Shining, Glowing, welcome to your ruining
Lucien has always been a man of his word. He dealt in manipulation and secrets and things never to be told, he was all trickery and cunning. Beron may not have had a hand in raising him until he proved to be a worthy heir, but he did what he did best, learn and adapt.
And so he did. He did it through the years of neglect, did it when he was compared to his perfect, competitive brothers by blood and not by actions. Lucien protected his mother who had become so weak, so different from what he had heard from a few older servants. Lucien had held his own against his own father, the High Lord of Autumn. His fire was one to match Beron’s, powerful and fiery. But he had been a scholar at heart, so he had travelled. Knowledge, after all, was power. He was considered spoilt, he supposed. He had seen first hand the poverty of lesser fae, he had seen their suffering and torment. He had seen the cruelty of survival no one knew happened even in the inner Courts.
Lucien had seen many things. The best, the worst, the happiest, the more sorrowful.
He was a terrible person, he knew. All High Fae were, terrible and wicked and cruel in their immortality. But he would never break his word, his vows, his loyalty would remain to those who gained it.
Foxes were nothing but sly and cunning, wily and agile, not only in mind but in body. But when it came to protecting their own, they were ferocious.
The entire Autumn Court, the Vanserra family, all foxes clambering to the top. Two-faced people who only cared for survival, but did not show it.
Lucien had always felt like an outsider in Autumn.
Beron never acknowledged him, of course. Why would he, when he had so many more wonderful sons?
His mother, wasting away day by day as she stared out of the window, always towards the east as she watched the sun rise. She had always loved the mornings, the daylight.
His brothers, Eris, Kieran, Aiden, Jeremiah, Dacian and Caliban. Eris, sadistic, cold hearted, the model heir of autumn. Kieran, lovely, deadly, he was the war general of autumn court. Aiden, flashy and flirtatious, he knew how to manoeuvre politics extremely well. Jeremiah, the talented healer and scribe, he would draft any legal documents, heal those who paid high prices for his services. Dacian, fiery, passionate, he was the spokesperson of autumn. Lastly, Caliban, wise, intelligent, he was literally a walking library with knowledge to rival those of Day Court librarians.
So yes, compared to his brothers, Lucien was more of a wanderer, an outsider, like he was peering into a window and watching more than living.
As such, he was allowed more free reign, although less privileges. He interacted with the lesser faeries, the poor, the sick, the young, the old.
His life was so dull, so plain.
And then Jesminda came along, and his life changed.
He felt more than saw the bond they had. It was so real, it felt so real. It was like someone had pushed it into place, willed it into existence, because there was that “oh, its you I’ve been searching for” moment that was so nonsensical but perfect.
Then, of course, came the panic that Beron would disown him for daring, for having the sheer audacity, to have a lesser fae as a mate.
Mate.
Jesminda had been everything. Mate did not properly encapsulate what they had been to each other. Jesminda had made him wonder, made him think, made him feel. Jesminda had took his dulled world and splashed it in colour, making the red of the leaves everywhere so bright it was blinding.
Lucien ignored the small nagging part of his mind that something was wrong.
Of course, with luck like Lucien’s, nothing good lasted.
A flower burning, falling to the ground like ashes. A smile laced with poison. A drink that made his head pound and head scream in agony as it burned through him. Tinkling of glasses as they poured wine that was so thick it felt like blood on him as they laughed and danced and laughed as they dumped him into a tank of ice cold water to test his fire and flames. “Lucien, so small, so weak, how easily we can extinguish your flame,” Kieran would whisper.
Lucien’s life had always been wild, for a lack of better word. Absolutely insane. So dull it was like a very boring novel. Then so tragic it felt like some stupid play in some book with terrible writing.
Lucien, of course, still ached for Jesminda. A part of him had died with her, died as her blood splattered the walls and painted Eris’s face and drenched him as he sobbed and crawled forward against the chains and begged, and whored himself, and threw away any remaining shred of dignity in front of his apathetic father who merely sneered and ordered a servant to push him away by his forehead with a foot from him.
Beron had taken his childhood. His brothers had taken away his safety. Mother had taken away his selfishness. Jesminda had taken his innocence and high mighty act.
Lucien didn’t even know he had more to give until he dragged himself to Spring and collapsed in front of the High Lord in an undignified manner.
And there, Lucien had rebuilt, had offered his services and became an emissary, a bridge between strained relations. Lucien had offered, in a shiny gift box wrapped with a fucking golden bow, his life to Tamlin. And he had taken it, this worthless, pathetic, second-rate life.
He put his skills to use, charmed the ever loving hell out of every fucking court. He had slept with high ranking officials of inner circles of courts, he had connected Spring to every seasonal court and even day and dawn (Night was and would always be a taboo for Spring, he had learnt early on. It was the first time Lucien had experienced Tamlin’s rage and nearly got slashed into bloody ribbons. Tamlin, of course, had apologised after. He always did, no matter to who he had offended.). Lucien had single handedly built a network of spies and connections to most courts, even Autumn. (Lucien pretended it did not hurt when Beron did not acknowledge his existence, when Dacian had thrown away the glove he had been wearing after they were forced to shake hands, but had begrudgingly agreed to his terms of a treaty as emissary of Spring).
He had relative peace for a century or two. He had learnt to lock away his memories in the deepest chambers of his mind, had learnt how to control his emotions and feelings. He had even carried out rituals and carved runes on himself to have basic warding against any mental attacks. The books on mind magic were scarce in Seasonal courts, something Lucien vowed to change once he got access to Day’s libraries.
When his life was finally looking better, when he finally had a purpose again, Hybern came, and his life fell apart.