Chapter Text
As they entered the vast library, nearly as ancient as Prythian itself. Elain’s eyes widen in awe as she looks around.
“Oh my gods...Nesta would love this. I’ll have to bring her. The Valkyries would all adore it—and the pegasi.”
Lucien chuckles softly. “Oh, they definitely would. I already promised Gwyn that for her birthday, if she is brave enough to come to the Day Court, she and her friends could meet them and fly. Maybe I’ll have to add this library to the festivities.”
Elain smiles and kisses his cheek. “You’re a good uncle. And mate. And friend.”
“I think it is important for her to know that she has a family again. Blood family, too. I know what it’s like to lose that, only to gain it again. It means a lot.”
She hooks her arm in his and hugs his side as they walk. “I know.”
They come to a gigantic front desk and the faerie at the counter bows in greeting. “Lord Lucien, Lady Elain. How may I assist you?”
Lucien flashes a charming smile at her. “We are seeking knowledge of my bloodline. Helion’s bloodline. As far back as possible.”, he clarifies.
The librarian nods slowly. “The High Lord must have sent you. Right this way.” She leads down a labyrinth of aisles to a back corner, a portion of books covered with a shimmering azure curtain. She bows before Lucien and Elain. “These are books on what was gathered from your bloodline, from the very first High Lord of Day, and even before that. Magic is...well, whatever spell was cast to keep it constantly updating is nothing like I have ever witnessed before.”
Lucien smiles politely. “Thank you.”
As she retreats, he lets out a breath, looking over at Elain. His hands gently pull a handful of glowing tomes from the shelves, and he passes Elain a few.
“What exactly are we looking for, Lucien?”
“I don’t know”, he admits. “But anything close to my powers...or yours for that matter. We have hours, so we may as well start.”
Sitting down at an ornate onyx table, they begin to go through the books, being extremely careful of the fragile pages, lineage going as far back as the first primordial gods—even before the Daglan were upon these lands. The Mother is rumored to be the spirit of one of the first Primordials, who wanted to create an abundance of life. She conjured the cauldron and poured forth life into what is now Prythian. Fionn, the first High King, who had defeated the Daglan to create the Courts, is said to be the son of the Mother herself—and with the help of a Priestess named Oleanna that she imbued with more potent magic than the rest of her children, he created the Dread Trove and the Made Cauldron-dipped weapons: Gwydion, Narben, and select others have been lost to time. With good comes bad, a balance, as is everything, and the Daglan had been some of the first creations of the Mother, which had gone wrong. So when she succeeded in creating Fionn and others, her good son slaughtered the twisted monstrosities, feeding off of the magic and slaughtering the good people she had created as they went to battle with them.
Lucien’s brow furrows, taking in the information as he reads.
‘The Mother, Gaia, was an original primordial. Born second of her siblings, she was the goddess of Earth and Nature. Her siblings include Chaos, god of Chasm, Tartarus, god of the Underworld, and Eros, god of Love. Though different accounts show many more. From Chaos came Erebus, god of Darkness, and Nyx, goddess of Night. From their union came Aether, god of light, Hemera, goddess of Day, Uranus, god of the sky, Ourea, god of mountains, and Pontus, god of the sea.’
Two stick out to him at least—Azriel’s surname, Erebus, meaning darkness. And of course, Nyx, Feyre’s son. They must have been attached to the Night Court.
‘An unknown number of centuries later, the Mother decided that she wanted to give life to a new race of beings she named Faerie. Conjuring her magic into a large Cauldron, she spilled it out and the continent of Prythian was born. From there, she created more life-forms. The first attempts were unsuccessful leeches that were deemed the Daglan, roaming the mass of land and drinking in the magic for themselves. When she finally got it right, her successes were much less powerful than her and her siblings but powerful in their own right—imbued with the magic and abilities of herself and her family’s lines, but not enough to overthrow them. They were titled the High Fae. The first of them was a Faerie by the name of Fionn. Fionn had seven siblings of equal power, though the Mother deemed him High King of the lands for being her first success.
The Mother titled them all gods.
Then Gaia went on to create more faeries—both High Fae and newly forged lives that were magical, wild, tamed and untamed, all different shapes, colors, and abilities, but not as powerful—the Lesser Fae.
When the Daglan were slayed by Fionn for delighting in hunting the newly created faeries, the eight Courts of Prythian were created—the four solars and four seasons; Dawn, Day, Dusk, Night, Winter, Spring, Summer, and Autumn. A High Lord was assigned to each of the other seven territories than the one Fionn ruled—each with their own specific set of skills that matched their assigned Court. Each of them were gifted with items from the original Dread Trove; Fionn, the Mother’s first child, with the starsword Gwydion in Dusk, Eoghan with the death dagger Acwellen in Night, Conal with the life dagger Dagsbruin in Dawn, Ruaidhri with the spiritmask Aiseiri in Day, Feargal with the bonehorn Nevin in Spring, Lucan with the darksword Narben Autumn, Naos with the mindcrown Rialaithe in Winter, and Ultan with the realmharp Ceol in Summer. Four of them light. Four of them dark. All of them infused with power from her line but twisted into something new and other. Fionn was the only one able to wield all of them with no limitation, as well as create more if he so chose to.’
Lucien blinks as a shudder goes through him. Nesta—Nesta must have been Made and taken the power of Fionn from the Cauldron when she stole from its hidden depths. It must have been returned to it since he never had children with his treacherous wife.
He continues reading the passages.
‘Fionn had ruled from the Dusk Court, but his general, Aidas, and his wife, Theia, betrayed him, slaughtering the High King. Unsubstantiated rumor has it that the wife became Queen of the Dusk Court, and the general, her new husband. Theia had two children—Helena, with Fionn, and a younger bastard daughter with her new husband Aidas, before the marriage. Theia found out that Aidas had been one of the dark princes of Hel, but refused to stop loving him. Because of her treachery, the Cauldron did not allow her to wield Gwydion, so she used magic to be rid of it. The Mother was furious that her firstborn had been killed and so cursed her line with the power of truth, only able to speak it and see it in others. The Queen fought to be rid of the curse and used her charm to sway some of the High Lords into helping—Ruaidhri and Ultan in particular, with their gifts of spell-cleaving, the ability to call upon the dead with the mask, and the ability to sway reality with the harp, in which they had attempted to use to sway the dead Fionn into forgiving them, magically removing the curse. Using the trove for twisted ultimatums, they could not destroy the curse put upon her by the Mother herself, only change it—making it other: the ability to see and wield truths against others, rather than only speak and hear it themselves.
“So that’s why Helion is so affected by the Mask”, he muses. “It remembers our ancestor wielding it for nefarious purposes against the Mother’s wishes. I wonder if it would affect me too. Most likely”, he thinks.
Something else rings in Lucien’s head as he remembers it, having been just outside the door of the chamber when trapped and chained by Hybern. “What a mighty Queen you are”, the King of Hybern said to someone—no, not someone. The tang of magic had been much different than Feyre’s in his nose, even from there. It had to have been Morrigan. The pieces fall together in his mind—Mor must have descended from that Queen of Dusk and Aidas’s line. “It makes sense that after Dusk was demolished, the Night Court line stayed with the surviving member or members of the original Dusk Court, as they were stronger for having come from the original High Queen...until at some point the Night Court line got stronger and overcame the blood of Dusk members to become the ruling family. Rhysand’s grandfather...he made Velaris...and Hewn City—it’s a place fashioned after Hell, Aidas’s true home”, Lucien’s mind spins.
He also wonders how the Trove items got to where they were today, though it’s most likely not in these books, as every passing of hand would have to be recorded which would have been very difficult since having any of them was usually a secret mission.
Lucien shakes off those thoughts, opting to focus on the task at hand for the moment. He skims the passages explaining the Dusk Court more thoroughly and flips until he finds the passage on Ruaidhri himself—the first High Lord of the Day Court.
‘The Mother had blessed him with powers similar to that of the goddess Hemera—wind manipulation, the ability to embody the sun itself, and the ability to undo spells. However, the Mother was displeased with him for assisting the Queen of Dusk, and as punishment, she created a wife for him named Dynami with the ability to sway all of nature, including Ruaidhri’s own power—humiliating him with a wife who could tame him. Even to the rest of the Courts, she was a terrifying entity that had permission from the Mother to steal their crowns if they stepped out of line. Hence, she was deemed “Mother Nature”—blessed by the original Mother of Creation with her own powers of Earth to keep the males in line. Despite the reason she was created, Dynami loved Ruaidhri with a burning passion and he, despite her purpose as his punishment, returned the sentiment.
Legend says that when the souls of Ruadihri and Dynami meet again, their powers will recognize one another, the full force of their bond and powers within them once more. A god and goddess reborn.’
The Book lands with a thud on the table as Lucien looks down at it, wide-eyed and unmoving. Elain looks up at the noise and looks concerned. “Lucien?”
Silence.
“Lucien”, she hisses, moving over to him and gently sitting in his lap, cupping his face. “Where’d you go?”, she asks when he finally takes her in.
“I...we...oh my gods...”
“What is it, you look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“You need to read this for yourself because I don’t think anyone would believe me.”
Elain relents and takes the musty book, beginning to read. She reads the passages, the tales of primordials and faeries entwined, and of the ancestries, shaping Prythian itself. When she is finished, she lowers the tome back onto the table.
They sit in stunned silence, eyes locked on the pages still open before them. The weight of this revelation hung in the air, pressing on their shoulders and chests, leaving them near-breathless, and wide-eyed, their hearts pounding in unison with disbelief and awe.
Lucien’s mind whirled. The realization that he carries the soul of Ruaidhuri, and Elain, the soul of Dynami rocks the very foundation of his sense of self. His metal eye whirrs with his anxiousness and he struggles to reconcile the vastness of this revelation in comparison to who he has always been.
Just Lucien.
Friend. Brother. Protector. Emissary. Courtier. But...god? And Elain...his beautiful, wonderful mate, has the essence of Mother Nature herself—a goddess?
Elain buries her face in his neck and clings to him. “This is only going to get more messy, isn’t it?”, she whispers.
Lucien holds her tightly, stroking her hair. “It may. But I won’t let you get overwhelmed. We—”
“—can figure it out?”, she says, a soft smile on her lips.
“Yes, exactly.”
“Should we tell Helion and your mother?”
A near-vicious smirk comes to his face. “On the other hand...I wonder what Eris will have to say when he realizes his baby brother is a reborn god.”
Elain bursts out laughing before clapping her hand over her mouth, giggling into her palms.
Lucien waves a hand, and the books return to their rightful place. He buries his nose into her neck and breathes in her scent—lavender and berries. “Let’s go home”, he mumbles. “I just want to hold our little girl.”
“I agree”, she mumbles, leaning into her arms, making no move to get off his lap.
Lucien chuckles and gets up, hauling her over his shoulder. Elain gasps and Lucien gently puts her down, grinning. “I could have carried you out of here like that.”
“You’d better never do that!”, she yells in a hushed tone.
They make their way out of the library and Lucien winnows them to the pegasi, helping Elain mount before he gets on his. They make the long flight home and relieve Aurelia who is cuddling with baby Lucia.
She looks up at them with a soft grin, whispering to them. “Shh, she just dozed off.”
Lucien smiles at the sight. It never gets old finally seeing her happy, and comfortable. Living the type of life she should have had from the start. He keeps his voice down as Elain nods to him before carefully taking the baby and slipping down the hall to rock her.
Aurelia places a hand over Lucien’s. “Are you two alright? You look a bit pale.”
“Yes, we—we’re fine”, he replies, gently squeezing her hand. “I suppose everything all at once has been a bit overwhelming. For me and Elain. I’m grateful for everything, for all of this. Her and Lucia, you being happy with Dad, and Eris...healing. I guess I just wanted to be ourselves for a while. And things keep happening, our power keeps getting stronger, and all we wanted to be was mates and parents and friends, siblings...w-we didn’t ask for all this extra, y’know? We didn’t want to be special, we just wanted to be.”
She looks at him empathetically and hugs him close. Lucien draws a shaky breath and lies his head on her shoulder.
“You were always special, Lucien. Always. I know that you didn’t ask for it, and you may not want it. Powers like this...they are a big responsibility. But it’s what you do with them that matters. You don’t have to become anything you don’t want to become. A title does not make you. You make a title. It’s only as good as what you do with it, darling.” She runs her fingers through his hair soothingly and he nods.
“You’re right. Thank you, Mother. You always seem to know what to say.”
She smiles. “I’m glad I could help.”
Lucien gets up and sighs. “We will need to speak to you both tomorrow. I took Elain to the library today.”
Her brow furrows a bit. “Lucien...”
“I know. I know that Helion...Dad...is looking into why our powers went haywire once we were crowned and all of that. And I found out why. But I’m having a really hard time wrapping my own head around it.”
“Oh, honey.”
“I know that he is worried that I will steal his crown. I know that my power is more potent than his, and I don’t want his crown. I would never take something that I didn’t even want. Plus, he is the best High Lord for this Court. I don’t want him to worry too much about me dethroning him. I would never want to. Until the day a far, far cry from now that he takes his last breath, I would never disrespect him like that.”
“I know you wouldn’t”, a soft, yet rumbling voice comes from behind him. Lucien whirls around to see Helion leaning on the threshold of the room, large arms bulging and crossed.
“Do you? I may be your son, but you don’t have any reason to wholly trust me.”
Helion walks over and places his hands on Lucien’s shoulders. “I do have a reason. Because I knew you before I knew you were mine, and I have always seen how honorable you are. I can’t lie and say that I wasn’t selfishly scared the magic of the Court would immediately transfer to you. And for that, I was in the wrong. This Court would have been in very good hands if it were you, too. You are my son. And I trust you. Always.”
Lucien swallows hard. “Thank you.”
Helion pulls him into a crushing hug and Lucien hugs back, patting his back.
“I hope you feel the same when you learn what I am...who I am.”
They pull back and Elain comes back from the baby’s room, pecking Lucien’s cheek. “Maybe this discussion should wait.”
Helion takes a steadying breath and glances at Aurelia. “I know who you are, Lucien. I know who both of you are. And...that does not change the fact that you’re my family. It does not change your hearts or your minds. It only proves that you are both destined to be powerful. Power does not solely define someone.”
Aurelia stands up. “Tell me. I want to know what’s going on.”
Lucien takes Elain’s hand and intertwines their fingers before turning to his mother with a shaking breath.
“Elain and I found out today that we are the reincarnations of old gods. I suppose Father found out the same.”
Helion inclines his head and tucks a piece of hair behind her pointed ear gently.
She places a hand over her chest. “What?”
“It’s long and arduous and complicated...but...that’s why when my powers were fully unbound, it all burst out. Elain’s too, since we were mated and connected.”
“You’re gods”, she whispers, staring at them.
Helion interjects. “Our son has the soul of the very first High Lord of the Day Court, blessed and gifted by the goddess Hemera. And Elain...”
Lucien presses a kiss to the top of Elain’s hand. “My mate is Mother Nature herself.”
“A god and goddess reborn”, Helion states.
Elain tears up, curling into Lucien’s side. He holds her close and presses a soft kiss to her brow. “Ellie?”
“I don’t want this”, she chokes out. “I don’t want to be able to control you or anyone else. All I want is to be a good mother and a good mate and a good sister. I-I—”
He sways softly. “You are all of those, sunshine. Power doesn’t have to change us. We just have to learn how to properly wield them so that we don’t cause harm. We can’t ignore it, even if we want to. We have to train.”
“I know”, Elain admits, sighing. “What will my sisters think? Gods, what will Rhys think?”
Lucien’s gaze becomes a bit gloomy. “We will deal with that when it comes, hm?”
Helion smirks. “Which gods are you complaining to, yourselves?”
Elain can’t help the laugh that escapes her, Lucien chuckling beside her. “Not funny.”
He grins broadly. “You know it was. I’m hilarious.”
Aurelia tsks at him and smiles.
“We don’t have to do anything, right? I mean...we can keep our positions as they are? We don’t need to...do any more pledges or ceremonies? I don’t know if I could handle another one”, he admits.
“You can be whatever you want to be, son”, Helion replies, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and crushing him into a side hug.
“Good. Because aside from getting a handle on these powers, we don’t want to be treated differently or have fanatics or anything like that. As Elain, said, we would prefer a nice, normal life with our children.”
“Children, plural?”, Aurelia grins.
“Eventually”, he chuckles. “Easy, Mother. Lucia is only a babe still.”
Elain chuckles. “Yes, I am quite content on focusing on her for the moment.”
.
.
.
Nearly a year later, their powers are better trained. Elain can wield them to help wildlife and the growth of all other life as well. Lucien is able to hone the sun itself as his weapon if he ever needs it to.
The Inner Circle was wary, Tamlin and Briar were stunned, and their other friends reacted fairly well. Unfortunately, most of it was blocked out by yet another looming war. An old god like Koschei had resurfaced. He goes by the name Rigelus, and he claims to be of Daglan decent, having somehow snuck into their lands to wreak havoc and overcome them all in retribution for Fionn having slain his kind into what everyone believed was extinction more than fifteen thousand years ago.
As the war crept closer, all of the High Lords and their heirs, including Lucien, had met to discuss what they were going to do against a revived Daglan army. That was when Helion had told everyone the news about Lucien and Elain, who had refused to be left out of the meeting with her mate. This time, all of the females were there, sharing in the talks freely with the males.
They agreed that their best power against them was light. Helion, Lucien, Eris, Mor, Feyre, Briar, and Tamlin would be on the front lines using their light, fire, and other special magic to hold them back as best as possible. The Illyrians, Peregryns, Darkbringers, and other armies would be holding the lines along the borders in case infiltration occurs. Elain and Amren will be in a protected bunker with Nyx and Lucia and many spells and runes in case things go sideways.
On the day of the war, Lucien arms himself to the teeth; armor, sword, and his full power, which he had not used in weeks to prepare.
.
.
.
Amidst the landscape of Prythian, the air crackled with magic. A fierce confrontation was about to unfold. The High Lords of Prythian along with their armies, gathered, united against a common enemy.
Rigelus, an ancient enemy, back to claim these lands had made his ominous presence known. Inky black swirls of dark magic seemed to pour from his very pores, his eyes fully black—the embodiment of evil. He licks his lips as he takes a breath of the air, reveling in the taste of the power within it. If he got a hold of anyone, touched anyone, he could suck the magic—and their life force—right out of them, rendering them dead in moments.
The battle begins to rage, armies versus armies, many falling in large numbers as the Daglan begin to eat their way through soldiers they could grab, giving them more power. The sky becomes an ominous swirl of dark clouds, occasionally illuminated by bolts of arcane energy.
In the heart of the battle, Lucien moved with a fluid grace, his red hair a bright blue as he weaved through the chaos, light power disintegrating any of the Daglan he comes face to face with.
Seeing soldiers with less power—controlled mortals, going by the fact that they have swords to protect them, Lucien reaches for the hilt of his jeweled sword and draws it. With a surge of power, he gasps at the heat within his hand, his sword beginning to pour out dark light.
Caught off guard, Lucien stumbles back slightly. It had never once reacted like this before...but then again, he had not drawn his sword since the battle with Hybern. Since well before his newfound power.
Summoning his own sunfire magic, it twines around the now pitch-black blade, seeming to work with it rather than repel it. Whatever enchantment had been placed on it, responding to him. It explodes with a mix of raw golden-white light and the darkest black of the pits of Hell.
Rigelus's laughter echoed across the battlefield, an unfeeling, terrifying sound. He stretched his hands out, black tendrils of magic reaching toward the High Lords and their armies as they all move back, recoiling from their doom as all of their magic tries, and fails, to stop the waves of darkness from attempting to consume them.
Before his corrupted power could envelop them, Lucien lunges forward, his sword—having unbeknownst to him to have been Narben this whole time, raised high.
“No!!”, sharp screams of his father reaches his ear across the open air, but the roar of his magic and the hum of the blade in his hand force him forward. Seeing the devil incarnate, he faces him down, pointing that sword leaking of their intertwined power directly at him.
For a split second, the evil male has the decency to look worried, then he is blasted back and pummeled by the force of it. Narben, an original trove item, wielded by a reborn god...history repeating itself, as he is disintegrated into nothing but dust, a pile of black powder on the barren land of The Middle.
The High Lords and the Daglan’s controlled human armies seem to halt at the sight. Lucien’s hair moves like liquid copper and glows like molten ore. His golden eye gleams with raw sunlight and his russet eye flickers with sunfire, the iris nearly a matching gold from its usual russet. A halo of white light and burning fire appears around his head.
Time seems to slow as the sword’s light and darkness expand, slicing through the air like spikes, the magic drawn to the Daglan’s magical rot, striking each and every one clear through their still hearts. Lucien moves the sword delicately, making sure it gets them all. The clash of magic resonates like a shockwave, and for a brief moment, it seems as if the very frays of reality as they knew it tremble with fragility.
Then, with a resounding impact, the light subsides, creeping back to Lucien, back into his sword untwining from it and returning to his chest, that magic coiling back within him. The thousands of piles of black ash wisp away with the breeze as Tamlin holds his hands out to wash them away with his wind.
Silence fell upon the battlefield, broken only by the sound of ragged breaths, the slide of metal into sheaths, and the crackling remnants of dissipating magic. The High Lords turned to Lucien, their expressions a mixture of awe and gratitude.
With a weary smile, Lucien sheathed Narben, the ancient relic now dormant, its power spent for the moment.
As the High Lords surveyed the aftermath of the battle, a sense of unity and triumph washed over them. At the heart of it all stood Lucien, a testament to the strength of camaraderie and the unyielding power of hope.
.
.
.
With the threat of the Daglan once again vanquished as it had been those fifteen thousand years ago, a sense of relief and triumph pervaded the realm of Prythian.
The High Lords gathered in a grand pavilion in the Dawn Court, its walls adorned with banners representing each of their courts, a symbol of their unity in the face of adversity.
As the sun began to set, casting a warm golden light across the land, the High Lords and their courtiers converged in the pavilion to celebrate the victory. Tables were laden with scrumptious feasts that spanned the culinary delights of each court. Exquisite dishes from the Spring Court burst with vibrant colors, while the Winter Court's offerings glistened with an icy elegance. The Autumn Court contributed earthy and hearty fare, including Lucien’s favorite apple tart from his mother, and the Summer Court presented platters of fruits and delicacies that seemed to capture the essence of sunshine itself. The Day Court came forth with delicious meats and vegetables scented with spice, and the Night Court presented the finest of wines.
At the center of it all stood Lucien, still catching his breath from the battle and more than a few desperate kisses from his still-shaken mate. He is now adorned in regal attire that befitted his newfound status, and his hair has been carefully plaited and fussed with by both his mate and his father. His crown sits atop his head now, and Elain’s too, per his insistence that they remain equals. Elain squeezes his hand and pulls him into another breathless kiss, tracing the seam of his lips with her thumb.
“I love you. It scared me half to death feeling that surge through the bond. I hadn’t known what was happening, if you were hurt...”
Lucien cups her cheek lovingly. “I’m sorry, sunshine. But you should always know that I would fight to come home to you. Always.”
“I know”, she mumbles, hugging him close. Are you really ready to go into a room with all of them again?”
He scoffs slightly. “I would rather be at home, in our bed, doing very naughty, godlike things to my queen”, he murmurs.
A shiver runs down her back and she gasps, slapping his chest and scolding him in a hushed voice. “Lucien!”
He flashes her a saccharine smirk and nuzzles her neck, breathing her in. “You are my strength, Ellie. I love you as much as my need to breathe.”
Elain melts into him, idly stroking his chest. “I love you too, Lucien. I wouldn’t want anyone else as my mate. I need you always.”
With one final deep breath, he clutches her hand. “Let’s get this over with, hm?”
Her eyes sparkle with mischief. “Yes, and then I expect you to keep that alluring promise tonight.”
He laughs softly as they enter the dining hall. The High Lords stand and raise their goblets in a toast, their cheers ringing out and eyes shining with admiration and respect for the male who had become their savior.
Rhysand, his dark wings now folded behind him, stepped forward, inclining his head to Lucien with a gleam in his eye, his voice carrying through the pavilion. "To Lucien," he began, his words resonating with a newfound warmth, "a warrior whose bravery and determination have reminded us all of the hidden strength that lies within us."
The other High Lords nodded in agreement, and another chorus of cheers erupted as goblets clinked in celebration. Lucien's cheeks tinged with a faint blush, his mismatched eyes filled with gratitude for the camaraderie he had found among these powerful beings. Elain’s smile makes his stomach flutter with butterflies, as well as his parents’ and brother’s looks of raw pride in him. He is not used to this much attention landing on him, and it’s all slightly overwhelming.
As the feast continued, the High Lords talk amongst themselves. Amid the laughter and camaraderie, Lucien's own contributions were acknowledged, and his courage praised.
As the evening progressed, a hush fell over the room as Tamlin stood, raising his cup once again. "Fellow High Lords and guest," he said, his voice steady, strong, and heartfelt, "I always knew that there was more to Lucien than meets the eye. As my best friend and an unending well of encouragement not only to me but many of you here, there was always something so very special about the male I also like to call a brother. Lucien and I helped each other during our lowest of lows and enjoyed the highest of highs. I always wondered when he would come into his own and become the best version of himself, the way he had taught me to be.” He swallows with emotion. “Lucien, brother, you deserve all the good you have been blessed with. I could see that air of grace and strength in you from day one. Plus, you are the only male I would ever bow to as a god.”
Lucien and the others laugh, and Lucien’s face turns red, glancing around at the starry-eyed looks of his peers.
“Tamlin, thank you for your words. You’re more poetic than you ever gave yourself credit for”, he grins and smirks at him. “But to all of you here...”, he continues, pulling Elain lovingly to his side. “My mate, Elain, and I just want to say, that while we may truly be endowed with the power of the old gods, we do not plan on undoing any of the ruling classes of Prythian. I know that there have been some hushed fears since the last meeting, and we would like to put those to rest. We have no interest in taking over a singular rule. However, please know that if there is ever anything we can help you with, we are more than happy to try and help our friends, as always.”
Eris smiles unabashedly and approaches Lucien with a warm smile, clapping him on the shoulder. "To think," he mused, "that a god walked among us as my damned baby brother.” He shakes his head. “Shit, you just really want to keep your place as Mom’s favorite, huh? I can’t catch a break.”
Lucien barks out a laugh and claps Eris’s shoulder. “You’ll get there, one day.”
“Pissant”, he hisses jokingly.
Lucien grins. “But seriously...I’m not the only one who has been strong, Eris. You have also proven that power is not defined by titles, but by the choices we make. You are the best High Lord that Autumn has had in generations. You’re doing well, brother.”
“Thank you. And Lucien...I know you don’t need me for anything but...”, he swallows, trailing off.
“I think there will always be a part of me that needs my big brother”. Lucien says quietly. “Don’t diminish your part in who I am, Eris. I know there was shit and bad blood and everything awful in between. But when I was a kid...you were everything I wanted to be. And in a way...I think I always knew that the brother I loved so dearly was underneath all of Beron’s terrible schemes he’d force you into. At least I prayed that you were. And you were.”
Eris tears up slightly but blinks it back. “I wish it didn’t have to be like that for so long. I wish I hadn’t had to lie and—”
“Hey.” Lucien nudges him. “I know that. Me too. But the past is the past. We have our entire futures. I know that we will both make the best out of our time now. Free at last.”
“Until the next war.”
“Ugh, don’t even get me started. You’re such a downer.”
“Yes, well...I was raised that way.”
“You should come around Day more often. I know you are busy with High Lord’s duties but...you are family. You will always belong among us. You’ll always have a place at our table. I need you to know that.”
Eris takes a shaky breath and nods slowly. “Thank you. My Court is open to all of you too. You’re free to visit, Lucien. You don’t have to be afraid anymore. Maybe we could just...take a hike one day. Like we used to.”
“When I was a little child?”
Eris shrugs, slightly embarrassed. “We don’t have t—”
“I want to”. Lucien cuts him off. “I mean...yes, it would be nice. I do miss it and I am trying to stop the anxiety from taking over when I cross that border.”
“I understand. Trauma puts up a big fight.”
“That it does...”
“I am glad you have Elain. You deserve one another.”
“You will find your Elain one day, Eris.”
“Will I? Or has the mother doomed me for my parentage?”
Lucien shakes his head. “You will. Love comes in many forms and can be strong without a mate bond. So what if you can’t have Morrigan? You saw how fiercely I had loved Jesminda...I didn’t need a mate bond back then to tell me how much I had wanted forever with her. You don’t either.”
Eris wrings his hands. “I was thinking of...asking Nuan to dinner. Do you think she would oblige?”
Lucien’s eyebrow raises. “Nuan?”
He clears his throat. “She has been...helping me. With a sleeping powder. She listens...she’s...brilliant and beautiful and her voice is teasing but soothing. She...makes me feel happy and calm.”
“Then I think you should ask her. The worst she can say is no, and Nuan can be very guarded too. Get to know her. Show her you are curious about her world of mechanics and potions and she will, in turn, oblige your interests.”
He stands up tall. “Right. I think I will...do that.”
“Good luck”, he smirks, glancing over toward his feisty Dawn Court friend.
“Mhh, I’ll need it”, he mutters as he walks towards her.
Lucien stands back, taking in the scene before joining in on the action. Songs and melodies from each court are enjoyed and he dances the night away with Elain in his arms, a picture of perfect grace and beauty. He can’t help the laughter and the smile on his face when Tamlin elects to join the band for one on his fiddle.
Once Elain’s feet tire and she retires to a table to chat with her sisters, Lucien slips out onto the balcony, taking breaths of fresh air which swirl in the chill of the Autumn air. As the night sky glitters with stars, he looks up at it and reflects on the journey his life took to get to this moment. Once a runt, an outcast, and a survivor, he had risen to become a hero and a symbol of resilience for Prythian.
Later on that night as he enjoyed some well-deserved time with his baby girl and his mate back in the comfort of their home, he knew for certain that the future held limitless possibilities, both forged by the newfound unity of their Courts and by the strength and power that love carries in one’s soul.
Love and light.
Sometimes, that’s all you need to get through the worst days to get to your best days.