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The room was quiet aside from the crackling of the fire. Autumn had crept into the Night Court earlier than expected. It had been almost a year since Elain had surprised him with the pie. Yet this time he didn’t feel the same anxiousness, excitement that came with the equinox. In fact, these days Lucien didn’t feel much at all.
***
“Lucien,” Nesta’s voice was uncharacteristically gentle. She leaned against the window sill he sat in. But he continued to lean his head against the cool glass. “This isn’t good for you.”
He knew that much. No sane person got up in the morning only to sit in the window all day, only taking the occasional break to eat. Even then, he wasn’t hungry. He had shed a few pounds of muscle he had gained training with Cassian. Another thing he hadn’t done since getting better. Nothing was...fulfilling these days.
“This isn’t good for you,” she said again. He wanted to snort. Last he remembered, she was the same way a year ago. But the Illyrian Steppes had served her well. She had gained her own muscle after being up there, filling out leathers in a way that made Cassian ogle her whenever she trained with someone else.
But Nesta had gotten better. He hadn’t. Then again it was a few months before they had forced her to get help. He was still ahead.
She kept talking, but Lucien couldn’t hear what she said. All he could focus on was the crackling of the fire and the cool glass against his skin.
***
Rhysand came every night. It didn’t matter if he was going to sleep at 8pm or 2am, he always made a stop in Lucien’s room. He always sat across from the younger male and gazed out the window as well. Occasionally he’d pat Lucien’s calf affectionately. He always said something, either about his day or to motivate Lucien.
“I know this hasn’t been easy for you, Lucien,” Rhysand said gently, “I know it’s a lot of processing and thinking. You haven’t had your entire like to prepare for the possibility of one day being High Lord. That is not an easy transition to make. Know that I am here for you. One day, when you are High Lord, you can always come to me for advice or help. No strings attached or catches, just one brother helping another.”
High Lord. He’d be High Lord one day. Would he even be a good one? Lucien was raised to be a savage warrior, not a diplomat. He had fared well as emissary but being High Lord was different. Lucien the emissary had told Amarantha to go to hell and he was the only one who suffered any real consequences, the masks could not compare to the feeling of his eye being ripped out. But Lucien the High Lord would’ve condemned an entire court to death if he had done that. And he didn’t think he’d be able to reign himself in.
A fox can change his fur but never his skin.
***
“I could use your help...I remember how much you liked making the cinnamon brooms last year…” Elain trailed off. She shifted awkwardly from one foot to the other. Her presence hadn’t helped as much as they had expected. Lucien began to question if the Cauldron was so cruel as to make the bond one sided.
“Or we could just sit here,” she said, sitting ungraciously into one of the many sitting chairs. Out of the corner of his eye he could see her twiddle her thumbs nervously. He almost wanted to tell her to leave to spare both of them of anymore awkward moments. But he didn’t. He just continued to stare out the window.
After a few more minutes she excused herself, saying she’d be back with tea.
She didn’t come back. Lucien found that...he didn’t really mind.
***
The Day Court was warm when he landed on the marble floor of the palace. Infinite rows of columns greeted him as one of Helion’s aides led him into the throne room. It was surprisingly empty, save for a male and a woman he didn’t recognize. Both were lounging in their own love seats that sat on either side of the throne. Only as he got closer did he notice they were fast asleep with a coat of sweat on their skin. Typical Helion, he thought.
He snuck past them into the chamber room at the back. Inside he found Helion, as expected, sitting on his own couch. His expression was much more troubled than the peace his lovers expressed.
“Shadowsinger, what can I do for you?” Helion mumbled.
“It’s about Lucien,” Helion looked up at him, “he’s…not well.”
“Not well? When I left he assured me he was fine,” Helion asked.
“Children lie, Helion,” Azriel answered, “he’s not doing well, he was never fine but he did not want to keep you from your duties any longer.”
“I would’ve stayed, to hell with my duties.”
“He knows that, that’s why he lied.” Azriel sighed seeing the despair on Helion’s face. It was too similar to the face Lucien had when telling him about what Ianthe had done to him. Soon his hands were running down his face. Then his fingers tangled in his dark locks, the same way Lucien’s fingers tangled in his own hair.
“I…I don’t know what to do,” Helion whispered.
“Go to him,” Azriel whispered. Helion looked up as the Shadowsinger rested a scarred hand on his knee. “In my darkest moments there was nothing I wanted more than my mother. I’m sure all Lucien wants right now is you, whether or not you know what to do doesn’t matter as much. Just having you there will help.”
“I’m glad, Azriel,” Helion mumbled, “that my son has a friend like you to look out for him.
“He will always have me,” Azriel answered as he stood, “now the question is whether he will always have you.”
***
The comfort weighed on him. No matter how far he kicked the heavy material away from it, Lucien could somehow still feel the heat oozing off the fleece comforter they used for the winter. It was a colder autumn than years before, Lucien should be freezing. He should be curled under the red fleece and the warmth it offered. Instead he was whimpering as his clothes stuck to his sweaty skin. Nothing he could do brought him solace from the overwhelming burning that seemed to come from within his very bones. Was this part of his new power? Will he never know anything other than heat?
Even as he trudged barefoot through the freezing, empty streets of Velaris he couldn’t find solace. A frustrated groan left his lips as he ran his hand through his sweaty hair.
“Lucien, what are you doing out here so late?”
“Can’t sleep,” he mumbled, ignoring how Azriel sped up to until he was right beside Lucien. The shadows wrapped around his wrists. “I didn’t do that so don’t worry.”
“Sorry,” he mumbled, one hand rising to lay his hand on his bare arm, “By the Cauldron, Lucien you’re burning up.”
“That’s why I can’t sleep, it's always so warm. Too warm,” he mumbled. Azriel sighed, a pained smile tugging on his lips. Lucien hated how much pain he always seemed to cause Azriel.
“I might have a solution,” Azriel said, “it involves Windhaven.”
“I’ll do anything,” Lucien whispered, coming out much more pathetic than he intended it to.
Seconds later shadows enveloped them until the cobblestone under his feet was replaced with snow. He felt relief wash up his legs. Turning he saw on vast snow with Windhaven just a speck in the background. There was a quaint cabin behind them, Lucien had no doubt that was where Feyre and Rhysand were hiding the first time he had snuck his way into the Illyrian Steppes.
“This cabin belonged to Rhysand’s mother, it’s where we grew up,” Azriel explained, “I imagine you’ll be more comfortable here.”
He hesitantly walked farther from the cabin, the steam of melting snow following him. Slowly he lowered himself until he was laying down. A relieved sigh left his lips when he felt the cool sensation on his skin. He barely noticed how the snow around him melted to reveal the frozen grass underneath.
The stars above him were the brightest he had ever seen. When he first moved to the Spring Court he was mesmerized by them. There were so many trees and torches in the Autumn Court he could never see them. But on the sprawling fields of flowers and vast clearings of the Spring Court, they were so much more visible. Yet, they never looked as tangible as they did in the Night Court. Lucien felt like if he reached up he could glide his fingers through the glimmering clusters. He could only imagine what they looked like from the heights only Illyrian wings could reach.
“What do they look like up close?” He whispered. The snow next to him crunched as Azriel sat down.
“Bright,” he mumbled, “beautiful.”
“My mother used to tell me the stars held thousands of stories,” Lucien said, “centuries of legends and souls, all up in the sky.”
“The Illyrians believe when you die in battle you become a star. They believe Starfall is when the fallen ride to the peace they have earned,” Azriel said softly.
“Jesminda wanted to be a star when she died,” Lucien whispered, “so that she could live on forever and watch over those she loved. After she...I used to sit on the roof of Rosehall and call for her. Tam had to force me down more than I’d care to admit.”
“She died fighting for what she believed in,” Azriel said. Lucien could only scoff.
“She was killed because I was an idiot to think my father would accept her.”
“No. She believed in you,” Azriel whispered, making Lucien glance to his side only to see Azriel staring at him. “The way I believe in you too, Lucien.”
The red headed male gulped and pushed himself up. His hand trembled as it rose to trace over a faint scar that peaked out from the Illyrian’s shirt. He had been there for that. He had watched as Azriel bled out on the floor of the Hybern King’s palace. A scarred hand reached out and pressed his hand against the raised skin.
“I only get those around me hurt,” he whispered, “Jesminda, Carmine, Ambrose, you, Feyre. Tamlin.”
“What happened to Jesminda was not your fault, Lucien. And your brothers deserved their fate. You did not cause Feyre’s suffering and you did not cause Tamlin’s downfall,” Azriel said strongly, “what you have been dealt is a difficult hand. You have and you will emerge stronger. I know you will.”
“I don’t know what I did to deserve you having such faith in me,” Lucien said. His eyebrows knit in confusion at Azriel’s fond smile.
“One day, Lucien, I hope you see in yourself what I do. A brave, kind, smart male,” Azriel said, “one who will do so much good.”
“I…” Lucien shifted so he was closer to Azriel.
His heart slammed in his chest as he looked into Azriel’s hazel eyes. He could see the slightest shade of green around the edges surrounded by a ring a black while the middle was the color of the leaves of his home court. Lucien knew what he wanted to do. His hands longed to pull Azriel close enough until their lips were touching. But he couldn’t. Centuries of fear tied around his wrists and kept his hands cemented to the ground. He hadn’t been in the Autumn court for decades but he still feared what his father would do if he gave into his desires. The closer he leaned in, the more breath fanned his cheeks. Stopping just before their lips touched, leaving them to brush against each other, Lucien couldn’t go any farther.
“I’m so sorry,” he whimpered, resting his forehead against Azriel’s neck. He pressed closer to his warm skin until the tip of his nose was running along the curve of his neck. But this warmth didn’t burn. It didn’t sear his skin. Lucien invited Azriel’s warmth.
“Take your time, Lucien,” Azriel whispered, “I will be here when you’re ready.”
“It’s not fair to you,” Lucien protested. He quieted down when Azriel wrapped one arm around his waist. Lucien looked up and a scarred hand rose to cup his cheek, Azriel’s thumb tracing underneath Lucien’s bottom lip.
“Lucien,” he breathed, pressing his forehead to the Autumn Fae’s warm skin, “trust me when I say that I’d wait a thousand Starfalls for you.”
“I’m not worth that many,” he whispered.
“No, you’re worth so much more.”
Neither one wanted to be alone. So when Azriel had offered a place in his bed instead of offering Lucien the spare room or the couch, he didn’t need to think twice. Azriel’s bed was huge. Lucien knew his bed had to be larger than normal to accommodate for the wings, but it rivaled the obnoxiously large bed his father insisted on. The sheets weren’t a suffocating fleece, instead there were the softest cotton he had ever felt. They were a light shade of grey, which didn’t surprise Lucien. Although, with how warm Lucien was Azriel said they didn’t need a fire.
His chest was more comfortable than he thought. The only time Tamlin had pulled Lucien into his arms having his way Lucien was too tense to think of anything other than staying still. But Azriel’s chest, despite the amount of muscle compacted onto his body, was comfortable. Lucien had thrown his arm around his waist as Azriel still cupped his cheek. His thumb gently ran over the scar on his cheek and Lucien’s mechanical eye didn’t whirl in response for once. Lucien’s nimble fingers traced over one of the many scars that riddled the Illyrian’s torso.
“Are you sure you’re not cold?” Lucien mumbled sleepily.
“You’re more than warm enough for the both of us,” Azriel answered.
“When you went to save Feyre…” he started.
“Mhm.”
“What would you have done if she hadn’t said ‘take us home’?” He asked.
“I...I still would’ve taken you with us,” Azriel said.
“That’s because you know me now. Then I was still Tamlin’s emissary,” Lucien said.
“I don’t want to think of what would’ve happened to you,” Azriel whispered, the arm around Lucien’s waist tensed.
“They were trying to kill us,” Lucien hummed, “I’d either be Kallias’s lap dog right now or dead.”
“Please don’t,” Azriel’s voice quivered, “I can’t stand the thought of your brothers getting their hands on you.”
“I fear one day my luck will run out and they will,” Lucien whispered, his voice wavering. He’d never admit it, but of all the ways he could’ve died by then, he’d never want to suffer at his brother’s hands.
“I’ll never let that happen,” Azriel vowed.
“How’d you get this one?” Lucien mumbled, his fingers tracing a thin scar under Azriel’s muscle.
“You wouldn’t believe me,” his voice was already lighter.
“Try me.”
“Cassian and Rhys used to hate me,” Azriel said, amusement in his tone. Lucien found that hard to believe. “They used to play dirty during training, but I always got them back.”
“And this one?” Lucien traced over another.
“I learned to fly late. Cassian and Rhysand taught me, but it wasn’t easy. I crashed into a tree.”
“Did you let Feyre crash into trees?”
“I didn’t let her crash, she didn’t know when to swerve,” Azriel said.
“Az.”
“Hm?”
“Do you still love Mor?” Lucien felt Azriel tense and though he had fucked up.
“No, not in that way. Not since I got to know you.” A blush rose and tinted Lucien’s face.
“Are you always this smooth?” Lucien mumbled.
“I don’t know. You tell me,” Azriel said.
Here he was in, in Azriel’s bed. Literally warming it with his intense body head and having his lay on his back, which was probably uncomfortable because of his wings. Yet, he still won’t kiss him. He rose and pushed himself up so he was looking down at Azriel’s lips. He owed him this much. Tamlin never let Lucien in his bed without warming it first. He could give Azriel one fucking kiss.
“Stop it,” Azriel said, pulling Lucien so he was laying back down on his chest, “I can see it on your face. Whatever you think you owe me, you don’t.”
The shadows whipped out in agitation and wrapped around Lucien like an extra set of arms.
“But-”
“No. Gods...fucking Tamlin,” Azriel cursed, “I don’t expect anything in return for laying in bed with me Lucien.”
“I’m sorry I’m just…” Not used to affection? Not used to someone being so kind without expecting something in return? Getting used to not being someone’s outlet? Lucien didn’t even know where to begin.
“You’re special to me Lucien, to all of us,” Azriel whispered, “I don’t expect to erase what happened to you or pretend we could heal you in a year. This is going to take time, I know, but just know that I’m not Tamlin. I never will be.”
“You...you’re not angry?” Lucien whispered.
“I know Cassian can be hot headed when he thinks you’re comparing him to that asshole, but not Lucien. I’m not angry with you,” Azriel said. “I can never be angry with you because of that.”
“Az.”
“Yeah?”
“I’d wait a thousand Starfalls for you too.” Lucien felt lips press to the top of his head.
“As long as it takes, Lucien Vanserra, I’ll wait for you.”
Lucien smiled softly and let himself sink into Azriel’s chest. His hand went back to cupping his face and Lucien pressed a soft kiss to the scarred palm.
“I won’t make you wait a thousand,” he mumbled as sleep began to creep back up his spine.
“Goodnight, Lucien,” he whispered.
“Night…Az…” His eye slipped closed to the feeling of Az tracing circles into his shoulder.
***
“They’re still asleep,” Rhysand whispered when he peeked into Azriel’s room. Helion couldn’t stop himself from looking over the other High Lord’s shoulder to look.
The Shadowsinger was curled protectively around his son with one wing thrown over him. Helion could barely make out Lucien’s figure nuzzling into his neck, but the mess of red hair helped him find him. He couldn’t see his face but deep down Helion knew he was at peace. Although he wouldn’t let another day go by without helping Lucien, a few more hours of sleep would do him well.
“Let them rest, they’ll come when they’re ready,” Helion whispered, taking a step back so Rhysand could close the door.
The worry that weighed at Helion’s shoulders lightened knowing that the Shadowsinger would protect him. Love him. Even if they couldn’t see that yet.