#golden age of faerie

[edwardian-girl-next-door]

"A Fairy's Song," unknown artist

via pinterest

[sesamenom]

The elves of Lothlorien are absolutely analogous to wolves. Amdir, for one, is a possible Doriath survivor who brought a massive army to the Dagorlad and died in the charge. Amroth led a host of the Sindar in the War of Elves and Men, and later succeeded in besieging Angmar. Galadriel kinslayed on the side of the Teleri and led the Host over the Helcaraxe!

However, the elves of Third Age Lothlorien are more like vaguely-human-accustomed nature park wolves. They're still just as creepy and terrifying (Galadriel's whole Lady Of The Golden Wood sorceress legend is definitely A Thing, to the point where even neighboring kingdoms refuse to believe that she's actually pretty nice), plus the fact that they live smack dab in the middle of the crossroad between Moria, Dol Guldur, and Isengard, but the older Doriathrim have mostly figured out methods of communication that do not involve violence, and the younger generations are generally pretty welcoming to established friends. If you're a stranger, they don't seem that much different from regular wolves, but if you're a regular visitor of that particular nature park, they probably won't mind you pointing and staring a bit from the pathway, provided you aren't aggressive about it.

Modern fantasy seems to have shifted to a midpoint between Quendi and garden-gnome elves, with the "enlightened vegetarian" vibe. Personally, I am of the belief this is at least partially, if not mostly, due to the fact that superficial pop culture only really views the heavily selection-biased late-TA elves, where the really violent ones are dead, dead, and extremely extra dead, and the remaining ones have spent the past ten thousand years learning (mostly through trial and error, it seems) problem-solving methods that include zero kinslaying and minimal screaming.

In the context of the wolf-dog analogy in relation to Middle-Earth and the greater Legendarium, the YT and First Age elves are the wolves, fell and fey, with white fire in their eyes and blood on gleaming blades, who have slain great beasts of fire and iron and fear no Shadow. The kinslayers are even moreso these wild monsters of legend, coming unto a great city in the night and leaving only blood and embers in their wake, whose cruel servants steal away children in the night.

The Second Age elves have mellowed a bit, like wolves that have learned to exist in the same general region as humans. They are just as fierce, but they concern themselves mostly in their own matters, and keep to their long-established territories. When unbothered, they are willing to open dialogues of trade or diplomacy, but little could save the Enemy from the face of their wrath, lingering ever-present under the skin of the Exiles.

By the Third Age, all those inclined to war are long-dead, save the few most powerful of their kind. There are small pockets where those ancient elves still dwell, but they are reserved to the point of being near-mythical in some regions. Hobbits tell tales of the Elf they swear the great-aunt's fourth cousin once saw in the Old Forest in much the same way people argue whether the animal the neighbor's grandfather saw crossing a suburban yard was a wandering wolf or a coyote. The Rohirrim warn of the fey Lady of the Wood, who none, they say, have laid eyes upon and yet lived, and the people of Gondor sing of the mighty deeds of the Elves, lamenting that urban sprawl has diminished the strange woods in which the Elves once dwelt.

The few Elves who are not feared are the wisest and kindest of all, akin to a particularly friendly wolf who hunts alongside its spear-wielding allies, an ambassador of its kin. Being the most visible in the records of Men, they become the most well-remembered of elves as peaceful and generous, who more readily take up pens than swords, and who hunt for food more than sport. These records distort to the modern assumption of "enlightened vegetarians", while the seldom-encountered folk of Lorien and Mirkwood Sail and Fade away.

Peredhel are rare beyond measure, with less than ten true peredhel known to date. They are strange to both kinds, more frail than a true elf, far more powerful than a Man, and uniquely gifted in entirely new ways. There are some claimed "half-elves" who perhaps had some Numenorean heritage two thousand years ago and just happen to be unnaturally tall and sharp-eyed, but they can still be firmly categorized as Men, albeit of a unique appearance.

True half-elves, though, cannot be easily classed as either. They are like to wolfdogs of very recent ancestry, tall and powerful yet sleek, eyes just different enough to be uncanny. They are swift and strong, not truly hampered by physical possibility, but they are still bound to Arda, their bodies and spirits just as secure in Middle-Earth as they are in Aman. They do not Fade, but they still bear the weight of mortal weariness; they are suited for both worlds and none. Their eyes are bright with inhuman fire, shining with the force of the Sun and the cold of the Moon, but it is not the light of the Flame Imperishable behind them: it is something entirely their own. They are their own type of being: the Line of Luthien, the Peredhel, the Sons of Elrond.

Random story thought: What if a fantasy story where there's humans and elves, who are less like different nationalities and/or "human, but in a different font", but more like the difference between dogs and wolves? Like they resemble humans, but are very, very clearly not human. And half-elves, like wolfdogs, are known to be theoretically possible, but so improbable and rare that they might as well be a myth. Like everybody's school had that one kid who loves lying for attention who keeps insisting that they actually know somebody who's a real half-elf for real.

And in the extremely rare case where their friend of a friend who's "totally actually a real half-elf" even exists at all, 99 times out of 100, the aforementioned suspected hybrid is just a 100% full human who's unusually tall, beautiful and autistic. Something that can definitely fool someone who's never seen a real half-elf, and is willing to believe that this friend's mom actually for real fucked an elf (instead of getting hunted for sport, and possibly eaten, which is the more likely outcome of encountering elves in the wild). But it's almost always just a full human with vaguely 'elvish' features.

But once in a blue moon, there actually is a real half-elf, and once you've seen one, you won't mistake a full human for one of them again. They're gangly, not just tall but long-limbed in a way that humans are not, their speech is strangely composed as if they learned their first language as a second language, and their eyes are piercing, wild, inhuman eyes, with a gaze full of strange instinctive wisdom that humans were never meant to know. Secret elvish thoughts that even they, personally, wish they didn't have.

And it sinks in to you that elves, that are so alien to you, would also find this poor creature just as strange and unsettling as you do.

[whereserpentswalk]

Reblog so that the creature will come to you. Like to enhance their power.

[mariasparrow]

Warriors is Hyrule's successor and Artemis is Hyrule's granddaughter!

So I've been doing some thinking, and I've come to believe that after all the blood, sweat, and tears Hyrule shed for his country, the end result is the prosperous kingdom we see in Hyrule Warriors! And that Artemis is his granddaughter!

I think we have strong evidence for it as well! During Hyrule's second adventure, he reads from a scroll that only a "Great King" could. Zelda II legendary difficulty could be seen, in-universe, as a trial of Hyrule's worthiness to receive Kingship. Which the Downfall Era desperately needs after its Prince was corrupted and his sister cursed.

Through his skill and refusal to give up, Hyrule triumphs over both the monsters and the dark side of his own soul. And he retrieves the Triforce of Courage needed to awaken Aurora (the Sleeping Princess of AoL).

Judging from the kiss she gave him at the end, I'd say she's rather smittened!

(Art by Kikker-Oma for me from Fan Joy July, used with her permission- isn't she great!)

With the Triforce in one hand, his Fae-blood in the other, and Aurora at his side, Hyrule brings his kingdom out of the Downfall and into a new golden age with his power and street smarts. He is called the Fae-King and the Traveling King because he rarely stays in one castle to long -he loves traveling to much, and uses it to help expand Hyrule while Aurora minds court and their kids. She's called the Gentle Queen for bring back the old culture. Hyrule's Fae blood is why faeries are such allies in Warriors Era, in remembrance of their brother.

But of course, evil is lingering. Remember Ganon floating spirit fragments, and how they were locked under heavy duty chains all through out Hyrule Warriors? I'll bet that was Hyrule's attempt to beat his blood curse (TM), and that upon his death, he ordered his body to be split apart and lain to rest in separate locations.

Needless to say, Aurora didn't help with this, she couldn't take it. But she managed the seal to buy time...

Until their granddaughter came of age.

Art belongs to @linkeduniverse

I can't be the only one who thinks Artemis seems a little more...Fae-like than Goddess in Hyrule Warriors. She's wild, bold, hands-on and leads from the front, and has STRONG magic. I like to think a great deal of that comes from her grandfather. Maybe her parents died young, so Artemis was raised by Hyrule and Aurora, who adored her and taught her everything they knew. Aurora taught her music magic, ancient history and legends (and fashion, cause that didn't come from Hyrule). Hyrule taught her battle magic, fencing, and survival skills that come in handy when she's disguised as Sheik (he also taught her his thunder spell). That's how she can do Hyrule's sword beams with her kunai in the game. His pet name for her was "Little Fairy." She adored them right back.

It would be rather poetic, if the granddaughter of the most passive Zelda (but still interesting and one of my favorite!) ends up the most active.

When Artemis saw that Ganon's forces had defiled her grandfather's resting places to retrieve his spirit fragments she was inconsolable...and FURIOUS. She loved her grandparents and vows that evil will not destroy all they suffered and bled to build. She will defend their legacy will all the magic and will power she has. Fortunately, she has her own Hero to help her seal evil right back where it belongs.

[celestialprincesse]

𝟏. 𝐀 𝐖𝐡𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐇𝐨𝐫𝐬𝐞

Part One of Foreigner's God King Simon Riley X F! Faerie Reader

WC: 2k

Sunlight fractures through the leaves of age old oaks and ancient pines, dappling against your back, weaving through long strands of untamed hair to brush a kiss against your thinly clothed shoulders, spiders silk and gauze just barely fluttering on a phantom breeze stirred by the muted clopping of horse hooves on the forest floor. The mare beneath you holds tension in her withers, matching the unpleasant knotting of the muscle between your shoulder blades. She knows what’s coming just as well as you do. 

It’s been a long time since you’ve felt anxiety this way. It’s the kind of gnawing, unsettling feeling at the pit of your stomach that comes only from venturing away from the safety of the trees and caves, brooks and hollow roots you call home. Your people call home. You force yourself to swallow down the fear - remind yourself that you’re doing this for them. Without this sacrifice, your sacrifice, the woods and forests which serve as sanctuary for your entire species, would be gone. The sick feeling in your stomach refuses to be soothed. 

In an attempt to calm yourself, to tear your mind away from the images you’ve conjured of what may await you on the forest edge, you focus intently on every slow stride of your companion. You draw your thoughts to counting every rhythmic movement of her shoulders, the way they gently jostle your hips as you follow each motion of hers with one of your own. A push and pull of a gentle tide. She and you melt into one being, acting and reacting in such effortless synchrony, such enviable elegance. An innate ability for which your kind are revered. 

Humans long lost touch with nature - shunned it in favor of such rapid growth, such vast power. They burned the trees to make room for their sprawling palaces, dug up the earth and all of her riches to build their roads, to grow their crops, never once wondering what she could provide had they simply respected her instead. Your people had never done such a thing, and for that, you’d been blessed. She’d provided you with everything you could ever have needed, and all you’d ever had to do was provide for her in turn. That balance, that equilibrium, is what humans have long since forgotten. Compromise, to them, is an impossible thing. To you and your kind, it’s an intrinsic part of life. 

At this moment, you feel that perhaps you know compromise better than any. 

The journey so far has been painstakingly long. On the one hand, it’s something you feel grateful for, that you’ve time to prepare yourself for the life that lies beyond the treeline. On the other, however, it’s excruciating. To ride through the forest, down the path away from the only life you’ve ever known, to mourn something you’ve not yet even lost. Every blazing orange dusk is another grain of sand dripping through the fingers of time, and every golden lighted dawn a death knell. You wonder if your sisters miss you the way you miss them. Your mother, too. Maybe they sit in quiet solitude, wondering what you’re doing at any given moment, or maybe they cry tears of frustration and anger at the fact that it could’ve been anyone else. Anyone but you. 

The days before had been spent in a resigned sort of mourning. You’d saved your tears for the first days of your voyage. 

You still so vividly remember sitting with your mother as she twisted up your hair, pinning it with flowers as she reminisced upon the girl taken by the last king. She’d been only as old as your youngest sister, Ophelia, when it had happened. Once every generation, every two, if you were at all lucky. You, unfortunately, were not. She’d spoken of how silent everything fell when the girl had been sent away - the strange, pained feeling that had settled over your people as they’d watched her go resigned into the trees. She’d never come back, of course, a fate that you too share. The small hope flickering like a fading ember at the bottom of your heart sings songs of longing. Such a foolish thing it is, holding out that perhaps the man who waits beyond the woods will love you, guide you to him with coaxing words and the gentlest of touches. You feel pathetic even thinking of it. 

You never had quite outgrown your childish fantasies of love, and in turn, had given the humans holed up behind their cold stone walls another innocent heart to break. 

When the sun shrinks back to nothing but a hazy golden glow, like that of a dying fire or burning star, you realize that more for your horse’s sake than your own, that it’s time to stop, to rest before you carry on with your journey. A day or two more and you’ll have reached the place where the canopy dwindles and the roots which cover the forest floor grow sparse, travel under the earth as though to hide from the human feet which march upon them. You hope for at least one more blissful sleep under the stars, moss under your head and night creatures watching your rest with vigilant, unseeing eyes. 

Settling aside the small pond where your horse bends at her withers to drink, you lay up against the gnarled stump of a fallen tree, which yields to accommodate your body, just one of the many perks of being so connected with nature. You’ve no need to set up a campsite when the forest welcomes and provides for you with such ease. It’s not easy to forget the fact that the forest probably recognises the way you’re feeling - sympathizes with your predicament.

As you drift off into a fitful sleep, under the comforting twinkle of the stars, A king is waking.  Behind the fortified stone walls of the palace, the revelry celebrating the lead up to King Simon’s wedding has lasted for days. To most, it’s an opportunity to celebrate. Their cold, reclusive king finally taking a wife. When the betrothal had been announced, the sigh of relief collectively exhaled by the nation had been palpable. He hadn’t wanted to do it - marry some wild forest thing and rut her full of little fat wailing babies. Johnny had been the unfortunate soul tasked with convincing him - reminding him that since Tommy passed, so did the soul heir to the Riley line. With enemies poised in the south, ready to exploit any weakness they could find, Simon hadn’t exactly had much choice. His being backed into a corner, however, hasn’t made him the most pleasant to deal with during the preamble to his rapidly inbound nuptials. For not only his sake, but also everyone else’s, he hopes that his bride-to-be is at least reasonably tame. With his luck? Highly doubtful.

His closest men had shared their theories and fantasies of some nymph-like creature, lovely and demure, happy to bend to Simon’s every whim, less wife, more well trained pet. Whilst he can appreciate a beautiful woman just as much as any man can, he keeps his expectations low - pleasant to be around and a decent conversationalist is enough for him. 

He’s tried to expel the thoughts of marriage from his mind for as long as possible. He’s far too busy to be distracted with silly fantasies of rose petal decorated aisles and which rings he’ll select for his betrothed. Keeping a kingdom running and the vulture-like men that are his enemies at bay is no mindless thing. Simon barely has time enough to sleep, let alone celebrate a wedding he doesn’t want, nor to take the day-long trek to the agreed meeting place to collect his new wife. To collect his new wife. Parade her on horseback like some exotic acquisition to be flaunted, to grow bored with when the novelty inevitably wears off. 

It’s impossible to ignore the way his knees creak as he rolls tiredly from his bed, the fathomless cold embedded in the very core of the flagstone floors seeping into his bare feet as he dresses himself. In spite of his status as King, Simon keeps his appearance reasonably simple, his tunics plain and armor scarcely decorated. Easier to dress. Simon Riley is a man of convenience, the bells and whistles of being monarch are nothing but a hindrance. 

The celebrations have thankfully quieted, all of his courtiers and castle residents undoubtedly tired, hungover and sore from the days of singing, dancing and drinking - days which he’s mostly spent holed away in his study, playing chess with wooden carved soldiers on battle maps, giving the occasional go-ahead to wedding planners and burying his nose in any literature on strategy he can find.  Today, unfortunately, his kingly duties outweigh his reclusiveness. He’ll only travel with Price to the meeting point - having originally wanted to go alone so as to make your initial meeting less intimidating, a point to which the head of his Kingsguard had made his disagreement abundantly clear. Yes, Price knows that Simon is fully capable of looking out for himself, but he sure as hell isn’t giving him any chance of proving that. He’s also desperate to get out of the castle and away from the mothers attempting to shove their daughters at his feet. So, with huffed complaints about the weather, and the threat of oncoming rain, signaled by the gritty gray clouds blotting out the starlight, the two men set off. Hooves beat thunderously across stone, dirt and grass as they make their way past the walls of the city, through the dwindling suburbs of thatched roofs and smoking chimneys and out into the vast plains of the countryside. The fresh air is a welcome reprieve from the smoke and burning metal of forges, the grassy hills and fields stretching for miles a refreshing break from the towering monoliths of stone that make up the palace. He can see why people would like it out here, away from the banal chatter of gossip and the unrelenting noise, left to grow stagnant within the confines of winding alleys or houses packed so closely together. Simon hasn’t even met you, and yet he already finds himself sympathizing for the adjustment you’ll have to make. 

You, meanwhile, feel surprisingly more grounded following your nap, having allowed both yourself and your horse to rest for a while before continuing your journey. The gnawing anxiety in your stomach is soothed by the handful of blackberries you’d found and snacked on as you continued through the slowly more sparse woodland, and although you’re still wallowing, at least you’re not wallowing on an empty stomach and no sleep. 

The sun slowly inches west behind the cloud cover, which quickly replaces the forest canopy you’ve always known, and tells you that in your mental absence, another day has nearly come and gone, and with that, the mileage covered which draws you closer to your inevitable fate. The birdsong has long since gone quiet, and there’s no longer movement indicative of life in the shrubbery. Just you, and the parapet on which you seem to endlessly walk. 

Until the forest seems to stop entirely. The trees halt their growth at some invisible boundary, wildflowers cease their spread with an unnatural abruptness and your stomach goes lurching. Like you’ve jumped from a cliff. You’ve jumped from a cliff, you’re about to hit the ground, and everything in you is screaming for time to stop, for fate to twist, for the inevitable to be somehow avoided. 

You could turn back. You could still turn back, and the forest would welcome you home with open arms. You could go home to your sisters, to your mother and the magic woven into everything you’ve ever known.

You could turn back - but in turning back, you’d only shatter the fragile peace forged so weakly between your own people, and those who’ve come to take you away. 

“Looks petrified.” Price observes from where he and Simon stand proud upon the hill, watching as a faerie on a white horse comes emerging tentatively from the treeline. You do, you poor, delicate thing, Simon thinks to himself as he, Price, and their imposing black friesians make their way to greet you. 

Happy Foreigner's God day to those who celebrate 1.8k and 2k are basically the same so pls enjoy the 1st chapter 💕

[faeriesandfolklore]

Changelings and Faerie Revels

You have always felt strange. So when the forest calls, you listen.

Faerie revels are always warned against. Mortals are not to slip away when they hear the music, are not to dance to the endless sonata playing in the forest. Do not drink from the glittering cups, they say. Do not dance until your feet ache, twirling and twirling until you can think of nothing else. 

But you have always been a curious child. Far too curious for your own good, running through the grain fields and bringing back strange things- skulls with three eyes and swords speckled with stardust. Your parents did not know what to make of you, this strange thing. Almost other, with the way your eyes gleamed in the night. 

And once you came of age, it was so hard to find a spouse for you. Everyone in the village knew of the strange child, one who must’ve been a changeling. They turned their sons and daughters away, locked the doors whenever your parents came around to offer marriage. Distraught and out of options, the humble farmers you called your family handed you a cloak and a sack, pointing you toward the wood.

And that is how you ended up here, before the prince of the woods. Tall and willowy, his skin the color of bark. Eyes that shine as ripe as fresh fruit, lips so pink they look like the spilling of a heart. He takes your chin into his slender hands, turning your face this way and that. “A pretty one,” he says. “One of my father’s court. Sent to the human realm to be reared.”

That explains it, then. Just another noble child, exchanged for a mortal one. They knew you’d return to them eventually. 

And then the revel begins. The loveliest creatures you have ever seen twirl and twirl beneath the starlight, their hair free and flowing. They wear gowns of river water, waistcoats of moss, their faces studded with rubies and diamonds. Your hands are taken and you spin, spin, spin, your bare feet sinking into the spongy soil of the clearing. Music comes from every corner of the wood, soft as twinkling bells. Brownies and pixies strum at harps and play flutes, bird spirits perched at the edge of the trees, watching with luminous eyes. 

You end up dancing with the prince, his hands on your waist as he spins you. He presses a cup to your lips, filled with a golden liquid that makes your head spin. It is like a dream. It is like your home. And when you wake the next morning in the arms of the prince, in the belly of the castle, you know that this is what you were destined for. Not some mortal life- but the extravagance and loveliness of being here. 

[lalacliffthorne]

💜 starshine pt. III 💜

Rhysand x Reader

part I part II part III part IV part V part VI

notes: literally no summary possible without intense spoilers. you´ll probably be able to guess what this chapter entails by just like the first few sentences (btw, it's been ages since I read the books, so I'm working on a lot of creative freedom with this one lol). fair warning: this one's angsty. like I already mentioned, it's also insanely long. so. have fun? I guess?

______________________________________________________________

Slipping through the wards felt like a tingle of ice on my skin. My breath hitched, and for a second, I expected the mountain to cave in on me, squash me as it realized someone had breached the magic binding so many to its halls.

But nothing happened.

The servant fae's dress slipped up my thighs when I slid into the dark corridors. I had caught her when she had lingered too close to the wards, golden whisps of magic seeping through the bounds and engulfing her, catching her when she fell into a deep, dreamless slumber. I had swapped our clothes before hiding her floating body behind a glamour and slipping into the dark mountain.

Something closed around my throat lightly as I moved through the shadows, stilling every time I heard a sound.

Fifty years.

Fifty years of chipping away at the wards guarding the mountain, little by little so no one would notice the small growing hole in the thickly woven magic. Fifty years of trying to be everywhere at once, moving through the courts, healing those in need before slipping away before anyone could notice. Fifty years of faeries slaughtered in numbers becoming bigger and bigger, causing rage to grow slowly in my chest.

Fifty years of dreaming of violet eyes like night skies.

I remembered the day Amarantha had caught them all like it was yesterday.

I had been staying in the Day Court, and from one second to the next, the warm summer night had turned ice cold. A darkness had placed itself over the world, the faeries in the garden had disappeared and the glow of the flowers had dimmed. An icy shiver had run down my spine, and like instinct, I had reached out for Rhys, for that familiar feeling that was always not far from the bounds of my mind, the sharp claws that tickled my soul before the deep, rich voice echoed through my head, even when their owner was on the other side of Prythian.

But there had been nothing. No presence, not even when I had called out to him. Instead, there was a harsh wall, like something, or someone, was blocking him.

I had started looking for him the day after.

☆

Following the halls deeper into the mountain, I simply listened to the tug in my chest that pulled me forward, guiding me towards the hum of power. My own responded, slithering angrily under my skin, and I pushed it down, barricading it behind walls as high as the sky.

I had learned to hide the thrum of power flooding through me a long time ago. It was what kept me hidden in the courts, allowed me to exist without anyone bothering me.

Strangely enough, it had never kept Rhys from finding me, like even the way my powers were hidden was distinct enough for him to track me down. When I had brought it up once, he had just grinned so widely, his cheeks had creased as he replied: “Starshine, I would be able to find you on nothing but instinct even if you were galaxies away.”

Back then, it had made something skip softly against my ribs as I had thrown a pillow at his head.

Now, just the memory of his voice caused a strange ache in my chest.

Amarantha had taken Rhys away from his family, his home. And I was sure that the only reason he was playing her game, bowing to her, was to protect them.

If there was one thing I had learned about him in the past century, it was that his friends, his family and his home were everything to him. And that he would do anything to keep them safe.

Even give himself up.

The tight feeling in my chest shifted, like for a second, something scratched the surface, a familiar presence growing closer, and I breathed out soundlessly.

There was no way I was going to let her break him.

Not him.

☆

The whispers from Under the Mountain had been vague, but with time, they had started to paint a picture, blurred and hazy, but clear enough to know that Amarantha had a fable for lavish nights with wine and entertainment.

I had expected that entertainment to be cruel. I had spent the last fifty years trying to protect the faeries, for Amarantha seemed to have developed a taste for keeping them like animals, all while hearing rumors about the Fae trapped Under the Mountain, forced to bow to her will.

But what was awaiting me when I slipped through the doors into the huge cavernous hall, the stench of spirits hitting me and the air pressed from my lungs – was so much worse.

There were Fae everywhere, dressed in a way that left little to the imagination. Their gazes ranged from empty to forcingly amused to petrified, but their bodies moved like they were in a trance, not their own will causing them to dance, grind on each other and do more, in plain sight for all to see.

It felt like a sick, twisted stage play, orchestrated for nothing but the embarassement and torture of the courts and one single person's amusement, one person who loomed on a dais at the back wall, sitting on a throne, dressed from head to toe in blood red.

My eyes zeroed in, and my powers surged against the walls caging them in.

Amarantha had tipped her head to the side, her golden crown glittering in the light of the torches as she watched the spectacle at the foot of the dais. Her red hair flowed over her shoulders, her long nails tapping against the armrests. There was a light amused curve to her lips, but her eyes were cold and calculating.

Somehow reigning in the magic raging under my skin, I pressed my lips together and followed her piercing gaze, down to the steps leading up to the dais -

The wind got knocked out of my lungs.

The noises, the hall around me faded as something pulsed slowly against my ribs, my heart beating like the wings of a butterfly caught in time, trying to escape from my chest as my gaze narrowed in until it was centered on the male at the foot of the dais, a picture of lazy feline confidence so familiar, I had to fight for air.

Rhys.

Suddenly, fifty years caught up with me. Fifty years of his face burned into my mind, his smile and the way his violet eyes twinkled like a glittering night sky.

Only it was gone now. The spark in his iris, the vibrancy of his eyes. His dark hair, though still impeccably styled, had lost its shine, his sunkissed skin was pale and sallow, and his smile –

Something tightened so harshly in my chest, I held my breath.

Gone was the cheeky curve of his lips, the mischievous turn of his grin and that stupidly beautiful smile. It had been replaced by a light smirk, one that was cold and cruel and –

Didn't reach his eyes.

His smile had always reached his eyes. Even when it promised violence and bloodshed and broken bones, it always translated to the way his eyes looked, to the spark in his iris, angry or furious.

Only it didn't anymore.

I tried to swallow, fight against the way something closed around my throat when I stared at Rhys and his eyes, dull and unmoving as he gazed down onto the heap at his feet, a heap -

My breath stilled, and the grip around my throat changed to vice.

It was a sprite boy. A moonwing, with feathery white hair caked with dirt, milky pale skin torn and bloody over too-thin limbs, and his wings –

His wings.

A sound built at the bottom of my throat, a strangled whimper that was swallowed by the harsh noises around me. Something clawed at my chest, a pain so heavy I almost went to my knees as I stared at what used to be thin-as-lace wings, their white membranes hanging in bloody shreds over a whipmarked back.

Quickly clamping a shaking hand over my mouth to smother the heaving sob breaking from my throat, I almost sank into the wall, my body beginning to shake. I felt something hot run over my cheek as I stared at the faerie, swaying as he tried to get to his feet without the support of his wings. His pain was mine, his despair gripping me like an iron fist, my breath trembling as my vision blurred and I whimpered.

No.

Rhysand stilled. I could see his shoulders shift. Then his head rose, eyes tearing away from the moonwing to swiftly move over the crowd, and for nothing more than a second, a fraction of a heartbeat, something flashed through his eyes, something that was buried so deep, it was nearly impossible to make out.

Like somehow, he felt my anguish, could sense a presence in the crowd that didn't belong -

The guards at the edge of the dais moved, and Rhys blinked. Then his eyes moved away from the crowd, and his back straightened when a male stepped forward, staring hungrily at the moonwing.

There was a bloody whip hanging from his hand.

My heart tightened, lips parting as nausea washed over me like a tidal wave.

But before the male could take another step, Rhys moved. His motions were quick and smooth as always when he took a step forward and picked the moonwing up by his neck, and I could see the fairie's iridescent eyes flaring with panic as he started to struggle.

Then Rhys' hand closed around his jaw.

My heart stopped and my breath stilled when the crack of bones snapping whipped through the hall.

The moonwing's body went limp, head rolling to the side.

A muscle in Rhys' cheek twitched, his face unmoving as he let the faerie slip to the ground and raised his head, turning around. I couldn't tear my eyes away from the moonwing's lifeless body as the other male moved towards him with a scowl, gripping one of the fairie's shredded wings before he turned to drag him away from the dais and into the shadows, leaving behind a pool of blood on the stone floor.

Something hot streamed over my cheeks as I fought to breathe, and magic started to push against my skin, slowly growing until I had to keep all my focus on keeping it subdued.

My eyes rose, and a cold fist closed around my heart when Rhys sat down next to Amarantha. Her hand drifted towards him, her fingernails dragging lightly over his skin, and I could see the second his eyes clouded over like he had dragged up walls, high, high, higher as Amarantha whispered something with a smile like a viper.

Rhysand nodded once, eyes trained onto the crowd like it could hide the way his shoulders shifted like his body fought to move away.

It was all I needed to straighten my spine and breathe, something beginning to burn under my skin.

☆

I had slinked into the shadows when Amarantha had risen from her throne, Rhys following suit, though there was something in the way his eyes seemed to dull even more when he moved after her.

I lost them in the maze of halls a few times, but something, like a small tug in my chest, kept pulling me back onto the right path, like the golden whisps of magic swirling under my skin had latched onto Rhys, guiding me.

Slipping around a corner, I just caught a glimpse at a door closing. Waiting for a few moments, just to make sure, I slowly started to move, avoiding lanterns and melting into the shadows as I soundlessly slid down the hall until I could disappear into the alcoven right next to the door.

Pressing my back against the cold stone walls, I leaned my temple against the wall and focused on the noises slipping from the room.

For a second, my mind was slow, struggling to place the muffled sounds that seemed to be a female's, harsh and strangely drawn –

My heart stilled.

I could feel my breath, ragged as I stared at the wall ahead, something suddenly filling my throat like the urge to be sick, to stagger away from that door and what was behind it.

I was already half pushing away from the wall when the wave of emotion hit me like a brick. Like someone inside that room had slipped up, had lost control of what kept their feelings locked deep, deep down, because what they were doing right now was a struggle in itself, a struggle like having a hand around your throat that kept you from breathing.

I didn't know how I knew it was him. I just knew that the way his emotions vibrated under my skin, causing my knees to give out and my body to silently slide down the wall to collapse to the ground as I fought for air, was uniquely his.

Rhys was drowning.

I could feel it, feel the way his sense of self and his will to fight dwindled like they were slowly dragged under water. Overrun and fought to their knees by pain.

Pain that felt like ghostly fingernails running over his skin, like actions that broke apart pieces of him and caused guilt to drown him without his limbs fighting.

It was humiliation, and repulsion, and numbness. And fear.

Fear, so overwhelming and all-consuming, it wrapped around my throat like a rope, pulling tighter and tighter as I crouched frozen at the wall, tears streaming down my cheeks and something in my chest shattering silently as I squeezed my eyes shut.

I didn't know how I long I was sitting in the shadows, nor could I place the moment when Rhys' emotions slipped away like he had found the gap in his armor and patched it back up. But the remnants of them still clung to my chest, joining into a heaviness when I could hear movements behind the door.

Quickly and with shaking hands, I pulled myself to my feet, slipping back down the hall and into the shadows at the corner to the next, tear tracks cool against my cheeks when I watched the door open.

My heart stilled as I watched Amarantha appear in the hall, slipping her dress over her legs with a satisfied smile.

Something started swirling under my skin, growing with every second. Power, golden light that raged like fire, roaring and threatening to break free, to unleash and make the mountain collapse into itself as golden light wrapped around Amarantha's throat –

Swallowing, I forced it down with trembling hands.

Not like this.

It had taken years to gather enough information, barely any whispers trickling out of the mountain. Years to figure out that she had the High Lords under her control, chained to the mountain, all while her guards wreaked havoc on the lands outside. Courts withering, faeries dying.

The children from Winter had been the last straw.

I had to find a way to free the High Lords, get back their powers. Attacking Amarantha would just risk something happening to those caught down here, or outside.

Sinking back into the shadows, I watched Amarantha disappear into the other direction. I waited until she was gone, waited some more, just to make sure. Then I slipped down the hall.

The door creaked a little when I pushed it open, and cringing lightly, I hastily slipped through, closing it behind me carefully before raising my head, and my heart skyrocketed.

Rhys was standing at the opposite wall, his bare back towards me and shoulders shifting as he tensed, going rigid. He didn't turn around when he mumbled: “Anything else?”

His deep voice took away my breath, something tightening harshly in my chest at it's roughness.

He sounded defeated.

His name tumbled from my lips before I could stop it, quiet and hoarse and a little shaky.

“Rhys.”

He froze.

I watched as his shoulders straightened. He looked like he was holding his breath, his hands closing so tightly around the shirt in his hands, his knuckles turned white as he stared at the wall ahead, and for a second, I thought I could see a tremble run over his spine.

I took a step forward, whispering: “Rhys?”

His head turned ever so slightly, like he was forcing himself not to turn around but couldn't fully control his body, and I saw the moment he caught onto my scent.

His nose flared, and his limbs went utterly and fully still, like for a second, he even stopped breathing. Then he looked over his shoulder, and I stared at him, felt something surge high in my chest when his gaze found mine.

Rhys blinked, and my bottom lip trembled when his eyes became glossy, one corner of his lips curving slowly. Then he whispered, rough voice broken: “You're not real.”

My heart clenched violently, and I swallowed, staring at him through the haze of pain. Then I moved towards him, slowly but steadily, and I could feel Rhys fight the closer I got, like the instinct to reach out and the fear of reaching right through me were battling in his chest.

Halting a few inches away, stopping to keep myself from moving even though every part of me screamed at me to get closer, I swallowed before carefully reaching out a hand.

When my fingers brushed over his arm, something rippled through Rhys' body. His eyes snapped up from where he had watched my hand almost fearfully, flying to meet mine as his glossed over ones grew wide and his lips parted.

I sniffled, nose crunching as I sent him a smile, wobbly and uneven.

“Not getting rid off me that easily, remember?”, I whispered, and Rhys' hand closed around my wrist to yank me forward, into his arms.

My heart stopped when my chest collided with his.

It felt like I was thrown into one of the dreams that had haunted me for fifty years, dreams in which he'd been there, had grinned at me and teased me and been his gloriously annoying self, dreams I had woken from with a weight on my chest pressing me down, because I could feel the memory of his presence slip through my fingers.

Only now, I didn't wake up, and there was no pressing knowledge somewhere buried in the depth of my mind that it was nothing but a dream.

No, Rhys was there, tall and solid as he wrapped himself around me, clinging to me like I could be ripped away from him any second, and my breath hitched when I could feel the way his body started to tremble.

Something small in my chest shattered silently, and barely suppressing a soft whimper as pressure rose in my throat, I hastily wrapped my arms around his shoulders and held onto him. Held onto him, his skin cool under my mine, muscles taut as a bowstring when my fingers dug into the back of his shoulders and I clung to him, and Rhys laughed, wet and desperate and causing my chest to tighten so harshly, I hiccuped. His hands grabbed at my back, my dress, one finding its way into my hair, and I fought the heavy weight on my chest and the way my voice thickened when I whispered: “Hello.”

Rhys whimpered, his trembling fingers tightening their hold like he tried to drag me closer, like I wasn't already pressed into his chest, his breath shaking like the rest of him when he buried his face in the crook of my neck, and I could feel the second his walls broke. His chest started heaving, and something warm and wet pooled on my skin.

“It's okay.” I squeezed my eyes shut as I held onto him, feeling tears roll over my cheek as the ache in my chest spread, and my voice broke a little when I whispered: “I'm real.”

A shaking sob broke from Rhys' throat, and his fingers dug into my skin when he breathed out with a shudder that shook his body. Then he pulled back, nose pressing into my hair for a second, and when I raised my head, his hand slipped up to curl around the back of my neck, and Rhys pressed his forehead against mine. His quick, unsteady breaths made my heart skip, and I forced open my eyes, staring at him and his scrunched eyebrows and the tears silently rolling over his cheeks as he fought for air.

Quickly, I slid my hands down to press them against his sides, feeling my voice crack a little when I whispered: “Breathe.”

Rhys' eyes flew open, and the world staggered when his violet iris met mine, shimmering with tears and everything shining through them, like a dam inside of him had broken. He stared at me like I was the night sky he hadn't seen for fifty years, his fingers curling into my hair.

His eyes tracked the dried tears on my cheeks, and then his body went awfully still.

For a second, Rhys gazed down at me, his throat working as he swallowed harshly and his grip slackened a little. His eyes flickered over mine, and his voice, rough and fragile, broke a little when he mumbled: “How long have you been outside?”

I tried to breathe against the heaviness in my chest as I stared up at him, losing the fight against the way my throat closed as my vision blurred and my bottom lip wobbled.

My silence was answer enough.

Rhys' fingers twitched, and I could feel him freeze, pulling back, but I dug my fingers into his bare skin and swallowed harshly, a tear running over my cheek when I whispered, voice shaking: “I'm going to kill her.”

Rhys' eyes followed the tear, widening slightly, and suddenly, he looked panicked.

“You have to leave.”

“Rhys –“

“You have to get out of here, if she finds you with me –“ His breath quickened, his wide eyes causing something to squeeze my heart harshly.

In over a hundred years, I had never seen him like this, so utterly and completely afraid; fear, sheer frantic panic rolling off him in waves, completely ungarded -

“Indeed.”

I could feel the way Rhys froze under my hands when my eyes flew over to the door.

Could feel the wave of his unbridled dread crash over me when the female in the door smiled, her eyes flashing and blood-red hair glimmering in the candle light.

“Now look at that…”

☆

My knees dragged over the stone floors as the guards hauled me into the great, cavernous hall, Amarantha sauntering after us, Rhys behind her as he struggled against the males containing him, his teeth bared even as I could feel, smell the panic rolling off of him.

I tried to reach him, but the powers raging under my skin were slowly slipping out of my control, roaring at the way I could feel him struggle.

“Drop her.” Amarantha waved her hand casually, raising her brows as the guards dumped me to the ground in the middle of the hall and turning towards Rhys.

“You know, I really thought you'd have better taste.” Her tone was mocking, her smile amused. “A servant… and a faerie no less.”

Rhys fought against the guards holding him, but I could see the way his movements were restrained, like she was containing him. He looked like he was vibrating with unbridled fury, but there was something burning under the surface as I forced myself to my feet, something that made my heart tighten harshly.

Amarantha tutted softly, smiling widely. Her eyes raked over Rhys' face, and they sharpened. Then she raised a brow.

“Oh.”

Something skipped high and harsh against my ribs, and one corner of her lips quirked.

“Now that's interesting. Is it possible…” She tipped her head to the side, and Rhys grew rigid.

“You care for her. Oh now, now.” Amarantha laughed, and it rung through the air. “How quaint.” She smiled widely, and it sent a shiver down my spine as her eyes danced.

“The mighty High Lord and the faerie. I wonder…” Sauntering towards me, she reached out, her nails lightly raking over my jaw to tip it up, and I hissed at her, causing her to chuckle.

“Well, she is feisty. Still.” Her head tipped to the side, considering me like prized piece of cattle, and Rhys' struggle grew as she slowly started to smile and raised her brows mildly as she turned to look at him.

“I think you need a reminder who you belong to.”

Moving back, she lightly dipped her head, and someone kicked the back of my legs, causing them to buckle.

Sharp pain shot through my knees when I crashed to the floor, and I could feel my dress shift. Then rough hands pushed me forward and the fabric was ripped open, slipping down my back.

My heart skipped high into my throat, and I tried to reach out on instinct to cover myself, but my wrists were seized, forced away from my body.

I could hear the sound of a struggle, and when my eyes rose, Rhys was trying to tear himself away from the guards holding him, a terrifying snarl on his face. But Amarantha just smiled and placed a finger on her lips.

Iron shackles closed around my wrists, dragging my arms apart until I was kneeling, and my fingers started shaking as I tried to contain the magic brimming under the surface, the golden light trying to break out to rage around me. I forced up my head, and Amarantha raised a brow.

There was movement at the corner of my eye. Then something struck my back with such force, my body was thrown forward.

Burning pain seared over my skin, and a scream forced its way from my throat.

My back arched, trying to twist away, pain pulsing through my body and leaving my muscles trembling, and Rhys roared.

With one mighty rip, he broke away from the guards trying to contain him, but before he could make it even a few feet, Amarantha struck, and Rhys crumbled to the ground.

“No!” I struggled against the iron chains, magic surging under my skin as pressure build behind my eyes and an angry sound ripped from my throat.

“How precious.” Amarantha sounded bored and a little disdainful, waving her hand as she turned away, and two guards grabbed Rhys' arms, dragging him up until he was kneeling, forcing his head up.

He was bleeding, his brow cut, but it was nothing compared to the anguish in his eyes as they found mine, wild and desperate.

Fighting against the tug in my chest, I squeezed my burning eyes shut for a second before opening them again, staring at him as my body trembled.

“I,”, my voice broke with strain, “can take it.”

Amarantha chuckled. “Oh dear.”

Another hit struck my back, the whip slashing the air and through my skin, and a low scream tore from my throat. Tears brimmed at the corner of my eyes, my breath trembling at the pain pulsing through my back and into my body, and from holding onto the whirling storm in my chest.

“I doubt it.” Amarantha's eyes were glimmering with wicked delight, and as the next lash hit my back, I forced my head up, my body shaking as I gritted my teeth and fought the tears pooling from my eyes as they found the male behind her.

My heart stilled.

Went silent in my chest at the way he stared at me, head pulled back by his hair as the guards forced him to watch, his eyes wide, body rigid like he was gripped in an iron fist. There was something swirling in his gaze, not just anguish; pure torment, and intertwined with it was something else, something that reached so deep, I lost my breath.

No more.

The words seemed to whisper through my mind, through the fog and the pain, growing stronger as the air around me started to flimmer.

No more.

My eyes pierced into Rhys', a tremble going through my body. Then something settled in my chest.

No more.

Golden light bloomed around me as I let go. Allowed the whispers of magic to swarm me, flittering over my back, their whispering touch gentle, and I could feel the wounds close, leaving nothing behind but even skin.

The hum seemed to grow still, until I could feel the power in every inch of my body, pulsing and whirling, and Amarantha's voice reached me, sharp as she called to her guards: “Stop her, now -“

A wave of golden light erupted from my body.

Amarantha and the guards holding me got ripped off their feet, flung through the air, the males crashing into the walls as Amarantha slammed into the steps of the dais.

And as the ground started to tremble, the mountain itself rumbling like thunder, the shackles fell of my wrists and I pushed myself to my feet, golden swirls of magic building around me like a hurricane as rage carried me.

The doors flew open as guards streamed in, dozens and dozens more, barking orders as they took position and advanced, and power surged through my body.

The ground shook, then thick vines bursted from the stone floors. They slithered through the air, wrapping themselves around the guards and flinging them through the room, wrapping them up tight and engulfing them, their screams drowned as they turned into giant trees. Weapons turned into slithering branches, closing around their owner's arms and throats, armor grew green moss like treebark as I dodged a sword blow in a swift movement. Arrows flying at me turned into bursts of petals as I dove and slipped the guard's sword out of his hand, slashing it over his throat in one precise movement, and another wave of magic pulsed through my body, sending a wave that tore the remaining guards off their feet, swords and armor clattering when they crashed into the walls and onto the floors.

Raising my head, I felt the light around me flimmer, illuminating the sword in my hand for another moment as I slowly straightened, power surging through my body as the golden whisps began to disperse and I felt my breath again, quick and heavy. Something flickered in my chest when my gaze darted over the throne room, trees growing from stone floors, their branches stretching high up the cavernous ceiling, petals drifting over the ground and unconcious guards strewn across the floor.

The rage in my chest slowly washed away, a deep exhale leaving me, and looking over my shoulder, I felt something rise in my chest.

Rhys was still kneeling on the ground, having caught himself as the guards holding him had been torn across the room. His eyes were wide as his gaze darted over the hall, then they found mine, and something skipped so harshly into my throat, I lost my breath.

Rhys was staring at me like I had ripped open the mountain to show him the stars.

Something rose in my chest, fluttering like a hurricane, and turning around, I quickly stepped over a guard's legs and held out a hand, pulling him to his feet.

Slowly straightening, Rhys stared down at me, and his eyes began to shine in a way that made my breath catch.

There was a light flash of silver from the corner of my eye. I turned my head, and for a moment, time slowed.

Without thinking, I moved, the sword slipping from my hand and clattering to the ground as my fingers closed around Rhys' elbows and dragged him with me as I turned, turned until he was facing the dais and I was in the way, the way of –

Sharp pain struck my back.

I could feel my eyes widen, how time staggered just like my heart when hot, all consuming pain slowly spread from a point somewhere right beneath my shoulder blades. Then my eyes found Rhys', and the way he stared at me, his eyes growing wide, made time fall back into place.

My knees toppled lightly when pain crashed over me like a tidal wave, and Rhys dove forward to catch me. His pupils were blown wide as a wave of panic washed over me that wasn't my own, terrifying and mindnumbing as his hands frantically moved over my body, gripping my hips, pushing up my chin.

The pulsing pain from my back seemed to slowly consume my body, and my heart stuttered.

“No.” Rhys' voice ripped its on wound through my chest, disbelieving, hollow and horrified. His eyes darted over my face, all the color draining from his features, but he looked a bit blurred, like he was drifting away from me. I tried to grab at his chest, my movements strangely slow.

“Go.” My voice sounded strained to my own ears, but I forced myself to focus on Rhys' face, trying to fight past the pain the look on his face caused in my chest. His brows twitched as his eyes, panicked and frantic, darted over my face, and I pressed: “Get. Her.”

Rhys stared at me. Then something shifted in his eyes, beginning to glow, and his head rose, a terrifying growl rumbling from his chest.

“You.”

His hands slipped away from my arms and I could feel him move past me, something skipping high in my chest as I staggered lightly, dropping to my knees.

Forcing myself to straighten, I tried to suppress a whimper when I reached my hand up my back, twisting and feeling a rough sound built in my throat at the pain the movement sent cursing through my body.

My fingers slipped over something cold, and with a pressed sound, I pulled the blade out of my body. It clattered onto the stone, and the floor swayed under my knees when for a second, all I could see were black spots dancing before my eyes as something hot ran over my pulsing back.

Behind me, I heard the sound of fighting, snarls that made the hairs at the back of my neck rise, and I forced my head up to look over my shoulder. My vision swam, and my breath stilled when I heard the sound of a body hitting the ground heavily, heart rising into my throat as my eyes focused.

Rhys was kneeling on the ground before Amarantha, a sword pressed against the back of his neck as she snarled at him, hands curled into his hair, forcing his head back. I could see the fight in the strain in his shoulders, like he was battling her in his mind, but his body was trembling.

“Oh, I do like you on your knees.” Amarantha bared her teeth, and something shifted in my chest, blooming into a soundless roar as I pushed myself to my feet.

My fingers closed around the hilt of the sword I had dropped, the heavy blade beginning to glow in my grip, and Amarantha raised her head and scoffed.

“Don't be ridiculous.” She snarled as she stepped away, Rhys caught frozen, limbs trembling in a vain effort to free himself. “I posses the powers of all the High Lords of Prythian. No iron, no steel can defeat me, not even your powers. I have killed Fae for centuries.” Her eyes flickered over me, her lips curling. “You're no match for me, little faerie.”

Golden whisps of magic began to rise around me, the branches of the trees growing out of the stone rustling with a harsh wind, the vines creaking as they slithered, bowing into my direction as I walked towards Amarantha, magic beginning to grow under my skin until I could feel it glow.

I deflected the first blow of Amarantha's sword as it came crashing down, the force making the mountain rumble. Then I swerved to the right, blade slashing through the air as the space around us started to vibrate with power and my sword began to shine brighter and brighter.

“Give up!” Amarantha's voice shook the hall like thunder. “You'll never defeat me, you're a faerie, you'll just -”

My heart rose, and the mountain sang.

When my next blow came crashing down, it splintered Amarantha's sword in two with a blast of golden power. She dropped the useless hilt, eyes growing wide as her head whipped up, and my sword sank into her chest, deeper and deeper until we were face to face.

"I'm not just any faerie,”, I whispered.

A surge of power rippled through the air when I pulled the sword from Amarantha's chest, and I could feel the wards trembling. Then they shattered, the whole mountain groaning as I whirled around and swung the sword, the blade whizzing through the air and cleanly cutting off Amarantha's head.

Blood spattered, and with a thud, the female's lifeless body dropped to the ground.

Breathing heavily, I straightened, and my sword clattered as it hit the floor. The golden shimmer around me pulled back into my body, and suddenly, the world tilted.

My knees gave out, and I would have crashed down the steps if I hadn't been caught, arms wrapping around me and a familiar scent washing over me, causing my heart to jump weakly against my ribs.

I thought I heard a voice, deep and familiar and utterly panicked, calling my name as a warm hand closed around the side of my face, shaking me. But my lids were suddenly heavy, blinking becoming harder with the second. My body felt a bit like it was beginning to float; no more pain, only a strange, calm feeling, my limbs too heavy to move.

Through the fog, I heard the voice, thick and trembling, words not quite reaching me. Then something warm pressed against my temple, nudging my cheek.

“Stay with me.”

☆

Stay with me.

My eyes opened with a flutter, and I sucked in a sharp breath.

My gaze was blurry at first, but I thought I saw a high ceiling, far above me, the branches of trees, and felt arms holding me, propping me up against a warm, solid body that suddenly grew rigid.

Blinking, I breathed out before letting my head slowly roll to the side, and my eyes met another pair.

My heart skipped softly against my ribs at the sight of violet, mixed with starlight in eyes gleaming with tears, widening when they found mine as their owner became completely still.

I blinked, feeling slowly seeping back into my body, and a small sound broke from the back of my throat.

“Ow,”, I mumbled softly.

Rhys stared at me. Stared from shimmering eyes that were blown wide, wet tear tracks on his cheeks. His hand cradling my jaw was trembling, and something shifted gently in my chest at the way he seemed to fight for air. Then he blinked, and the tears in his eyes welled as his lips curved and a sobbed laugh left him, deep and shaking my body as Rhys dropped his head, his arms slipping around me until he was clinging to me, holding me to his chest as he pressed his nose against my temple.

I could feel his shuddering exhale, and how tears began to soak my hair, and something rose in my chest, fluttering wildly as it surged and pressure built behind my eyes, my fingers trembling as I curled them into his arm holding me.

Rhys' grip tightened, then he lightly pulled back his head. His hand slipped to rest against the side of my neck, and my breath hitched, stumbling until it stilled when he slowly started to smile at me. Smiled brighter and brighter, wide and radiant until deep creases formed in his cheeks and his violet eyes twinkled like a sky full of stars, and his voice was quiet and a bit hoarse when Rhys whispered thickly: “Hello, starshine.”

☆

Stepping out into the cool morning air, I breathed in deeply, closing my eyes for a second.

My body was still aching a little, my head thrumming, but it was duller now, like it was slowly ebbing away. The magic under my skin was no longer raging and whirling, instead buzzing softly from the healing I had done in the past few hours, Fae and faeries alike.

The wards had come down, the second Amarantha had died. Shortly after, the doors to the hall had burst open, and Rhys had gripped me tighter when all the High Lords had stormed inside, their newly returned powers thrumming just like the one's of the male holding me.

He had reluctantly left me alone, only after several insurances that I was fine and some mild teasing threats, his swagger returning to him as his mask slipped into place as he had joined the High Lords standing over Amarantha's body, her severed head turned towards the ceiling, her eyes staring lifelessly into the air.

Dropping my shoulders and stretching them slowly, my skin tingled gently right under my shoulder blades, and like instinct, I reached back, twisting my arm until I could brush my fingers over the spot where only a few hours ago, a dagger had nearly, maybe taken my life.

The skin was soft there now, and unblemished, as Rhys had showed me with a quick glimpse into my head.

Like there had never been any wound in the first place.

Letting my arm fall back to my side, I breathed out again before turning, and my heart did a soft skip when my gaze landed on the familiar male a bit away, standing on a ledge, head tipped back as he stared up at the sky that was slowly turning from a pale blue into a soft pink.

My heart skipped, and I hesitated for a second, then I carefully stepped onto the big ledge and softly called: “Rhys?”

My quiet voice carried through the cool air, and when he looked over his shoulder, my chest tightened harshly.

Tears were streaming over his face, his eyes shimmering as they reflected the sky, and I moved, darting towards him and stretching to slip my arms around his shoulders.

Rhys breathed out with a shudder, and his hands closed around my waist, pulling me tightly into his chest. Then he turned his head and buried his face in the crook of my neck. I could feel his tears drip onto my skin as soundless sobs left his body trembling, and my heart tightened harshly as my eyes welled.

Quickly pressing my nose against his shoulder, I let his pain wash over me, my chest aching as tears trickled over my cheeks and I buried my fingers in his hair.

By the time Rhys' sobs had faded away and the tears on my shoulder had dried as he just held me, the sun had started to rise on the horizon.

Carefully pulling back a bit, I looked up at him, finding his eyes already on my face, raw with emotion I couldn't quite decipher.

“Go home,”, I whispered softly, and a shudder went through Rhys' body, his hands tightening their grip around my waist for a moment.

His eyes searched mine, then he blinked.

“Come with me.”

I blinked, feeling my lips part in surprise as I stared up at him. There was no hesitation in his eyes, no doubt, nothing. Just something that looked a bit like a soft, feverish plea.

I blinked, and warmth slowly spread through my body, something closing gently around my throat.

“I can't,”, I mumbled, and Rhys' grip loosened, causing me to quickly curl my fingers into his shirt.

“No, I just,”, I huffed a little, frowning at him, "not yet." Breathing out, I tipped my head to the side and sent him a soft, helpless smile. “There are still so many in there who need my help. High Fae and faeries alike. And in the courts. I can't just –“

Rhys exhaled, and my heart skipped into my throat when he dropped his head to rest his forehead against mine, his hands gently closing around my waist.

“You're awfully inconsistent, you know that?”, he whispered, and his rough voice sent a soft tingle over my skin. “You claim to not like the High Fae, and yet, you're still helping them.”

“I know.” I gently tapped my finger against his chest. “I mean, I constantly help you, what's that all about?"

Rhys huffed, and I grinned lightly before pulling back and mumbling: “They've suffered enough for a while.”

Rhys blinked, and his eyes moved over my face, something beginning to glow gently in his iris.

“Promise that when you're finished, you'll come to Velaris.”

Staring up at him, I felt my heart flutter genly against my ribs. Then I blinked and slowly smiled, soft and cheeky.

“I promise.”

Rhys' eyes flickered over mine, and something tightened in my chest, my heart skipping when I quickly said: “Promise you'll find me if you need me?”

The male's gaze moved over my face, and slowly, one corner of his lips rose, just the tiniest bit.

“Promise,”, he mumbled, his deep voice sending a soft tingle down my spine, and I breathed out, a weight slipping from my shoulders.

For a second, I stared up at him, then, before I could stop myself, I stretched to press my lips onto his cheek.

Rhys' grip around me tightened, and my heart rose into my throat when I allowed myself to linger for just a second. Then I let myself sink back to the ground, and my breath hitched when Rhys dropped his head like he was trying to follow me.

The male blinked and slowly straightened again, staring down at me, a look in his eyes that made my chest squeeze gently.

Slowly, I took a step backwards, sending him a soft, crooked smile as I lightly poked his ribs.

“Go.” Warmth spread through my chest as I raised my brows. “They've been waiting long enough.”

Rhys exhaled, a weight seeming to slip from his shoulders, and I turned around. I could feel his eyes track me as I made my way back towards the entrance in the mountain.

When I looked back before stepping through, he was gone like the night breeze.

@starswholistenanddreamsanswered @stayinglow-exploringworlds @tcris2020

[clockwork-ashes]

All You Have Is Your Fire - Part I

Find more writing here :)

Summary: 'I can hear your heart beating through the stone.' For the briefest of moments, Lucien wondered if his mate would know exactly when his heart’s steady rhythm came to a sudden stop.

Note: A huge, huge thank you to the lovely @bettdraws who literally deserves all the credit and whose post inspired me to start writing this. I could not stop thinking about this head canon, and it was so kind of you to let me try and make a story from it :)

Part II >>

Lucien tugged at the iron chains around his wrists, the unforgiving metal biting into his skin. He knew there was no chance of escaping, that his fate now rested in the hands of others, but Lucien had hoped one of the links would break and he could take some of the pressure off his shoulders. 

“Fuck,” Lucien mumbled, blood still wet on his lips. He ran his tongue over his teeth to check if they were all there. “Fucking hells.” 

With one last useless pull on his restraints, Lucien gave up on breaking free from his shackles. He decided to take a better look around the small cell he had been thrown into, but even with his golden eye, he had to squint into the darkness. 

Stone walls spelled against magic of any type closed Lucien off from the rest of the world. He could feel damp, cool air against his skin, the type that came from being deep within the earth. He was quite sure his nose had been broken, but he took a shuddering breath. Mingled with the copper scent of his own blood, Lucien could smell dying leaves. 

Home. 

The thought came to him unbidden, thunderous in the silence. Others in Prythian thought that Autumn was rotting, cruel in its beauty, always just on the verge of death. Lucien had always found comfort in the constant state of the court he had been raised in. He had not considered Autumn his home for centuries, and Lucien rushed to shake the idea from his mind. 

He stumbled to the cell’s door, leaning onto the aged wood with all his weight. There was a small circle carved into it, a sorry excuse for a window, Lucien thought. When he pressed his forehead against the opening, and angled his head just right, Lucien could make out an endless hallway. He could see no guards, could hear nothing but the steady beat of his own heart. 

Lucien had been hopeful before, but the chance of him making it out of Autumn alive was starting to look more and more unlikely with each passing moment. Golden eye whirring, he searched for a crack in the wards. 

Lucien felt dread, ice cold, crawling up his spine. No one would come for him, he thought, the panic gripping him like a vice. He would be left entirely at his father’s mercy, alone and forgotten. 

Voice low, Lucien cursed Beron Vanserra for being terrible, and he cursed his brothers for being even worse. He added Rhysand’s name as well, angry for having sent him to handle the issue at Spring’s border. Lucien hissed one last bitter curse before he kicked the door in frustration. 

The action sent a jolt of pain up his entire leg, but being able to release some of that pent up rage managed to make Lucien feel just a bit better. He kicked the door once again with added force, wholly out of character for one of Prythian’s best emissaries. 

When the door shuddered, the ancient hinges screeching as if in protest, Lucien wondered if he had perhaps shattered the ward. As the door slowly opened, though, dim firelight falling through the widening space, Lucien moved faerie-quick to press his back against the rough stone behind him.  

It was a lesson the youngest of children were taught in Autumn, how easy it was for jewelled daggers to meet their mark. It was easier to fight, and to protect yourself, if you only had to worry about what was in front of you. It was a lesson so well ingrained in Lucien’s mind that it had become instinct. 

As the door opened entirely, and a tall figure stepped into the stone arch of the cell, Lucien remembered who had been the one to teach him that lesson in the first place. 

Eris Vanserra, Beron’s most trusted son and the heir to his throne. No one could deny Eris looked like a prince, all Autumn, even without a golden crown set on his blood-red hair. 

Lucien looked from his brother’s leather boots, to his brown pants, to the white shirt laced to Eris’s throat. He couldn’t see a weapon, no dagger hilt warning others that Eris was armed. 

Amber eyes fell on Lucien, lip curling in disgust. He looked disappointed, Lucien thought, before he realised that Eris was within the walls of the cell. 

Mind racing, Lucien glanced past his brother and into the hallway. Perhaps—

“Don’t even think about it,” Eris snapped, the words like a whip’s lash. 

“Fuck off,” Lucien snarled, angry that so much time had passed and yet Eris could still read him like an open book. Lucien looked more closely at Autumn’s heir, but he couldn’t guess just from the expression on his brother's face whether he had come to help, or to do their father’s bidding. 

“Were you always so crude with your words,” Eris raised an eyebrow in question, “or is this the Night Court’s influence?” 

Lucien bowed slightly at the waist, the gesture awkward with his hands still shackled behind him, mocking. “You have my sincerest apologies.” Lucien wanted to strangle Eris, and he hoped the tone of his voice conveyed the feeling well. 

When Eris tilted his head, looking more wolf than faerie, the small golden hoops going up the arch of his ear glimmered in the light from the torches. “Father is not very pleased with you.” 

Lucien made a point to look around the small space he was in. “Thank you for telling me, he hadn’t made his displeasure obvious.” His golden eye clicked into place as he faced Eris. “Is that all?” 

“He wants you dead,” Eris said, voice clipped, but certain. Lucien could see no mercy in that flaming gaze, no care. 

Lucien nodded, unseeing. He had known, from the moment he had been brought to Autumn, that his death would be the likeliest outcome. He was too busy thinking, mind preoccupied with the image of brown eyes, the rich colour of a fawn’s coat. 

I can hear your heart beating through the stone. 

For the briefest of moments, Lucien wondered if his mate would know exactly when his heart’s steady rhythm came to a sudden stop. 

The thought troubled him enough that he turned his attention back to Eris, glaring. “Come to gloat?” 

Eris shrugged, the movement elegant in a way only the best of courtier’s were capable of. “Only partially.” His lips turned down at the corners, the smallest of frowns, before he continued. “If it were up to me, I’d leave you here to rot with the rest of the prisoners. Truly, I could care less about what father decides to do to you.” 

“How kind,” Lucien mumbled, not entirely believing his brother’s words, but not exactly sure where the Autumn heir actually stood on the matter. Once, Lucien had believed Eris cared, but that seemed like a lifetime ago. 

Eris ignored Lucien’s remark all together. “Mother, though,” he continued, “she’s worried about your well being.” 

“Then tell her everything is fine.” Lucien knew the Lady of Autumn had enough to worry about. 

“That would be a lie,” Eris snapped. “Father is one bad mood away from ripping you apart and sending your severed head to Rhysand as a gift.” The words were a hiss, barely a whisper. 

Lucien breathed in sharply. “Eris–” He hadn’t known what he was going to say, but Eris raised a beringed hand, demanding silence. 

“You’re very lucky, Lucien, that I have some spare time in my very busy schedule to do as our mother has asked and find a way to return you to the Night Court.” 

Lucien could imagine his mother, tears in her russett eyes so similar to his own, as she fell to her knees at Eris’s feet, begging for help. He wondered if Eris had spoken to her kindly. 

“All out of the goodness of your heart?” Lucien questioned. He had meant for it to be angry, but instead he sounded exhausted. 

“What heart?” 

Lucien very nearly rolled his eyes. Only in the Autumn Court could people be so dramatic. “You’ll come back for me, then?” He would try to keep his expectations of Eris low. Lucien had learned from the last time he had found himself in a similar situation that hoping for help from his eldest brother was pointless. Then, he had considered it a betrayal, now he knew better, it was simply in Eris’s nature to do things that only ever benefited him. 

Eris smiled, the expression making it seem like he was baring his teeth. The dim firelight was casting long shadows on Eris’s face, the slash of his cheekbones looked glass sharp. “Give me a day or two, little brother.” Lucien flinched at the last two words, more cruel than anything else Eris had said to him since his arrival. If Eris noticed, he chose not to acknowledge it. “If your heart is still beating, I’ll find a way to return you to your High Lady.” 

Eris had a rare gift in his ability to make anything sound like an insult, Lucien thought. Still leaning against the rough wall for support, Lucien nodded in agreement. He knew better than to trust his brother’s word, but for the first time since he’d been tossed into the dungeons, he felt a small spark of hope. 

Eris took a step back, away from the arch in the stone, and Lucien was plunged once more into darkness. He winnowed without a word, the torches going out as he disappeared, and leaving nothing but a few dying embers in his wake. 

The heavy oak door slammed shut, locks falling into place, and Lucien was once again alone.

[ginandtobacco]

Lady Luck

@erisweekofficial

Day One: Bargains

Pairing: Eris x OC

Summary: Eris makes a bargain with an elusive criminal known only as Lady Luck. His father's death in exchange for a position in his court; a bargain with the devil in exchange for a crown soaked in blood.

Warnings: mentions of gambling & alcohol, vague mentions of child abuse

Word Count: 4.2k

Authors Note: i had to cut a bunch of scenes because i need to go to bed and i didn't want to post late. but i'm still so happy to be participating <3

“A place in the Autumn Court. I’d be a lovely advisor, probably prettier than the ones your father—”

“Absolutely not,” Eris snapped back, the temperature in the room flaring with his anger.

The two unlikely companions were sat in a private room of The Molten Ruby; a shady invite only lounge in the Autumn Court’s capital that specialized in drugs, women, and gambling. Any faerie could acquire whatever their heart desired, so long as they had enough gold on hand.

The woman across from Eris was probably around his age, but it was so hard to tell with the strange mask that covered most of her face. Tiny disks of gold overlapped like chainmail, beginning at the crown of her head and slowly becoming more sparse until the bottom of her face was covered by nothing more than thin golden chains. It reminded him of a snake’s scales, shifting and shimmering as they reflected the candle light. The mask had the intended effect though, the woman could see Eris through the gaps in the metal and he wouldn’t be able to describe a single feature of her face other than her luminous dark skin and sinful red lips.

The woman was called Lady Luck. Everyone at The Molten Ruby had an alias, usually an obviously fake name, but Lady Luck’s reputation far outstripped any fake name she’d taken on. The card games she ran were legendary, famous for their large pots and her reputation for killing cheaters at the table. But Eris was here for her less well known skills.

“You’re asking quite a lot of me princeling,” she purred, a soft accent tinging her words. The casualness with which she took a sip of her wine infuriated him, a faint red mark staining the rim where her lipstick was wearing off. “An assassination is one thing, but framing someone complicates it.”

“Poisoning him and putting the bottle in Hadrian’s room is not a complicated matter.” But they both knew that wasn’t what Eris was looking for. If he’d wanted something that simplistic and easily scrutinized, he wouldn’t be here with Lady Luck. No, what he needed was a death so well planned and executed that even the idea of suspecting Eris would be ridiculous.

He wanted her, needed her. Lady Luck with her strange magic that didn’t seem to belong to any one court. Eris could feel her magic, she had never bothered to hide it, like electricity filling the air around her. He didn’t know what abilities she had, or how they work, just that she had a reputation for making things happen. Bad luck. That’s what people claimed her powers were, although he thought it was a ridiculous idea. It didn’t really matter what her powers were, so long as she could do what he needed.

Her blood red lips curved up, mocking him. “If that was all you needed then why couldn’t the Shadowsinger do it for you. I hear you’ve been spending quite a lot of time in the Night Court lately.”

Panic. Such a familiar emotion to Eris, but rarely had it ever been inspired by someone other than his father. Ice worked its way through his veins, snuffing out the fire that filled him and closing around his heart. “How do you know that?” His voice was no more than a whisper. 

She laughed, the sound melodic and too pretty for a female that held his life in the palm of her hand. “It’s my business to know these things, isn’t it?”

Luck was too pretty of a thing to call her, too rose colored and optimistic for the lethal female in front of him. No, she was a spider slowly spinning her web and watching happily as Eris wrapped himself in the sticky strands she’d woven just for him.

“It’s a bargain then.” 

The mark seared into the skin of his upper arm, constricting around his bicep like a snake. Lady Luck looked down at the matching mark on her own bare arm, a collection of autumn leaves and tangled vines. 

“I look forward to joining your court, my lord.”

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

It happened like this: Beron and Hadrian went out for a hunt with a handful of the lords Beron was trying to pressure into supporting his new tax policies. It happened as many hunts tend to when it is late in the season and there is little game to be found; the excitement of the sport replaced with freely flowing wine and leisurely riding through the forest. 

It happened like this: Hadrian saw a buck. The first game of the hunt and it was a deer larger than any he had ever seen before, with a pure white coat and antlers so large they looked cumbersome. Hadrian had always been the most egotistical of the brothers and it was no surprise when he loosed an arrow at the buck almost immediately after seeing it.

It happened like this: hours of drinking, a male who had never been a talented shot even when he was sober, and Beron’s horse getting spooked just as Hadrian released the arrow. An arrow aimed for a magnificent buck that only he had seen striking Beron clean through the left eye. 

There had been no trial. A dozen witnesses had rendered the need for one obsolete. A dozen witnesses who had seen Hadrian shoot his father clean between the eyes and all swore on their lives that they had seen no deer in the woods. A dozen witnesses who had seen the princeling’s face turn from fear, to elation, then finally to horror when he realized the crown had not in fact passed to him as he’d expected.

Eris had killed him quickly. A small mercy from the new high lord. A snap of his fingers and suddenly his brother was nothing more than a pile of ash on the floor of the throne room. The second oldest of the lot, the one born while Eris was away rebuilding the court after the first war with Hybern. The one closest in age to him and furthest from him in spirit; being swept into a dustpan by a servant with shaking hands.

Three dead brothers. A dead father. A mother he knew would leave for the Day Court come morning. A brother who still would not speak to him, who preferred the company of humans over him. Two brothers left in autumn, neither of whom he could trust but whose talents he needed.

Eris was high lord and he was somehow more alone than he had been before. 

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

The female standing at the foot of his throne was beautiful. Hundreds of tiny braids cascaded down her back, swishing gently with every movement. Her dress was strange, certainly not a style common in Prythian. Intricate embroidery of a bursting heart covered the bodice and the gown synched at her waist, creating a rigid skirt that reminded him of a trumpet flower. The high neck didn’t include sleeves, slivers of her dark brown shoulders visible before her odd coat of voluminous red fabric hid it away.

And her calves… Eris was certain every faerie in the room was staring at the inches of bare skin visible between the end of her dress and her ankles. It was scandalous here in a court that valued modesty so heavily. Perhaps in the Night Court or in Day those six inches of bare calves would be normal but here, they were positively sinful.

“And who, pray tell, are you?” Eris asked, lazily propping his head on his hand. In truth, it was quite concerning that a strange female had managed to access the Forest House; to gain entry into his throne room of all places. But he needed to continue his facade of bored arrogance in front of the handful of advisors with whom he’d been discussing trade negotiations. 

The serpentine grin on her face shot cold fear through his veins. Eris felt the world slow as she let her strange coat slide down to her elbows, revealing a tattoo of twisting thorns and autumn leaves that encircled her bicep. “My name is Rosaline, I am the second daughter of the King of Montesere.” Somehow her smile seemed to grow, her brown eyes sparking with mischief as she stared up at him. “I believe we have something to discuss, High Lord.”

It was like being thrown into the icy lake of the Winter Court. This realization of how thoroughly Eris had been tricked by Lady Luck— Rosaline. The slight accent that he had dismissed, the magic that didn’t belong to any of the courts of Prythian, the strange mask that had hidden her identity so thoroughly. Even this dress she wore with the embroidery of the bursting heart— a symbol associated with Montesere. 

Eris had made a bargain with the devil and she had come to collect, and it was no one’s fault but his own stupidity and his blind desperation to be free from his father. 

“Everyone out.”

Lady Luck— Rosaline— continued smiling up at him as his advisors scurried out of the room. A suffocating silence surrounded them as the door swung shut, leaving him completely alone with her. She seemed quite content to let him drown in the silence, her hands clasped casually in front of her as if nothing was amiss.

“Are you a spy then?” Dispensing with formalities seemed the best path forward. Rosaline could already damn him if she so desired, there was no point in hiding from their bargain. 

“I thought you were supposed to be intelligent, my lord.” The arrogance made his blood boil. “My father has spent the past few years keeping the news of my disappearance quiet but make no mistake, I left Montesere of my own free will. I assume his spies will be sending letters to him as we speak of my reappearance.”

A runaway princess. A runaway princess who he had promised a court position to. A runaway princess who had killed the former high lord at his request. Eris was tangled in this web she had woven for him and based upon her self-satisfied smirk she had him exactly where she wanted.

“Are you trying to start a war?” He let the condescension drip from his words, his only armor against this female. 

Her eyes left him, scanning the room with a casual indifference; like her presence in his court was not causing an insurmountable political problem for him. “I quite like it here. I’ve seen the other courts in Prythian and they’re not quite up to my standards. It’s not my intention to start a war, but it is of course up to your discretion.”

Stupid sly female. She was out playing him at his own game, dragging him deeper and deeper into her web and it was only his own stupidity to blame.

Exhaustion had burrowed itself deep in his bones. It was mere weeks since he’d become High Lord and every moment since had been spent putting out fires. Eris was so tired of everything. “Just tell me what you want and be done with it.”

“If you want to avoid a war, your best move is to marry me.” She said it so matter of factly, like she was telling him the weather or the time of day. “My father has been trying to marry me off for a century now, I’m sure he wouldn’t oppose a union with the Autumn Court.”

Marriage. The word echoed in his mind, bringing with it all of the awful memories of his parents; of the terrible end of his last engagement, of watching his father kill Lucien’s lover in this very room. Eris had never been foolish enough to think he’d have the opportunity to marry for love, but he had had the idiotic belief that he might have a choice in the matter. Marriage or war.

A soft pop and suddenly there was a letter in his hand. Burgundy wax with the impression of a bursting heart secured the thick beige paper. The seal of the King of Montesere looked rather simplistic and non threatening here. It made the complex embroidery on Rosaline’s dress look gorey by comparison.

“Marriage or war.”

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

The wedding had been quick. A grand affair, to be sure, filled with days of celebration and plying his advisors and the nobility with alcohol and carefully painted smiles. A week after the King of Montesere had threatened him for harboring his daughter, Eris and Rosaline had tied their hands together in front of a priestess and made vows to the mother to be faithful to one another. 

A vow, he thought, was so worthless compared to a bargain. An empty promise with no consequences for violating. So meaningless compared to the bargain that wrapped around his arm, branding him a fool. 

Then there had been more drinking and more dancing and very few words exchanged between himself and his new wife before finally they were allowed to retire. 

“Separate rooms, how thoughtful of you,” Rosaline had laughed when he pushed open the door to their chambers. 

He ignored her, striding across the room and removing the cork from a bottle of wine unceremoniously. Eris didn’t offer to pour her a glass, a small childish protest that didn’t actually make him any less annoyed.

As he went to put the bottle back down, he just barely knocked the bottom of it against the table. It slipped from between his fingers and as he reached with his other hand to catch it, the freshly poured glass spilled down the front of his jacket. Shattered glass and blood red wine soaked the rug and his clothes as he turned to glare at his wife.

“Bit of bad luck?” Her lips were pulled down in mock sympathy as she pulled the jeweled pins from her elaborate hairstyle. 

Eris wanted to strangle her, but he forced himself to take a slow measured breath. It was just wine, it was fine. He was stuck with her, he couldn’t kill her, he needed to make do. “So it’s true then? It’s just luck?” The implication was clear in his voice. It was just luck. He’d made a stupid bargain with her and all she’d done is turn his father’s luck bad. Something so small, so irrelevant, as to be meaningless. She was no master assassin or brilliant schemer. She’d simply turned Beron’s luck bad and been lucky that he died.

Rosaline raised an eyebrow at him as she pulled the last of her hair down. He had the fleeting thought that he liked the way her hair looked when it was down; the way all of those small braids framed her face. “And you just make fire,” she bit back at him.

This time he felt it when she used her magic. Tiny sparks of electricity seemed to fill the room as she tossed the handful of jewel encrusted pins towards a bowl on the coffee table. They all clattered as they hit the table, dinging as they hit the polished wood and the candles. Two landed directly in the bowl, but he watched with fascination as the other pins bounced off of the table and into the bowl. It wasn’t an impossible feat, but it was very very lucky. 

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

“Why me?”

The two of them were sitting in the living area that connected their bedchambers. It was a rare period of amiable silence as they read their respective books and the fire crackled quietly before them. Most of their time was dedicated to avoiding each other or attending important events with carefully constructed masks of cordial collaboration.

Rosaline looked up, raising an eyebrow at him. “I’m not a mind reader; elaborate.”

Pages rustled as Eris shoved a report between the pages of his book to mark his place “Why marry me? Why not just continue on as Lady Luck?” He ran a hand through his hair, the neatly combed strands falling into disarray. “Clearly you were capable of staying hidden from your father’s spies, so why force me into this marriage? Is it power that you want?”

Rosaline wasn’t exactly sure what she’d expected him to ask, but she hadn’t expected curiosity about her. They’d spent the weeks since their wedding avoiding each other, content to live their separate lives in a shared home. She’d had an unspoken edge over him since he made that stupid bargain with her, but giving him even a glimpse of her true self felt dangerous. Like she was gambling instead of pulling his strings.

“Why is your brother so unhappy that he resorts to living with humans?” Eris bristled at the mention of Lucien, but she pressed on, “Isn’t it better to ensure I have a husband who owes me something, rather than be offered up as a trophy? Marry someone my father approved of or spend my life running. After five years of hiding I was already sick of it.”

She shrugged, opening her book again to signal the end of their brief conversation.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

Six months into their strange and strained marriage, and Eris still didn’t think he was used to living with Rosaline. 

She was a fickle creature, clearly raised around wealth like him and more than willing to let her flights of fancy carry her throughout the day. Work was something that happened sporadically for her whenever the mood struck. He might sit down for the usual silent dinner only to be informed that she was busy writing budget proposals for a public works project one of the other noble ladies had mentioned to her.

The worst was at night. Often he would wake in the middle of the night, visions of flames and whips and his father’s face dragging him forcefully from his sleep; only to find her toiling away on some pet project of hers in the sitting area. His shame about the nightmares the only thing preventing him from walking past her to the liquor cabinet to chase away his demons.

This night, however, had been worse than usual. Eris swore he could feel the charred skin on his back even as he wiped the sweat from his brow and looked in the mirror. This night, he didn’t bother being ashamed as he strode into the brightness of the sitting area.

“I don’t recommend that.”

Mother above, the last thing he wanted to hear was her voice when he was already about to try and claw his skin off.

“What?” He snapped, turning his ire on her; the whiskey forgotten for now.

Rosaline’s braids were tied back loosely with a silk ribbon. It matched the crimson fabric of her short nightgown, the scalloped edges highlighting just how much of her smooth dark skin was uncovered and glowing beneath the candlelight. 

“If your only solution to your nightmares is drinking, you’re going to become dependent on it.” Fire sang in his veins as he watched her make a note in the margin of whatever she was reading. How dare she assume she knew better than him? She was just a strange female from the continent who knew nothing about him.

“How dare you—”

Rosaline managed to cut him off with nothing more than a look, her bloodshot eyes cutting through the panic and anger that had burnt away all of his logic and reason. “Maybe if you didn’t do this same routine a dozen times a month I would be able to finally get a good night’s rest.” Her gaze softened somewhat before she turned back to her work, “Go back to bed, High Lord.” 

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

“I still think it’s ridiculous that Lord Rothwaine thinks he has any leverage in the negotiations,” Rosaline rolled her eyes as they walked back towards their rooms. “The border with the Winter Court is the least productive part of the entire court. Perhaps he might have more bargaining power if his region had a larger population, or even any useful exports, but as it stands he’s simply insulting you by assuming he even has a leg to stand on.”

Eris shook his head, a half smile tugging at his lips. “They’re all like that, when will you stop being shocked by their arrogance?” In truth, he had come to enjoy these spirited rants from her. It had taken time, and time, and yet more time, but slowly the two of them had developed something close to a friendship. “I don’t understand why you continue torturing yourself with these meetings when you have no desire in helping with the tariff adjustments.”

“What would you have me do instead? Embroider you more handkerchiefs?” She tossed her hair, letting the braids smack against his arm to illustrate how annoying she found his question. “If you weren’t so uptight you might let me actually help you and then we wouldn’t both have to show up to hear Lord Rothwaine prattle on about how lowering our tariff on Summer Court wheat will drive us to ruin.”

Eris held the door to their rooms open, raising an eyebrow at her. “I told you you were free to do as you wished.”

“My apologies for assuming do as I wish didn’t mean governing your court.” She tossed her crown and Eris didn’t even bother to look, knowing after a year that it would land or bounce somewhere safely. He had married a lucky female, after all. “Besides, what’s the point in me doing anything if you’re just going to do it again? You get upset when I move your paperwork, I can’t imagine what you’d do if I started doing it for you.”

“Tell me what you want to do and I’ll set it aside then. You’re more than competent, I trust you to do it without me needing to check it.” He tossed his jacket, aiming for the back of a chair and rolling his eyes when it slid and folded itself perfectly in the seat. 

In recent months he’d noticed Rosaline’s magic had begun affecting him as well. Only when she was nearby, of course, but it was like he’d been infected by it. Lost items were always found quickly, dropped glasses bounced harmlessly off of pillows, rings snagged on dresses never ripped them. It was a strange thing to get used to, this sudden surge of good luck.

Silence stretched and he looked up from his cufflinks to see Rosaline giving him a look he couldn’t quite parse. Her eyes seemed to be searching him for… something, he didn’t know what. Worn lipstick stained her lips an uneven crimson and his eyes snagged on them as she caught her bottom lip between her teeth. 

Eris wondered why he so rarely considered what she looked like. Most days she was just Rosaline. Wife was simply a formal title they used. Friend was closer, but it didn’t truly encompass the way they’d intertwined their lives together in the past year and change. He rarely considered what she looked like because he rarely considered what he himself looked like beyond just presentable. 

He let himself look at her. Long braids reached almost to her waist, a dark brown that shone reddish next to the roaring fire. Her dark brown skin that always looked so lovely in the reds and oranges of his court, as if she had been made to live amongst the maple trees that filled the forest outside. And her eyes; a brown so rich and deep that to compare them to any one thing would be doing them a disservice. A brown that managed to hold every color inside itself and reflect such shining light that it was a miracle Eris had spent the past year looking anywhere else. 

It felt like a bowstring being pulled taut, stretching between two points before finally settling into place. It felt like the last brick of a shimmering gold bridge finally being laid down. It felt like stumbling through the darkness and feeling a warm hand wrap around his own. 

“Am I an idiot?” The words came out so quickly, without him meaning to speak at all.

Rosaline let out a laugh, so quick and loud that she put her hand over her mouth like she could force it back in. She glanced away from him, but it was clear she was just trying to hide the fact that she still wanted to laugh at him.

One moment he was behind the couch taking off his cufflinks and the next he was standing before her, gently taking one of her hands in his own and pressing it to his chest. There would be time later for him to think through all of the fears he harbored, the terror and horror that came with having his soul tied to another. But for now, the rhapsodic joy he felt at this revelation was overpowering even his anxieties. 

“How long have you known?”

A manicured eyebrow raised, a perfect imitation of an expression he wore so often, but it couldn’t hide the devilish grin that tugged at her lips. “Let’s just say it was a lucky guess.”

fun fun, another longer authors note down here at the end. i'm a bit annoyed at myself, i got halfway through this and realized that the way i was writing it it was going to need to be about 3x the length it is rn. but c'est la vie, i have work tomorrow and so i cut it down a bunch so i could get it finished before i had to sleep. so it is very unedited, but hey! i'll probably revisit this in a few weeks to add in everything i cut so the ending feels more satisfying and the time-skips feel less jumpy. anyways, not how i wanted to start eris week but i'm so happy nonetheless <33

[justbelievinginmagic]

ariadne's thread ⎯ pt. 10: betrayal.

pairing(s): hyunjin x fem!reader, jisung x fem!reader, jisung & fem!reader, chan & fem!reader, changbin & fem!reader series summary: when tempted by an intoxicating offer by hyunjin the goblin king of the underground, you fight against him to find your own sense of self once more while in his labyrinth. glimpse: with the aid of the king's knight, the quest continues into a humid forest as the party begin to recall their pasts and retrace their steps to the labyrinth; jisung is forced to choose a future. warnings/tags: inspired by the 1986' movie Labyrinth, follows majority of the movie's plot points with lore divergence, 3rd person POV, use of Y/N, faerie lore, world-building, explicit language, no hyunjin appearance fyi, betrayal, hunger, magic, guilt, implied drugging, some relationship building, a lot of lore building tbh, all the labyrinth animals are actually from the dark crystal: age of resistance which i watch to get into the mood to write sometimes, other than thatttttt lemme know if i need to tag anything else :) word count: 4 k previous chapter <- -> next chapter series masterlist

While the Bog was blistering hot, the forest they founded themselves in wasn’t much better. Instead, it’s shade did little to make it cooler. Instead, it became mucky and humid. For the first time since entering the Underground, she sweated. Rolling up her sleeves and pushing her hair back, she fanned herself as they walked along.

“It’s so hot here,” she voiced.

“That’s the Underground for you,” Chris commented. “It has so many different eco-systems. You should see the ice caverns.”

Ice caverns… now that sound hellish. She hoped they would not stumble upon those on their journey. She could handle a light chill; she could handle the dark; she could handle heat; she didn’t know if she could handle snow.

“I remember the first time I saw them; they were glittering for the Prince’s birthday… or was it for the King’s? No, no maybe it was for the Goddess’ Celebration.” Changbin pondered aloud as they rounded a large ivy-covered tree stump.

The dirt beneath her feet was gritty, transitioning from sand to a dirt the further they left the Bog behind. With the rich dirt, the forest bloomed larger. The trees were gigantic; huge redwood-esque trees burst forth with bulging trunks and root bases. Their leaves and branches fanned out, shielding the stalactites and any openings in the cavern’s ceiling from view. Green and thriving. Sunlight from the cave’s opening casted through the branches and leaves, making the forest floor look like a kaleidoscope of greens and yellows.

Squinting at the trees, she could see an electric hum course through them. Magic trickling through the trees like liquid gold, giving them an unearthly glow. As they continued along, some even became a strange transparency. Only the rough texture of the bark was visible in a shroud of golden veins. She could clearly see the magic pathways then, sparkling like crushed diamonds, like the powdered magic flowed in rivers along the ringed layers of the tree. Trickling throughout the plant, trickling down into the roots. It was beautiful.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve seen the Ice Caverns,” Han said. He sounded strange, a bit distracted as he looked this way and that.

“I can’t remember the last time I left my post,” Sir Changbin commented as he trucked along.

Large leaves from an equally large tree crunched beneath their feet, loudly. Changbin’s sword clicked and clanked against his meaty thigh as he stomped this way and that. He had become the unofficial guide through the brush. Leading them around large trees and ivy-covered bushes, he directed them with his loud boisterous voice. Loyally, Chris remained by her side as Han stumbled behind them. The Runner glanced back at him every now and then. Was he still ill from the Bog?

“A lot has changed,” Han called as he caught the Runner’s eye. He was quick to look away, dodging her curious eyes.

She furrowed her brow at him. Was he okay?

“It’s the same Underground regardless,” Chris reassured Changbin.

As they continued along, fauna emerged once more. There were jelly butterflies, all who seemed to still love Chris, swarming him with gentle kisses. He giggled and said quiet hellos to them as he gently swatted them away. Pixies of blues, pinks, and yellows were circling through the air in organized flocks. Han glared at them as they dove down at him, tauntingly. Multi-tailed foxes chased one another as they dodged in and out of large elephant-ear plants.

It was almost peaceful. The sound of crickets chirped in the air.

“Same Underground,” Changbin agreed with a grin.

It was strange to think it was peaceful, Y/N thought. The Labyrinth had been so upside-down, so strange. But perhaps when oddity was reality, was it really so odd?

A rabbit with an odd muzzle, almost like a pig’s snout, hopped across their path. “Oh, a dwaekki,” Changbin exclaimed with a fond look.

“It’s a pig-rabbit?” she exclaimed.

“Or a rabbit-pig, depending on the way you look at them,” Chris commented beside her, shrugging.

“Are all animals… conjoined?” she asked. She had seen jelly-fish butterflies too.

“We have chickens, sometimes dogs,” Chris answered. “But there are also dwaekkis, jellyflies, vindles, winged rakkidas, unamoths, shrookils-“

“I love fried shrookil legs,” Changbin chimed in, eagerly.

Chris hummed in agreement. He had been used to gruel every day for the longest time. He yearned for something greasy and indulgent.

“With a good side of rice and maybe—”

Her stomach growled loudly.

“Oh,” Changbin looked bashfully at her stomach, surprised to hear such a loud noise come from the human.

“Sorry, hungry,” she commented as they rounded a corner.

Chris looked this way and that, scanning the brush for anything edible. Instead, they came upon a roadblock. Twisted and a rusted color, it was a large briar-esque circular plant. Up to their waist, it was tall and full of pine needles, thorns, and even glowing baubles. Without a second thought, Changbin whipped out his sword to slash away the obstacle for them.

Jisung huffed out in outrage as pine needles rained down on them. Changbin turned at the sound and laughed out in short ‘ha, ha, ha’s.

“Things really haven’t changed,” he laughed. “Never would I think I see the Han wandering the wilderness.”

“What do you know of Han?” The Runner asked immediately. Almost teasingly. She knew how private he was and how insistent you weren’t just supposed to ask certain questions.

Han didn’t even roll his eyes.

Now, she was concerned.  

“He was the Prince’s Lord, the Gentleman-In-Waiting. You saw him wherever he went. And the Han I know hated traveling.” Changbin recalled. “Or… was that Hoggle?” He frowned.

“I didn’t need to travel much,” Han clarified, poutful. He plucked the pine needles out of his mussed hair. “And it was done in luxury, not this.”

He plucked pine needles from his clothes – as if he’d look much better. He and Y/N both looked worse for wear with blood stains, dirt stains, and who knows what else on their clothes.

“Luckily, we will be at the Castle in a skip. My lady, you will be good as saved,” Changbin encouraged, smiling at her with such human honesty.

It was clear he wasn’t a fae like Jisung said. From the metal adorning his muscular form to his naïve optimism, he seemed genuine in this place of twists and turns.

“I hope, Changbin,” she agreed.

Changbin’s grin was admittedly cute. He looked always so prideful, almost in the way a peacock strutted about fluffing its feathers out. He wiggled a bit as he began to sheathe his sword once more.

“Yeah, I don’t think it’ll be that ea—" Chris murmured, mostly to the Runner before Han’s voice interrupted.

“The King is dead, Changbin,” Han stated simply. “The Prince has ascended… by the Goddess’ will.”

Changbin paused in his efforts to put his sword away. “The Prince is King…” he repeated slowly.

Han nodded as he pushed past his friend to continue walking.

“But… that means—how long have I been gone?” he whimpered.

“A while,” Han said as began to push past brushes and bushes.

What was up with Jisung? Her brows crinkled. He was acting so strange. He was kind and soft moment before and now… why was he angry? Or upset? She couldn’t understand.

“Oh,” Changbin breathed.

There was a beat of silence as they walked along, pushing flora away. Rustling leaves filled the air until they all spotted something strange for a forest. A large sculpture half destroyed in the middle of the path. A column eaten away by decay. A road overgrown by grass and dirt.

“Wait… no, no, this isn’t right,” Changbin murmured, steps slowing as he took in each object.

Han looked back at them, only for a brief moment. A distant look shadowing his gaze as he plowed ahead, stomping a bit as he rounded the sculpture, a destroyed arch, and broke past the tree line and into a desolate field.

“The castle…” Changbin breathed.

The ruins of a grand castle laid before them. Sprawling over the land, left as a reminder for those to pass. There was a distant smell of fire-smoke in the air as they crept closer.

Sculptures of old were tumbled over into rubble. Large buildings were blasted to smithereens with only their foundations left as a gaping ghostly reminder in the ground. Cobwebs and dust clung to everything. Despite the nearby tree-line looking lush and opulent with life, it was as if a bubble was around the grounds of the Old Castle, making anything that laid there dead.

Twisted trees and barren hedges of bramble frames a once-hedge labyrinth on the grounds like the very Labyrinth she passed through. Splattered about were the remains of life – skeletons of tiny goblins on the ground, twisted gaunt bushes, broken carts carrying jars of honeyed mead and loaves of bread sat molded. A dried-out fountain parched of water in a nearby courtyard remained dirtied. Dust sprites huddled together by a tiny barely lit fire in a corner of a destroyed building. Shadows clung to concrete columns and broken hunks of fire-eaten wood.

The Old Castle was a wasteland.

The Old Castle had been all three of the faeries once-home away-from-home.

“When did this happened?” Changbin breathed horrified.

His gaze jumped from one spot to the next. He could see everything perfectly as it had once been. A beautiful fountain that glimmered in the magical Lamp light with nymphs bathing or blowing bubbles at one another. Goblins chattering about as they ran this way and that. Stray chickens roaming cobblestone roads pecking for food here and there. Towers shadowed over them; sculptures taller than the trees stood proud.

Now, everything had been razed to the ground.

“Jisung?” she reached for his arm. Jisung reacted, kneejerking into attention. Wide eyes flashing to her.

“Yes?”  

“What is this place?”

“This is the Old Castle.” He started. “This was the King before the Goblin King’s domain. Its… also where most of us grew up.” Han remembered chasing Hyunjin around the once blooming hedge maze, something he couldn’t fathom now. The remains of those mazes rested in twisted dried briars.

“What about that?” She pointed to the ever-present castle in the distance, once again visible from the fields.

“It was a symbol—it wasn’t--,” Han sighed. “It was for ceremony – the Challenge, the Spring, the Fall, the Summer, the Winter Revelries, celebrations only. Now, he stays there all the time.”

There was part of a large sculpture of a familiar face buried in the ground – a strong jawbone, strict lips, and a glowering brow – half destroyed as if by a blast of magic. Y/N recognized it. It looked like the man from the tiles outside the Labyrinth. The one she had seen with the girl from another world. Their noses were the same, their furrowed arched brows the same.

“The old King,” Chris whispered to her, nodding at it.

The old King and a human? She wondered. If that was the same person from the tile, it only made sense. Or perhaps another fae? She remembered seeing the tile in the desert sea, and the story seemed so forbidden.

“What happened? Han, what happened?” Changbin was edging on hysterical as he rushed forward to grasp his friend’s shoulder.

“The Prince--- he let this happen,” Han hissed out.

“Where is the court? Where is the Queen? The Champion Queen? Anyone?”

“They’ve moved into the Goblin City. The Queen is simply the Queen Mother, asleep in delirium; the Champion Queen passed. He refused to remain here.” Han answered.

Changbin’s mouth gaped as he looked this way and that. Y/N looked about, taking in the destruction with a heavy heart. It was a large piece of land. It would’ve housed many people – even if it was a castle for a king.

Her stomach rumbled loudly.

“What was that?” Changbin alerted, sword at the ready.

“Y/N,” Chris answered with a pout.

“I’m fine.” She reassured.

She didn’t feel it at first but then she heard its squeak. A tiny sprite made of soot, rotund and no bigger than a lint ball, nudged her sneaker with dusty stick-like hands. Thud, thud, thud.

“Oh, hello,” she murmured.

It knocked her foot again. She stepped aside… was she in its way? The soot sprite seemed to grumble at that before hurrying back the way it came.

“The Goblin City… the Goblin Castle of yore.” Changbin murmured.

“Yeah, lots of memories, huh,” Han mumbled.

They lingered for a moment, glancing about. Han stood far from her she noted. Every time she crept closer, he’d jump away.

“If… it’s there,” Changbin mumbled. “It’ll take til night fall to arrive.”

“If we are lucky,” Han said aside.

Why was he acting like this? It made her brows furrow.

“Oh, fear not, fair lady!” Changbin boasted out, spotting her face.

He approached her with a kind look in his eye. His hand grasped hers dedicatedly.

“Despite this shock, we shall persevere!  The Castle shall be nearer than we think and you’ll be good as saved.”

It was a sweet proclamation but unfortunately it did little to reassure her of Han, their situation, of anything. Still, she smiled and squeezed his hand reassuring.

“I hope so,” she said before letting go of his hand.

“Let’s keep going. This is just a ghost town,” Han commented, glancing at the other three.

There was a ghastly howl from a shadow pressed against a burnt wood chunk. She jumped into Changbin’s shoulder, who pushed the Runner behind him, sandwiching her between the Knight and the Beast-Hunter.

“Good thinking, Lord Han.” Changbin proclaimed.

“Just Han now, Bin,” he said, dejectedly before leading the charge ahead and passing soot sprites with little regard. Rounding broken shards of their once-home. “Just a subject.”

Chris nudged her ahead of him; Changbin in front of her and him walking behind her keeping guard as they continued onwards.

A little soot spirit had returned as they left, carrying a heavy speck of bread only to see the group far in the distance. It squeaked in disappointment before it dropped the heavy bread to its side and crossed its arm.

-

They walked along, portions of the Labyrinth visible once more in the distance. The once-seemingly close Castle now far in the distance once more. She sighed out, rubbing her forehead in frustration. Fuck Magic. She had made such progress only to be sent backwards.

“Halt!” Changbin cried out, throwing out his arms to stop the group from continuing onwards.  She stumbled into his arm, befuddled. The forest in front of them looked safe enough. Large boulders and trees, some creatures dodging in-between plants maybe. “A miracle!”

“What’s—Oh I see,” Chris exclaimed.

“What?” she asked as Chris ducked under Changbin’s arm and approached a series of rocks close together.

“A well!” Chris exclaimed smiling wide as he rushed to it to glance into it. It wasn’t like any common well. It was a series of rocks in a circle, almost like a rudimentary old well. She followed after him and peered in with him. The well was deep and dark, but the Beast-Hunter was used to the dark. He squinted and frowned.

“It’s empty…” he lamented.

“It’s alright,” she reassured.

Her thirst had returned with her hunger after their adventure through the Bog of Eternal Stench. It clung to the roof of her mouth and scratched at her throat. But they couldn’t stop or leave their path for it.

“You were light headed earlier,” Chris reminded scoldingly. “Your tummy…”  

“I know, but there isn’t anything we can do,” she said.  

“All castles needed water; there must be a stream nearby! Please rest for a moment; I’ll find it for you!” Changbin exclaimed.

“Wait—Sir Changbin!” she called, only it was too late.

He had scurried off into the brush to their right. Huffing out a sigh, she raised a hand to rub at her head. A headache was building behind her eyes. Was it the journey, the hunger, the thirst, or sleepiness?  She couldn’t tell anymore.

“I’ll go get him,” Chris reassured her, rubbing the back of her neck soothingly. “We will be okay.”

His smile was kind and sunny like a sunrise.  

With that, he too disappeared into the flora of the forest. Han and her were left alone once more. He frowned at her, pacing this way and that. His feet couldn’t seem to rest around her, picking up and wandering as soon as he paused.

“What’s wrong?” she asked. “You’re acting weird-er.”

In the distance, she could hear Chris trying to convince Changbin to return much to Changbin’s chagrin. He must find his fair lady a drink!

“Nothing.” Han bit back quick. He licked his lips of iron. “Just want to get you out of here is all.”

She smiled, the action feeling bittersweet on her lips. She approached him, rounding around a stump covered in magic dust.  

“Changbin… bled pink,” she commented.

“He’s a Changeling,” Jisung told her, gaze averted from her. “Changbin underwent the same Challenge as you many, many years ago.”

“And… he failed.” She breathed. She glanced over her shoulder in the direction of the Knight’s voice.

“Brother, please I must implore you-!” he shouted in the distance at Chris.

Jisung looked over at the sound. He smiled bittersweetly as well before his gaze shifted, taking in sights he hadn’t seen in forever. He stopped to graze a hand over a flower blooming. Its sap tingled.

“He did fail. But he’s a good Changeling. Strong; an amazing Knight. He’s one of the few Changelings that was trusted to be a Knight. He never served an oath beneath the King; it was on his lifeblood or magic. He’s bound to the Underground’s magic and his own honor. I almost think his brain is protecting him by forgetting. You humans aren’t meant to last eons even with the Change.”

It made her shiver, fear clinging down her spine. Y/N frowned at the thought of losing herself. Of failing. She took a deep breath, shifting to sit on the tree stump. Her feet sighed in relief.

Maybe she’d be a good Changeling, Han pondered. If he couldn’t fight Hyunjin… he could protect her if she was Changeling. Be by her side if he groveled enough. It was strange that he was contemplating groveling for someone other than himself.

He looked over at her. When had she become important to him? His heart ached and he didn’t know what to do with the feeling.

“The stream is dried up!” Changbin exclaimed in the distance.

She snorted at that, leaning back to stretch her back. “Well, that answers the question about water or food anytime soon.”

With a heaving sigh, she moved to stand once more. Her bones creaked and her stomach gurgled again, almost sounding like the Bog.

The peach thrummed against his pocket. Heavier than ever, he held it, pulling it from his pocket. It glowed in the streaming sunlight. He swallowed.

Give it to her. There was that voice that whispered in his ear. He had to give it her. He was the King’s subject; it was his will. He dug his nails into the skin; it didn’t pierce its perfect painted façade.

If he did this, he could try to save her by finding the King? He could beg. Plead. Anything. If she wasn’t a human, it didn’t matter. Changbin was a Changeling. Would she be so bad as one? His head ached. His fingers burned, knuckled white as he gripped the fruit tighter and tighter still. He wished the peach would burst. He wanted to keep her safe. He should just run away.

Give it to her or else you’ll be in the City of the Forgotten, stupid goblin. The voice wasn’t his.

“Y/N,” he murmured, quiet and slow.

“Hm?” she answered, turning towards him.

Her smile of amusement, of fondness for her party in the distance, clear on her kind face. Jisung wanted to vomit. She was good. And he wasn’t.

“Here.” He pressed the fae fruit into her hand quickly.

“Oh!” Her exclamation was one of surprise. Her smile only growing in its wideness. “I didn’t know you saved it! I thought you lost it in the Bog!”

Her mouth flooded with saliva as she looked over the pretty fruit. Relief crossed over her features, grateful. Han closed his eyes and looked away.

It was truly the most perfect peach she had ever seen. Ruby red and sunset orange blended into one another like a water-colored masterpiece. The slightly fuzzy surface tickled her fingers pleasantly. She bet it would taste so good. Her stomach growled loud in agreement.

Han’s face remained stoic, swallowing down the bile that crept upwards especially as she thanked him once more with a grateful tone. He couldn’t watch as she took a big bite.

Sweet nectar dripped down the sides of her mouth, pooling at the tip of her chin in a thick droplet. It felt to the ground with a bubbling fizzle. She chewed once and then twice, slow, and less eager as the taste flooded her tongue until she swallowed it down harshly.

“It tastes strange,” she mumbled.

It lingered and suffocated her throat. It wasn’t like a juicy peach she had expected, nor any fruit she had eaten before. Bitter, acidic, and heavy. Honey-sweet, thick on her tongue. It tasted like a million things, and her head wasn’t large enough to comprehend them. Instead, her eyes grew heavy and her head full of cotton.

“Han, what is this?” Her words were airy as she stumbled, a hand going to brace herself on a branch of a shimmering tree.

“I—I had to, Y/N,” he whispered, glancing about as if Hyunjin would come into the open now with the woman bewildered. His gaze locked on her form, faltering. Weak.

Regret climbed up his back as he saw her lose her balance again, her eyes fluttering with delirium. He held himself back from touching her as a magical glow settled around her like a shackle.

“Han,” she slurred as she stumbled forward to her knees amongst the large flowers of the forest.

Puffs of pollen and magic flew into the air, snowing down over her like a sparkling rain. Her hair was shimmering with it, her cheeks dusty with magic. Red flushed, just like the peach she still grasped in her hand tightly.

“Everything’s – everything’s dancing,” Y/N whispered, widened curse-struck eyes that held the cosmos with Hyunjin’s magic. They searched for Jisung in the whirl.

Their eyes met and she saw his eyes fill with tears. Or was it her eyes? Everything was so blurry, bubbling with a shininess.

“Jisung,” she pleaded as she reached out a hand.

Desperate. Fragile. Vulnerable.

She fell back suddenly, head snapping back as she tumbled to rest in the flowers as if she were nothing but a corpse. Bewitched and asleep.

Oh, how it made his stomach churn in guilt – especially when mushrooms climbed up through the magic-filled soil to surround her in a ring. A faerie ring.

Oh, no. There was no saving her now with a faerie ring about her – she was at the mercy of Hyunjin for good. Oh no, oh no. He didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know what to do.

Jisung glanced about for a moment before he heard Chris calling for the Runner. Sir Changbin was close behind with his loud piercing voice. If they found her like this and him like this --- He felt on fire, burning from within. He wanted to scream.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. I’m so sorry,” Jisung pleaded, his voice weak as he fiddled with her bracelet.

It did little to calm him, in fact, the charms felt like they were burning hot. All his strength was swallowed up like his very being had been chewed up and swallowed down. He felt sick and small. He ripped the bracelet off the charms clinking as he dropped it into faerie-ringed ground.

“I had to; Hyunjin—he told me—” he felt his eyes burn; she looked too still in the flurry of flowers.

He turned away.

“I’m sorry; I’m not strong. I’m a coward.” He whispered before running off.

Leaving the Runner caught, with his jewels, the bracelet she had given him, and their friendship in shambles.

[zarvasace]

1931 Vampire AU!

For those unaware, I wrote a bit of a neat Linked Universe setting AU last year that I haven't done much with, but I really like it and want to share a bit more about it! Links to the existing fics where relevant.

The series on AO3 is here!

(It would also be fun to develop this AU a little more, and I'd like to draw some stuff for it, so if you send in an ask about it, I might answer with a doodle. ;) )

AU basics: a hidden magic world in America, the year 1931 after WWI. None of the boys are human (except Twilight, at least at first), but they all think they're hiding magic from everyone else, at least for a time. :) There are a lot of magical peoples in this world, organized in their own ways, e.g. merfolk kingdoms, fae courts, the vampire councils, entire hidden cults, and hunter organizations. Ganon exists, but he's a hidden threat that they've all faced in one way or another.

Character summaries!

Wind: the focus of this AU. (The original fic was an excuse to make him very cool.) He was born 1696 in Florida ish, at the height of the golden age of piracy. He was turned into a vampire by Tetra in about 1710 and is eternally physically 14. He sailed with her crew (all pirates) for a few decades. She was invited to the western vampire council in Spain in 1750 as the vampire pirate queen, but... stuff went down. (fic: Body and Soul Marooned) She and her whole crew died, along with a lot of vampires. Wind survived, getting a nice angsty scene in there where they said wedding vows as she died, and went on to try and warn other councils about the upcoming massacres. Because most vampires died during that time, Wind is one of the oldest vampires still alive, and most who survived that time owe their lives to him.

Warriors: the secondary focus of this AU. He was a legitimate soldier during WWI, proper age and everything. When Wind enlisted, Wars took it upon himself to guide this seemingly young kid, and got killed doing so. Wind turned him into a vampire, not wanting him to die. (fic: In the Chill of Battle) He has a fun relationship with Wind, both of them taking the big-brother role in turns. Wars is a younger vampire, but his brain and body was able to mature more, so. Before Wars knew Wind, he was also captain of a division with Time, not that Time remembers that right off. Wars acts the responsible adult, so he gets them both hired as part of Time's team.

Time: he's Twilight and Wild's uncle. When he was a kid, he was whisked away to Faerie and replaced by a changeling for a few years. He fought his way back to find that time had passed differently for him, so he's mentally older than he appears. He didn't get out without being touched by the fae, and is beholden to some of their rules. He's the only one old enough to have enlisted in the military at a legal age, and used his status as a veteran to get a job at a local police station as a sort of detective. That's how he collects all the boys. :)

Wild: half-vampire. He's aging slowly, but still aging. He's close to Twilight, but always felt like he didn't exactly belong. Vampires as an organization don't believe there are many dhampirs out there, and don't like them, but a few underground cells have been organizing. Wild had a few run-ins with them. He's aware of a lot more magic than people think he is, having networked out to several kinds of magical peoples. The Yiga are a cult of shapeshifters that are out for his blood. (fic: Caged) He joined the team when the existing members came to save him and Twilight from them, later in the "story." Wild is one of those in the group willing to do Mad Science. :)

Twilight: is human. He dealt with Wild his whole life, so he's aware of vampires, but not much else. Over the course of the "story," he gets turned into a werewolf, so all of the boys get to deal with that.

Sky: he's a lynchpin of the team! Without Sky, not everyone would be there. He's an air elemental by birth, fairly important in those familial circles but mostly separated from them these days. His natural form is not exactly... physical. He knows Time from the war (he enlisted at too young an age near the end, and didn't see much combat, but made connections), Legend from some of what Legend did (aka everything, but specifically some merchant connections in this case), and found Four on his own. Sky doesn't count as fae at all, but he's in-tune with the environment and flow of magic around him. (He's not happy about the dust bowl.) He is pretty oblivious to the others being magical, though.

Four: he's rather disconnected from the others, in terms of backstory. To understand him, you have to know that there are six courts of the fae: one for each season in the wheel, with a light and a dark in the center and outside. Four grew up in the Light Court, full fae. One of the princess's Minish advisors betrayed the Light Court and gave power to the Dark (hi Vaati), and Four helped to restore balance. In the process, he had to change. The courts didnt generally trust each other, so Four split into four fae with the help of magic, one for each seasonal court. More magic and betrayal happened, and Four is semi-stuck as a Dark fae now. He can become a shadow and hide in other shadows, but he's vulnerable to light in general. When he left Faerie for the mortal world, he found Sky, who pretty much adopted him as a little brother. He's very protective of Sky.

Legend: is a prince of one of the merfolk kingdoms. He saved each of the underwater kingdoms at least once, then ventured to the surface to find more wrongs that needed righting. He isn't obvious about it, but he has a good heart. He's kind of sort of employed as a spy and informant, but he focuses on supernatural issues. He's more of a special ops agent than anything, though he does like to find people who'll pay him for doing what he wants to do anyway. He's been practically everywhere and done practically everything. He definitely heard of Wind, but didn't connect the dots right off. Merfolk aren't considered fae, but his particular family line made contracts with fae long ago, and he has some of their geases in a lightened form. He figured out pretty quickly that everyone was magic and trying to hide it.

Hyrule: is full fae, like Four, but of the Spring Court. He lived in the human world his whole life, a street kid who had to keep his fae nature tightly under wraps, which could get difficult around the promises and names and iron of daily life. He moved around a lot. He was captured for a year or two by unscrupulous scientists and rescued by Legend, who took him to Sky and Time. (fic: EPISODE SEVEN: Lost and Found) He's the resident healer and mad scientist.

Other Fics

More Than You Can Chew: the beginning of the "story." Starts with Wars confessing he's a vampire, and then they go rescue Wind, who's been captured by wannabe hunters.

Council: sort-of ongoing fic about Wind taking the rest of the Chain to the latest vampire council meeting. >:)

[littlest-w01f]

Chapter Three

Series Masterlist

CW: Nightmares, Lucien being a comfort pillow cute shit

A set of bare feet hitting the ground was the only sound audible in the dead of night, the owner of those feet was a female, no older than 26, a young age for Fae, her pale feet were in stark contrast with the pitch-black night, she wore a black cloak which was too big a size of her, draped over her like a dress made out of bedsheets. She kept a tight grip on the cloak to stop it from pooling at her feet, she gripped onto a black notebook, the only thing that she'd taken to run.

She was out of breath, gasping like a female taking her last breath. But, she was not to be, at least not in the near future. Or she hoped. Her cheeks were covered in mud from when she'd taken a fall not long ago.

Her irises were deep green like the evergreen forest she was in, but the forest was now darker than the charcoal she had been using to draw with not 5 hours ago, her hair so golden, it didn't seem real. She tried not to think of how warm she had been, comfortable in her Queen-sized bed, just her and her art pieces. She tried not to think of how happy she'd been. Now, she was fearful, her eyes brimmed with tears that the female refused to shed.

She had been told to run. It was the last promise that she'd made, she had to keep it. So, she kept running, away from everything that she knew, away from her safe place, away from her home, away from her everything.

Anxiety seeped through her skin as her power seeped out, a gentle glow, covering her arms and her torso. Her legs gave out under her, she fell to her knees, and then the rest of her body collapsed.

She shut her eyes as the emotions she was bottling up spilt out. Thick streams of tears fell from her eyes and her body shook, trying to fight off her sobs.

Had all she'd learned in her life been a lie? Had she ever been truly cared for? Truly loved?

None of that mattered. No one will hold her close now, tell her that she was loved.

She picked herself back up, all the stories depicting love were not going to help her now, no prince was coming to get on his knees, tell her that he would love her till the oceans were dust, that she would never know sadness.

Because she'd known it, it had always been with her, her story wasn't of a happy princess ruling her kingdom, it hasn't been till now, and now she feared it would only get worse.

It was all a lie, she was no princess, she was the child of a wicked Fae lord, not a benevolent one. She wasn't the one who got the prince, who got to love someone, she was the one the daring prince slew, or at least, that's who her papa was.

She realised that she'd started to walk again when a familiar ache in her thighs rippled through her legs.

She sat down on the hard ground with her legs crossed and pulled the book over her legs. She opened the first page and a map fell out, a map of Prythian, her home.

She looked at the map as if to distract herself from the things she had now known to be true. But there was no hiding it. The one she had loved with all her little life had been planning on hurting her.

She never thought of a mother, her papa's wife didn't like her and never wanted to interact with her, made it very clear she wasn't her mother, her papa was her everything, he would sing to her in the softest of voices, play with her, and teach her how to use her special gifts, There are no other Faeries like you, my powerful princess, he'd whisper. He would tuck her in bed, kissing her cheek before he would leave her in her bed.

She wasn't scared of the monsters under her bed, they were her best friends, even though they were darkness, she liked to believe that the darkness had a mind of their own.

She folded the map and placed it back in the book, the shadows and monsters liked her, they were her friends, because no other Fae her age wanted to be.

Things were silent, painfully silent, everything was dark, too dark. No one could feel a thing, or see. She sat on the floor, the branches and vines growing from her power to hide her. There was a trick of light in front of her

Run. Run, my child.

"Where are you, Princess?" A deep growl of a voice came behind her.

Evelyn was sweaty and screaming when she awoke, a nightmare, it was a nightmare, through her tear-filled eyes she saw a head of red hair, fox mask, Lucien, who held her down in a hug with his body, "Shhh, Evie, you're safe, safe..."

She cried, moulding into his arms, "Lucien... Luci..." She sniffed, repeating his name, sweat covering her entire body, her mask feeling too cold on her face.

He kissed her head, dropping beside her, "Was it another nightmare?" Holding her close as she breathed heavily.

"Yeah." She nodded, following him and pressing her head in his bare chest, he was naked above his hips, winnowing in a hurry when she'd panicked, they stayed silent, letting his heartbeat calm her, it was the steady thud of it that calmed her from her nightmares, and after Amarantha's curse Tanlin and Lucien had come to a proper schedule to comfort her from her almost regular nightmares. "It's been three years since the last one..."

"Two years, eleven months and 3 days." Lucien corrected, kissing her head, "When they stopped, I thought they were gone for good."

"I hoped they would be gone," She whined, not wanting to tell him about the dreams of her supposed mate she was having, "I hate them so much."

Lucien sighed, stroking over her nightgown on her back, "It's a nightmare, Evie, you're supposed to hate it..."

"Was it the same one?" He asked softly, settling her over him, warming his body to comfort her as she pressed her ear to his chest, sighing as she tried to match her breathing to the steady thud of his heart.

She nodded with a soft whine, the same nightmare, she was in the woods, running from something, or someone, and the second she had a moment of break, it had caught her, she never stayed in the dream long enough to know what it was, the fear of it always woke her up.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, my love." Lucien smiled sadly, holding her tighter "Would you like for me to sing to you?" He asked softly, knowing it made her better.

Evelyn smiled lightly, his singing, a sound that she had gotten used to in the years that the curse had been on them, "Yeah, I'd like that..."

Lucien began to hum softly in her ear, singing the lyrics to the lullaby his mother had sung a million times to him in his childhood, rocking her body lightly to lull her to sleep again, he held her close, smiling rather proudly watching the thorn bush she had grown in her nightmares that grew past her window to her room begin to blossom roses the more he sang.

His voice was paradise to her, so soft and perfect she couldn't help but lean more into him, taking in his scent of cinnamon to calm her nerves, she was home, she was safe.

Lucien pulled her messed up covered over them as he felt her beginning to relax, she gripped his bicep when he made a move to slip out of bed, "Stay... Please." She said, barely above a whisper.

Lucien looked at her with soft eyes and then smiled, "Sure, sweetheart, make space for me." He got in bed next to her, holding his arms out for her to snuggle in his warmth.

"Thank you, Lu..." Evelyn sighed, face pressed into his chest.

Lucien chuckled softly, the sound vibrating in the room, "Anything for you, Evie." He smiled, leaning into her too.

Evelyn had woken up again, without Lucien by her side and the sun at her head, nearly noon, she had slept till noon, with a groan she got out of bed, looking out the window she sighed, giving a curious tilt of her head at the sight of Feyre, the human wandering in her gardens.

She thought back to last night, after Feyre had returned from being taken away by Alis, she had been uncomfortable in a room of three High Fae, unsure of eating their food before digging in, blind in the delicious taste of Fae food. Evelyn couldn't help but wonder what it would be like to be a human, tasting Fae food for the first time after all their lives being raised to be aware of them.

Lucien had taunted her all through dinner, much to Tamlin's threats to behave. Then Tamlin had tried to compliment her, "Your hair looks... Clean." He had said before Evelyn kicked him from under the table before he had said, "You look beautiful..." Making Evelyn smile proudly at him.

Feyre had asked if the three of them were nobility, at which she had to bite in inside of her cheek to not answer, because they were the nobility of their Court.

She had smiled, drinking her wine after dinner, watching Feyre trying to press her brother and Lucien into providing her with more information.

"Yet you killed him anyways-" Lucien hissed hard, making her freeze, trying to bury herself in her wine at the sudden change of conversation, she'd yet to see his family after Tamlin had been the one to tell them about Andras' untimely demise, giving them money and anything that they might need, "Thought he made no move to attack you, then you skinned him."

She had felt a comforting hand on her knees, Tamlin, who had snarled, "Enough, Lucien."

And he had stopped, seeing Evelyn uncomfortable with the change of topic, his eyes soft for her, no longer having a scowl on his lips.

She zoned the rest of the conversation out, after having her wine retiring to her room instantly.

She watched from her window, keeping an eye on Feyre as she dried her now wet hair, finally having some time to herself to bathe, still having one help inside, while the rest had probably been with Feyre, wearing her usual dress, a darker green than she wore before. She smiled slightly, watching the human and Tamlin talking, she hoped to the Mother that Tamlin knew what he was saying, she desperately needed the mask that sat on her like a second skin off as soon as it could be.

Not that she hated it, or hadn't nearly fifty years ago when she had chosen it for herself, giggling slightly at the fox mask Lucien had put on himself, showing it to her with a twirl, then removing the mask to feel up the scar that Amarantha had given him, hand ghosting over the golden eye Tamlin had had made for him by the Dawn Court.

But after fifty years of wearing it, she hoped she could burn it one day. She watched Feyre storm off and frowned, well not that soon I guess, she thought.

She moved out of her room, walking to the dining room and Tamlin had already reached there, "Mornin' Tam..." She smiled at her brother, who smiled back

"Evie," He walked over to her and pulled her into a hug, he had felt her nightmare, wanting to comfort her still, "I'm glad you're alright now, I wanted to let you sleep in after your tough night."

Evelyn smiled in her brother's chest, seeking his comfort, "I didn't forget how your heartbeat feels like, you know..."

"It feels weird... Not to hear my own beat." He whispered softly, stroking her hair.

His chest was stone, just like his heart, too hard to be comfortable, but she found comfort in her brother anyway.

"Let's talk about your flirting skills..." She pulled away, giving him a pointed look. "Ok, Tamtam? I need these makes off. I can flirt with females better than you and I'm not even into them."

"Sure Evie," Tamlin rolled his eyes, a smile still on his face, the light pink tint on the tip of his ears made Evelyn almost coo the fact that he was blushing, but Tamlin hid it well.

{General Taglist: @nox-ceur @sonics-atelier @lilah-asteria}

{Blooming flowers Taglist: @theskyisbrighthere @mybestfriendmademe}

[whereserpentswalk]

It had been many years since the prince of heaven and the prince of hell had talked to eachother. They had drifted apart long ago, they were husbands once in ancient days, but as time went on they drifted further and further, and now they stand as sworn enemies. But now within their endless feud the prince of hell dared to go into the golden throne room of the prince of heaven. And though the angelic guards thought to protect their prince, the prince of heaven told them to lower their rifles, and let the prince of hell speak.

And the prince of hell made a bet with the prince of heaven. Nobody knows what they were betting with, but whatever it was it was dire, something neither would lose quietly. And the terms of the bet were thus: they would show the soul of a dead both heaven and hell, in all their truth, with no trickery or deception, and let them choose where they would rather go. And whoever's kingdom the mortal chose would win the bet.

So the two princes went to limbo, a neutral place with a grey sky, filled with dead malls and broken down highways. And the land of limbo was filled with countlese souls, those who had not, yet been considered qualified for heaven or hell or nirvana or valhalla, and were stuck waiting for a more permanent afterlife to be selected for them. And the two princes found and average looking soul who died and average death, who had died young but not too young, and lived happily but not that happily. And they told her, that she would be the first soul since humanity crawled down from the trees to get a choice between heaven and hell.

And first they took her to heaven, up in the fluffy clouds below a sky of forever blue, and precession of angels greeted her, all in perfectly tailored uniforms. And she skipped the line at the pearly gates without even having a season pass. And upon the clouds were countless houses, all with their own perfectly trimmed lawns, and all the same perfectly painted colors. And it was bright and the soul knew it would be bright there forever. She walked passed saints and angels all in their button downs and polo shirts, with their pretty little wives at their sides. And they told her there was no crime as there were cops at every street and security cameras at every corner. And there was no want, as long as all their fast food restaurants were open, and big box stores sold goods of all ages. And she stood there, and as she wandered it was more and more the same. And she saw peace, but as that kind of peace loomed more and more it was just quiet, and the holy air conditioners made everything so cold. And she felt alone in heaven.

And then they came down to hell deep in below the below in the pit of ever black, and hoards of devils and unseelie faeries and nameless gods greeted her excited to shake her as she walked into a crowed of terrifying things. And deep in the abyss were apartments and tightly packed row houses whose windows gave the only light, and there were murals and graffiti all around, that scared her at first but seemed so pretty in their own way. And it was dark and the soul knew it would be dark there forever. She walked past the devils and the sinners, all smiling and talking amoung eachother as they walked the narrow streets, all dressed so oddly and so uniquely, as they kissed and laughed amoung themselves. And no soul feared the baton or the tear gas. And no soul feared that they couldn't take the food they needed, from countless unique stores and boutiques. And she walked there, and there were more fascinating details and amazing things, the more she explored. And she saw horrors, but as those kind of horrors loomed more they just were. And it felt warm. And she was not alone in hell.

Nobody knows what she chose. Though heaven can be quiet all it's residents will brag at how safe it is. And though hell is chaotic everyone there says they'd never leave. And nobody knew if the prince of hell's bet was won.

[yaralulus-secret-santa]

a timeless gift

happy belated birthday, @yaralulu!

(Read here or on AO3.)

It’s his first year alone.

The last time the two of them had spoken was… ages ago. Before the War. Guilt seeps into his veins, straight out of his bleeding heart. What right do you have to care? He hadn’t made the effort to reach out before. For every excuse, a year slipped by—He couldn’t write because his father would know, or his brothers had broken his hand and his magic was too afraid to work in his favour. He was too busy making amends for being the worst son, the weakest out of all seven who couldn’t block out the world even if he wanted to. It just wasn’t… politically correct.

All of it was bullshit. Lucien worried about Tamlin, and he never did anything about it. He waited so long, watching his best friend lose everyone he loved one by one until there was no one left. Fuck. I’m the worst one, aren’t I?

Lucien slips out in the middle of the night, parcels tied tightly and neatly by the deft hands of the lesser faeries who work in the kitchen. He’d asked for discretion along with his order, specific down to the smallest detail. He enchants a satchel to carry everything while hiding the bulk of his baggage, a bottomless bag. He pulls a servant’s cloak over his bright red hair, the most traitorous part of him.

(No, the most traitorous part of him are his feet that guide him across the border between Autumn and Spring.

Or is it his cacophonous heart that beats louder and louder with his filial betrayal.)

The Spring Court has changed. No longer is it a High Lord’s pride, boasting bramble and thorn if only to expose the thin skin of emissaries and visitors. Its edges have smoothed out, but the forest and flowers wilt. Lucien reaches for a hanging leaf, thinning from lack of sun and water. It longs for these necessary things, elements that keep it alive, and withers while waiting.

Lucien gasps softly at the way the very land mirrors its Lord.

Is he… dying?

He picks up his pace, unwilling to winnow but rather using his strength as a High Faerie to cover more ground. His father would have sensed his movement, and would have likely sent his brothers to track him down before he crossed over. He casts one last glance over his shoulder. If he’s caught, this could have been his last night at home.

Is this worth the risk? Lucien asks himself, but his soul responds with a resounding ‘ yes ’. He needs to be here now, pushing through the golden wrought gates of Spring’s manor. There is no resistance towards his invasion, almost as if the very structures understand the depths of their Lord’s yearning. Tamlin needs someone— anyone —to be there for him.

His eyes adjust to the darkness, and he strains his ears to find a sign of the Spring Lord. Lucien scours the inside of the manor, finding each room empty. He reaches the end of the hall of the second floor, peering out the window to look over the grounds. Beneath him, the High Lord’s private garden awaits him, dull and without color save for—

Save for the bright yellow eternal roses and right there, in the center of them is him.

Lucien has never moved faster in his life, dashing back down the stairs and sprinting towards Tamlin. He needs to tell him a hundred different things. He needs to reassure him. He makes sure not to step on the flowers, all while falling to his knees before Tamlin, breathless and wild.

“You are not alone,” he gasps, voice raw with everything he’s failed to say. “ Tamlin. ”

The High Lord looks… defeated. Dark circles frame those once-brilliant emerald eyes. Lucien had loved them as a child, thinking he looked magical. The Autumn Court is so orange, yellow and red. It was always a wonder to gaze upon Tamlin’s leafy green eyes. None of the wonder is there, or the joy. Only pain.

Lucien squeezes his calloused and scarred hands. I’m here, his touch conveys.

“I’m so sorry for not being there for you.” For decades.

They promised to be best friends, despite it all. Lucien may be a fool for clinging to childhood promises, but Tamlin is worth fighting for. He could change his Court. He could change the entirety of Prythian. He’s still here, after everything. He is strong, and he is kind. Lucien can feel it just by holding his hand.

Pain silences Tamlin, but he squeezes Lucien back softly. Thankful?

“I brought gifts,” the Autumn faerie whispers in the cover of night. It pains him to release Tamlin, but he needs both hands to pull out all the food from his satchel. Parcels and parcels of food cover the ground around them, it’s not enough to make up for Lucien’s absence after all this time, but it’s more than enough to feed the High Lord.

Tears line those emerald eyes as each dish is unveiled.

“These are…” Tamlin croaks, his voice raw from disuse. Or screaming until he couldn’t take it anymore. Lucien cannot tell which.

“These are every dish prepared for your mother whenever she visited the Autumn Court. She also mentioned to the cooks that you were vegetarian. I’m unsure if that’s still true, but I elected to follow that directive as well.” Lucien offers Tamlin a hopeful smile, and his cheeks begin to ache when he realizes that Tamlin is in agony. Have I done the wrong thing?

Tears spill down Tamlin’s cheeks, staining the edge of the nearest parcel’s cloth.

“I have overstepped. My Lord, my sincerest apologies,” Lucien starts to pack up his gifts.

Tamlin’s voice gives him pause. “They’re not coming back.”

“Oh, Tam.” Lucien gets up and skirts around the little picnic he made for his friend. He kneels beside him and pulls him into a tight hug. The touch, the comfort—the support gets to him and Tamlin breaks down. Lucien holds him, rubbing his back and rocking him slightly to soothe him. “You’re alright. You’re not alone anymore.”

He feels the way Tamlin’s fingers curl into his vest, holding onto him with whatever he has left.

Lucien had worried about what to get Tamlin for this birthday, his first one alone. He had commissioned an ornate hand-carved fiddle that he planned to send over later, but he doubts that music will be heard anytime soon in this darkened place. Tamlin is in a state of survival. No, worse. He is in a state of wondering if there is a point at all in trying to survive. Lucien can feel it.

Material things won’t ever replace what Tamlin has lost, but Lucien knows what he can give. He can’t fix it, but he can try. 

“I’ll be here for you. However I can. Whenever I can.”

Best friends forever.

It is a gift he will continue to give for years to come.

[ominous-feychild]

✦ OC Most Likely Tag ✦

Thanks for the tag, @the-golden-comet!

Rules: Answer with which of your OCs would be the most likely to do the statement, then give new statements for the next person.

Because I love to suffer/torture myself by making obscenely long posts, I'm doing more than just three questions! 😎

Questions from the-golden-comet! - Most likely to burn something while cooking - Most likely to stop a robbery if they see it taking place - Most likely to not tell people they’re sick until they really need the help Stealing from their post, from @paeliae-occasionally! - Most likely to arrive ridiculously early - Most likely to be in a relationship for less than a week - Most likely to secretly be really good at music, but just not tell anyone

Most likely to burn something while cooking?

Crow from Sun and Shadow.

They're straight-up not allowed to cook because of how forgetful they are. There's been a number of times where they'll start something, walk away to get something else, and completely forget that they were in the middle of cooking--leaving the food to burn and/or catch fire.

They're actually capable of cooking and make good food when they're successful, but are much more likely to get distracted and forget what they're doing if it's anything that takes longer than 5 minutes. The only time they'll cook is when they have someone else to keep them accountable.

Or when they're preparing food in secret...

Most likely to stop a robbery if they see it taking place?

A hidden character of the Arcane Rifts, only appearing starting book 3 and becoming a main character starting book 4! His name is Dimitry, haha. (I was not kidding when I've said I have a ton of this series planned out even though I'm still super early in it--)

Dimitry is the biggest goody-two-shoes that ever goody-two-shoed. Also, he grew up in a crime-ridden town, became a police officer, and even rose to becoming police chief until he had to drop from the position to become a healer (magic) instead. So, long story short? Mans hates criminals. (Oh, buddy, you're in the wrong series...)

Otherwise, since y'all don't know of Dimitry and I likely won't be mentioning him much, I'd also like to mention Daleira from Sun and Shadow!

Daleira has mild reality warping powers as a faerie, and not only could she immediately fix the situation with less than a snap of her magical fingers, but she would! Unlike Dimitry, she's aware of the nuance in social structure and how sometimes people are forced into crime, but she's powerful enough that she can question the thief and release them if she thinks they shouldn't be held accountable!

Most likely to not tell people they’re sick until they really need the help?

This is a hard one since I have so many characters like this. 😎😭

I'm going to give this one as a tie between Gene from the Arcane Rifts and Crow from SaS! (They show up again!!! Crow simps be having a field day)

Gene has been deeply traumatized and conditioned to not expect help from anyone else at a young age--and it was so successful that he still refuses to until deep into the book series. He hates opening up, admitting "weakness", and appearing vulnerable, so he just... doesn't. Or, at least, he tries his best not to. Unfortunately, he's not very emotive and had the whole "learned to hide his emotions from his abuser" thing, so he's very successful at masking it when he has problems.

Crow isn't too dissimilar from Gene in this regard! Despite their extremely cheerful demeanor, they're deeply traumatized from things that happened to them as a child (they allude to the fact that their detective father has a lot of criminal enemies--) and don't like people seeing their vulnerabilities, either. Being sick means being weaker, and that means you can't do your job as efficiently. Yeah, Crow doesn't admit to being sick, either.

Most likely to arrive ridiculously early?

Why so many ties??? 😭😭😭

This honor goes to Gene, Quinn the Seer, and the handful of characters who'd purposely show up obscenely early to a meeting spot to make sure there were no traps and survey the area for opportunities for an ambush etc (like Kieran Caron).

Gene shows up super early out of fear of missing a meeting, to be one of those "survey for traps and ambush" characters, and to give himself an opportunity to plan out how he wants to approach the meeting--including possibly ambushing the other person or talking them into a mental breakdown to make them more likely to do what he wants.

Quinn the Seer (son and avatar of the Existence of Fate) would show up, like, 100 years before the meeting on accident, forgetting where he is in the timeline and "showing up for class at high school as an adult" Seer Edition.

Most likely to be in a relationship for less than a week

Oh, boy. Finally getting to address the other MC of the Arcane Rifts.

TAZIN!!! there's a reason he got these songs picked out for him in the "what songs fit these characters?" tag...

Dude's an absolute wreck, has attachment issues, and would both sleep around and randomly "date" people for extremely brief periods of time before "breaking up" with them and running off...

(Y'know, when he's older. Not Early Series, babi Tazin.)

Most likely to secretly be really good at music, but just not tell anyone

Actually, this is halfway canon for Tazin?

He loves singing (and 100% would've tried making a band in middle/high school if he lived in our world), but doesn't share that fact with people. Understandably feels vulnerable about it, though it's in good part because he started off the "hobby" by singing his mom's lullabies and stories. The only characters who know this are Gene (who was supportive of it and actually got to hear him sing a good bit) and Alyona, his (actually) long-term girlfriend of book 2.

I've said this before, but so many of Tazin's problems would've been solved (or at least dramatically lessened) if he just got a guitar and found out about the rock genre.

And I'll say it again--

This was fun! I actually really liked these questions, so I'm going to:

Your questions: - pick 3 of your favorites from the ones I just answered, and answer them yourself!

Tagging (with no pressure!): @honeybewrites @the-letterbox-archives @yourpenpaldee @darkandstormydolls @illarian-rambling

@wyked-ao3 @ath3alin @mysticstarlightduck @huewrite + open tags!

Divider from @cafekitsune

[tamlinweek]

Prompt List, Part 1: Days 1 - 3

It’s January! Tamlin Week 2024 is in April, and it will be here before we know it! Are you feeling the pressure to make something, but you’re not sure what yet? Here are some ideas to get you started!

Day 1: Heir of Spring/Human Tamlin

“Oh, I can play a mean fiddle, but High Lords’ sons don’t become traveling minstrels. So I trained and fought for my father against whomever he told me to fight, and I would have been happy to leave the scheming to my brothers. But my power kept growing, and I couldn’t hide it—not among our kind.” ~ACOTAR Ch. 19

Heir of Spring

What was Tamlin's childhood like when he was growing up?

What was his relationship like with his mother? His father? His two older brothers?

How did his blossoming powers manifest?

When did they start to appear?

What would his life have looked like if he had become the traveling minstrel he had always wanted to be?

As the last of his line, what does it mean for the future of the Spring Court if he does not produce an Heir of his own?

Human Tamlin

In ACOTAR, Tamlin was born a High Fae, and a High Lord's son at that. In the original Ballad of Tam Lin, the female protagonist named Janet asks him if he was ever once a mortal man. Tam Lin says he was, but he was kidnapped by the Queen of the Faeries when he fell off his horse.

How would Tamlin's story have changed if he was once mortal, like Feyre?

What if the roles were reversed, and he was the mortal hunter, and Feyre a High Fae?

What if Tamlin found a way to become human, to forsake his immortal life?

Would that be a selfless act, or a selfish one?

Day 2: Poet/Warrior

Poet

“Your list of words was too interesting to pass up. And not good for love poems at all.” When I [Feyre] lifted my brow in silent inquiry, he said, “We had contests to see who could write the dirtiest limericks while I was living with my father’s war-band by the border. I don’t particularly enjoy losing, so I took it upon myself to become good at them.” ~ACOTAR Ch. 19

When did Tamlin first start writing poetry?

When he wanted to become a traveling minstrel and play the fiddle, did he write his own songs?

What were the dirty limericks contests like?

What other kinds of poetry did he write, if any?

Warrior

“I never expected—never wanted—my father’s title. My brothers would have never let me live to adolescence if they had suspected that I did. So the moment I was old enough, I joined my father’s war-band and trained so that I might someday serve my father, or whichever of my brothers inherited his title.” He flexed his hands, as if imagining the claws beneath. “I’d realized from an early age that fighting and killing were about the only things I was good at.” ~ACOTAR Ch. 19

How old was Tamlin when he was forced to join his father's war-band?

When did he first meet Rhysand? How did they meet?

What was it like living in the camps with his father's war-bands?

We know that Tamlin participated in dirty limericks contests. What else did he do while training?

What was training like?

Who else could he have met in the bands?

Which side of Tamlin do you find more captivating? The warrior, or the poet? Or do you prefer the dichotomy? Romantic vs destructive; soft vs sharp; light vs dark? There is no wrong answer!

Day 3: Mates/Flower Language

“High Fae mostly marry,” he said, his golden skin flushing a bit. “But if they’re blessed, they’ll find their mate—their equal, their match in every way. High Fae wed without the mating bond, but if you find your mate, the bond is so deep that marriage is … insignificant in comparison.” ~ACOTAR Ch. 19

Tamlin may not have a mate in canon, at least not yet(!), but what if he did?

Who is it, and how do they meet? Or, perhaps, is his mate someone he’s already met?

If you’re not fond of mates as a trope, how would he woo a significant other? With flowers, perhaps?

Flower Language

There will be a separate post in the future discussing the Language of Flowers in depth, but for now, let's take some inspiration from Shakespeare:

There's rosemary, that's for remembrance: pray you, love, remember: and there is pansies, that's for thoughts. There's fennel for you, and columbines: there's rue for you; and here's some for me: we may call it herb of grace o' Sundays: O you must wear your rue with a difference. There's a daisy: I would give you some violets, but they withered all when my father died: [Hamlet, Act 4, Scene 5, Line 175]

"Rosemary is particularly associated with remembrance of the dead, and pansies get their name from pensées, the French for thoughts. Fennel represents marital infidelity and columbine flattery or insincerity. Rue, also known as herb of grace, is very bitter and stands for regret, repentance and sorrow. Daisies are a symbol of innocence and the violets, now withered, mean faithfulness." - source

Now let's consider the language of flowers as it pertains to ACOTAR:

After a while, I paused in the rose garden. The moonlight stained the red petals a deep purple and cast a silvery sheen on the white blooms. “My father had this garden planted for my mother,” Tamlin said from behind me. ... "It was a mating present." ~ACOTAR Ch. 19

Tamlin's father planted the rose garden for his new mate. What do the roses represent, and how do the colors impact their meaning?

What other flowers might be important to Tamlin?

Aside from expressing affection, what other messages could be sent using the Language of Flowers?

Consider flowers signalling a secret meeting, or sending a warning, or, if you want to get cheeky, consider the Tumblr-based Flower Shop AU: "How do I passive-aggressively say "F*ck You" in Flower?" as a way to explore floriography in the Spring Court.

Even though the prompt encourages the use of Flower Language, there is more symbolism to plants than flowers alone. What trees or herbs could be used to enhance a message in the Spring Court?

Let your imagination run wild!

We hope these questions and prompts have inspired you! Part 2 discussing the next three days of prompts will be coming soon!