A Court of Shadowed Vines

Part 1

Elain thrashed, trying to pull the chains away.

They weighed her down, kept her breathing laboured and her voice silent as she tired to escape. But the chains only grew heavier, and the voices louder.

It was always like this.

Every night, a silent battle. Every night, another person screaming at her.

She'd seen all their deaths, too.

Her family: Feyre, Nesta, and all the friends they'd made since living at the night court. She'd even seen her nephew - just a few months old now - and how he could die.

Could - because her visions changed.

They were some, she'd come to understand, that were consistent and fixed. No matter what, she knew those would never change and should never be changed. But there were others that felt... looser. Events that appeared to be flexible, and she felt able to shape them - to control them in the way she controlled and formed her garden. Those visions had the potential to grow in any direction and any outcome, and she was the only one who could learn what actions needed to take place so she could insure they took the right path.

She'd done it once, unintentionally and when she was just learning her powers, when she stabbed the King of Hybern and prevented the vision she'd seen of Cassian dying - which had altered to her sister dying by his side, the second time she'd seen it.

Since she'd realised what she'd done, Elain swore to herself she would learn her powers. But the powers of a seer were complicated, and even if she wanted to burden anyone with it, she knew it would be unwise to share them. Not just because of her sisters and how they would panic - wanting to fix her as if she was a problem or in danger - but because of the nature of her powers. They had nearly driven her mad - the voices, the infinite outcomes, the delicate tapestry and its loose threads that she could break with one wrong move. But her powers were hers now; she'd claimed them. And despite the part of her that wanted to share the burden, she knew she couldn't.

So Elain closed her eyes every night and fell into that shining void. Fell into that whirlwind of time and possibility. And she learned, and listened, and tried her best to find a purpose. She'd wanted one all her life - an existence beyond being underestimated by her sisters or treat like the fragile doll their mother had built her as. Elain wanted a life where she could be useful; where she could do the things she loved. In all honestly, she had yet to truly discover what that entailed. She liked to garden and bake and the therapeutic feeling they offered, along with the feeling of creating something. But she knew there was so many things out there in the world she could be doing and she hated being kept from it, although she also admittedly feared the world at times.

She strained her body against the chains, broke them and lifted herself upright. Then she followed the voices to whichever stories they came from.

She might feel useless and stagnant in the waking world, but in this world she was a far cry from that. In this world she wasn't weak or helpless or a burden. In this world she didn't need to pretend or lie or try to make others happier. In this world she was in control, and in this world she could be more than she was.

Elain locked on to the sound of familiar cries, and walked along the unwoven thread they stemmed from.

***

It was happening again.

He knew it was happening again because despite himself, his shadows watched her. He'd sent his shadows to watch her numerous times. First to keep an eye on her after the cauldron and to keep her safe. Then, after she'd been taken by Hybern, he'd left one of his shadows to watch her. He'd sworn that after the war he would order it away, but he'd never been able to. And then he'd been alerted of that first night - the first time she did it.