horizon, Elain left her fantasies. This was the real world, and in the real world, Elain was not a real person. She was a pet, a doll, a picture-perfect female.
She picked up the dress Morrigan had given her and put it on. She walked down the stairs, her lips curved, her doe-eyes bright, her cheeks pink, ready to graciously accept compliments and thank Morrigan for her gift. The sound of conversation made her pause on the last step before entering the room.
Feyre was laughing at some joke Cassian had made. She listened as Rhysand and Amren chimed in. Morrigan's booming laughter was accompanied by a sarcastic remark from Azriel. Even Nesta added to the conversation, joking as she rested her head on Cassian's shoulder.
They all fit together like characters in a play and Elain wondered why she was entering the room. She didn't want to be part of the background decor anymore. For a moment, she contemplated entering the room and yelling at all of them. It could be so easy — she'd climb onto the mahogany table and tell all of them that she was tired of being their perfect pick-me-up all the time. She'd kick their wine glasses off the table, and they'd shatter with a satisfying crack along with their image of her. She'd show them all just how angry and sad and horrible and selfish she could be — because she was a person, gods damn it, not a doll, not a prize, not an object.
Feyre would have done it — would have taken everyone down with her like she'd done in the spring court. Nesta would have done it, too — would have had no qualms about leaving a blazing trail of destruction.
But in the end, she was Elain. So she quietly went back to her room, stripped off Morrigan's dress once more, and changed into the sage green dress Graysen had bought her — the only article of clothing she'd ever chosen herself. She walked unnoticed past the room where her family conversed, and slipped out the front door without a sound, a ghost in the night. She left her corpse there on the front porch — the corpse of a pretty, perfect, sweet doll. And then, she vanished.
Elain never faked a smile again. Her smiles were rare, but when she smiled, it was because she was so happy that she couldn't resist.
Elain only ever wore clothes she had picked herself. They weren't all pretty, they weren't all perfect — most of them would have been deemed were too baggy or too short by her mother. But they were all clothes that made Elain happy. They were comfortable and warm, soft and cool, and made her feel confident and beautiful. She'd never be a doll they could dress up again.
Elain learned to live for herself — learned what made her happy and sad and let herself express her emotions. She learned that she loved horse-back riding and hated running, loved playing the lyre and hated cooking, loved eating seafood and hated drinking champagne.
And when someone asked her out, she let herself say no. She learned that she didn't owe anyone anything — not her time, her affection, or her smiles. She learned that she could explain that she was taking time for herself, and that if they couldn't accept that, they weren't worth it anyway.
And when someone dared to tell her that she wouldn't find anyone with that attitude, or if someone asked when she was going to find a lover, she would brush it off because that was the point — she didn't need anyone else. Perhaps she'd choose to find someone someday, or perhaps not, but it didn't matter.
Because she was Elain Archeron. She wasn't perfect, she wasn't fragile. She wasn't always happy or kind or sweet.
Elain was a full and complete person, all on her own.
No, she didn't move mountains or part seas like her sisters, but she was herself, and that was enough for her.
A/N: I hope you enjoyed it! Please leave reviews!
My tumblr is sayodreams — my ask box is always open if you want to send me prompts!