Archive of Our Own

Mor’s grip on his arm was the only thing keeping him grounded. There were children laughing in the streets. They were freely running down the cobblestone street as their parents watched from afar, their arms interlaced as their shoulders shook with their own laughter. Lucien couldn’t remember the last time he heard a child laugh. 

“Come,” Mor’s voice was hard, leaving no room for argument. She dragged him unceremoniously away from the townhouse. Azriel and Cassian flanked them. They were worried about him fleeing, he thought, and running back to Tamlin to tell him what he had seen. He’d probably shred me to ribbons . 

He let Mor winnow them all once again into an apartment. It was a huge, open space. Lucien’s eyes ran over the burgundy velvet curtains and fine silk tapestries on the walls. Mor forced him to sit on one of the plush couches. She sat on the other, facing him, with Cassian and Azriel standing behind her. Both males had their arms crossed over their chests. All of them were glaring at him. Lucien swallowed down the confusion, the awe in favor of the same stoic mask he had grown so accustomed to in the last few months. 

“I know what you want to ask,” Lucien mumbled, breaking the silence, “I won’t be going back to the Spring Court if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“How can we be sure?” Cassian asked. 

“For starters, I ran off with Tamlin’s fiancée,” Lucien said, “who conveniently already tricked Tamlin into believing we were sleeping together.”

“What of Autumn?” Mor asked with a tight voice. Both males behind her tensed. Ah. They were wondering if he would be like his wretched brothers. Lucien sighed, what was it Feyre had told him about in the cave? A thought for a thought? If he gave them a reason to see why he’d never go back, they’d trust him. Would he be able to divulge this to them? Would he be willing to use Jesminda’s memory as a bargaining tool?

She’d call him an idiotic male and tell him to do it. 

“If you’re wondering how close I am to Eris then don’t. I told Amren in the townhouse I don't go by my last name. I meant it,” Lucien snapped, he didn’t mean to be so harsh. But the trek through the court, his home , had brought up memories he thought he had walked away from decades ago. 

“How can we be so sure?” Lucien wasn’t even a thought in his mother’s mind when Eris drove that iron nail into Mor’s abdomen. He hadn’t been part of the Autumn Court for decades yet here he was, paying the price for his brothers actions. 

“I’m not welcomed there,” was all he said. Mor eyed him. With a wave of her fingers tea was laid out on the table for them. Azriel sat next to her and Cassian sank down into the couch with Lucien. He stretched out his wings behind them. The red headed male was leaning forwards and now the wings left him no room to lean back. But he wouldn't let these Illyrians intimidate him. 

“Why didn’t you help her?” Mor asked, hate in her eyes. “She was falling apart and you did nothing .”

“I tried,” he breathed. He had. There had been countless conversations behind closed doors. He had begged Tamlin to ease up, to let Feyre breathe and to get her help. More often than not he had to pay a visit to a healer afterwards. The arrival of Ianthe only made it worse. She had only furthered Tamlin’s obsessive protectiveness. Whatever shred of his friend that was left died when Ianthe hooked her claws into Tamlin and Lucien was the one who paid the price.

“Doubtful,” Mor scoffed. Doubtful. Doubtful. Lucien had been berated. His position had been threatened. He had shed blood for Feyre. Just because she was not witness to it  did not mean it did not happen. “You came here trying to take her back.” 

“I was in a tight spot, I couldn’t put it off any more,” Lucien snapped. Mor’s eyes were confused, but Azriel just hummed. 

“You found her quickly, yet you didn’t come looking for her,” Azriel said.

“I deserve some credit. It wasn’t hard to assume she’d be here,” Lucien sighed, “Tamlin was losing it and I couldn’t keep lying.”

“How quickly did you find her?” Cassian asked with a raised eyebrow. 

“Few days,” Lucien mumbled. 

“She was here months, Lucien,” Mor said, “Why? You were Tamlin’s emissary? His friend.”

“The Tamlin that was my friend died under that mountain,” Lucien said.

“So the fox mask wasn’t just for show?” Cassian asked. 

“One doesn’t survive the Autumn Court with honesty,” Lucien answered. “I did it because despite what you think of me, Feyre was my friend as well. Admittedly, she has been a better friend to me than I ever was to her.”

They paused, each moving for their tea and sipping. A few moments later it was Azriel who cleared his throat. 

“Will your father agree to fight with us?” Azriel asked. 

“I do not know,” Lucien said, “like I said, I don’t use my family name anymore.”

They didn’t press him any further, thank the cauldron. Lucien was exhausted, he didn’t think he’d be able to have that conversation right now. Would they even care?

“Any chance you could assist us in convincing him?” Cassian asked. 

“If I step foot in Autumn Court lands I’m dead,” Lucien said, taking a sip of his tea. 

“Yet you tried to cross for Feyre’s sake,” Azriel said.

“As long as she survived is what counted, right?” Lucien mused, a bitter smile tugging at his lips. 

“No because the guilt she would’ve felt over your death would’ve been debilitating,” Mor said. 

“Mor, I’ve cheated death before and I’ll continue to do so,” Lucien mused. First with his father and the hellish childhood he had. Then his brothers as they chased him to the border. Then Amrantha twice. Feyre hadn’t meant to kill him, but the shock of seeing her wings probably would’ve given him cardiac arrest had he not been more fearful of what awaited him in the Spring Court if he went back empty handed. Fuck, Lucien was going to run out of luck soon.

***

Privacy wasn’t something he expected to get while being an uninvited guest in the Night Court. But he didn’t think he’d have a babysitter either. 

The room Lucien had been given was next to Rhysand and Feyre. Although he couldn’t hear in their room, he had no doubt that they were keeping tabs on him. There wasn’t much to observe. He wasn’t plotting nor was he trying to plan an escape. No, most of the time he just looked out into the city. Lucien sighed. Jesminda would’ve loved it. Nausea rolled into his stomach. He hadn’t thought about her in so long. Now he thought about her nearly everyday since he had been in the Night Court. 

“Lucien,” Feyre’s voice sounded through the door. 

“Come in,” he answered. She slipped in, closing the door behind her. She was in pajamas that clearly did not belong to her. Her hair was disheveled and a strip of dried drool was crusted on her chin. Lucien laughed softly, pointing at it. Her cheeks flushed and she quickly wiped it away. 

Feyre might be the High Lady of the Night Court to others, but to him she was still that bitter human girl. 

“I came to check on you,” she said, taking a seat across from him on the window bench. 

“Trying to make sure your friends haven’t scared me off?” He asked bitterly, resting his head against the window. Lucien was tired in more ways than one. 

“You are also my friend, Lucien, not just them,” she said softly. “You don’t think I replaced you do you?

“No, of course not Feyre,” he answered diplomatically. He wanted to scream until his lungs were trembling and his throat was raw. He had suffered the consequences of her leaving. It was Lucien who had received Tamlin’s wrath and was left to his own devices afterwards. She had lumped him into the same category with him when Lucien had taken too many of his blows to deserve such an assumption. These people, her family as she called them, hated him for what he had done at Tamlin’s behest. He hadn’t been given the chance to tell them that when Mor broke into the court to save Feyre, he had wished she had saved him too. 

“Lucien,” she breathed, leaning over to wipe a stray tear from his cheek. He closed his eyes as his lip quivered and his hands trembled. Lucien was so tired. 

“I can see why you like it here,” he said voice thick. 

“What did he do to you, Lucien?” She asked. 

“He-”

“Feyre?” Rhysand’s sleepy voice called out. 

“I assume whatever I tell you he will eventually know,” Lucien mumbled. Permission, he was telling her he could listen in on their conversation. Lucien owed the High Lord that much for not only letting him stay but allowing him to see his wings at dinner. 

“In here,” she called out, one of her hands gripping Lucien’s in silent comfort. 

“Ah, a nightly reunion,” Rhysand said tightly, dragging a chair over so he could sit with his feet propped in Feyre’s lap. “What gossip are we spilling tonight?”

Lucien scoffed. Pompous asshole. 

“Lucien,” Feyre’s voice was serious, “what happened after I left?”

“A lot happened,” he mumbled numbly, his hand instinctively going to grip his shirt over his ribs. It was Tamlin’s preferred spot. Invisible and even if Lucien healed himself it would still be sore for a few days after. 

“Azriel told me you found me in days. Why did you wait weeks?” 

“And take you back to that shit-hole?” He scoffed, “I’m no fool, Feyre, I noticed how you came back healthier after each visit here. I thought maybe I could make it seem impossible but then he started to look for Hybern for help. I wasn’t certain he’d go through with it but I thought maybe I could bring you back and change his mind.”

“I would’ve been miserable,” she said. 

“It was not a very good plan, I was back into a corner,” he admitted. 

“What else troubles you, Little Lucien?” Rhysand asked. The nickname this time held no malice and...it didn’t really bother him when Rhysand said it anymore. 

“I haven’t thought about her in so long but now….” he trailed off, voice thick again. 

“Oh Lucien,” Feyre’s whisper was so miserable. 

“She would’ve loved it here, she would’ve loved you,” Lucien offered with a watery smile. “Sorry, I should probably change-”

“Tell me about her,” Rhysand said. Lucien glanced at the other male. In his eyes Lucien could see he was understanding. 

“Jes was...a firecracker,” he mumbled, “she probably would’ve decimated your Inner Circle with her words.”

“A fox and a firecracker,” Rhysand mused.

“She never cared for my rank. I think she was the only person who ever saw me as Lucien, not Baron Vanserra’s seventh son,” he said. “But she was a lesser Fae from the countryside.”

“Is there anything wrong with that?”

“No. Never.”

“Then what troubles you?” 

“It was my fault she died,” Lucien muttered, glancing down. You see what happens when you love filth, son . A shuddered breath shook Lucien’s frame and a warm hand was on his back as he curled in on himself. 

“Tell me what happened,” Rhysand urged gently, taking Feyre’s place. 

“Why would you care? Why now?” Lucien lashed out, “you stood by as she took my eye wh-why now?”

“What Amarantha did to you sickened me Lucien,” Rhysand said, “with your eye, the trial, the lashings. Do not think for a moment that I enjoyed any of it. I want to help you. You are in my court now, my care extends to you as well.”

“High Lords aren’t meant to care. That’s the job of emissaries and Ladies,” he repeated the words that had been hurled at him for so many centuries. 

“No, Lucien,” Rhysand said firmly, “that is an antiquated notion. One that is no longer believed here. Now, tell me what happened. Or don’t. We can sit here and wallow in silence if you’d like that better.”

Lucien nodded so Rhysand sat back, also glancing outside. Like this his presence wasn’t so...intimidating. Lucien could see the bags under his eyes and the pajama pants he had put on backwards. 

He knew what he wanted to ask and say. But he needed a moment to gather the courage. He looked up at the stars and breathed. 

“You handled Feyre’s death much more elegantly than I handled Jesminda’s,” Lucien finally said. Rhysand’s head whipped around to stare at him. Ah, touchy subject he guessed by the tremor of the older male’s hands. 

“It was the worst sound I had ever heard,” he whispered. 

“My brothers held me down and forced me to watch,” Lucien whispered, “Amarantha made quick work of Feyre. My father made sure Jesminda’s agony lasted days. All she….all she had to do was admit she never loved me. That she was using me for power and riches and he’d let her go. I begged her to say. She never did.”

“Lucien,” Rhysand breathed.

“I know I don’t deserve Elain after what I let Tamlin do,” he said, “but I will help her if she needs it.”

“Tamlin acted on his own accord, it is time you stop shouldering his mistakes,” Rhysand said. 

“I was his emissary I-”

“Amren is my second and I do not make her bear the burden of what I have done,” Rhysand said. “This is not the Autumn Court and this is not the Spring Court. You will be safe here, Lucien. From both of them.” 

Lucien nodded, not saying anything else. He knew Rhysand would try to protect him, but without his position as emissary he was a target. One his father and four brothers were aching to eliminate, but now possible Tamlin. Maybe this is what his luck running out looked like.

***

Cassian was...insistent. Not just with Nesta, which Lucien had to admire his various attempts at trying to crack her icy shell. But with him as well. Each morning when Lucien rose to train before dawn, Cassian was waiting at the bottom of the stairs. At first he chalked it up to no one else being willing to rise at that hour. Then it became because the war was looming and everyone had to be at the top of their game. Then it was because Azriel was busy teaching Feyre to fly so he was lonely. Lucien didn’t mind Cassian’s company, he just wasn’t so used to someone so...forwardly affectionate. 

When Lucien sparred with his brothers growing up it was less about learning to fight and more about surviving. They did not hold back despite him being centuries younger and much smaller. His brothers fought to kill on all occasions.

Cassian was patient with Lucien. He did not make the younger male feel inadequate when his form wasn’t correct. When he knocked down Lucien he always helped him up. If Lucien was bruised or bleeding after, Cassian would always stay with him as he healed himself. On more than one occasion Cassian had steady him after healing made him dizzy enough to stumble. And never, under any circumstances, had he used his siphons against Lucien despite using them with Azriel. 

“Where’d you learn that move, foxboy?” Cassian teased as he held Lucien down. Lucien tapped on the sand and Cassian instantly let go. Eris probably would’ve pushed him further into the sand . 

“Tamlin,” he admitted, “he helped me refine the bad habits I picked up from my brothers.”

“Well at least there’s one thing he can do right,” Cassia said, wiping away the small trail of blood from the cut on his cheek, the cut Lucien had managed to make. 

“Violence is a Spring Court specialty,” he spat bitterly. The two males circled each other once again. It was Lucien this time who initiated the fight. He used his slender frame to his advantage. Cassian was too big to be as swift as him. Cassian and Azriel were brute strength, Lucien was fast. 

“How’d you get so damn fast,” Cassian grumbled, “I distinctly remember you being rather slow.”

“And you’re much smaller than I remember. Besides, I was a kid then,” Lucien cocked his head to the side, “had to learn to out run my brothers.”

“That’s fucked up,” Cassian commented, dodging Lucien’s knife. 

“You’ve met them, there’s nothing that’s not fucked up about them,” Lucien said. 

They continued for a while. Lucien had just dodge a punch when Cassian’s leg came up and kicked his side. Lucien had the wind knocked out of him, but there was no distinctive crack that followed. If his ribs weren’t broken, then why were his hands shaking?

“Lucien?” Cassian questioned as the younger male stumbled back. 

“Lucien!” Tamlin roared, a paw on his side and crushing his ribs between claws. 

“Hey, easy, sit,” Cassian instructed, forcing Lucien to sit with his head between his knees. 

“Tam! Wait!” A kick at full strength coupled with wind sent him slamming into the wall. He cried out as his side throbbed. 

“Lucien, breathe,” Cassian said, his voice commanding yet calm. Lucien looked up at him with tear filled eyes. The older male looked taken aback for a moment. He was snapped out of his stupor when Lucien lowered his head again. Weak bastard . 

“Hey,” his voice soothed, “in and out, like me.” Lucien reached out a trembling hand, resting it on Cassian’s chest. He mimicked the rise and fall of his chest. In, count, out. He repeated the process until he felt grounded again. He dropped his hand and lifted his head. Cassian looked fearful. 

“Sorry,” he croaked. 

“Why the fuck are you sorry?” Cassian asked, “Lucien, I hit you too hard.”

“No, you didn’t actually,” Lucien said, lifting his shirt to reveal he didn’t even have a bruise. Cassian’s eyes shifted from confusion to fury in a few seconds.

“Did that bastard-”

“Ribs are the easiest thing to hide,” Lucien mumbled as he laid down and closed his eyes. “Even when you heal them they’ll be sore for a few days after.” 

“I’m going to fucking kill him,” Cassian snarled. 

“Yes, Lord of Bloodshed, add to our mounting problems by leaving Spring without a High Lord,” Lucien joked, “Cassian, I’m alright now.”

“That should’ve never happened, he should’ve never laid a fucking hand on you Lucien!” Cassian raged. Lucien opened his good eye to see Cassian pacing and ranting. He couldn’t help but laugh. 

“This is not funny!” Cassian snapped. 

“No I suppose it’s not,” Lucien shrugged. 

“Get up, we’re going to talk to Az,” Cassian instructed. 

“Cassian, let’s not blow this out of proportion,” Lucian sighed, unmoving. Strong hands gripped his wrists and forced him up. He yelped as he staggered to his feet.

“You understand that what he did was wrong,” Cassian said. 

“Yes,” Lucien answered. 

“And that you didn’t deserve it.” Lucien stayed silent. Cassian’s face fell when he received no answer. 

“That was the way in Spring long before Feyre’s arrival, Cassian,” Lucien said with a monotone voice. Cassian swallowed as he stared at Lucien. 

“Fuck had I known this is where life was going to lead you I would’ve convey Rhys’s mother to take you too,” Cassian whispered. 

“You three idiots were too busy trying to bed females to notice me,” Lucien waved him off, “I’m starving, we should get breakfast.”

“Yeah, breakfast,” Cassian’s pained voice said. 

***

His afternoons with Azriel were calming. He was confident in the information he gave Azriel and it felt normal to do that kind of work. It came naturally to him. 

“It’s sparse in the Spring Court, no big cities,” Lucien said, “most Fae left when Amarantha put the curse and most never came back. The biggest town is about five miles from Rosehall. The Fae there are not pleased with Tamlin’s lack of rebuilding.”

“You would make a better spy than emissary,” Azriel complimented. 

“The scar makes me too recognizable,” Lucien gave the same answer Tamlin gave him. He had asked for the position as Spymaster, but Lucien had been dismissed. No, he had been stuck as emissary where he still had to face his father. 

“There’s nothing wrong with scars,” Azriel said defensively. Lucien’s eyes ran over the scars lining Azriel’s hands. 

“I know,” Lucien said, “Since you probably know how I got mine, what’s the story behind yours?”

“Rhysand didn’t tell any of us,” Azriel said, “if that’s what you mean.”

“He-what?” Lucien gaped. There had only been a few people in that meeting, Rhysand being one of them. It was well before the curse, he could’ve told them then. But he didn’t.

“It didn’t take a lot to figure out he witnessed what caused it,” Azriel said, “he threw up as soon as he winnowed here. Said your name once and didn’t speak until the next day. We let him be.”

“Oh.” Lucien mumbled. Everyone at Spring was well aware what had caused his scar. His brothers openly mocked him for it, so his father had gotten word as well. Yet, the one court where someone was a witness the story didn’t follow him. 

Azriel sat down, motioning for Lucien to do the same. He rested his arms on the table as Azriel set his hands down for Lucien to see. 

“I had cruel brothers too,” Azriel said, “before Rhysand and Cassian. They poured hot wax on my hands to see how fast I could heal them. They kept doing this. By the time they were caught my hands were well beyond healing perfectly. Your turn.” Lucien’s eyes traced the jagged marks. He didn’t feel anger, no, he was understanding. Because Azriel understood him in a way the others would never be able to.  

“Amarantha,” Lucien breathed, “she wanted to take Tamlin as her husband. He sent me to deny her request but to find a way to continue forward and keep the peace. I let my anger get the better of me. I told her to ‘go back to shit-hole she crawled out of.’” Azriel smiled slyly, “She didn’t like that. She ripped my eye out. I remember winnowing to Spring and everyone screaming. Alys held a rag to my face as the other servants went looking for Tamlin. He brought a healer with him.”

“You’re a brave son of a bitch,” Azriel said, “I don’t think even Cassian would’ve had the balls to say that to her.”

“Yeah well, someone had to say it,” he said. 

“And the eye?” 

“Nuan,” he answered, “I can see, if that’s what you’re wondering. But I can also see the wards with this eye and spells and through glamours.” 

“Did you see through Feyre’s?” Azriel asked. Lucien couldn’t contain the smirk that spread across his face. 

“First lesson of being a fox, Azriel, is to always have leverage,” Lucien said. Azriel shook his head with a soft laugh. 

“Damn foxboy,” Azriel muttered, “get back to telling me about the Spring Court, foxy.”

“Well, what kind of leverage do you want shadowman?”

“Shadowman,” Azriel scoffed. But he didn’t try to correct Lucien. That’s when Lucien noticed his wings were no longer tightly pulled into his back. 

***

Mor was the trickiest one to decipher. For one, she hadn’t been in the same room as Lucien for more than a few minutes. He knew it was his resemblance to Eris. For the second time he cursed his appearance. 

“You need new clothes,” Mor abruptly said one day. Lucien looked up from the map he was pouring over. 

“I’ll get them after the war,” Lucien answered. 

“No, now,” Mor said. He found himself standing and following her out. He knew he stuck out in Velaris. But clothes had been the least of his worries. Cassian had already offered some of his old clothes, but Lucien was swimming in them. 

Mor led Lucien to a quaint shop. It was empty save from a single seamstress. A lesser Fae with large eyes and purple skin. 

“Morrigan!” She cheered, her voice higher than any he had heard before. 

“Nasture!” Mor greeted just as excitedly. 

“Are you here for another gown?” Her eyes lit up in excitement at the thought of clothing Mor. 

“Not this time. I’m here for him,” Mor said, bringing Lucien closer. Nasture let out a soft oh as she circled him. She towered over him. 

“He’s handsome,” she said, “good build, not bulky like your friends.”

“He needs a whole new wardrobe, as you can see his clothes are just dreadful,” Mor said. 

“Yes, new look,” Nasture agreed, “come, I’ll take your measurements.”

“Mor I can’t pay for this,” Lucien hissed. 

“It’s on Rhysand,” she said with a wink. 

Nasture had not only taken his measurement but hounded him on what he thought he would look good in, what style and fabric he liked. Truthfully Lucien had never thought about it. His whole life he had been only allowed to wear court attire or leathers. Style was never something he had thought of. 

After the seamstress, Mor dragged him to a restaurant by the Sidra. She chatted happily with anyone who recognized her. It was...odd. Lucien had never seen a High Fae who had high standing in their court be so friendly with the lesser fae. It was something he had longer for as a child and then again he fell in love with Jasminda. It didn’t take away from it’s strangeness as he witnessed it. 

“The seafood past here is to die for,” Mor advised him. That was another thing that puzzled him. Mor had gone his entire time here avoiding him, but now she was acting like they were the best of friends. 

“Can I ask you something?” He asked. She sipped on her cocktail and nodded. “You go from avoiding me to taking me shopping and to lunch. I’m not trying to be rude, I appreciate it but it’s….confusing. Why?”

“You probably realized I didn’t want to be near you because of your brother,” Mor answered. Of course, it always goes back to his fucking brothers. “But I realized I was being insensitive. Just because your brothers are terrible people does not mean you are. I was unfair when we first met and I mulled over our conversation after you left. You and I, we’re not that different.”

“Doubtful,” Lucien retorted. 

“Alright, I deserved that one,” she said, “but it’s true. We both come from shitty families with sadistic siblings and equally sadistic parents.”

“Seems like a common theme among the Fae,” Lucien said, “but I suppose for the most part...yes.”

“I know about Jesminda,” Mor said softly. He froze in his seat. Of course Rhysand and Feyre couldn’t keep their fucking mouths shut, even after he begged. “Fey and Rhys didn’t spill the beans. A friend of mine told me it was juicy gossip. Needless to say, she didn’t spread the rumor further. I didn’t know you were the son she was talking about.”

“So she left out the part where my brother chased me to the border?” Lucien laughed bitterly. Mor nodded, her hands resting over his and gave him a reassuring squeeze. 

“I wanted to take you shopping so you can leave behind the last of the Spring Court in the past, not for any aesthetic or vain reason. Those clothes weighed you down, Lucien. I saw it the day you borrowed some of Rhys’s,” Mor said, “a fresh start includes clothes you feel comfortable in.”

“Thank you, Mor,” he mumbled. 

“And an apartment.”

“A- what?!”

“Well living with Rhys and the Acheron sister will get old soon,” Mor said, “when it does, let me know and I’ll help you find the best apartment in all of Velaris.”

“I...I would like that,” he said. 

“Good,” she said cheerfully, “now we celebrate!”

“What are we celebrating?”

“Our new found friendship,” Mor said. 

“Fair enough.”

Lucien giggled as Mor shushed him. She opened the door to her apartment and they tumbled in. After lunch they had gone to Rita’s and drank until well past sundown. Rita had to kick them out, which led to Mor taking him to his apartment where they laid on the floor and laughing drunkenly. 

“I didn’t think she’d become best friends with it!” Lucien giggled.

“I can’t believe you let her go after it!”

“Would you have stopped her? She tried to stab Tamlin with a butterknife, imagine what she would’ve done to me!” 

“She threw her shoe at Rhys when he first brought her here,” Mor told him. They stared at each other and then the apartment was filled with their roaring laughter. Lucien felt good. He hadn’t laughed like this in years. 

“Okay, no sleeping on the floor,” Mor said, swaying as she stood. 

“Mmmmm, floor is comfy,” he disagreed. 

“No, couch,” she pointed. Lucien whined as she pulled him up. He let her deposit him on the couch. He giggled as he laid down. As she pulled his boots off it dawned on him that Mor wasn’t nearly as drunk on him. He didn’t care. She covered him with a fluffy blanket and he sighed happily. 

“Thank you, Mor,” he mumbled sleepily. 

“Any time, Lucien,” she said softly, undoing his braids. His eyes felt heavy as she carded her fingers through his red locks to detangle any knots. He closed his eyes and pretended it was his mother as he drifted off. 

***

“Boy,” Amren’s harsh voice called him. He went rigid and turned around. She walked over and Lucien thought that his luck had definitely run out. Instead she pointed at his mechanical eye. 

“The brute told me it’s magic, tell me what it does,” she said and Lucien saw a hint of curiosity. 

“I can see spells and through glamors. I can also see wards,” he answered. She hummed in satisfaction. 

“Azriel told me you saw through Feyre’s glamour,” she said, “so you saw her tattoo and said nothing.”

“Leverage,” he shrugged. An amused smirk tugged at her lips. 

“I also know what you told Amarantha which earned you the scar,” she said, “It was time someone stood up to her.”

“It cost me my eye,” he answered. 

“But it cost her so much more,” she said with a dangerous smile. “You, boy, are better than the brute.”

“Thank you?” He was definitely confused. 

“If they bother you, come to me,” she said. He gaped as she walked off, leaving him standing in the hall of the townhouse in shock. 

Amren definitely still scared him. But now she wasn’t actively trying to kill him. 

***

“I’ll go.”

Lucien shifted uncomfortably as Cassian strapped him into the leathers. This was the last chance he had to try everything on and make sure it fit. In the morning there’d be no second chances. Rhysand watched from his place in the chair and Azriel leaned against the windowsill. 

“You can still back out, Lucien,” Rhysand said, “none of us would think badly of you if you did.”

“I need to do this,” he said firmly. Cassian finally stood. Lucien saw himself in the mirror.

He didn’t fight in the first war, he hadn’t even been born yet. He had never had to don leathers and fight. The most he had worn was a bandolier with knives in them. In the Illyrian leather he looked like a seasoned warrior, the scar wasn’t a horrid mark. It added to the element of intimidation he would need on the continent.  

“I got you extra padding for your ribs,” he told him. Lucien shot him a grateful look. He turned and reached back to braid his hair. 

“I would say you’re brave,” Rhysand said, “but you proved that the day you snapped at Amarantha.”

“Stupid is more like it,” Lucien said. 

“Courageous,” Azriel cut in, his face the most serious Lucien had ever seen. They were depending on Lucien to be able to find Vassa, he would not let them down. 

“Hard to believe this is the same kid who hid behind your legs, Rhys, isn’t it?” Cassian said and clapped Lucien on the back. Lucien blinked, he had completely forgotten about that. Rhysand smiled and nodded. 

“May I?”

“Please.”

Rhysand laughed loudly, throwing his head back and downing yet another glass of alcohol. He could feel his father’s disapproving stare, but he didn’t care. Cassian roared and tipped his head back, letting Azriel pour straight from the bottle. Sure, they were being rowdy at a formal High Fae event. But what did they expect when they invited the three young Illyrians?

Until he felt small hands grip the back of his pants. Rhysand glanced down, seeing the shock of red hair. A small boy lifted his fingers to his lips, a sign to be quiet. Rhysand smiled in understanding. 

“Lucien! Where are you!” Another boy mocked. Rhysand lowered his wring ever so slightly, enough to block the kid behind him.

“Hey kid, he looking for you?” Cassian asked. He nodded rapidly. “Hey! He went that way!” Lucien suppressed a laugh as Cassian purposefully pointed his brothers in the wrong direction. 

“Now, little Lucien, why are you hiding from your brothers?” Rhysand. 

“They-”

“Lucien!” Baron’s voice snapped. Lucien gulped, heading towards his father. Rhysand’s chest ached. He should intervene, he should say something. Just as he put his glass down to take a step towards the High Lord of Autumn, his father pulled him back. 

“Enough,” he snapped, “go back to Windhaven. Now.” 

“But-”

“Now, Rhysand.  

“I didn’t even remember that,” Lucien whispered.

“You were so young,” Rhysand waved him off.

“Lucien,” Azriel spoke, his voice tight, “do not be reckless. Do not take any unnecessary risks.”

“But-”

“No, no buts,” Cassian said, “we’re going to need you after the war. No self-sacrificing bullshit.”

“Finding Vassa is what's important,” he answered, confusion in his eyes. 

“No, Lucien. Finding Vassa is secondary. You coming back alive is important,” Rhysand said. He stood, violet eyes raking over his figure. “Please do not make me have to search for your body. I’m tired of burying my family.”

“F-Family?” He stammered. 

“Family,” Rhysand confirmed. He looked over at Azriel who nodded approvingly, then at Cassian who was smiling, then Rhysand who was looking at him fondly. 

“Don’t win the war until I get there,” Lucien said with a shaky, wet voice. Rhysand smiled softly. 

“We still have one more night, let us relax.”

Lucien stared at the ceiling. Everyone had joined in on their one last hurrah. Mor had assured Lucien she would keep his clothes safe until his return. Amren had told him if he died, she would find him and kill him. Feyre had clung to him and sobbed for a solid 45 minutes until Lucien assured her he wouldn’t die. He had to remind her that he had survived well enough before. 

“Come back. The day needs you,” Elain had told him. He smiled softly. He didn’t deserve Elain. He wasn’t even sure he was willing to have another partner. 

But he wouldn’t mind having a new family.