fitz is number one dumbass in the world I love him dearly. obsessed with him being like I am alone in the world and everyone is bending over backwards to love him the best they can
Then Maedhros alone stood aside, but Fëanor caused fire to be set to the white ships of the Teleri. So in that place which was called Losgar at the outlet of the Firth of Drengist ended the fairest vessels that ever sailed the sea, in a great burning, bright and terrible. - The Silmarillion, "Of the Flight of the Noldor"
Tolkien in Color: The House of Finwë (part 9/x)
< part 8 ||
A Court of Embers and Sunlight: A Lucien backstory fic
Chapter 15: The Jade Lady
Fic Summary:
It has been eighty years since the end of the Human War, and a delicate, tenuous peace has grown in Prythian. But as an ancient rivalry between two High families suddenly arises, the consequences of the War are pondered, and painful memories are stirred up for members of the Vanserra family, including Eris Vanserra and the Lady of Autumn. But being sixty and the youngest of seven brothers, Lucien Vanserra is eager to avoid a lot of things. Including the consequences of the War. Haunted by secrets and keen to avoid the Forest House, Lucien allows his errancy to lead him to Prythian’s Summer beaches, Winter lakes, and Spring fields until he finds himself stumbling down a path to a female he never expected. One who lights up his dark, rotting world like dappled sunlight through the leaves.
Read on Ao3
Start from the beginning
Excerpt:
“Again.”
Pebbles and twigs crunched under his feet as Lucien twisted his sword in hand and swung at Rahko. Wood swished through the air but was interrupted by a thunk.
Rahko grinned down at him over his waster sword, showing his long canines. “You’re quick, Lucien. But it’s getting easier to guess your feigns.”
He whipped his sword to the side, forcing Lucien’s away. Panting, Lucien went back to his ready stance, his feet placed firmly on the rocky loam. “It might be because we’ve been going at it for four hours,” he managed.
Rahko’s furry round ear twitched with amusement. “Do you think soldiers in the War got water breaks?”
He took another long swipe without warning, forcing Lucien to back away. And their sparring began again.
They never had their lessons in the same place twice; today, Rahko had picked out a ravine in the woods near Saduki. The ravine, which was more or less a pit dipping into the rocky hills, was wide enough to warrant room for training, and deep enough to hide them from any eyes or ears. The clatter of their waster swords and Rahko’s booming instructions echoed against the stone around them while the leaves rustled gently above.
After an hour (or maybe only a few minutes, Lucien never knew during their lessons), Rahko lowered his sword. He barely looked winded, though his long, coarse fur was soaked with a healthy gleam of sweat. “Water. So you don’t burst into flame in front of me and catch my coat on fire.”
Lucien was quite happy to obey. Breathing heavily, he set down his sword and tugged off his sweat-soaked tunic. He only took a few hits; a quick examination of his arm showed a bruise that was already starting to form from a swipe he hadn’t been able to block in time. But it was not the worst injury he’d gotten during training with the Kontio: Lucien had walked (or limped) out of a lesson with a bruise on his thigh so black he was sure that if the hit were from his trainer’s steel sword, he would have lost a leg.
But he was glad that Rahko didn’t hold back. Mainly because he still offered a hand to help him up when he fell, a courtesy that his brothers never offered.
Rahko set aside his sword and sat on a nearby boulder with a big huff . His claws sank into the moss as he chugged almost half of his large gallon tankard.
Lucien sat as well, taking several gulps of water. It was so strange how his mind focused during sparring: with a weapon in hand, this was nothing else in the world but his opponent. But when the sparring was over thoughts grew like dormant sprouts set back out in the sun.
His mind went to Tamlin and Andras. He missed sparring with them, even though Rahko offered him different challenges to learn from. He could still train in Spring: he would have to sneak through the border just as he did on Calanmai, but that had been relatively easy with a bit of luck. Andras had been reproachful, and Tamlin adamantly stubborn—
Suddenly, a flash of images shot through his mind: Tamlin’s fearful, angry face; a dead Kontio; a heaving, growling Rahko, his russet fur covered in armor and blood, his black eyes filled with terror—
He lowered his flask, staring into the air. “Can I ask you a question?”
“No.”
Lucien ignored him, knowing his friend’s gruff sarcasm. “When the human war was stirring, what did it feel like? What were the signs?”
Rahko paused, then set down his tankard. “What an oddly serious question, coming from you, boy.”
Lucien eased his expression into cool carelessness. “It was sparked from pure boredom and curiosity, I promise you.”
The veteran sighed, and Lucien swore the forest sighed with him; the air suddenly felt heavy with a stirring wind. Then, Rahko spoke, his voice heavy and dark. “It is sometimes difficult to feel signs of anything coming in Autumn. This Court is so used to death and isolation that they begin to just feel normal. I’m sure you’re aware of that.” He nodded to Lucien, and continued, “But as new laws were enacted, and Beron’s already tight grasp on the fae switched to violent possession…it became quite obvious what might happen. And it was even worse when our damned High Lord refused to choose a side while secretly readying his tools and watching out for his southern neighbor.” He scoffed, rubbing at his sword absentmindedly. “So, if you’re asking what the beginning of war feels like, Lucien, it feels just like this.”
Silence drifted between them, and a slight breeze grew in the air and blew over the stony walls of the ravine. That familiar, flickering fear rose in Lucien’s chest again, like some creature stalking out from the dark underbrush. Impatient to break the silence, he said, “Thank the Mother I have such an excellent trainer to help me prepare for this future war, then.”
Rahko huffed. For a moment, Lucien was sure he would tell him off. No, training in Spring wasn’t going to be safe anymore, but how was training with Rahko any better, when his kind was being watched?
But he also knew his friend. They had a vast amount of differences, but the one thing they had in common was they were both stubborn. And so hopeless that they were oddly convinced nothing could hurt worse than how they felt now.
The male set down his canteen. “Well then,” he said cooly, rising from his seat.
Lucien barely had time to duck as Rahko grabbed his sword and swiped at him with surprising speed. He laughed as he dropped low, picked up his own sword, and began another vicious round of sparring. Time passed by unnoticed as they swiped and dodged, as their swords met with a loud clatter. His anxiety lingered, but the adrenaline from fighting made his mind focus again on his sword.
Just as he dodged yet another violent blow, Lucien heard a rustle above their heads and caught sight of something gold in the corner of his vision. He blocked Rahko’s next blow and dared to look up.
Jesminda sat on a branch of a tree. Her skirts swayed as she kicked her legs casually, looking perfectly one with the red, gold, and brown. She had an apple in her hand, a crisp scarlet freckled with green.
Her eyes shimmered with amusement as she scanned down the entirety of his bare chest. Lucien grinned up at her, the sword in his hand forgotten. “Why don’t you come down?” he called. “Bring that axe of yours—we can make a fun exercise out of it.”
Jesminda ripped the stem off her apple and tossed it into the ravine. “I’m perfectly content with my view from up here.”
“The view is better up close.”
“It’ll be my treat for later, then.”
He opened his mouth to ask what, exactly, later would entail. But there was a hiss of wood through the air, and he managed to lift his sword just in time to block the sword that came down at him with the might of a mountain.
Rahko’s eyes twinkled with amusement or irritation. Sometimes it was hard to tell the difference. “You High Fae are no better than dogs. Sniffing at every female you see.”
The impact of his next blow was so powerful it knocked Lucien’s teeth together, and Rahko barely gave him time to recover before swiping again. The six-foot wooden sword hissed through the air the same way the ancient trees whispered and creaked in the wind. Pay attention, it’s hissing warned. Rahko’s umber eyes said the same thing.
Jesminda took a bite of her apple, the crunching echoing through the ravine. Lucien was strangely hyperaware of every move he made—not because Rahko was pushing him harder than usual, but because he could feel Jesminda’s opal eyes pinned on him the entire time. Her presence sent a pleasant array of goosebumps down his skin, a relieving chill that woke him up and paired with his sweat and heat.
Rahko backed off suddenly, and Lucien nearly stumbled, gripping his waster sword hard. The Kontio male set the tip of his enormous sword into the ground in front of him and watched him pant. “I think we’re done for today,” he said simply.
With his heart pumping up to his ears, Lucien instinctively glanced up at the tree again. Just a single casual glance that didn't feel at all casual. He felt like a little kid trying to look at the sun. Sneaking second-long glances, blinking away the white-flecked amazement burning in his eyes.
But his joy fell when he saw that the branch was empty. Jesminda had disappeared so quickly that he hadn’t heard or seen.
“There was your other excuse to come to Sakudi.”
Lucien grinned despite the reproach in his friend’s voice. But just as he opened his mouth to give a snide reply, Rahko added, “Do you know what kind of faerie she is?”
His voice sounded more accusatory than usual. Lucien forced his gaze away from the canopy and grabbed his shirt, brushing off the twigs and lichen. “If she wants to keep some parts of herself secret from the world, then I have no objections. I was going to ask her when it felt appropriate, but it seems like you want to spoil the fun—”
Rahko brusquely interrupted, “She is a Jvalana fae. Ever heard of them?”
Lucien slung his cloak over his arm and paused. The air had grown tense again without him realizing it. It felt like it did when he brought up the war, but…different. It was sadder and heavier. “I haven’t.”
“No, of course you wouldn’t.”
He waited for his trainer to explain, but the male was busy wiping invisible dust off his waster sword. “Are you going to tell me or will you leave me hanging like you usually do?”
“I thought you were going to ask the female when it was appropriate,” Rahko said coolly.
Lucien bit the inside of his jaw. Rahko studied him before saying, “The Jvalana is just another race of faeries the High Fae snuffed out. I doubt it’ll be something you could look up in one of those history books the Forest House keeps buried, but you’re welcome to try because I bet you’re going to be too much of a coward to ask her.”
“I doubt it’ll teach me anything I don’t already know.”
Rahko bared his teeth. “No,” he agreed. And what you know is tainted by High Fae biases.”
Lucien strapped his sword across his back, his head whirring with too many thoughts to sort through. But as he stood upright, the sound of wings echoed over their heads. When he looked up, a wave of terror hit him as hard as the war veteran’s sword.
A raven landed on a branch of the same tree Jesminda climbed. It blinked down at them before rubbing its skinny wings with its long, disfigured beak. It didn’t laugh like its kind; instead, it gave a hoarse croak, the sound barely audible over the stirring wind.
The branch bobbed precariously, sending a few leaves to drift down on them: and before Lucien knew it, the bird took off again as if it was never there.
He grit his teeth. “That’s a Liekkiö, Rahko.”
His friend’s eyes were distant, following the bird into the forest. “It is,” he said quietly, “but it’s a friend’s.” He clipped the halter of his scabbard across his chest, his gaze dark. “I’ll send you a message later about the next lesson.”
Lucien had a feeling there wasn’t going to be another lesson. But Rhako didn’t give him time to respond; the Kontio trudged up the ravine and through the woods in the same direction as the strange Liekkiö, leaving him alone.
I think the fact that Elucien is the confirmed mating bond and Gwnyriel is not is also something that points to Elucien being next. 🤷♀️ but let me explain in case this sounds too harsh because I know some people are already mad at me:
Imagine we get Elain’s book next: she decides to choose Lucien, and Az—who felt entitled to her, who is filled with self-hatred and jealousy and just feeling lonely—reaches his lowest point and decides to basically give up.
Az has always been the person who thinks “I am nothing, I am no one,” especially when he reaches a low point.
But when he is with Gwyn, he is something.
So we get his book after Elain: he is focusing on the battle (since the plot is probably going to get crazy near the end of the series) but he’s still struggling with his feelings. But Gwyn is there. Their relationship develops even more, Az works out his feelings about everything regarding Elain and Mor, but is still struggling to accept things as they are…and bam.
Their bond snaps. Maybe it happens during a super big moment in the plot like a fight that seems super hopeless, and it drives Az in an incredibly significant way.
Like idk man, I think that would be so cool. And I really think Az reaching his lowest point is important for pushing him towards Gwyn. There’s nothing wrong with that. It’s a common build up for character growth and SJM has done it for A LOT of her characters: Chaol in TOG is a big example, Bryce, Hunt, Feyre, Rhys, Nesta, Aelin, etc etc etc. It makes for an interesting and heart wrenching story.
Elain and Lucien celebrate Saint Patrick’s Day the best way they know how—clad in green and Elain teasing her favorite redhead. Prythian’s best-looking, best dressed, and voted best hair couple always steps out in style. The Prince and Princess of Prythian.
Halenthir but none of the Finweans believe Haleth is real because they all assume Caranthir made up a spouse so he could leverage his marriage status for tax concessions. Caranthir is extremely mad about this. Haleth thinks it’s hilarious.
One of the great things about fandom is that sooner or later you will think to yourself: I would never write/read x kind of story, I would never ship x kind of pairing, I would never do whatever fandom thing, and then, if you stick around long enough, you will 100% become a clown of your own making. It’s inevitable and I love it.
tl;dr: Dad!lin Healing Arc where Tamlin adopts a trio of fae kids.
After the final nearly world-ending battle with Koschei and the remaining queens, Tamlin is busy shoring up his weakened borders when he comes across a trio of war orphans. Unable to get rid of them and unwilling to let them be endangered by marauding faeries and beasts, he moves them to a safer location: his family’s ancient ancestral castle on Spring’s coast. Now that he reluctantly has three children to care for, Tamlin must revive his fallen court.
Years pass. Spring flourishes as fae return to rebuild or create new homes. A city grows up around the castle. Humans move past the old Wall line and take up residence in Tamlin’s lands. Tamlin learns to again trust others; he makes amends, repairs old friendships, and forges unexpected new ones among some of the other High Lords. Tamlin’s children grow up and begin to explore the wide world, except for his youngest daughter, Rose. She stays behind even though he encourages her to wander, choosing to become an herbalist and healer for his court.
When a certain heir apparent prince from the Night Court sneaks into a ball in Spring, the mating bond snaps between Nyx and Rose, bringing up old memories for both courts. [M]
Link to Ao3 Ch. 3
Snippet:
Night blooming flowers had begun opening, white and pale blue petals glowing under the moonlight, when Tamlin heard a low growl from the woods. He lifted his head from where he had been resting his chin on his forelegs, alert even as he rested. Up in the tree branches, no one stirred. They had stopped throwing things at him a few hours ago when he fully moved out of their range. Based on the lack of noise and movement, he was sure at least two of three ragamuffins were asleep. Maybe the eldest was awake.
Standing, Tamlin focused on the forest. The fur on the back of his neck rose in rough ridges as stench rolled out from the underbrush.
The sickly odor of rot and cinders was overpowering as he saw a túatán’s dozen eyes glowing like coals deep in the shadows, watching him.
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