#me inserting my secret tamcien agenda into the fic

[praetorqueenreyna]

Concession Strategy, Eris Week Day 1: Brotherhood/Family

Happy Eris Week everybody!! I worked on this fic for @erisweek2023 with the co-runners of the event, @secret-third-thing and @lucienforhighking. They'll be writing the second and third chapters of this fic to complete the story.

Read here on Ao3!!

Eris was tired. In a fit of paranoia, Beron had assigned him to review every missive and contract that had come through the Court in the past few months, claiming it was out of concern that someone in his cabinet was embezzling money from the treasury. To Eris, the excuse was weak. More likely that Beron wanted to watch his eldest son toil away on a menial task. He stubbornly sat at his desk for hours at a time, determined to finish his pointless assignment quickly so he could get back to his actual work.

A servant broke his concentration. She announced that the High Lord required his presence in the throne room immediately. With a sigh, Eris straightened his rumpled clothes and stood up, wincing at the sharp tingles that shot down his legs. He rubbed at his eyes as he made his way to the throne room, his feet taking him down the correct path on instinct. Beron was perched on his throne reading a letter. He looked annoyed, as usual.

“A delegation from Spring is on their way,” he announced without even glancing at his son.

“Hello Father, it’s good to see you too,” Eris drawled. A scathing glare from Beron informed him that his father was not in the mood for joviality. “Why?”

“They want to discuss the incident with the Laurellons.”

Eris bit back a groan. The Laurellon family had lived on the border between Autumn and Spring for as long as anyone could remember. Some centuries ago, a long-forgotten insult had divided the family into two feuding factions, one on either side of the border. Since then, they had ignored every communication from their respective High Lords. Both peace treaties and threats of violence had been returned with crude phrases scribbled all over the parchment. Beron and Tamlin had independently decided to ignore the bickering family. Avoiding them when crossing the border was easy, and they weren’t doing much harm to anyone other than each other.

That is, they hadn’t done much harm up until a week earlier. The Laurellons on the Autumn side had gotten hold of an ancient and dangerous fire spell. They had launched it across the border, where it had immediately set the forest ablaze. The fire had taken days to put out, and had scorched more than five acres of woodland on both sides of the border. Most of the damage had been in Spring, and so Beron hadn’t seen fit to respond in any way. It made Eris want to scream; that his father was so selfish and stupid and incapable of forming alliances with anybody. Of course Tamlin would have to send an envoy on his own accord; Beron would never lift a finger to help someone other than himself.

“When will they be here?” Eris asked just as a trumpet in the foyer announced their guests’ arrival. Apparently, Tamlin was hoping to catch Beron off guard. A smart move, frankly. Eris took his place standing just behind his father’s throne, hands clasped behind his back. He expected to see Andras, or one of the other uncouth soldiers that Tamlin sent to other courts to negotiate in his place. Instead, a familiar red-haired male strolled through the doors of the throne room.

Unexpected longing at seeing Lucien again punched him in the gut. The last time Eris had seen his youngest brother, he had been curled on the ground sobbing into the broken body of his lover. A part of Eris had wanted to comfort him. Another part felt a sick sense of satisfaction. Lucien had always been too soft, too sweet. It endeared him to Eris in a way that none of his other siblings had, but also filled him with rage. He needed to learn, to build that hard shell around himself, to become selfish and petty. It was what all the Vanserra children did. It was what Eris had done. Who was Lucien to defy his fate?

Eris had been sure that his lover’s gruesome death at the hands of their father would be a turning point for Lucien. He’d understand how the world worked, become like the rest of them. But he continued to refuse to play the Vanserra game. He had disappeared that very night, not even bothering to disarm the spells around the castle that would alert them to his absence. Three of his younger brothers had gone after him, intending to take him out. Only one had returned. He revealed that Lucien had gone to Spring, and that he was in Tamlin’s care now. The dark tendrils of anxiety that wove around what remained of his heart loosened ever so slightly. In Spring, a sensitive male like Lucien would be far safer than he would be at home.

The Lucien standing before him now was a far cry from the shattered fae that had left Autumn. He stood tall and proud, one hand casually perched on the sword at his waist. He had let his hair grow longer, and it cascaded across his shoulders and back in a crimson waterfall. He was clad head to toe in green, a symbol of his new allegiance. Eris recalled only just now that Lucien had recently been granted the title of emissary. The news had filtered in to him through his spies in the other courts. Beron had refused to acknowledge the existence of the son that had abandoned him.

A glance towards the throne revealed that Beron’s only reaction was to slightly lift his eyebrows. “Lucien,” he said evenly.

Lucien bowed, bending at the waist at the exact angle that indicated respect for a High Lord, but not deference as one of his subjects. So he had been learning. “High Lord Beron,” he greeted. “I am here on behalf of High Lord Tamlin to discuss how our courts might work together to restore the land damaged by the Laurellons and mitigate any future skirmishes.”

“Interesting that Tamlin didn’t think the situation important enough to come here in person, and chose to send you.” Beron’s lips curled into a grin, adding more insult to his condescension. It was extremely common for High Lords to send emissaries to negotiate for them. He wanted to degrade Lucien, as he had done for his entire life.

Lucien did not take the bait. “Tamlin is at the damaged border, working with the dryads to replenish magic to the trees that were destroyed. He regrets that he could not be here in person, but as his royal emissary he trusts me to handle such minor discussions for him.”

Something like pride swelled in Eris’s chest. Lucien kept his head up, maintaining eye contact with his father. Beron’s smirk had twisted into a grimace at the politely-worded disrespect. “Very well.”

Lucien began speaking, rattling off information about the extent of the damage on the Spring side and estimates of what had been burned on the Autumn side. He only occasionally referenced a small notebook for a particular number. He then began to outline a treaty that Tamlin had drawn up, but Beron cut him off with a lazy wave of his hand.

“You’ve given me a lot to think about. I will of course have to verify those numbers myself before our courts can discuss how to move forward. We will reconvene tomorrow evening. You may stay here during that time in our guest quarters. I trust you know the way.”

Lucien’s jaw tightened as he ground his teeth together. The delaying tactic was a favorite of Beron’s, to put his adversary off and force them to wait on him. Beron was trying to goad Lucien into lashing out.

“Tomorrow, then. Is that all, Lord Beron?”

“That is all.” With that, Beron dismissed his youngest child. He beckoned an advisor over and began talking to him in a low tone, as if nobody else were in the room. Lucien’s eyes flashed, and for a moment Eris was sure that he was going to shoot off one of those smart remarks that frequently got him in trouble. The rage passed, and Lucien simply turned on his heel and walked out.

That evening, Eris wandered across the castle’s grounds. He told himself that he was just enjoying the cool night air. So what if his stroll took him past the fountain that had always been Lucien’s favorite spot? His brother was there, sitting at the edge of the fountain, one knee propped up to support his chin resting on his hands. It was a position that Eris had found him in over and over, for centuries. Looking at him now, it was almost as if the past few months hadn’t happened. Like he had never left.

Lucien shifted slightly when Eris settled on the stone wall next to him. Just enough to keep them from touching. “You’ll have to do better tomorrow,” Eris said. “He’s testing you. Trying to undermine you. And if you fuck this up, you might as well quit, because he’ll never take you seriously as an emissary again.”

For a moment, Lucien was still. Finally he shifted, just enough that he could peer at Eris with one accusing eye. “What are you doing?”

Eris scoffed. “What do you think I’m doing? I’m helping you.”

In one fluid motion, Lucien leapt to his feet. He turned on Eris, snarling. “I don’t need your help. I never did. Why don’t you fuck off and leave me alone?” He stormed off inside, leaving Eris speechless for the first time in his life.

#acotar #a court of thorns and roses #fanfic #eris week #eris week 2023 #eris vanserra #lucien vanserra #beron vanserra #BROTHER SHENANIGANS #me inserting my secret tamcien agenda into the fic #but REST ASSURED this is about eris and lucien!