#It is fitting but not for elucien… | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

separatist-apologist · 7 months ago

Text

Long Live

Summary: All archeologist Elain Archeron wants is answers about the past.

Fate is determined to give them to her

MASSIVE thank you @abbadinfluence for having the idea AND allowing me to write - I've had the time of my life, this has been so fun.

And @octobers-veryown for being my personal Rome/Italy consultant- thank you for your knowledge, your time, and most importantly, catching when I used a particularly offensive and/or wrong swear word

Life moved slower. Elain woke each morning to open windows and her husband gone, already up for the day. She’d become lady of the house which was a whole job in and of itself. Was it wrong to weaponize her knowledge from the future to smooth things over between people? Maybe, but she did it anyway.

Partly because navigating this new world made Elain nervous. She knew everything in theory, but not in practice—and not in-depth. She made mistakes even children didn’t, which caused gossip about the barbarian the emperor had married.

She knew men had gone to Lucien to complain, though the results of said conversations were never shared with her. She’d asked once, laying on her stomach as she traced designs over his bare chest.

Lucien had merely flipped her to her back and with a kiss, urged her not to think about it. But she did, nervous that it was going to be his downfall. What had she already changed? Elain spun herself in circles wondering if everything they knew about the Empress was simply her, right now, doing exactly what she’d done. Had she been studying herself?

Elain tried not to think too hard about it lest she drive herself insane.

She threw herself into politics much the way Arina did, the pair like university students all over again as they read works long lost to their present day time. So much of it was fascinating but a lot more was painfully dry. Even Arina couldn’t get through half of it, groaning as she stared upward, bored to tears.

“Just ask Lucien for a sword and we’ll start killing people,” she said with a roll of green eyes. “I don’t think he’d mind.”

“We shouldn’t murder the people who annoy us,” Elain hissed at her friend. Marrying Eris had been a mistake—Arina was becoming far too Romanized far too quickly.

Arina shrugged. “When in Rome, do as the Romans do and kill your rivals.”

“Did Eris give you a knife?” Elain questioned.

Arina grinned. “I’m starting a collection.”

Of course she was.

For all the stress, though, Elain found she was happy. No longer did she have to wonder what things looked like—the vibrancy of the ancient world astounded her. She could see statues as they were, brightly painted in hues of red and yellow and blue. She could read the literature, could sit in grand atriums while philosophers debated passionately on topics they still discussed two thousand years in the future.

Sometimes she wished she could tell them they were immortalized in these discussions and their writings. That academics still taught their works and students still engaged in the same passionate debates. So many things from Rome still existed in the future, from their sewage systems to the roads they’d built, all the way to the language they used and the influence it would have on European languages. Their myths, their gods—all of it still existed as some faint echo of a past humanity would never return to.

And she wasn’t just witnessing it—Elain was part of it. Her mind couldn’t comprehend all of it. The whys, the hows—if it was magic or some other explanation they were too primitive to understand even two thousand years in the future—it didn’t truly matter in the end. Sometimes she thought she’d wake and find she’d merely dreamt it all up.

And other times she was certain she’d been born here for how natural it all felt to her. At times, Elain forgot everything else but the present—at least until something jolted her out of her bliss. She’d see something that reminded her of Graysen or her sisters or her home and spend the rest of the day wondering if they still thought of her. What they made of her disappearance.

She knew her sisters would be in pain over losing her. Gray would move on, eventually, and Elain genuinely hoped he did so with minor emotional wounds.

Her sisters would never forgive her if they learned she could have returned and chose not to. Elain was grateful they’d never know. Maybe that made her a coward—she simply couldn’t bring herself to care, especially as time went on. They’d continue their lives without her and maybe they’d all see each other again some day.

But not in this lifetime.

What had once seemed like a terrible decision seemed like the best idea Elain had ever had. Maybe that was all the lead water she was drinking, though. She was happy, and that was all that mattered. She watched other women marry, participating in the ceremonies as the Emperor’s Consort. She was part of festivals and just generally seen in the city with a guard of heavily armed soldiers Lucien made swear to protect her, even at the expense of their own lives.

And she had Arina.

That was enough.

Her favorite part of every day was when Lucien finished with the things he did to tell her everything, eyes bright as he stripped down to nothing. If he found it strange telling a woman about the political machinations of his empire, Lucien never said. He, instead, treated her like one of his advisors. He asked her advice on how to handle delicate situations both with his patricians and Senators and when trying to adhere to Roman diplomacy.

And then, once he’d said everything he needed to say, Lucien all but got on his knees and kept her up half the night. He acted like he’d only just discovered sex. Sometimes she felt the same way.

“Tomorrow I will be unforgivably late,” Lucien told her, hand on his stomach as he tried to catch his breath.

Elain rolled to her side. “Why?”

Lucien shifted, eyes on the dark ceiling overhead. “I’ll tell you when it’s over.”

She’d heard him say that only once before, and in the aftermath it had been an assassination he claimed to know nothing about. Elain very much doubted that was true, though his hands were clean. Eris likely arranged the entire thing, which seemed to be how things were done between them. Elain often wondered if Lucien truly trusted his older brother, or merely kept him close to prevent a coup.

She doubted being married to Arina would stifle his political ambitions.

That was a personal question for Lucien to grapple with. She knew he loved Eris, and figured Eris must love his brother to some degree if he was willing to stand by him even when everything he’d worked so hard for had been ripped out from underneath him. Beron had intended to drag his own son down with him, and never planned for his wife’s illegitimate child to take his own full-blooded son's place.

History said Eris remained loyal until he died, but Elain didn’t know how much of history she and Arina had already rewritten. They’d never know without returning to the future to read the books. She assumed something must have been altered since all records of Helena were gone save for Lucien’s own writings. She was here, though she didn’t dare leave a record other than her mere existence which was immortalized on coins and paintings and whatever doodles Lucien left in the margins of his documents.

She seemed to recall a half naked one with exaggerated breasts that had been so amusing at university and was now a little mortifying to think about.

“Should I go to sleep without you?” Elain asked, pulling herself from her endless musings.

“You can try,” he replied with that handsome, slick smile of his. “I’ll wake you up.”

“You’re a devil,” she said, forgetting he didn’t know that word—Elain quickly attempted to explain, foregoing the religious connotations to avoid getting bogged down with the future of Christianity. While Elain liked listening to Lucien talk politics, he loved hearing about the future. He was interested in the culture of her home, the art, the literature. She’d spent a full week explaining the Real Housewives to him in great detail while he’d listened, rapt and glassy eyed in his enjoyment.

Elain intended to explain Star Wars to him later simply to sketch out a lightsaber and see what he thought about it. She thought Lucien would enjoy that.

Just enough time had passed that Elain had grown complacent. She’d forgotten everything that happened during Lucien’s reign. She forgot the early years.

She forgot the coup.

The day passed like any other. She and Arina dressed and ate, talked with the other women living with them currently, and spent the later afternoon in the city buying materials for dresses and some rather pretty flowers likely handpicked by the small child Elain gave the coins to.

They returned home and bathed after eating and Elain intended to turn in for the evening mostly out of boredom. Lucien wasn’t coming back until late, there was limited lighting which made reading difficult, and the heat of the day had taken its toll.

“Where is everyone?” Arina asked, looking around the strangely empty halls.

“Wherever Lucien is, I’m guessing,” Elain replied glumly. Arina wasn’t having it through, brows knit together as she truly looked.

“Everyone? Even the children are gone—”

“To bed—”

“Oh please, there are no bedtimes here. I heard one of those monsters screaming at three in the morning last night.”

Elain, too, paused to listen. “Is anyone here?”

“What day is today?” Arina whispered, gripping Elain’s forearm before Elain could go any further. Heart racing, she only shrugged.

“I don’t remember,” she admitted. The calendar was different, the days rearranged according to the Julian Calendar.

“With me,” Arina whispered, turning while clasping Elain’s hand. If anyone watched them, it looked like two women merely wanting to be close. Not panicked, not scared—not yet. They walked as they normally did, eyes straight ahead as though nothing were amiss as they both counted back the days in their head.

When had it happened? The attempted coup that ravaged the city in flame—the assassination attempts, the upheaval? In her joy, Elain had forgotten how rocky the early years of Lucien’s transition were.

She’d forgotten his new wife went missing.

Arina closed them into the bed chamber she shared with Eris, locking it for good measure. “It won’t stop them—but we’ll hear the lock turn.”

“And then what?” Elain demanded as Arina made her way across the room for the collection of knives she’d bragged about. “We should leave.”

“They’ll be waiting to ambush us,” Arina replied coolly. “We have the element of surprise.”

“We’re also just the two of us against a bunch of men with swords,” Elain hissed, watching as Arina shoved a chair against a door. “There is no where to go.”

“Wrong,” Arina said with a relish, pushing against the wall. A little cubby opened, big enough for the two to slip through unnoticed. “You didn’t notice servants coming in and out?”

Elain wasn’t about to admit she was too busy admiring Lucien to notice what anyone else was doing, especially when they were alone in their room. Having given Elain a dagger, the pair slid into the wall just as the knob of their door rattled. They both froze, half hidden in the dark. Elain’s heart raced with fear.

“Where can we go?”

“The countryside,” Arina whispered before pulling Elain in. They still had time, though not enough. Not to mention, the last time they’d tried to flee they’d been caught by highway robbers and Arina had nearly died. Staying in the city was suicide, leaving a death sentence.

Arina’s grip on Elain’s hand tightened painfully. They only thing they truly had going for them was near prophetic knowledge of the future and, hopefully, a memorized map of the city’s layout.

They burst into the kitchen, a place Elain had never seen and was desperate to snoop around in.

“Not now,” Arina replied, tugging her toward an open door leading to the courtyard.

It would have been a clean getaway had that guard not been standing there. He was clearly just as surprised to see them as they were to see him. The pin on his armor didn’t belong to Lucien—it was another man's crest, another man's loyalty paid out in copper and gold.

“You ah…” he hesitated, clearly unsure what he should do. “You should go inside.”

“We’re just strolling through the garden,” Elain tried, offering up her most charming smile. “Surely you wouldn’t begrudge us an evening stroll?” His hand went to the hilt of his sword and Elain knew he had no qualms about killing them here. Arina took a step back, eyes wide with fear.

“Stand down,” Elain whispered, hiding Arina’s dagger in the folds of her skirts. She wasn’t going to die this day—not after everything else.

“For what it’s worth, I am sorry,” that dark haired soldier said.

It was Arina who struck, slamming her blade so viciously into his throat that blood sprayed everywhere. Elain had never seen rage like that, manifesting in each brutal stab. Channeling her inner Brutus, Arina hacked even when the soldiers knees buckled, brown eyes bulging in death.

“It’s over,” Elain told her, swallowing bile before she vomited everywhere. Oh, the movies made killing seem so easy. So elegant.

It was horrible.

“It’s over,” Elain told Arina, pulling at her arm. Arina swung, sharp blade slashing through the air. Her beautiful face was coated in blood, staining the blonde hair now hanging over her shoulders. “He’s dead.”

Arina looked down, expression hardening. “Let's go,” she said, reaching for Elain with trembling fingers. She’d lie and say that killing that man meant nothing, but Elain knew the truth of things. She knew the hardened act Arina put on was just that—an act. Underneath it, she was just as soft as Elain was, and just as scared.

“Do you think this is why there’s no record—”

“Smetti di parlare,” Arina hissed, holding a hand up to silence Elain entirely. “This is not where you die.”

But Elain wasn’t so sure as several more soldiers poured into the courtyard, unable to see them in the dark and yet clearly looking for them. Arina grabbed Elain, hiding the pair behind the large concrete base of the god Jupiter. Elain counted four of them, which wasn’t horrible, but they were well trained and armed, and they were unlikely to get away with another brutal stabbing before they were killed, too.

“This way,” Elain whispered. She knew the garden like the back of her hand—knew every shortcut, ever tall hedge, and where even the bees were kept should it come to that. They were somehow silent, dodging a chicken that hadn’t been put in the pens that evening. The servants seemed to have vanished, too—had they been told to go. Or did they simply know what was coming?

Trying not to feel betrayed—and failing miserably—Elain continued on, wishing Lucien would come charging in. She strained her ears for any sound of his thundering voice as he heroically cut down anyone in his way to get her. There was nothing but the shuffling of feet and whispering of soldiers looking for them. Elain could see no way out.

“Look,”Arina whispered, turning Elains head toward vivid orange in the distance.

Rome was burning.

It was a distraction, terrible as it was. A nightmare for her husband, wherever he was—did he know what was happening at home? Would he come back to empty bedrooms and blood soaked floors? Dead guards and her and Arina missing? She’d never wished for a phone more than she did right then, so she could shoot him a quick text telling him her plan. To tell him she was safe—and to hear he was, too.

There was only a stretch of silence before the screaming began. People flooded out of their burning homes both to escape a truly terrible death and in an attempt to keep the flames from spreading. Arina and Elain both stopped for a moment, half hidden by a copse of olive trees.

“He’ll crucify Hybern for this,” Arina whispered.

“If he isn’t slaughtered,” Elain replied, her voice cracking at the thought. Arina tugged, and the two took off again. They could consider the horror of the evening another night. For now, all that mattered was survival.

They weren’t lucky. When a soldier stumbled upon them just as they were headed toward the stone walls, it was Elain who struck first. He hadn’t seen them—was simply patrolling, sword still sheathed. Was it honorable to kill him? That was a question for the philosophers, though Elain did throw up when she pulled her knife out of that man’s throat.

Arina only grimaced.

“Do you think it gets better?” her friend asked. “How does Eris do it?”

“He’s a menace,” Elain managed, stepping over the still twitching body. “That was…”

No one ever mentioned the way you could feel the slice of tendon and muscle, the snapping of cartilage and the wet sound a human made when they tried to gasp for air that wouldn’t come.

Elain was sick again right there in the grass.

“In another life, Eris would have been a techbro,” Arina said, trying to take Elain’s mind off of what she’d just done. “And I would have fist fought him in a parking lot.”

That made Elain laugh. “I think Lucien would have been a politician,” she admitted, wiping her mouth on the back of her hand. “I’m not sure I would have voted for him.”

“You’d be such a Jackie though,” Arina told her. “Vogue would have loved you.” It was almost funny. Blood in their hair, hands shaking as they continued their journey through the garden in an attempt to escape Rome with their lives while they made jokes about being in Vogue.

They were so close to vanishing into the city. Mere steps away when they saw him, coming up the hill on a gray horse. Not Lucien or Eris, or anyone they recognized—but Hybern. He looked rough. Illuminated by orange glow, Elain could see an ugly, purpling bruise on his face. Selfishly, she hoped Lucien had given it to her.

“Arina,” Elain whispered, pulling them both behind the wall.

“No,” Arina hissed, back flat against the stone. “It’s suicide.”

“They think we’re dead,” she reminded Arina.

“He will kill us,” Arina countered, grabbing Elain’s wrist. “We need to run.”

“There’s nowhere left to go. Rome is burning.”

Arina looked over the wall again before ducking back down, unnoticed as Hybern continued through, flanked by two men wearing wickedly sharp blades. “What do you want to do?”

Elain sighed. “Follow me.”

LUCIEN:

Striding up the steps, Lucien had a sense of deja vu. I’ve been here before, he thought to himself, which—of course he had. Hundreds of times in life, even. But right then, he felt the hand of the gods stopping him.

Warning him.

“What is it?” Jurian asked, hand already on the sword at his hip. Lucien’s eyes cut to Eris, impassive as always. His brother looked from Lucien to the forum up ahead.

“It’s quiet,” Eris finally said.

Was that what stopped him? No, he thought, feeling phantom fingers squeeze his shoulder. Minerva was warning him, her presence looming large behind him. It wasn’t just the silence and the lack of bodies milling around—it was her voice whispering against the wind.

Don’t go.

“What do you know?” he demanded as he rounded on Eris.

Eris raised his palms in defense, eyes narrowed. “If I wanted to see you dead, brother, it certainly wouldn’t be a group effort.”

Their eyes turned toward the Roman Forum again.

“Surround it,” Lucien murmured to Jurian. “No one part of the plot leaves alive.”

Jurian vanished as Lucien took that next step. Eris glanced again. “I have no part in this.”

“I almost wouldn’t blame you if you did,” Lucien replied with a heavy sigh. He understood why so many who’d come before him were so paranoid. He could trust no one, maybe not even his brother.

Eris turned to Lucien, face blazing. “I won’t pretend I’m not angry. It was supposed to be me, not you,” he hissed, face red with rage. “But it was father, not you, who thwarted my ambition. And I sleep peacefully at night knowing whatever pit in Tartarus he inhabits is made more miserable by the knowledge the bastard son of his wife rules in his stead.”

Lucien took a breath, allowing Eris to add, “I’m with you until the end, brother.”

Lucien wouldn’t pretend he wasn’t afraid as they continued their assent. Even with Juran placing his soldiers strategically, there were simply too many unknowns. He could die here.

“If I die—”

“You won’t—”

“If I die,” Lucien repeated softly, careful not to let his words carry, “take care of my wife. Swear you will let no harm come to her.”

“I swear,” Eris replied, eyes glittering. “But only because there is no need to uphold it. You will be in her bed this evening while she tends to your minor wounds and praises you for rooting out the conspirators.”

That was a charitable picture of what Elain was likely to do. Lucien knew she was more likely to chew off his ear as she’d done after the games in the Coliseum. Still, that was better than never seeing her again. If he’d known that morning, when he woke up, that he might never see her face again, Lucien would have remained in bed a little longer.

He would have told her he loved her.

Taking a breath, Lucien forced himself into the same place that, nearly two months earlier had been soaked in Beron’s blood. There was a spartan group of senators, led by Hybern. Lucien should have guessed, he supposed—the man wanted war, wanted to push the borders of Rome into territory they couldn’t take. Hybern would fight Neptune himself if he thought it would win him favor and gold.

He was no better or saner than Nero in that regard. Lucien should have killed him when he first became Emperor.

“Oh, Hybernius,” Lucien said, adopting the air of a disappointed parent. “Is this what it's come to?”

“You’re weak,” Hybern replied, dark eyes nearly black. “And a bastard from Syria who has no business sitting on the throne.”

Lucien raised his brows. “Challenge me, then.”

Hybern gestured around at the Senators he’d managed to win over, their blades likely hidden beneath their togas.

“Challenge me like a man,” Luicen replied just as Jurian stepped into the open room, sword in hand. He handed it to Lucien with a grim smile, glancing toward the pair of open double doors.

“You have a rat in your number,” Jurian lied.

True fear slithered other Hybern’s features. He’d been so confident of his course of action, so sure things would work out in his favor. Now he’d die on the same marble floor so many others before him had, his reputation tattered. Lucien would get to write history—he’d ensure everyone remembered Hybern as little more than a pathetic traitor intent on undoing the legacy of Rome for his own selfish gains.

“I’m not going to kill you,” Lucien said, eyes sweeping the room. “I’ll let the birds do that. Your bodies will serve as a reminder to the populace of what happens to traitors of the empire.”

He was going to crucify them. He’d have them beaten and then made into a spectacle, forced to endure the humiliation of the city stares before hung up on the cross. It was, he’d been told, an agonizing death.

It was what Hybern deserved.

“Where is your wife, Augustus” Hybern whispered in response. Lucien froze. He wouldn’t dare. Eyes sliding to the windows at the far end of the room, Lucien found he couldn’t see his palace against the blinding brightness of the rapidly setting sun. Beside him, Eris had become taut with rage.

Lucien’s plans shifted. He’d kill Hybern right here, right now, simply to satisfy his need. The threat against Elain was too far—she was innocent in all this. Lucien advanced, sword unsheathed as Jurian motioned for the Praetorian Guard to swarm in. It was meant to be a bloodbath—and in some ways it was. In the chaos, Lucien lost Hybern. The smell of blood and the flurry of bodies, the unsheathing of weapons—it gave the traitor a chance to slip away.

Lucien and Eris were just behind, Jurian at Lucien’s side.

“Get them to the palace,” Lucien ordered, knowing he ought to go instead. “Get Elain out.” Jurian hesitated—he wasn’t supposed to leave Lucien.

“Please,” Lucien added, letting some of his fear slip from his otherwise cold countenance. Besides, he knew exactly who he needed for this endeavor. Jurian nodded, branching off as Eris and Lucien stepped into the city.

“You can’t trust him,” Eris hissed. He’d always been able to read Lucien’s mind.

“I apparently can trust no one but you and Jurian,” Lucien replied. “I’ll take men who fight for money over men who fight only for themselves.”

It was night by the time they reached the rather nice home Rhysand had made for himself. Lucien didn’t bother knocking—why should he? Everything Rhysand had was by his grace and mercy, and he could take it all back if he wished. Did the great Thracian General resent it? He had to, Lucien reasoned.

Rhysand looked up from a chair, dressed in a simple chiton and sandals. “Please, come in,” he said dryly.

“I need your sword,” Lucien told him without preamble.

“Why would I accept?” Rhysand countered, clearly bored with the whole spectacle. “I’d like to go to bed.”

“Would you like to kill some Roman’s before you fall asleep?” Lucien shot back, ignoring how the words felt treasonous.

“We’ll pay,” Eris added in a bored tone.

“It better be a lot of gold,” Rhysand grumbled as Eris tossed Hyberns emblem into Rhysand’s outstretched fingers.

“Only men wearing that,” Lucien said. “Kill them however pleases you best. Leave their bodies in the street.”

“Stop or I’ll think you’re propositioning me,” Rhysand said, throwing a wink at the pair. “Try not to die.”

Lucien only nodded as Eris sneered, clearly displeased with the whole thing. They turned to leave him, aware he needed to dress, just in time to see fire erupt in the distance.

“He wouldn’t,” Eris whispered, his expression sliding into fear. Lucien’s heart raced at the sight, mind terribly empty.

Rome was burning.

By the time Lucien made his way back to the palace, it was well into the evening. He and Eris had raced down to the sight of the flames, organizing the vigiles from their homes and beds to help citizens douse the flames. He trusted they’d get it under control, diverting the flow from the aqueducts so the water was more abundant where it was necessary.

But it took time—time that caused whole neighborhoods to burn to ash. The rebuilding would be costly and time consuming, especially in the middle of summer. If Hybern wanted to fund a war, burning his own city seemed antithetical to the cause.

To Lucien, it felt as though Hybern had decided to take as much with him to the grave as possible. Lucien wanted to kill him.

Lucien would kill him.

Drenched in sweat, heart pounding in fear, he made his way into his palace to find the entryway soaked in blood. Eris paused, too, sword held in one hand. They said nothing as they stepped over the bodies of traitors, men who’d sided with Hybern and had come to slaughter innocent women sleeping in their beds.

Had they succeeded?

Neither Lucien nor Eris spoke a word as they made their way over more bodies. Blood seemed to stain the marble walls, seeping into the cracks as it dried. How much of it was Elain’s, he wondered with dread in his heart.

His bedchamber door was wide open, the furniture strewn about. Someone had come looking—and hadn’t found what they were looking for. There was no sign of a struggle, that Elain had been woken by violence and dragged out. Still, Lucien wouldn’t be satisfied until he saw her, dead or alive.

“She’s probably with Arina,” Eris whispered, his voice hoarse. They turned for Eris’s bedchamber, which was far worse than Lucien’s. They’d clearly been in the room at some point and the scene of destruction was violent. Furniture was splintered and ruined, clothes pulled from drawers, windows cracked. A panel in the wall was left open—is that how they’d gotten out? Had they heard the commotion and made a run for it?

Lucien didn’t need to ask his brother to follow behind him. All he heard was his half panicked breathing as his mind began conjuring the most horrific images imaginable. He saw Elain’s body, broken and bleeding, eyes lifeless and her spirit gone. He could see no scenario in which Elain somehow managed to invade a swarm of well-armed soldiers with her life.

They emerged in the kitchen to a grizzly sight.

Eris exhaled when he saw that dead body. “Arina,” he murmured as though he were some kind of prophet. How he knew, Lucien didn’t ask. He merely followed into the dark where they found yet another body butchered with the unmistakable politeness that belonged to Elain. He could practically see the apology written into the skin beside the smell of vomit wafting upward from the grass.

“Where are they?” Lucien asked, turning to look toward the glow of the palace. “You don’t think they went into the city?”

Eris crossed his arms over his chest. “How much of the future do you think they know?”

“Too much,” Lucien groaned. They sprinted for the palace, though in truth Elain and Arina could have been anywhere. Was Hybern stupid enough to return here, when fleeing the city, living in exile, and amassing an army to better challenge Lucien would have been the smarter course of action?

In the end, Lucien and Eris found Arina standing before Hybern and six soldiers, kneeling before him with her eyes cast down. He was delivering some sermon, orating before a woman forced to listen. Lucien wouldn’t have wished it on his worst enemy.

“Step away,” Eris ordered, ending the long-winded explanation.

“You’re outnumbered,” Hybern said. Who had given him the black eye, Lucien wondered? Was it Arina? Gods above, he hoped so. The humiliation at being bested by a woman would follow him straight to Tartarus. There would be no heroes welcome for Hybern in Elysium. “Its over only for you.”

Lucien’s tongue was stuck to his throat. If Arina was here waiting to die, where was Elain? There was only one explanation—she was already dead, body yet undiscovered. It filled him with an icy hatred he couldn’t quite swallow.

They couldn’t take all seven without letting Arina die. Eris must have calculated the odds in his heads, too, and come to the same conclusion. Was her death acceptable collateral damage? Could Lucien look his brother in the eyes, could he ask for his support knowing he let his new wife die so they could retain control of the empire?

What would he do if it was Elain?

Lucien felt impulsive and reckless. Maybe he didn’t care. Why should Eris get his wife when Lucien’s was almost certainly dead. The unfairness of the fates to bring her to him, only to cruelly snatch her away.

He took a step forward as Hybern raised his blade for Arina. She looked up, eyes blazing not with defiance, but amusement.

“No—” Eris halted as a shadow moved just behind Hybern, slipping from behind a curtain. A moment later the sharpened tip of a dagger protruded wholly through Hyberns throat, causing his eyes to bulge with fear. He tried to turn, but Arina was on her feet in a flash, taking advantage of everyone's surprise to add her own dagger to the mix.

“I warned you,” Arina said. “I told you that you died tonight.”

Elain’s face was pale and splattered with old and new blood. She wasn’t built for war—Lucien’s sword was unsheathed, his mission reaffirmed. Hyberns soldiers never got within an inch of her beautiful face. They met Lucien’s sword swiftly, turning their attention to him and his brother while Elain and Arina continued taunting a dying Hybern as though they were Seers blessed by the gods.

It must have been terrifying final words, though, and for that Lucien was grateful for the pair of them. He’d laugh about it later. Right then, all Lucien cared about was Elain, staring at him with the widest pair of brown eyes.

She laughed when she saw him. Laughed even as tears began to gather in her eyes and laughed some more when her knees gave out and he had to hold her against him. It was nothing like Arina, who began yelling loudly at Eris in that strange language, hands flying while his brother merely nodded his eyes as if he understood a word of it.

Maybe he did. After all, Eris did say, “Watch your tone,” in a soft growl.

“Elain, I…” Lucien felt immense shame as he looked upon her. He’d sworn to keep her safe and failed at the first opportunity to prove he was a man of his word.

Elain merely threw her arms around his neck, face buried against his blood stained toga. “You’re alive. I was so afraid…so afraid…”

Lucien murmured nothing that was reassuring before Jurian returned with a good half of the Praetorian Guard. The night wasn’t over—but his wife was alive. Ordering soldiers to stand outside her door, the three returned to the city to help with the flames and sweep up the last few remaining dissenters.

They all met Rhysand’s blade while the Thracian General smiled widely, face upturned toward the inky night sky. He’d never seen the man happier which disturbed him. That was a problem for another day, another time.

Right then—all Lucien needed was Elain.

He didn’t bother washing himself, still coated in blood when he found her standing in their bed chamber.

“I’m sorry,” he breathed, making his way toward her. Lucien meant to cup her face in his hands, but his knees gave way, causing him to once again kneel before this woman. Lucien bowed his head, hair sliding over his neck and if she’d wanted, she could have taken his head from him. Maybe he deserved it.

Elain’s dress rustled as she joined him on the ground, doing what he should have done—taking his face between her hands so he had to look at her.

“It was worth it to be here with you,” she whispered, eyes searching his own. “I have no regrets. Do you?”

“None,” he swore. “You are my empire, Elain. The only fealty I ever swore loyalty to.”

“Then rise, Lucien,” she murmured. Lucien did, taking her hand in his so they came up together. He reached for her then, kissing her fiercely. Elain had defied the very nature of time itself to be here with him, to live in this place. For him. She hadn’t stayed out of duty or some great love of the past, though he suspected it didn’t hurt that she was interested in his home and this place.

“Never again,” he swore, holding his wife close. Mouth pressed to her hair, Lucien repeated his vow. “Never again.

Two thousand years in the future, historians would examine the events of that July night. Papers would be written, accounts examined, sites dug up. Artists drew their renditions of the Emperor running into the street to put out the fire, of the Thracian Gladiator who fought side-by-side with Romans to quell a would-be coup.

And of the Empress who’d slaughtered the initiator of the plot. Elain understood, now, why there were limited records of Helena—because she was from the future, and couldn’t reveal how much she knew without destroying, perhaps, the very fabric of time.

Lucien wrote very little of her as well, though they did exchange letters that she knew would be mostly lost to time. Her face would be forever etched on coins, her memory preserved in academic works. In that way, she never really left her friends and family, though she doubted they’d ever see it that way.

But for Elain, it was enough.

#elucien #i had the time of my life fighting traitors to the roman empire with you #also that erina smut scene was stolen from the memory loss fic and just edited to fit the circumstances #i had to remove this line though and im sad about it:#Right then and there #Arina decided she wanted to be the girl he called whenever he couldn’t get out of his own head. She wanted Eris Vanserra to regret her.

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kingofsummer93 · 2 years ago

Text

Ex Luna Scientia

Summary:

Lucien Vanserra, seventh son of the Minister for Magic, is as loved by his peers as he is hated by his family. But behind the charm and irreverence hides a secret, as dark and menacing as the scar on his face.

Elain Archeron, middle sister in a trio of muggle-born witches, has only one wish: for someone to truly see her. Because when she sleeps at night, she can see it all.

Or- an Elucien at Hogwarts AU.

Chapter 19: The Intruder

Ao3 Masterlist

“Don’t look at me like that, Mr Vanserra,” Professor Amren said drily from behind her desk. “You brought this on yourself.”

Lucien sighed in frustration. “Creevy is a dolt. He can barely stay on top of his broom. There’s no way we’re going to win this match.”

It was more than a slight exaggeration, not to mention a wildly uncharitable thought, given Lucien was team captain and had chosen Creevy as backup Seeker, but still. He wasn’t in the mood to feel anything but resentment and jealousy as he slumped in his chair, his gaze trained on the Quidditch match happening in the grounds below. A match he should have the star of, not Creevy.

His punishment for getting caught out of bed after hours and breaking into the teacher’s lounge had consisted of six weeks of Saturday morning detentions, all served with Professor Amren. Lucien had been relieved at first- it had seemed like a fair punishment, considering the scope of rule-breaking he and Elain had actually been doing, and how much worse it could have been had Peeves actually seen them come out of the Floo Network. But then Lucien realized his Head of House had scheduled it this way to prevent him from playing in the last Quidditch match of the year.

Lucien had groveled as he had never groveled before. He’d pleaded, and bargained, and argued- all to no avail. Professor Amren would not be swayed in her decision.

“Then you should have thought of that before gallivanting all over the castle in the middle of the night as if it was your private residence,” the teacher replied, her own gaze fixed on the match.

Lucien knew that Professor Amren was a passionate Quidditch fan, and was deeply invested in the Inter-House championship. Being stuck indoors during the final match must have been as much a punishment for her as it was for him. And yet even that argument hadn’t succeeded in changing her mind.

He grumbled under his breath and turned away from the match at the sight of Creevy just barely avoiding being hit by a bludger. The weekend edition of the Daily Prophet was spread on the desk in front of him, each article more grim than the last.

Lockdown at the Ministry Continues- Minister for Magic growing Paranoid? (full story on pg 8).

Dementor Sighting in South London- A full report by Dellagus Dingle, story below.

The one hundred and forty-second installment of the Tri-Trials Tournament Set to Continue at Hogwarts- A Harmless Competition, or an Inappropriate use of ministry resources during uncertain times? (full story on pg 14).

At least there was no hint of Briallyn Skeeter’s hateful garbage anywhere. There were rumors circulating that the Daily Prophet had gone rogue, no longer subjecting its articles and journalists to the Ministry’s censorship. It thrilled Lucien just as much as it terrified him. His father wouldn’t stand for this- not for much longer. The simple fact that he was letting rebellion of any kind happen amongst the magical community was a sign that he had other, more sinister plans to focus on.

Lucien snapped his head up at the sound of a roar from the Quidditch pitch below. The Slytherin stands were in a frenzy, cheering so loudly the sound traveled all the way to the castle. Their players swooped in formation around their Seeker, who held his clenched fist (and the Snitch he had caught) high in the air. Lucien watched bitterly as they flew a celebratory lap around the pitch. Several magical fireworks were set off, green and silver snakes lighting up the late afternoon sky.

An arrogant, ugly part of him was oddly, wickedly relieved. They had lost, and his team would be furious with him, but at least they hadn’t won because of someone else. It was petty, and childish, but he couldn’t help it.

When he turned back to Professor Amren she was staring at him, her mouth pressed in a thin line.

“Don’t look at me like that!” he said defiantly.

She narrowed her eyes at him. “You’d better wipe that look off your face before your teammates think you’re glad they lost.”

Lucien squirmed uncomfortably. Amren had a way of eerily guessing exactly what he was thinking. “Why would I be glad they lost?” he asked petulantly.

She fixed him with a look, and then pointed towards the door. “Get out before you say something to earn yourself more detentions.”

Lucien shot out of his seat and aimed straight for the door.

“Mr Vanserra,” Professor Amren called before he could escape, “do try to stay out of trouble, will you? There’s only a few weeks left of term, surely you can manage?”

There was an uncharacteristic edge to her tone that made him pause. Not for the first time he wondered if the severity of his punishment had not been because of the crime itself, but as a way to make him think twice about sneaking around, considering everything that was happening.

“You sound like my mother,” he quipped, the words leaving his mouth before he could stop them.

The look she fixed on him was nothing short of demonic.

“Who is an incredible woman that I admire, and therefore you should take it as a compliment!” he quickly added.

Amren pointed to the door wordlessly, though it looked as if she was struggling to keep herself from smiling. Lucien gave her a mock bow, and turned on his heel.

“And do try not to get yourself killed in the last Trial!” she called after him.

Lucien spun around, but Amren held up a hand. “No, Mr Vanserra, I cannot tell you what it is.”

“But think of the further shame to Gryffindor if I lose!”

“Consider yourself lucky you weren’t disqualified. Now get out.”

This time Lucien kept his mouth shut and hurried out of her office.

The castle was deserted with everybody still either celebrating or moping down at the Quidditch pitch, so he took a meandering route towards the Great Hall, letting his thoughts wander. Elain would just be coming out of her last detention as well. Perhaps he could intercept her on her way back from the greenhouses and they could take advantage of the empty castle…

Lucien was so lost in thought he didn’t see the other figure walking down the hall until he walked directly into them.

“Oof! Sorry, I didn’t see-“ His words died in his throat as he registered who stood in front of him.

Matted shoulder-length brown hair, haunted dark eyes, a ragged cloak covering robes that looked ready to dissolve into dust from a mere touch. He was barely recognizable- and from the look in his eyes, hardly seemed in control of himself.

“Mr…Mr Koschei, are you alright, sir?” Lucien was so shocked by the man’s appearance that before he could say anything else, or step away, the man had lunged at him and grabbed the front of his robes with an iron grip.

“Spell-Cleaver!” Koschei rasped, “I need to speak to Professor Spell-Cleaver!” Lucien stumbled back, but the man held firm. His eyes were wild, haunted, and he was panting heavily, as if he’d been running through the castle.

Lucien looked up and down the deserted corridor, but there was no sign of anybody. How had the man even entered the castle undetected? He must have snuck in somehow while everyone was down by the Quidditch pitch.

“He’ll be coming back shortly,” Lucien started, trying to free himself from the man’s grasp. “Everyone is down by the Quidditch pitch, it was the finals…”

“Azkaban!” the man rasped. “Tell Helion…tell him��” Lucien’s heart rate picked up, adrenaline coursing through him. Azkaban. Was it true, then?

“Tell him what?” Lucien asked urgently. “Sir…how did you get here? Where have you been?”

“Tell him…before it’s too late!”

Lucien managed to wrestle himself from the man’s grip. “Before…before it’s too late for what?”

But Koschei didn’t answer. Something was happening to him- he was breathing faster and faster, a hand clutched to his chest, as if he was fighting some internal force.

“I can bring you to his office, you can wait for him there-”

Koschei looked up again, and Lucien recoiled. His wild, haunted brown eyes had glazed over, taking on a milky, strange quality. Professor Amren had demonstrated the three Unforgivable Curses on an unlucky spider the previous year, and the look in that spider’s many eyes as the Professor made it twirl and tap dance across her desk was the same currently in Koschei’s eyes.

“Sir?” Lucien asked nervously, taking a step back. He slid his hand into his pocket to grab his wand- for whatever good it would do him faced with a fully trained Auror with decades of experience and training. “Did you…do you want to wait here while I find someone? Professor Amren-”

He trailed off as Koschei’s face split into a wild grin. The man sniffed in his direction, his smile turning almost feral. “What do we have here?”

Lucien took another step back, his heart racing. He couldn’t fight Koschei, but he could maybe outrun him. The man looked haggard and exhausted, and Lucien had the advantage of knowing every nook and hidden passageway in this castle. “A werewolf?”

Lucien’s heart stuttered in his chest. He froze, his wand still clutched tightly in his hand. “What did you say?”

Koschei sniffed again. “You belong with the others.”

“The others…the other what?” Though Lucien had a feeling he knew very well what Koschei was referring to.

“My other little soldiers,” Koschei whispered under his breath. “My master will be so pleased I’ve found another for his army.”

Lucien took another unconscious step backwards, and again Koschei followed. There was no doubt in Lucien’s mind who Koschei’s master referred to, though the rest of his words made bile rise up his throat.

“What does he plan to do with that army?” Another step backwards, closer to the wall. Koschei’s smirk widened as he saw Lucien had placed himself between him and what appeared to be a solid stone wall. Just a few more steps- if he could just keep him talking for a few more moments…

“How the humans will scream,” the man crooned, his glazed eyes shining with glee. “How easy it will be to get them to bend the knee.”

“Bend the…”

Lucien gaped in horror at the implication, but before he could think about it too deeply Koschei had raised his wand.

“You’re mine now, wolfling.”

The man’s mouth opened, but instead of a spell, he let out a ragged gasp. His eyes seemed to clear, if only for a moment, and they widened as he focused on Lucien.

“Run,” the man choked out.

Lucien didn’t wait to see if whatever hold was over Koschei would take over again. He lunged- not at Koschei, but at the wall, and the tapestry that he knew concealed a hidden passageway behind.

The sound of stone shattering echoed behind him as Koschei’s spell missed him by mere inches. He hurtled down the narrow stairwell hidden by the tapestry, almost slipping down the stairs in his hurry. He didn’t dare pause to check if Koschei was chasing after him. Perhaps the part of his brain that seemed to be fighting the Imperius charm would slow him down enough to give Lucien a head start.

The bottom of the hidden stairs were concealed by a suit of armor. Lucien jostled it as he burst out of the stairwell, wincing as the clang of metal echoed around the empty corridor.

“Oy!” the armor called after him. “Watch yourself, there, comrade!”

He raced down the corridor, and then another one, hurtling down staircase after staircase. By the time he reached the marble stairs leading to the Entrance Hall he was panting. The front doors to the castle were thrown open, a steady stream of chattering students drifting towards the Great Hall. A few people looked at him curiously as he jostled his way through the crowd.

“The Headmaster!” he gasped, still breathless. “Where is Spell-Cleaver?”

Someone pointed over their shoulder, to the gently sloping lawn and the swarms of students returning from the match. Lucien almost tripped over his own feet as he raced down the front steps, pushing through the crowd for a tall figure with onyx hair.

“Professor Spell-Cleaver! Sir!”

The headmaster’s golden eyes flashed in alarm as he spotted Lucien. “Mr Vanserra!” he exclaimed, the smile wiping from his face. “What is the matter?”

“Koschei!” Lucien gasped, bracing his hands on his knees to catch his breath. “Bartemius Koschei, he’s…he’s here, looking for you.”

“What matter of nonsense is this?” demanded Professor Hybern, frowning at Lucien.

“You saw him?” the Headmaster asked sharply, cutting off the Potions master.

“Yes! Inside the castle, he was asking for you. He seemed…” Lucien struggled to find the right description. “Not right.”

“Where?” Professor Spell-Cleaver had already pulled out his wand, and Lucien followed him as he hurried up the castle’s front steps.

“Third floor, near the library, but he…well, he was chasing me at one point, so I don’t know where he is now...”

The headmaster’s face paled slightly. “PREFECTS!” his voice echoed around the Entrance Hall, and the gathered students halted. “Gather your houses into the Great Hall. Nobody leaves until you are instructed to. Head Boy and Girl- you’re in charge. Professors, come with me.”

---

The search went on for so long that at some point the long house tables were replaced by squashy purple sleeping bags, courtesy of a flick of Professor Tarquin’s wand. Gossip and rumors spread like wildfire, each more absurd than the last. At one point during his rounds around the hall Lucien overheard a second year swear up and down that she had seen a troll near the second floor girls’ lavatory.

“I heard there were two of them,” he couldn’t help but whisper to her, smirking as her friends all gaped at him in horror.

“Lucien!” Vassa scorned with an eye-roll. “He’s joking. Get in your sleeping bags, it’s lights out soon.”

The second years scurried under their blankets, eyes still wide with fear.

“Are we in danger?” the girl asked as she pulled the sleeping bag up to her chin.

Vassa glared at him again before kneeling next to the girl, and Lucien winced, walking away quickly. He glanced at the closed doors to the Great Hall for the thousandth time. Professor Spell-Cleaver had dispatched the teachers and ghosts to search the castle with such swift efficiency that he had little doubt they’d not only been trained for such a probability, but had been expecting it as well.

“Lucien!” someone whisper-shouted from the rows of Gryffindor students. “Psst!”

Lucien spotted Feyre, who had dragged her sleeping bag suspiciously close to Tamlin’s. Jurian, to his credit, had seemingly not made any comments. Both of them were still in their Quidditch robes, and reeked so badly that at one point he and Vassa had doused them with streams of water from their wands.

“Is it true?” Feyre asked, eyes wide.

Lucien had never once seen her look so fazed. He’d seen her march onto the Quidditch pitch in all kinds of weather, zooming towards the goal posts while dodging bludgers left and right, even arguing with the referee when she disagreed with a ruling. Feyre usually acted like she’d seen and done it all, but at this moment she looked like what she was- a scared teenager. It rattled him enough that he momentarily forgot about his own fears, desperate to get her back to her usual spirits.

Lucien sat at the end of her sleeping bag, smirking at her. “About the troll?”

Feyre gasped at the same time as a hand smacked him on the back of the head. “Stop that.” Elain sat down next to her sister, eyes grave. “That rumor is spreading like wildfire. The younger kids are terrified.”

“Better than them knowing there’s a madman on the loose in the castle,” Lucien said drily. He shivered at the memory of the haunted look in Koschei’s eyes. He’d battle a troll over a mind-controlled, battle-trained Auror any day.

“So it is true.” Feyre scooted closer to her sister. “Why is he here, though?”

“I don’t know.” Lucien glanced around them, keeping his voice low. “Don’t spread it around, though. The teachers don’t want people to panic.”

“And he really attacked you?” Feyre whispered incredulously. “I’ve read about him in the Daily Prophet. Some people think he’s been going mad for years. Maybe he’s finally snapped.”

Lucien avoided her searching gaze, not daring to look at his friends or Elain, the only people to whom he’d hurriedly whispered the full details of exactly what Koschei had said to him. That, and the fact that he had seemed to be fighting like hell against the Imperius Charm.

Had he come here on some wild attempt to alert Spell-Cleaver to what his father had been forcing him to do? It had certainly seemed like it, though judging from the state he was in Lucien didn’t think they’d easily get information out of him. If he had taken the risk of traveling all the way from Azkaban to Hogwarts, though, he must truly have been desperate- to admit to what he had done, or perhaps to escape.

You’re mine now, wolfling.

A shiver went down his spine not just at the implied threat, but at what would have happened if someone had overheard. His friends seemed to edge closer around him in silent solidarity, unable to speak freely in the packed Great Hall.

“Lights out in ten minutes!” Rhysand called from the front of the hall. “Get in your sleeping bags!”

The noise in the Great Hall seemed to increase, until a loud BANG! accompanied by a spray of red sparks stunned everybody into silence.

“Get in your blasted sleeping bags!” Nuan called, pointing her wand at her throat to magically amplify her voice. “NOW!”

The search went into the night. Professors came by every hour to make sure that everything was under control, and then swiftly left again. Without the glow of the hundreds of floating candles near the ceiling, the only light came from the pearly sheen of ghosts drifting in and out of the Hall, and from the clear night sky above.

Lucien refused to look, though it pulled at him like an itch. He knew what he’d find there without having to look up. A perfect crescent moon, bright and silvery, as innocent and harmless as the winking stars around it. And yet powerful enough to ruin lives- to turn innocent people into monsters unfit for society, according to his father.

Would he feel the same way, if he had never been bitten? Or if he hadn’t found such a fierce circle of friends? Lucien never let himself dwell on that for too long.

The doors to the Great Hall opened, and Professor Amren slipped in, looking uncharacteristically frazzled. Lucien paused from where he’d been pacing between the rows of sleeping bags, half-heartedly shushing younger students. He locked eyes with Elain, who had also paused her sleepy monitoring of the Huflfepuffs. She hurried over to him, almost stepping over some tiny first years.

“This can’t be good,” she whispered.

Lucien grabbed her hand and squeezed, just as Amren finished her conversation with the Head Boy and Girl, and then turned in his direction.

“That can’t be good.”

With a wave of the Professor’s wand the floating candles ignited, bathing the previously dark hall in golden light. All around them students grumbled, shielding their eyes from the light.

“Mr Vanserra,” Amren said as she approached them. “Come with me, please.”

“What’s going on?” he blurted.

“Have you found him?” Elain whispered.

Something like distress flashed across the teacher’s face, but a second later her neutral mask was back in place. “The castle is secure. The Prefects have been instructed to escort their houses back to their dormitories.” She turned to Lucien. “The headmaster would like a word with you, Mr Vanserra.”

His heart dropped. Either they had found Koschei, and what he had to say somehow concerned him, or they hadn’t found him at all- and perhaps didn’t believe him. He opened his mouth to protest, and quickly shut it again at a warning look from Amren. Elain squeezed his hand again, her mouth set in a grim line, before disappearing towards the rows of sleeping Hufflepuffs.

“Professor-”

“Not here, Lucien.”

The unusual use of his first name shut him up once more. Students stared as they passed, some curiously, some looking annoyed. Perhaps they’d all think he’d made this up, too.

But Koschei…where could he have gone? He couldn’t have left through the front doors unseen, and nobody but Spell-Cleaver could apparate in or out of the castle and grounds. The fireplaces in the teachers’ lounge and Helion’s office were connected to the Floo Network, but they would have been immediately sealed off once the teachers started their search. The only other way in or out of the castle was through the secret passageways- the one leading to the basement of Honeydukes amongst them. Lucien doubted someone like Koschei would have been aware of secret passageways during his years at Hogwarts.

“Professor,” he tried again once they were out of earshot of the Great Hall. “I didn’t make it up, I swear-”

Professor Amren held up a hand, her eyes wary. “Nobody is accusing you of lying, Mr Vanserra. The Headmaster wishes to know everything Mr Koschei told you when you…encountered him.”

“But-”

“We have found the evidence.” Her tone did not invite for further questions, but Lucien was relieved enough to keep his mouth shut. They’d found the scorch marks on the walls from Koschei’s attempted hexes, then. Or perhaps the man had left some other evidence as he fled. Or perhaps…

“Did you find him?”

Professor Amren didn’t reply, which was answer enough. Lucien’s gut churned with dread. Not just at what Koschei might have revealed, but at whatever state the man would be in.

“Cockroach Clusters,” Amren said once they had reached the gargoyle that guarded the headmaster’s office. It jumped to the side, revealing a spiral staircase moving upwards of its own accord. Once they reached the top Amren gave a single knock and pushed open the doors.

Lucien had been in trouble enough times during his years at Hogwarts that this was not his first time inside the Headmaster’s office. The many tables with their curious silver objects spinning and puffing, the model of the solar system (it’s soft clicking and whirring so similar to the sound his magical eye made), even the portraits of previous Headmasters and Headmistresses were familiar.

What he never expected to see was the sight of his eldest brother sitting in front of the Headmaster’s desk, looking as agitated as Amren. Eris jumped out of his chair and crossed the room in three long strides, crushing Lucien into a hug.

“Lucien! Helion told me what happened, are you alright?”

Lucien huffed an awkward laugh. “I’m fine. Are you…what are you doing here?”

He looked around the room, but there was no sign of Koschei. “Where’s Koschei? I thought he was found?”

“Please have a seat, Lucien.” Professor Spell-Cleaver gestured to the armchairs facing his desk.

“What’s going on?” Lucien asked uncertainly, sitting down next to his brother.

“Bartemius Koschei was indeed found,” the Headmaster started carefully. “Dead, on the grounds below the Astronomy tower.”

Whatever questions he had been preparing to ask instantly died on his tongue. “What? But you said…” Amren’s words landed in his consciousness. We found the evidence. “Oh, shit.”

“Language, Mr Vanserra,” Amren snapped.

“Oh, shit, indeed,” his brother echoed.

“What…how-”

“It would appear that he jumped,” Helion said solemnly.

“He-“ Lucien gaped in horror. “What? Why?”

“You were the last person to see him alive. We were hoping you might enlighten us about his state of mind when you saw him.”

Koschei had jumped. Had he done it of clear mind, to put an end to his torment, or had the Imperius charm forced him to do it? Either way, whatever knowledge he possessed of his father’s plans would have died with him.

“He…” Lucien loosed a deep breath, running a hand through his hair. His face burned as he remembered the way Koschei had sniffed at him, as if he could scent what he was.

You’re mine now, wolfling.

“He wasn’t right. One second he was asking me to take him to the Headmaster, and the next he was trying to take me. It’s like he was fighting for control of himself.”

Amren and Helion shared a cryptic glance. Eris’ hand clamped on his shoulder, so tightly it hurt.

“He wanted to take me,” he mumbled. His fists clenched in his lap, from equal parts anger and humiliation. “He said something about me belonging with the others. He said his master would be pleased he’d found another for his army.”

“What else?” the headmaster prompted gently.

Lucien ran through the encounter, from Koschei’s pleas to speak to the Headmaster, to his veiled references of Azkaban, and his final, desperate urge to Lucien to run.

Eris’ hand tightened on his shoulder. “It’s what we suspected, then,” his brother said darkly.

“What did you suspect?”

Amren cut a sharp glance to Eris. “Perhaps it wouldn’t be wise to-“

“He’s my father!” Lucien snapped. Out of the corner of his eye he could have sworn he saw Helion flinch. “Estranged or no, I deserve to know what you think he’s planning!”

“Let us worry about that,” Eris said. “You don’t need to concern yourself-“

“It started concerning me the day that madman tried to kill Elain during the first trial! He was already under the Imperius curse- he must have been.”

“Why would he do such a thing?” Amren’s face had gone pale.

To Lucien’s surprise it was Helion who answered. “Because she is a Seer, and may have once Seen something Beron wishes to keep quiet.”

“We have it,” Lucien said, before he could fully process the implication of what he was saying. “We have the prophecy, it’s here in the castle.”

Helion’s face slackened with shock. A deafening silence fell. The only sound was the gentle clicking of the golden solar system, and the whirring and puffing of the various odd instruments. Lucien could have sworn one of the odd sounds seemed to grow louder- a faint hissing growing into something resembling a shrieking kettle, coming from something that looked like a spinning top. Helion turned to look at it sharply, his eyes flashing in alarm.

The next moment a flying paper airplane zoomed out of the fireplace and landed smoothly on Helion’s desk. Lucien recognized the Vanserra seal immediately- an oak tree surrounded by a circle of flames, in blood-red wax. Dread slithered down his spine in an icy drip.

The Headmaster tore the memo open, and then jumped to his feet. “Go,” he told Eris urgently. “Alert the others, quietly. Keep a low profile and don’t do anything until my signal.”

Eris clapped Lucien on the back again. “That goes for you too. Don’t do anything crazy. I’ll send word when I can. The third Trial is in a few weeks, I’ll be back then.”

“Go!” Helion pointed his wand towards the fireplace, and flames roared to life. “They’re coming.”

“How did they hear so quickly?” Amren asked. Lucien noticed her hand was shaking as she clenched her wand. Something about that made him jump to his feet also.

“Wait!”

But Eris was already throwing a handful of powder into the fire, and with one last grim wave he disappeared into the emerald fire.

Amren whirled towards him. “Go back to your dormitory at once.”

“Who are they?” Lucien asked urgently, making no move to leave. “Who’s coming?” Although he had a bad feeling he already knew the answer.

“Your father,” Helion said grimly. “Likely to twist this situation to his advantage.” Before Lucien could react the Headmaster stalked around the desk and gripped him by the shoulders. “Lucien, listen to me. It’s very important that nobody else find out about that prophecy. Keep it hidden,” he urged. “Wherever you put it, keep it there. Don’t look at it, don’t show it to anybody. Things could be very bad for Ms Archeron if your father decides she’s more of a threat than he already thinks she is.”

“But-”

“And for Merlin’s sake, Mr Vanserra. Please remind your friends that they are not allowed out of the castle after hours. It’s not safe anymore.”

Lucien was so shocked that he could barely process what Helion was saying. “How did you-“

“Helion!” Amren warned.

The flames in the hearth were glowing emerald once more. From a little table near the Headmaster’s desk the spinning top was whirring madly, hissing a high-pitched noise.

“What is that?”

“A warning,” Helion said darkly, “that my enemies are near.”

A figure appeared in the flames, and then two more. And then his father was stepping out of the flames, flanked by two burly wizards who had to be Aurors. His father’s cold eyes, so like his brothers’ but missing the wry humor, blinked in the briefest hint of surprise before darkening once more.

“Minister,” Helion greeted his father coldly, his tone dripping with disdain.

His father didn’t deign to reply, and instead narrowed his eyes at Lucien. Behind him one of the Aurors nodded towards Helion, almost imperceptibly.

“Lucien,” Amren murmured. “Go back to your dormitory. Now.”

Lucien turned on his heels, for once not inclined to argue.

“Wait.” The Headmaster’s voice made him halt in his tracks. “Lucien is a key witness to what happened here tonight. I’m sure the Ministry will want to hear his account of the events.”

“What is the meaning of this?” Beron asked with a sneer. “Why is the boy here?”

Hearing his own father speak of him as if he wasn’t even in the room jolted him out of his shocked silence. “Because your puppet attacked me today, before flinging himself off the Astronomy tower, that’s why!”

The two Aurors stiffened slightly. Had they not been given all the details?

“He attacked you?” The one who had nodded to Helion asked, his eyes flashing in anger. “Were any other students involved?”

“No, everyone was at the Quidditch match. I was…” Lucien shuffled awkwardly. “I was coming back from detention.”

His father snorted with disdain. “Of course he was. This is nonsense. Why would an upstanding member of the ministry attack a helpless student?”

Lucien opened his mouth to retort, and then shut it again, all too aware of the two strangers in the room- and what it would likely mean for him, if anyone ever found out why Koschei had been so interested in him.

“The real question, Beron, is why one of your lackeys was inside my school, attacking one of my students, while seemingly fighting the influence of a powerful Imperius charm? What did he wish to tell me so badly that he risked coming all this way?”

“Nonsense,” Beron said again, waving a hand impatiently. “I was well aware that Koschei was coming here tonight, as I was the one who sent him here.”

Lucien glanced to the Auror on his father’s left, who was once again looking in the Headmaster’s direction. A slight quirk of his eyebrow was confirmation enough that his father was lying, if he hadn’t already been certain of it.

“Oh?” Amren asked drily. “And for what purpose? And why was he slinking around like a criminal instead of walking in through the front gates like a normal guest?”

“Perhaps he was afraid of the new guards,” Beron replied with an asp’s smile.

“What are you going on about?”

“He means,” Helion replied calmly, pointing to the window, “them.”

All heads turned towards the windows, facing the Hogwarts grounds and the Forbidden Forest in the distance. And facing the tall, imposing figures prowling along the perimeter of the grounds like nightmarish guards. Lucien whipped his head towards the Headmaster, who seemed perfectly unconcerned by the presence of giants on his lawn.

“Precisely. And the reason for Koschei’s presence here tonight. You see, as Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, I sent him to negotiate with you on my behalf about the removal of these absurd creatures. But of course you couldn’t see reason, and while protecting himself from you he fell to his death from the top of the Astronomy Tower. A convenient place for a duel, if one wishes to make a murder seem like an accident.”

“What?!” Amren exploded, stalking up to the Minister, shaking from head to foot. “That is a preposterous lie, nobody will believe you.”

Lucien backed up a step towards the door, even though they all seemed to have forgotten he was there. The impossibility of the situation was becoming clear to him, horribly so. People would believe the Ministry’s version of events- or at least, enough to shed doubt on what had really happened.

“Stand down, Deputy Headmistress.” The second Auror spoke for the first time since arriving, his voice nothing but pure menace.

“You do not threaten my teachers inside my school.” Violence seemed to radiate from Helion, enough that the window panes raddled within their frames.

Lucien noted with some satisfaction that his father balked slightly at the power thrumming from the Headmaster. But then his face changed, and he grinned with an awful sort of glee.

“Alas, Headmaster, I’m afraid this school is yours no longer.”

“What?” Lucien blurted.

All heads whipped towards him. “Lucien,” Amren urged. “Go!”

“No need,” Beron crooned. “Let him see how merciful I can be, when faced with criminals. Let him remember his father this way.”

“Why would I-“

“Enough!” Helion thundered. His deep complexion had turned ashen. “If you wish to accuse me of a crime, Minister, then get on with it.”

The Auror to his father’s right stepped forward, his wand clenched in his hand. “Helion Percival Wulfric Brian Spell-Cleaver, you are accused of murder in the first degree of Bartemius Koschei. Whatever titles you previously held, including Headmaster of this school, have now been revoked.”

“You cannot be serious-“

“It’s alright, Amren,” Helion said calmly. He stood up slowly, glancing out the window towards the figures in the distance. A sharp glance in his direction had Lucien backing up a few more steps.

“You will call off all giants on this property and around it, and you will come with us to Azkaban, where you will await sentencing.” The Auror’s slimy grin widened, as if picturing the fate that would await Helion at Azkaban.

“Ahh, see, that’s where you’ve got it wrong.” Helion was still calmly standing behind his desk, though his wand had slipped into his hand. “Because I don't intend to do either of those things.”

“Put down your wand,” the Auror warned, taking a step towards the headmaster.

Another rumble of power rippled through the office, making the floor tremble. Lucien’s back was against the door, but he couldn’t look away from the scene unfolding in front of him.

“I’d suggest you put down yours, Nox,” Amren snarled, standing between the Ministry members and Helion’s desk.

“Amren.” Helion’s tone was deadly calm, as if he wasn’t seconds away from being arrested for a crime he didn’t commit. “Take care of the school. The students need to know what really happened here tonight.”

His father scoffed. “And you seriously believe anyone will believe the word of a madman and a delinquent teenager?”

Helion turned towards Beron with a savage grin. “I’d suggest you stay far away from this castle, Minister, and advise your men to do the same. My new guards, as you call them, are extremely loyal to me. And by extension, this school.”

“That’s enough,” Beron drawled. “Take him.”

Both Aurors’ wands rose in unison, but not quickly enough. Before either of them could do much as open their mouths, a burst of light flared from Helion’s wand, sending them sprawling to the floor. Lucien’s hand closed around the doorknob, but before he could wrench the door open Helion’s gaze flicked towards him.

“Help will always come to Hogwarts students who need it,” he said cryptically.

He outstretched his arm, and in a flutter of wings a vibrant phoenix swooped from his perch near the door. The two Aurors were jumping to their feet, but with another flash of light both Headmaster and phoenix had disappeared into thin air.

Lucien yanked the door open and hurtled down the stairs, not waiting to see his father’s reaction, or Amren’s. The halls were deserted, all students having made their way back for their respective dormitories, and his footsteps echoed as he sprinted back towards Gryffindor tower. He didn’t dare stop until the Fat Lady came into view.

“Bubbling brooks! BUBBLING BROOKS!!!”

“Alright, alright,” she huffed, though she appeared alarmed at his appearance. “All this fuss tonight.”

He almost tripped over the portrait hole, and once he was inside he blinked in surprise at the room full of students, none of whom seemed to have any interest in going to bed.

“Lucien!”

“Merlin, where were you?”

“Is it true?”

“Did they find Koschei?”

“Did he really attack you?”

“Helion,” Lucien croaked, his mind spinning from what he’d just witnessed. “They…He’s gone. The Headmaster’s gone.”

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#fuck you Beron #elucien #elucien fanfiction #elucien fanfic #lucien vanserra #elain archeron #how many references can I fit into one chapter

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