Chapter Text
Lucien moved the glass around in his hands, watching the alcohol swirl in the setting evening light. He stood by the window, enjoying the rays as best he could before the court would turn to starlight. No matter how breathtaking the city was, it was moments like these he enjoyed the most here. A city was still a city, to a country boy at heart. It was the thing he loved the most about the Spring Court, how close he was to the forest. To the wild that he grew up in, fell in love with. If you asked him, that would be what he missed the most about his previous home.
Taking tentative sips, he wondered what the next task will be. The mating bond drove him to be near, to feel her presence if only for a moment. It drove him mad with need and want, but Lucien knew she needed time. She needed space even with almost five years since the bond had snapped into being. His presence still only seemed to hurt her, in a way only he could. The anxiety of the complexity of a life that had once been simple, it rendered her almost catatonic at moments, even still. At least the moments when he appeared.
He would do anything for her, be anything she needed him to be. If she were truly happy, all she had to say was the words and he would never return. Despite how much he truly would miss the friendships he cultivated here. At least through the much changed Armen, the nightmare of his childhood and Feyre. The friendship he worked the hardest to gain back and maintain.
“I will be whatever use you need of me.” He had told her after the war, when everything was in limbo. Where would he go, where would he stay, how would he survive. Rhysand gave him a small compensation for the work he did for the night court, although he only touched it when he was spending it on food in the city or buying something for Elain. He knew she did not open his gifts unless others were around. Never once has he seen her wearing any of the jewelry he had personally crafted for her. The one gift he had given her, that he thought she would truly love, she had never opened. The hand crafted gardening tools sat collecting dust, he knew this because the box he had wrapped it in, still sat on the bottom shelf in the library at Feyre's townhome. Elain had stashed it there to open later, but never did.
Lucien didn’t bother turning around to greet his uninvited guest, merely taking a sip of his drink, before calling out to the spymaster.
“What do you want, Azriel?” The Illyrian warrior had his wings pulled close to him, shadows dripping off his body as uncontrolled rage seemed to seep from him. The man was always angry, something Lucien could also see with his golden eye.
“Rhysand and Feyre are requesting you to try and visit the spring court again.” It seemed at times like this when Azriel was giving him orders by his friends, did he wonder if he requested to do so.
“Tamlin is still more beast than man at the moment.” Lucien could clearly see his friend the last month he tried to visit and nearly escaped without injury. Tipping the rest of the liquor back, he downed whatever was left, holding the glass in his fingertips.
“I don’t think they were asking for an opinion on the matter.” Sarcasm seemed to roll off the Shadowsingers tongue. Lucien didn’t know how to function with Azriel that seemed not to be able to hide his anger. Over the course of these five years, it was an open court secret how he seemed to be vying for Elains affections.
“I will leave in the morning.” He turned to lean against the sill. “But I can’t promise anything.” He waited for a few seconds before he realized that Azirel was not making a move to leave. “Is there something else?”
“I don’t understand how you keep returning to a place you are unwanted.” Lucien could see the rage with his golden eye. The shadows almost had a red tint to it. Something had set him off to lash out. Being someone they could throw insults at tended to be his par for the course when it came to half of the group.
“Being unwanted isn’t a new thing for me.” Lucien nodded to his hands. “Something that you seem familiar with.” He watched him grip his hands into fists, the red growing slightly brighter.
“The only difference is I found a place I am wanted. I’m the right fit.” Lucien knew what he was talking about. It wasn’t hidden from him, how people had questioned if the Cauldron got it wrong. He even heard Feyre question it as well, with the idea that Azriel should have been the one chosen, the right fit. The thought of Elain herself, his mate, the one who would be equal to him in everything might have thought so, caused a rage he couldn’t ignore.
He threw the glass only to find the shadowsinger had left. The glass shattering against the wall with leftover liquid splattering along with the shards. Lucien took in deep breaths suppressing the rage that would drive him to madness if he let it. Whatever Azriel was going through, he was upset at himself for allowing him to burst into this much anger. For whatever reason the grudge that the group still had on him, was left over from the time that he failed the High Lady of the Night court. Even after all these years, they still will find reasons to lash out at him, to cause whatever friendship that had started to build to keep at a distance.
Bending down Lucien began to clean up the mess with his own hands rather than magic. He never liked using magic to clean up the messes he made himself. Rather the cleaning had always calmed him, being able to wipe away what mistake and begin anew, gave him a sense of relief. It kept him from going after the Illyarian warrior and burning another part of him.
After he finished, Lucien laid in his bed staring up at the ceiling. He took in a deep breath and allowed himself to listen to her heartbeat through the bond. It was the only thing he ever took from Elain. Just three heartbeats every so often when he was in town. She never seemed to notice him there or acknowledge when he did it for the short beats. The bond had been the only thing he had been able to access, thankfully for his sanity and those around him.
Turning over in bed, Lucien caught his reflection in the mirror just off to the side. The gold eye spun into clarity giving him the perfect vision of himself and the world around him. To Lucien, he didn’t need reminders from the Night Court inner circle how much he wasn’t wanted. His appearance reminded him that everyday.
I don’t want you here!
Lucien didn’t know what hurt worse, Tamlin’s voice still ringing in his ears or the claw mark down his front. He knew his friend's temper better than anyone. Knew who Tamlin wasn’t truly angry at and it wasn’t Lucien but himself. With no one around him to remind him of the good he had done or believed in what he was capable of doing, Tamlin grew lost in his own shadows and darkness. Despite being with his friend, showing him his core wasn’t rotten as he believed, Lucien never felt like he could get through to him. Tamlin still saw himself as the mistakes of his youth. The mistakes he had made in order to finally please his father, only to lead to the destruction of the man before everyone's eyes.
Lucien wrapped the bandages around his own torso with as much ease as he could, trying to muster up enough strength. The wound wasn’t deep enough for him to call for a healer, but knew it would take much longer to heal on its own. His mind went to the shattered glass, a mess he had to clean up and take care of himself.
Walking over to his desk, he grabbed a sheet of paper, to write a short response. Lucien understood that he wasn’t in a state for him to report in person. Merely causing a headache, and being near to Elain, she would feel his pain whether she wanted to or not in the small townhome.
Picking up a special pen that Feyre had given him, he wrote out a quick response, stating his unsuccessful attempt at communicating with Tamlin, and ending with promises of trying again in another couple of weeks. As soon as he put down his pen, the letter disappeared, with nothing coming back in a response. He felt the soreness ache and he laid on his back, his eyes falling to the ceiling.
Closing his eyes, he listened, three steady heartbeats no more, no less, then he let go. Feeling another ach in his heart, at the feeling of being utterly alone once more.
Lucien couldn’t remember why the Night Court was having a celebration tonight. All he knew was this was one of the times he was allowed among the inner circle, the few times he was able to see her if only for a few moments.
His wound had not healed as he hoped from two nights prior, the process taking longer than normal. He wondered if it would be similar to his face, scars permanently on his body once more. Just more added to the collection that marveled his physique. Lucien knew that Elain could feel his pain if he stayed too close, so he spent the majority of the party outside on the terrace gazing up at the sky when he wasn’t peering in when he knew she wouldn’t see him do so.
Seeing her on these nights gave him mixed feelings. Being around her with no sense of want from her caused pain to shoot through his very soul, however seeing her smile, laugh even caused a sense of joy that he couldn’t, he wouldn’t pass up. At least so he could hold onto the memories for whenever the day comes she finally works up the courage to formally dismiss him from her life. Despite knowing hope was futile for his future here, he still held on to the thread. He held on for those three heartbeats he stole from her everyday he was able to.
He was still swirling his first and only glass of the night. Lucien knew he wasn’t even going to finish. A drunk unmated fae would lose control at the first smile she threw to the Shadowsinger. Something Lucien couldn’t afford to do in this house, as the ones who lived there, preferred him over the unwelcomed obstacle.
“I don’t know why he bothered to show up, no one wants him here.” Lucien heard Nesta’s voice ring through the courtroom as the door opened. He knew Elain had been standing next to her sisters when he had caught Feyre’s eyes earlier.
“Nesta-” Feyre snapped harshly, the door closing softly behind her. It didn’t pass Lucien that his mate had remained quiet. Lucien took in strides as he did everything. He wasn’t lying to Azriel when he said being unwanted wasn’t a new thing for him. He sighed, taking a small sip, that only merely wet his pallet, looking up at the night sky.
“I’m sorry the meeting with Tamlin didn’t go as we had hoped.” Lucien flashed his usual smile to Feyre, as she joined him on the bench. Out of everything these past few years, he was happy that at least his friendship with Feyre was building back up. It was the hardest to earn back, but the most rewarding to him, despite knowing how she felt about his bond with her sister. Feyre doesn’t hold ill will towards him anymore, other than the occasional jab when she gets frustrated.
“Give him a century or two, he’ll calm down enough to be semi-civil.” He joked, trying to ignore the pain from his bandaged chest. “Tamlin always had the capability of being a beast centuries before you came into the picture.”
“I try to remember the Tamlin that saved my family from starving, rather than the man who threw away the key.” The mention of her captivity, one that Lucien understood Tamlin’s point of view, and her own point of view caused a different pain to shoot through him. He knew she didn’t bring it up to cause any more rift between them, merely stating a fact. “Truly out of everyone in Prythian, even the Continent I would even argue, you are the only one who would be able to get close to him.” Lucien doubted that. He swallowed, feeling a sharp pain coming from his chest. His wound was opening back up, distracting him.
“Lucien-”
“I should probably leave again for a week or so.” He interrupted whatever kind words or attempts she would make for him at this moment. Lucien didn’t want to hear it nor did he feel like he deserved it from her. “Jurian has probably destroyed half the house by now, with Vassa set to arrive for a visit shortly.” He forced a smile, at the feeling of anxiety fading behind him. He knew through the Mate bond, his presence caused her to panic, unable to think clearly, one of the reasons he never ventured to start conversations with her. His soul felt the pain at the knowledge of his Mate seemingly being happy of his departure.
“You got back from the Spring Court,” Feyre began to try and ease whatever pain she was perceiving from him.
“And as an emissary from the main Continent, it was my duty to be there just as much to be here.” He took her hand. “Feyre, I’m not here to help the Night Court. I’m here to help you.”
“Don’t leave so long this time.” She patted his hand, smiling at her friend. “When you get back, we must have dinner together again. Sometimes I think about the fish you caught and wonder how good it would be with some seasoning.”
“When I return, I’ll make you and your mate dinner.”
“Just us?” The question lingered in the air, Lucien's eyes went to Elains from in the glass windows. He watched her smile and looked lovingly up at Azriel trying to keep his anger in check.
“To be honest I wouldn’t put it past Nesta to put glass in my dish behind my back.” He joked, turning the attention to the sister who both of them knew hated him.
Feyre didn’t know where the feeling of anxiety about Lucien came from. Ever since their conversation a few days ago, she just had this sinking feeling in her gut that something wasn’t right. The sinking feeling over got worse when he was to leave and yet no word about his departure came. Rhysand eventually decided to send Cassian to check up on his place in order to appease his mate who has been silently mulling over this. To Rhys, this was another thing to be upset with Lucien about.
His irritation to the redheaded male, evaporated when Cassian ran into the town home when everyone was having breakfast. The Illyrian warrior, not saying anything, only nodded to him. Rhysand took a peek into his friend's memory, viewing the image of Lucien lying on the bed, blood drenched bandages around him and his breathing labored.
I already have a healer on the way. He’s in worse shape than he looks. Cassian sent him. Rhysand’s eyes didn’t dart to Elain, sending a signal to his mate that he would return shortly with news. Lucien was not well, but he indicated it wasn’t the time to let the others know.
By the time Rhysand made it to the apartment, Azriel was standing by the door to the bed, keeping an eye on the healer.
“How did this happen?” Angry began to seep into Rhysand’s vision. Even though Lucien wasn’t one of his favorite people in the world, he was still in his city, under his protection.
“The damage is claw marks, probably from a scuffle with Tamlin when he went to go check up on his friend.” Azriel remarked, talking quietly while the healer was trying her best. Rhysand smelled it as soon as she moved a cloth. So small, almost insufficient to the nose but he knew the smell all too well. Faebane was laced in his blood somehow.
“He’s been poisoned.” Both the healer and the two Illyrian warriors looked up at him surprised.
“How can you tell?” Cassaian asked.
“I’m assuming the healer already thought it for the lack of healing he is capable of, but you can’t smell it?” All three fellow fey shook their heads. Azriel stood straighter, while he noticed Cassian looking at him. Shadows seeped from him as if to be on the defense.
“I didn’t do this.” Azriel stated before shaking his head. “We know I don’t like him, but poison. It’s not how I would do it. Nor would I while he is under your care.” Rhysand held up a hand, knowing it wasn’t anyone they were close to.
“We need to find the source first. It’s so minute, I doubt he even knew about it.” Rhysand walked over to Lucien's bedside, kneeling down to the sick fey.
His eyes were barely open, the metal eye seemed dull, like there was barely a connection. Rhysand tapped lightly on his forehead, entering Lucien's mind so easily. There was Lucien in a void of nothing almost, a white blank space, holding onto a single thread.
“Don’t tell her.” He spoke softly, even in his mind, the voice was hoarse with weakness. “I can’t feel her, is she okay?” He asked, gripping onto the thread. Rhysand noticed he had wrapped it around his arm, holding tightly to the dark red, almost black thread. An ancient magic, that even in his weakened condition still existed. “I can’t feel her when I’m in this state.” Rhysand kneeled to eye level with the fey.
“She is fine Lucien.” A great sigh of relief seemed to come over the weary Fey. “Your blood is laced with Faebane. Is there something you have been consuming on a daily basis?”
“The only thing I drink daily is-” He seemed to cut himself off, his eyes growing wide, at something he realized. Even in his mind, Rhysand still couldn’t make it out.
“It’s nothing. I don’t know where it came from.” Lucien’s eyes became dull once more, his concentration going back to the string. Whatever magic he had left, he was holding on to it.
“Lucien, you know who did this.” Lucien closed his eyes trying to block Rhysand out.
“Take your pick Rhysand. I’m not exactly wanted anywhere.” He merely stated, trying to block him out of his mind. The fey lord stepped out of his mind, standing tall to look at the dying man in the bed.
“Give him a Faebane antidote, and see how it works.” He instructed the healer. Walking into the living room, Cassian and Azriel stopped whatever conversation they were having.
“We should tell her.” Cassian stated before Azriel could speak up. Rhysand didn’t acknowledge what he said, merely walked into the kitchen, looking at things that Lucien would consume. “She has a right to know what is happening to her mate.”
“Yet we know how she feels about the mate bond to begin with. She wouldn’t want to know-” Azriel tried to argue. Rhysand landed on a jar of loose leaf tea leaves, one he had to have been imported from his original home country. Lifting the jar, Rhysand could smell the tiny traces of Faebane in with the mixture. So small, he doubted anyone else would be able to. Holding it out, he looked at his two closest friends.
“Find where this came from. I want to know who dares to try and kill someone under my domain.”
Elain wasn’t meant to overhear their conversation. She knew that when it came to her sisters, their heated discussions were usually about her.
“She deserves to know what is going on.” Feyre argued back to Nesta.
“She doesn’t want to know to begin with. Maybe you haven’t noticed but she has been a lot lighter this past couple of days?
“We don’t know if it’s because she believes him to have left for the Continent or if she can’t feel him. You are making assumptions again Nesta!” Feyre defended.
“We all know the cauldron made a mistake!” Her sister was furious.
“What mistake?” Elain asked, rounding the corner to see both sisters there along with Azriel, Mor and their two respective mates.
“It’s nothing. Nesta was-”
“If it’s about the Cauldron, then, it clearly isn’t nothing.” Elain defended. Tired of being treated as the weakest sister with no thought process of her own. “What mistake did the Cauldron make? Is it even possible for it to?” She looked at everyone around the room, knowing she was the last one to know something really important. “What is going on?”
Everyone remained quiet, while her eyes darted between her two sisters.
“Lucien.” Azriel finally spoke up. “Many of us believe that the Cauldron made a mistake of choosing Lucien as your mate.” A fury that Elain hadn’t felt since she Hybern threw her into the Cauldron suddenly seeped into her. Again, they were making decisions about her own feelings again. The feeling of being out of control, of people taking control over her seeped through.
“The Cauldron doesn’t make mistakes.” Elain started twisting her hands together.
“The magic is misunderstood. Many times mates have found that they don’t match in spirit as they do on another level. It’s an old ancient magic that-”
“How is mine a mistake, but yours or Nesta’s isn’t?” Elain questioned Feyre when she began to speak. “Whatever happens to me, must be a mistake right? Because it doesn’t fit into a narrative of your convenience.” Elain lashed out at her sisters.
“Elain, that’s not-” Nesta began to argue, but she held up a hand.
“What is going on? What has happened to Lucien?” Everyone remained quiet, looking around at everyone in the room. “Rhysand.” She demanded, knowing he would tell her the full truth.
“Lucien has been drinking Faeban everyday for what seems like a few months. It was mixed in with these tea leaves.” He held up the jar. “When he visited Tamlin, he was struck by him. The wound has not healed and will not heal on its own, until the Faeban is out of his system. Healers are with him doing what they can.” Elains eyes looked at the glass jar. She knew it quite well.
“Where is he?”
“His apartment downtown. He was too sick to move.” Elain went to head towards the door, but Nesta grabbed her arm. “Elain, you do not have to go to him.” Elain wretched her arm from Nesta’s grip.
“You don’t make my choices for me Nesta! Neither of you do. No one does, except me!”
“Elain, you never wanted Lucien.”
“I never knew what I wanted! I was never allowed to choose for myself!” She yelled tears welling up. “I always had to choose the things that are either for the good of the family or our standings in society. It was my life, my marriage prospects that would keep us from falling into that cabin again! I had to be the good sister, the sister who never bites back. Both of you did enough of that for everyone.” Feyre went to reach out for her sister but she took a step away.
“I will see Lucien now. She demanded. “I will claw my way out if I have to.” Azriel stepped forward, offering himself to take her there. With an escort, they rushed off to his place, not knowing what she would find.
Elain looked at him lying there. His normally sun kissed skin was paler than it should be. The bandages were still laced with blood as he took in shallow breaths. She had wondered where he had been these past few days. His usual daily check-ins had stopped. Elain remembered when he had first started she use to brace herself for what he wanted. First thinking he was reaching out to talk, to invade her privacy more than he already could. Except he never said anything or stayed longer than three heartbeats. He would be there, gone within a few seconds. After two weeks, she realized he was just listening to her heart. Elain tried to reach for the bond, inside herself, not knowing how to do it. Trying to hear his heart, yet she couldn’t do it. She didn’t know how.
Walking over to the bed, she sat next to him, fighting the urge to move his red hair off his damp forehead.
“How long has it been like this?”
“We think he's been lying there since he returned from the party.” Eight days. He has been lying here alone for eight days. Tentatively she took his hand, trying to get some form of connection.
“When no one knew what was wrong with me. When I had my visions, the unavoidable escape of everything, Lucien knew what I needed. Knew that I just wanted to scream from sunup to sun down. He knew I needed space. He just knew what I needed better than what I knew.”
“He let Feyre wither under Tamlin for months.” Azriel seemed to be angry in a way.
“And I let her wither for years.” She returned back. “We have our faults Az.” Azriel nodded, slipping away from them, leaving her alone with her mate. One of the first times she can recall, that she truly wanted to be alone with him.
He was cold to the touch. The normal fire that roared behind him was diminished to almost nothing. She tried again to sense him through the bond, trying to imagine the string that could pull on to connect, but there was nothing for her to find. She had buried it too deep. For the first time since she became a high fae, she realized she was utterly alone.
And she hated it.