Chapter Text
Lucien
The gloves.
It had been more than two excruciating years.
More than two years since Lucien stood in a Velaris shop and decided upon this pair of gardening gloves. They were delicate, yet resilient. To him, they were an embodiment of her very essence. He had them imbued with a special enchantment.
More than two years, and as he stood outside Elain's gardening shed at the River House, the unmistakable sting of rejection clawed at his insides. On a solitary shelf - elevated and forgotten amongst the clay pots and gardening almanacs - the gloves remained.
Untouched.
Unused.
Unacknowledged.
They were now a reminder of the bond that tethered him to her.
Lucien had spent his whole life hearing tales of the sacred bond, said to transcend lifetimes. He knew that finding such a bond was rare. Although he had always hoped to find his mate one day, he’d spent decades getting used to the idea that it was unlikely to happen. It had never happened for his parents, so why should he be so lucky?
Because Lucien was a lot of things, but ‘ lucky’ never seemed to be among them.
The thread that tied them together seemed to sing with life whenever she was near, a screaming fire in his veins. He often caught himself stealing glances at Elain from across rooms, always at a distance. The Elain he watched from afar was full of life, a radiant bloom amidst the harsh realities of their world. Yet the moment their paths crossed, she withdrew. Her vibrancy would shy away, replaced by a guarded reserve. Every laugh he heard from her that didn’t include him, every whispered secret he wasn’t privy to, every moment he realized he wasn’t a part of her world - it felt like it ripped small pieces of his soul away.
He often wondered if she even felt it at all. For him, it was a pull, an inexplicable draw. But every time he mustered the courage to approach her the walls she'd erected seemed impenetrable.
"Why?"
He would wonder, a solitary plea to the Cauldron, to the Mother, to anyone who'd listen. Why show him the possibility of a love so profound, only to dangle it just out of his reach?"
Lucien had been through his fair share of battles. He'd faced enemies that would make even the bravest warriors tremble. But this, this silent battle of the heart, was proving to be the most challenging. There was no enemy to fight, no sword to swing, no strategy to devise. Only the silent torture of hope, warring with the stark reality of rejection.
And so, Lucien existed in a state of suspension. The past few years seemed to drag on longer than some decades. Every day he felt the gnawing despair - some days less than others, but always present. How long was he to endure this torment? How long would she let it go on? On one hand, he was grateful she hadn’t rejected the bond completely because it kept the smallest spark of hope burning within him.
But by not rejecting the bond, Elain was damning him to a life of uncertainty and anguish.
This wasn’t who Lucien was.
Lucien didn’t brood . He didn’t pine . He’d had a life full of adventure and romantic conquests. He had even been fortunate enough to love and be loved at one point - no matter how tragically short that time had been. This bond was destroying everything he knew about himself. His confidence was shattered, his joy dulled. Sleep was restless and food was tasteless. All over a female he barely even knew .
He didn’t even know her favorite color.
She’d never let him get close enough ask.
“She’s not here.” A voice said softly, interrupting his silent reverie. He turned to find Feyre, watching him from the doorway to the garden. Her fingers twisted and turned over each other as she watched him with wary eyes. Once friends, now their relationship was overshadowed by excruciating, unspoken strain.
Lucien inhaled a shaky breath that did little to ease the tightness in his chest. He felt like a babe caught with his hand in a cookie jar. He slid his hands hands deep into the pockets of his brown trousers. "I didn't come to see Elain," he said.
“Oh?” She stepped around him to enter the shed and began to busy herself, gathering up a few items. Lucien was not fooled. Her movements were stiff and unnatural. He wondered if she'd ever even stepped foot in this garden shed before this moment.
“I'm still an emissary to the Night Court, am I not?”
"Indeed you are," Feyre answered, never looking up from her busywork. "But that hardly requires you to stand outside my sister's gardening shed."
Lucien leaned against the door frame, blocking out the afternoon sun. He schooled his features to seem at ease, but he knew she saw through him. Lucien reached into the pocket of his tunic, bringing out a folded invitation. He turned it over in his hands a couple times, “You invited me here. Remember?”
Feyre stared down at the invitation in his hand. She nodded, a look of realization washing over her, “right. The mating ceremony.”
Searching for words, Lucien picked at the corner of the embossed, decorative stationary. In truth, he wasn’t sure why he was standing here of all places - apart from the involuntary pull he felt calling him from her most sacred space. “I know the ceremony isn’t for a few days but I got back into town yesterday. I have some things to report to Rhys. I… I was just taking a moment to reflect .”
Feyre crossed her arms, mirroring him as she leaned her hip against the wooden table. "How have you been doing?" she asked. Her eyes were stormy and her voice was low. He wasn't sure she even truly cared. He didn't answer at first, but then flashed her a tight-lipped smile.
"I'm as good as can be expected."
Feyre's shoulders sagged, her icy exterior seeming to melt away. "I know it's been hard," she choked out. "I can't imagine how hard it is to be bound by something you can't control, to someone who won't acknowledge it."
Lucien's stare moved from her face, seeking out those gloves once more. "Yes, well… It's a very specific kind of hell," he remarked with a bitterness he could not contain. "And I’m afraid that I have grown tired of it."
Feyre bit her bottom lip for a moment, as though weighing whether she should continue on this topic. Finally, she asked him, “have you tried talking to her?” Lucien snorted out a humorless laugh. Feyre was not deterred, “I mean honestly talking to her, Lucien. Not just polite exchanges in hallways or casual conversations at dinner..?"
Lucien pushed his body off of the doorframe. "And how should I do that? Your entourage hovers over us as though I’m moments away from snatching her up and holding her captive. So, forgive me if I wasn’t aware that was an option.” Feyre did not respond to his sarcastic remark but held his gaze. After a moment of eye-to-eye combat, Lucien was first to yield. "And what am I to say to her, exactly? ' Elain, would you kindly make up your mind about us, as the suspense is quite literally killing me? '"
An amused smile tugged on the corners of Feyre’s lips. For the first time in a long time, her eyes sparkled in a way that was reminiscent of a friend. "Well, honesty might be a start."
"Honesty is a double-edged sword, Feyre,” Lucien said wistfully. He ambled further into the shed beside her. One hand stayed pocketed, while the other slender hand roamed over the tools, the clay pots. “It can heal, but it can also cut deep."
Feyre moved closer, her expression softening. "Then maybe it's time to wield that sword, Lucien. Cut the ties that bind you. O-or mend the ones that could hold you. But standing still will get you nowhere."
“Mmm, ” he hummed in stoic agreement. His gaze cast back up to those damned gloves. This time Feyre’s eyes followed.
“They really were a thoughtful gift,” Feyre complimented, her voice small. "The enchantment was a special touch."
“They were meant to protect her,” Lucien murmured.
"Lucien… maybe Elain doesn’t want to be protected - certainly not from the one thing she still loves most from her life before … before… ” Her words, filled with guilt and remorse, trailed off between them. Lucien could guess what she wanted to say: ‘Before everything she held dear was ripped away from her and she was shackled to someone like you.’
Feyre took in a shaky breath, pushing through. “Perhaps she wants to feel the dirt. Maybe she wants to feel the pain of every thorn that pricks her, every rose that she nurtures from a bud to a bloom. Maybe It's not about rejection of you or the bond, but more about acceptance of herself," Feyre reasoned..
Lucien swallowed hard against the knot in his throat. He turned to meet Feyre's piercing stare. "And what if she never does? What if this bond is something she never chooses to acknowledge?"
"You can't force someone to feel something they don't. No matter how real or intense it is for you. But you also can't let it consume you.
"I'm not letting it consume me." Feyre shot Lucien a pointed look, and he clenched his jaw.
"Lucien, I hardly recognize you. You've become shadow of the vibrant, passionate male I once knew."
"Well, if it's any consolation, you've become just as unrecognizable to me," he bit back. Feyre winced, and he felt the guilt crawling up his chest. Lucien sighed heavily, running exasperated fingers through his fiery red hair. "Sorry it's just... It's not just the bond, Feyre. It's the waiting, the hope, and then the crushing disappointment every time she looks through me, past me, like I'm not even there. Like this bond means nothing to her-”
“Lucien-” Feyre tried to interject, but he couldn’t stop the cascade of words once they began to flow from his lips.
“No, Feyre. Your mate didn’t reject you. You can’t possibly understand how this feels. It's like I'm wandering through a fog, chasing after a mirage of something that might not even be real.” He’d promised himself he was just going to come here to state his business and leave. And yet here he was, spilling his heart’s innermost contents to someone he wasn’t even sure considered him a friend anymore. After a moment, he quietly said, “I don’t have a home.”
“Lucien, ” she said again, her voice choked with emotion. He knew she wanted to tell him that wasn’t true, that he had a home here . But he knew she couldn’t commit to such a statement anymore. Not when her sister couldn’t seem to stomach being around him for longer than a few fleeting moments.
“I thought… I’m not sure what I thought. That I might find one? With her? I thought that she might be the one place I might find-.” He paused, shaking his head and trying not to notice Feyre’s pitying, glossy stare. “But just like every home I thought I’d found… I’ve been cast out of it. Before all of this, I at least knew who I was. I wasn’t perfect, but I was me."
Feyre finally felt compelled to reach for him, placing a kind hand on his arm. "You're still you,” she promised. She leaned down to his line of sight, forcing his gaze to meet hers. “Albeit a sadder, pricklier version of you.” A small grin and soft chuckle passed between them. “You’re still the same smart, charismatic, and brave male. You have weathered countless storms. This is just another challenge. And whatever the outcome… it doesn't diminish who you are."
Lucien blinked back the burn in his eyes. After a long moment, he finally said, “that might be the kindest thing you’ve said to me in some time." He could see the tears spring to Feyre’s eyes at this, but she shook them away quickly, clearing her throat.
Her hand came up to gently clasp her neck as she quietly told him, “I haven’t meant to make you feel unwelcome. Or like you’re not wanted-”
“You have,” Lucien's voice clipped, and Feyre’s gray-blue eyes widened at his candor. And then softer, he added, “you all have.”
“I hate to interrupt-” Rhysand’s low, smooth voice sounded from the doorway of the garden shed. He waved a hand in their general direction, “-whatever this is. But I believe Lucien and I have some diplomatic matters to discuss.” Lucien watched the two of them, noting some unspoken words shared down their bond. He gave a brief nod in Feyre’s direction. They still had a lot of things to talk about, but now wasn't the time.
Rhysand stepped aside, allowing Lucien to pass first. As they walked side by side toward the main house, the silence between them was a weighty one. Lucien stole a glance at the High Lord, trying to gauge what thoughts might be swirling in that enigmatic mind of his.
"So… I overheard some of your conversation with Feyre," Rhysand finally broke the silence, his tone neutral.
Lucien's gaze remained forward, his face stoic, " Overheard? Or did Feyre send a quick rundown down your bond?"
Rhysand smirked, not giving Lucien an answer to that astute - and clearly correct - observation. "I just wanted to say that you're not the only one who has struggled with the weight of a bond. Our situations may be different, but that doesn't mean I don't understand your pain."
"You and Feyre got your happy ending, Rhys,” Lucien spat, although without malice. “Don't pretend to understand the torment of being rejected by your mate."
Rhysand's eyes narrowed, "It might surprise you how much I understand. There was a time when Feyre wanted nothing to do with me, the bond be damned." Lucien glanced at him skeptically. Rhysand's voice turned cold, “don’t forget that I nearly lost her more than once. And there were moments when the waiting, the not knowing, felt like a blade to my heart."
They walked in silence for a few moments, the weight of their shared experiences pressing down on them. Rhysand cleared his throat. "The point I'm trying to make is that things aren't always as they seem. Just because Elain doesn't wear the gloves, doesn't mean she's rejecting you. And just because Feyre has been distant doesn't mean she doesn't care."
Lucien looked at him, his eyes, amber and mechanical gold, searched Rhysand's for a hint of insincerity. Finding none, he nodded, taking a deep breath to steady himself. "I appreciate your words. But understanding and sympathy don't change the reality of the situation."
Rhysand inclined his head. "No, they don't. But perhaps they can offer a bit of comfort in the midst of it."
Lucien's gaze shifted to the horizon, the orange hues of the setting sun tinting the sky with fire reminiscent of his own hair. "Comfort has been hard to come by these days," he mused aloud, his voice heavy with resignation.
"Then perhaps it's time you started seeking it elsewhere. Not as a replacement for Elain or what you hope to have with her one day, but as a way to find solace and healing. If Elain is your home, don't abandon the hope of that. But maybe it's time you started building a foundation of your own, somewhere where you can feel grounded and secure, regardless of the bond."
Lucien looked at Rhysand, contemplating his words. The notion of seeking comfort elsewhere seemed foreign, almost traitorous to his heart, but Rhysand's sentiment resonated with him. "And where would you suggest I start?"
"You know, I believe I know someone who has experience with an unrequited bond..." Rhysand said, his lips curving into a smirk and a hint of mischief in his eyes. “After the mating ceremony… how would you feel about paying a little visit to the Day Court?”