Queen of Despair, plucking strings from the air
“Tamlin outdid himself with modern art this time,” Rhysand whistles as the guards turn their weapons to him.
“Shut your mouth Rhysand, for the good of us all,” Lucien hisses back, straightening himself.
He didn’t want to deal with Tamlin and Rhysand going at each other today. He wanted a shower, he wanted a nap, he wanted to go home.
Right on time, Tamlin came barrelling through the doors.
“Where is he,” he growls, feral and sees Rhysand, holding up Lucien.
His features turn more creature like as he begins mid shift, about to horribly maim Rhysand-
Lucien snarls at him.
“Not now, Tamlin. Rhysand, its been good to see you’re still a prick. Tamlin, calm yourself, I’m okay.”
Rhysand gives him an unfathomable look and lets him go, unlocking the chains with a snap of his fingers as they disappear to god knows where.
Tamlin seems at war with himself before he shifts back into his fae form.
“Your eye,” he says.
“It’s fine. I’m okay,” Lucien replies.
“If you did anything to Lucien-“ Tamlin growls towards Rhysand, who looked infinitely bored.
“I did not do anything you accuse me of, Tam-Tam. Why don’t you ask Little Lucien?” Rhysand asks, staring intently at Lucien.
“Get out,” Tamlin whispers, and even the flowers around seemed to halt.
“Tamlin, don’t,” Lucien says.
“Yes Tamlin, listen to darling Lucien, he’s got a message for you, doesn’t he?”
“You do not get to enter my land and threaten me, threaten one of my court-“
Some pathetic, weak part of Lucien felt honoured to have a High Lord acknowledge his existence, to be willing to protect him, an inner member of his court.
The other, more rational one knew there would be a fight brewing. And it would not do for Amarantha to be pissed off by her two new toys before any negotiations again.
To think what she would do to the fae, to the ones held in camps-
“Tamlin, Tamlin please, its not worth it,” Lucien pleads, remembering to stay a 5m radius away from him as he calmed down and seemed to wrestle with his inner beast.
The political mess fighting would get them in would be terrifying, please, oh gods.
Tamlin took a deep inhale and calmed down.
“You touch a member of my court again and I will slaughter you, Rhysand,” Tamlin growls and grabs Lucien by the arm before whirling around and helping him in, leaving Rhysand staring after them in contemplative silence so different from the aggression Tamlin was displaying earlier on, and the cruelty Under the Mountain.
Lucien wonders distantly if they fought because Rhysand gets so tired of being chained down to the ground daily that he would jump at any chance of leaving Amarantha’s bedroom.
-
His mask was a fox.
He was a fox, lethal.
He held by 10 rules, drilled into him by tutors. Rules of survival, he called them.
“One, read your environment and the players well,” he whispers to himself as he walks down the hallways towards Tamlin and the entourage of Spring.
“Two, do not act until necessary,” he recites quietly, too quiet for even High Fae to hear.
“Three, know your players and the weapons,” he says as they winnow to Amarantha’s lair.
“Four, do not compromise yourself,” he chants as they walk down the dim hallway into the chamber.
“Five, stay in the shadows, do not garner attention.” Lucien nearly flinches as one of the things in the walls come too close to him for comfort.
“Six, do not be afraid, you are never alone.” Little Lucien, come to play with the wolves and lions.
“Seven, never give up control,” bow, darling, bow.
“Eight, persuasion comes hand in hand with charm and skill,” Lucien curls his hands into fists and wills a small lick of flame into existence as the guards tense.
“Nine, you are forged in fire, melded in ice and coated with steel,” Lucien repeats in his mind, saying it out loud too risky now that they were nearing the heart of the Mountain.
“Ten, never trust a survivor until you know what they did to survive.”
Lucien stops at the entrance and falls back to guard his lord.
He has always been a survivor, a servant, and he will serve well with honour.
-
The fox was out-witted by the dragon. Well done, fire-breather. Well done, Lucien thinks bitterly as the beast in Tamlin roars, as he distantly notes the fear the servants are drowning in, as he himself lets Tamlin shred his study to pieces again and hides in his room for fear of his life.