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the-darkestminds · 8 months ago

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Desolate Autumn 🍂

Eris refuses his father's order to kill Lucien's lover, Jesminda, and faces severe punishment. Lucien flees the Autumn Court.

In canon, Eris states that he wasn’t present for the execution. I explored what it might have been like if he had been there. I can’t stop making my fave Vanserra brothers suffer. 😭

🍁 Eris & Lucien POV 🍁

Can also be found on ao3 here!

Hope you guys enjoy 🥹 eternally grateful to anyone who chooses to read it all the way through 🫶

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Eris

Eris had long since learned to dread being summoned to his father’s throne room. He had only unpleasant memories of the place, and chose to avoid it as often as he could. As the eldest son of Autumn, that was not often enough. His footsteps echoed off the marble beneath him as he made his way through the Forest House. His mind was consumed with thoughts of last night’s patrol, the sentry who had been reported missing near Winter’s border without explanation. Eris pondered the problem as he turned the corner and the grand entrance to the throne room came into view. The arched hall was decorated with intricate carvings of golden vines, interspersed with rubies that sparkled in the afternoon light. He had always held the belief that the beauty of the Autumn Court was in stark contrast to the ugliness of the people who called it home.

Eris’s steps faltered as he entered the throne room, the scene unfolding before him. Lucien, a gag of fire between his lips, was restrained by his brothers, Jasper and Orson. He struggled against the grip they each had on his arms. A lesser faerie female was bound and on her knees before his father. Tears streamed down her face as she turned her pleading eyes towards Eris.

He stopped abruptly, his stomach sinking as understanding dawned on him as to why he had been called here. What he might be required to witness. He glanced around the room taking note of his father’s loyal sentries standing watch along the walls. His other brothers, Alix, Arden and Conall stood to the side with knowing smirks on their smug faces. Mercifully, his mother’s chair sat empty beside his father’s throne. At least she would not be here to bear witness to whatever horror was soon to unfold.

“You called?” Eris forced himself to say with a drawl. He flicked an invisible piece of lint from the lapel of his emerald green jacket. He kept his face cool and indifferent—it had become a near-permanent mask, here in his father’s court of snakes.

“Eris.” Beron’s voice thundered through the room. “We were just about to begin.” Jasper and Orson turned at his name, and both gave him a slight nod before quickly averting their eyes.

“Oh?” Eris glanced at Lucien once more, who thrashed against his brothers like a wildcat caught in a trap. His russet eyes so wide and pained as they met Eris’s from across the room. The band of fire around his mouth prevented him from speaking beyond frantic grunts and moans. Eris slid the practiced smirk on his face and tried to disguise the slight tremor in his hands as he clasped them behind his back. He tried to think of something he could say to prevent the impending violence, but his mind came up blank.

“Lucien here thinks to sully himself by marrying a lesser fae whore. He has deluded himself into believing she is a worthy match for a High Lord’s son,” Beron spat, his lip curling as he snarled in Lucien’s direction. Beron met Eris’s gaze once more and smiled viciously. “You shall eliminate the problem for me, Eris.” Beron delivered a swift and brutal kick to the female’s ribs and she curved in on herself with a pained cry. Lucien screamed.

“I am sure Lucien will come to see reason, eventually.” His smile was cold and harsh as he looked down at his youngest son.

Eris started at the command. That Beron would truly have Lucien’s lover executed in front of him…He was well acquainted with his father’s penchant for violence, but this seemed uniquely cruel, even for him. Eris knew he’d been stupid to hope his presence had been requested merely to oversee courtly business, or to deal with his ever-scheming younger brothers, always at each other’s throats. But an execution? To be carried out by Eris himself?

“No.” Eris’s heart raced. He had never once uttered that word to his father. Had not once, in his long life, disobeyed a direct order. The silence that followed was deafening. Beron jerked around at the outright refusal. His brothers gaped at him.

“What did you say to me, boy?” Beron seethed. The rage on his face was enough to send lesser males running. But Eris held his ground. He would not cross this line—would not be the one to break Lucien so thoroughly, so ruthlessly, that he might never recover from the pain and loss.

“I will play no part in this,” Eris shrugged. He fought to keep his tone measured and aloof despite the storm raging inside of him. His gut churned at the slight glint of hope he spied in Lucien’s eyes. Eris hated to give him that hope—knew that Beron would see this done with or without Eris’s involvement. Beron glared at him, and Eris held his gaze. Let it wash over him in all its fury. Seconds, maybe minutes, passed in silence. Then—

“Get out. I’ll deal with you later,” Beron sneered. Eris turned to leave and Lucien began screaming in earnest then, struggling wildly against Jasper and Orson as his other three brothers looked on with varying degrees of amusement. He screamed as if Eris had been his final hope—had come to save him from this hell he was now trapped in.

It cut Eris deep—to turn his back on Lucien and walk away. To burn that remaining sliver of hope to ash. When he reached the throne room doors, he heard his father unsheath the blade. Heard the sobs of the female on the floor. Heard as Lucien, the gag now removed, begged, “Jesminda! NO, FATHER, PLEASE! PLEASE!” And as Eris stepped into the hallway, he cringed at the wet thud that sounded as Jesminda’s head toppled to the floor, his stomach lurching in response. Lucien’s agonized shrieks rang loudly in his ears and he felt his heart splinter in two.

Eris barely made it to his chambers before he was violently sick upon the patterned carpet. With a wave of his hand he winnowed the mess away and stumbled towards the oak desk in the corner of his opulent rooms, eyes and throat burning. He had only minutes to see this through. Prayed that he was correct in thinking Beron would want Lucien to suffer for at least several days before finally ending it. Ending him. Eris found a spare bit of parchment and began hastily scrawling the urgent message to the High Lord of Spring. He did not sign it nor leave any indication of who it was from. The message vanished in a puff of smoke. He grabbed a second page, his handwriting sloppier with each frantic word he wrote. Just as the second note disappeared, there was a loud pounding on his chamber doors.

Eris knew what was coming then. He steeled himself as he opened the heavy wooden door, revealing four of his father’s most trusted guards. He did not ask them to explain themselves. Eris merely raised his chin, stepped into the hall, and closed the door behind him. His heart pounded with every step he took as the guards led him down, down, down into the coldest depths of the sprawling Forest House. Eris tried to clear his mind, tried to remain calm as they arrived in the frigid dungeons. With a deep breath in, he let himself be guided into the familiar cell. It had been worth it, he told himself. He prayed he was right.

Lucien

Lucien stirred. The first things he heard were the low cooing of a morning dove, the steady trickle of a fountain. A warm breeze that smelled of spring wrapped itself gently around him. And then he felt a throbbing pain in the back of his head. His eyes remained closed. Suddenly, memories came flooding back to him in a violent rush. Jesminda, executed by his father, the unlocked cell door, fleeing through the forest, Orson dead by his blade, and Tamlin, Jasper—The scenes flashed in his mind.

Lucien was dragged to an empty cell near the stables outside and tossed roughly to the ground. No better than a caged animal. He sat numbly in the cold, hard dirt, trying to block out the memory of Jesminda’s cries, her pleas to his father, to him, to spare her. The sound of the blade withdrawn from its sheath. The glint as his own father angled the sword back, and—The opening of the cell door shook him from his thoughts. A plate of stale bread and water was placed on the ground. As the unfamiliar sentry left, Lucien did not hear the click of the lock sliding back into place. He rose and made his way to the door on silent feet. Unlocked. He glanced down. There upon the plate, concealed beside the bread, was a dagger. He did not question his luck. He palmed the dagger and opened the door.

And then he was running. Barreling through the brisk Autumn forest. Red and gold and orange streaked by him as he sprinted as fast as his legs would carry him south. His chest heaved with every step, until he tasted blood on his tongue and his lungs burned painfully. He could hear his brothers in pursuit of him, crashing through the branches and leaves scattered about the damp forest floor. They were close–their taunting jeers sounded loudly in his ears. He blocked out their words, pushed himself to run harder and faster. The air began to warm, and the reds and golds blossomed into greens and pinks and—a deafening roar cleaved the land. Tamlin. Dumb luck, or perhaps fate, that he was here when Lucien needed him most.

The beast appeared before him in a flash of fur and sharp fangs. Lucien ducked quickly and he heard the squelch of claws stabbed through flesh. Heard Jasper howl in pain. Lucien whirled as he brought his dagger up, just as Orson slashed his axe down upon his head. Lucien twisted at the last second to dodge what was surely a death blow. A wall of flame rose up between them. He let his sorrow and rage fuel him as he pushed that fire outward towards Orson. His brother roared in pain as the white-hot fire lanced his exposed side. Arden stepped up and met Lucien’s flame with a flare of his own. Metal and fire blasted and collided. And then Lucien was moving again, twisting low, angling that dagger upwards—steel met skin as the blade sunk deep into Arden’s throat. He choked, blood gurgling from his gaping mouth, and then collapsed. Dead.

It happened too fast. Lucien heard Tamlin roar in warning—he made to turn, but wasn’t quick enough to avoid the blunt edge of the axe that clobbered him in the back of the head. A flash of pain—and then darkness swallowed him whole.

Lucien was fully awake now. He cracked his eyes open against the soft light. Tamlin sat in a wooden chair to his left, a grim expression on his handsome face as he gazed back at Lucien.

Jesminda. No—Jesminda…she was dead. Murdered, as he watched uselessly. Lucien squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out the image of her head rolling across the floor. He tried to breathe but the air was trapped in his lungs. He was suffocating, gasping for breath, choking on the pain that wrapped itself around his heart. Lucien wept.

Soon his body was shaking with the force of his sobs, and an agonized moan crawled its way out of his throat. He heard screaming—excruciating, gut-wrenching screaming, and realized it was coming from his own lips. He tore at his long hair, attempted to peel the flesh from his bones so he might not be forced to live within his own skin. He wished he were dead—tried to smother himself in flame and burn away the remaining scraps of his withered soul. Strong, callused hands stopped him before he could do any damage. He thrashed and fought against them—wished those hands would grow claws once more and lodge themselves deep inside his chest. But instead, they gripped him firmly, an anchor to the world he so desperately wished to leave. Tamlin said nothing as he held Lucien tightly. Lucien could smell the salt of his own tears and felt like his heart had been cleaved in two. The pain was unbearable—he begged for someone, anyone, to end him. He sunk deeper into despair—let it drag him down, down, down, until he was drowning in it. He sank deeper still, where the screaming was quieter. Until he heard nothing but the frantic beat of his own wretched, cowardly heart.

Eris

It was not the first time Eris had found himself locked in the darkened chamber beneath the palace. His knees dug into the cold stone of the dungeon floor, his hands bound to each side at an uncomfortable angle. The restraints dug painfully into his wrists as he clenched his hands against the numbness that had slowly taken hold since he’d been chained up the evening prior. His ears strained to pick up any sounds outside the room, but all he could hear was the quiet trickle of water on the slick stone walls. Eris tried and failed not to let his mind wander to thoughts of Lucien’s escape, whether he had made it to Spring unharmed, if Tamlin had received his warning to haul ass to his northern border and await Lucien’s arrival. Eris prayed the note had reached him in time. That the second note had found its way into the correct hands. Before he could truly spiral, he heard several sets of footsteps growing louder in their approach.

Eris’s heart began to race as he heard the door swing open, those footsteps echoing off the cell’s damp walls. His father’s face appeared before him and rage glowed in his muddy brown eyes.

“You’ll be pleased to know your traitorous brother made it beyond Spring’s borders. With two of your own brothers killed in the fight,” Beron snarled at him. Eris said nothing–waited for the guilt to come. Instead, he felt relief. Brothers they might be, he held no true affection for the lot of them, save for Lucien. He wondered who had landed the killing blows. He hoped it had been Tamlin, so as to spare Lucien from further violence. He knew his brothers had been following orders, but they had always done so with such glee, seeming to enjoy the pain they inflicted on their father’s behalf. Eris did not ask who, specifically, had been killed. He did not want to know.

Sharp pain lanced across his face as Beron struck him once, twice. A punch to his gut stole the air from his lungs. He could taste the coppery tang of blood on his tongue.

“What will it take for you to learn that you are only useful to me if you obey?” Beron mused. Eris said nothing, gritting his teeth against the rage that coursed through him. He had never denied his father anything, save this. He was as loyal and obedient as his favored hounds. A dog to command. His father glared down at him a beat longer, a cruel smile forming on his lips. Beron jerked his head to someone behind him and Eris heard the familiar clink of a weapon being removed from a belt chain. He glanced briefly over his shoulder to confirm his suspicions.

Though he had long since learned how to pace himself, to weather the pain, it did not stop the dread from pooling in his stomach as his father’s sentry unfurled the whip at his side. Eris faced forward once more, began tunneling deep down within so as to hide from the pain of what was to come. Cold sweat started to bead on his forehead as one of the guards stepped forward and tore Eris's shirt, exposing his back to the chilled air. He braced himself against the searing sting of the whip against his flesh, but it did little to lessen the blow as the leather slashed through the skin on his back. He grunted at the pain that sliced through him, but swallowed the scream in his throat.

“Again,” Beron commanded.

The whip cracked again, and Eris jerked, hissing through his teeth. He did not regret refusing his father’s order to kill the female. Jesminda, Lucien had screamed. His long life had taught him that doing his father’s bidding served him far better than rebelling ever would. But this—what had been done in that wretched throne room—Eris was right to take no part in it. He could still hear the sound of the female’s head as it tumbled to the floor with a wet thump. Could still hear Lucien’s agonized cry as he was forced to watch. No—he did not regret it. Only that he hadn’t been able to stop it.

Again and again, the whip tore into his ruined back, retracing scars from previous punishments. Eris arched against the agony, panting through clenched teeth. He felt the blood dripping down his sides, along with a sharp throb of pain with each beat of his shredded heart.

The whip cracked again, tearing his skin down to the bone, and Eris finally screamed. He heard the sentry step back and sagged slightly against the chains. Beron gripped Eris’s chin roughly and forced him to meet his eyes.

“Consider this a warning, boy, should you think to disobey me again. Next time I'll have your head. Or perhaps I'll allow one of your remaining brothers the pleasure of ending you.” His father released him and strode out of the chamber.

Eris hung there, limply, his body trembling from the pain. He choked down the sob building in his chest, hating his father, his brothers, his life. Himself. The magnitude of his misery, his loneliness, washed over him in waves.

He should have been accustomed to it by now—the punishments, the beatings. Eris had spent much of his time growing up trying to protect his brothers, Lucien especially, from his father’s wrath. He had shielded them as much as he could, often taking the brunt of it himself. He had loved Lucien dearly, and still did. But that love terrified Eris to no end. He had quickly learned that caring for anyone in his father’s court was a weakness. That those he loved would soon be turned into weapons to be wielded against him. So Eris had shut Lucien out—treated him like trash until he was sure Lucien despised him, as he did the rest of their brothers. It hurt Eris—to see the warmth slowly disappear from Lucien’s gaze whenever their eyes met, day by day, until none remained. But it had been worth it if it kept the full force of Beron’s rage focused elsewhere, for a time.

The sentries, momentarily forgotten, shuffled forward and unclasped the chains encasing Eris’s wrists. He slumped forward, his arms too numb to catch himself as he face-planted on the hard stones with a grunt. Neither male addressed him as they exited the cell, though they left the door open. He was free to leave, it would seem. Yet he remained facedown on the ground, his hands tingling as they slowly regained feeling. A single tear traced a path down Eris’s cheek, mingling with the blood pooled beneath him. He breathed deeply, the musty air thick in his lungs. Seconds, minutes, hours later, perhaps, he finally rose, his back screaming in protest as he pushed himself up from the floor.

It would not do to dwell on things he could never have. He was a pathetic fool to even let himself consider what it might be like to see their friendship restored. To have Lucien once again look at him with admiration and light in his eyes. As Eris slowly limped out of the chamber, he swore to himself he would never show such weakness again. Lucien had made it to Spring safely. Eris didn’t let himself consider the emotional state he might be in. He was safe. It was enough.

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