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the-weirdos-mind · 8 months

Text

A Puppet

Imira, Yuui/Amity, and Aquila belong to @marrondrawsalot

Squeak, Freya, and Primrose, belong to @writing-heiress

Isabelle and Cristalería belongs to @adrianasunderworld

Drew belongs to @mangacupcake

Estella and Maverick are my OCs

The songs used in this fic aren’t mine.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She knew that what she’s doing was really risky but any knowledge on the enemies would be helpful in any way for the Maidens. “Nervous?” A voice asked. Estella looked at her shoulder to see Squeak looking at her with a concerned expression on his small face. She smiled and patted his head with an index finger.

“A little. Hopefully we can get the information we need.” She said. She looked at the guards that stood outside the main entrance gate of the Scrabian territory. Jafar was planning something big and she volunteered to infiltrate the place. Alone. She knew her magic would create the perfect disguise to blend in and if she got caught, it would be only her in trouble. She rejected her friends offers to help but she insisted on doing this on her own. She wouldn’t forgive herself if something happened to them and she couldn’t do anything to stop it. Squeak had insisted on going with her since he can’t let her do something like this alone. She didn’t even try to stop him, knowing how determined he was to help her.

She watched as a group of minions were approaching the gates. “It’s time, hide now bud.” She told her companion. The mouse nodded and hid in her black hoodie pocket. The girl had decked out in all black clothes for this mission. It wasn’t hard for her to pick them from her closet, as most of her wardrobe is black clothing. Her earring glowed as she muttered the spell to transform her appearance. White sparkles covered her for a moment before they faded. She turned herself into a minion with purple hair and light eyes with a pale complexion. Her clothes are the same ones the minions wore, a sleeveless black and red hoodie with gold accents, and golden strings, underneath the hoodie was a red undershirt, a yellow with snake designs belt tied perfectly on her waist, black parachute pants with red flames, and black sneaker sandals with a gold scarab to clip them onto her feet. A golden collar necklace was on her neck, a golden bracelet on her left wrist and a snake like, golden, shoulder cuff on her right shoulder. She quickly ran into the mass of people and blended in the middle. There was no coming back as the gates closed.

There’s a room where Jafar and his most trusted lackeys met and discussed their plans. All she had to do is get copies of those plans and get out. She hopes that the disguise won’t wear off at midnight. On some nights, her disguise magic will disappear at midnight, like the Fairy Godmother’s spell on the Cinderella. Cristalería had warned her of this once the older woman recognized the earring. It always happens at random and she doesn’t know what night it’ll be. She was snapped into reality hearing footsteps walking. She could see a girl walking in the distance. Estella knew who she was the moment she saw her. Imira, one of Jafar’s right handed people.

She ran with the crowd until she was inside the palace like building that’s Jafar’s lair. When she saw a place she could hide and no one would even notice a disappearance, she hid. The spot was between two pillars on the walls and she hid behind them, holding her breath until the footsteps had faded in the distance. She counted to five in her head to make sure no one was coming before emerging. She carefully stepped out of her hiding place and started walking.

Irmia had stopped as soon as she saw the minion. “Who are you? Where are you going?” She questioned as she grabbed the other person’s shoulder.

Estella shot her a look. “I’m Bilal.” She said. She had a plan if any of them had caught a glimpse of her. “Jamil asked me to retrieve something for Kalim.”

A tense moment of silence had formed between the two as Imria had looked ‘Bilal’ in the eyes. She sighed as she let her go. “Fine. But don’t take too long on your task, you’ve got training.” She said as she walked off. As soon as she was gone, Estella sighed in relief. That was too close. She continued walking until she came to a wooden door. She opened it and smirked when she saw the contents of the room. Bookshelves filled with books and scrolls among the walls with some loose pieces of paper peaking out. A wooden table in the middle of the room with scrolls all over the surface. Four chairs were around the chair, and a red carpet with a snake on it underneath the table. A lone window was on an upper part of a wall, letting moonlight shine into the room. The other walls held lanterns that provided a source of light.

She quickly went into the room and carefully closed the door behind her. Squeak had emerged from her pocket and hoped to the floor. “That encounter was too close! If it went on longer then I would’ve scratched her if she did something.” He said.

“I know.” Estella said as she walked to the table. She grabbed the first scroll she saw and unrolled it. She could see the plans that have carefully crafted by the Sorcerer of the Sands. “Squeak, can you hold an end down?” She asked her Guardian. The mouse nodded and grabbed an end of the scroll to hold. Estella used a book from one of the shelves to hold the other end down. She took her phone out and started taking pictures of the contents. It went on like that for a while, Estella taking pictures of the plans on one scroll before moving to another.

“Okay that’s it.” She said as she took the last picture. She caught a glimpse of white sparkles on her outfit. She checked the time and felt her stomach drop as she saw the time. Midnight. The disguise had faded, leaving her in her black clothing.

“This is bad! What are we going to do?!” Squeak said as he watched the spell wear off.

“I’ll think of something!”

She sighed as she tried to think of an escape plan but jumped when she heard a squawk. Both the Maiden and the Guardian turned to the source of the sound. On top of one of the bookshelves was Iago, the parrot that’s Jafar’s henchman. “The Maiden of Dreams?!” He said in shock. He had seen the spell wear off. He then cackled seeing the girl. “Wait till Jafar hears that one of the Maidens has sneaked into his lair, you basically gave yourself up kid!” He then flapped his wings and flew out the window.

“You’ll have to tell that snake that he’ll have to go through me first!” Squeak yelled as the bird flew away.

“This is bad.” Estella said. “I think there’s one option now.”

“What’s that?”

“You need to get the plans to the others. I’ll fight them off to give you some time.”

“That’s crazy! We can find a different way!”

“IT’S THE ONLY CHANCE WE HAVE! I’m not letting you get caught too.”

Before Squeak could argue with the plan, Estella had broke her phone open. She dug around until she found the data card for the device. She searched the room until she found a small sack and placed the card inside. She tied it closed and tied the sack on Squeak’s neck. “Look, I don’t like this at all as well but I won’t have anything happening to you. I’ll get you to a vent and then you run.”

“Just be careful Stella.” Squeak said. He hugged her index finger. “Please get back safe.”

“I will.” She said, using the finger he was hugging to gently rub his head. She offered her free hand out and he hopped on it. She placed him on her shoulder. “Now, let’s get out of here.” She left the room, leaving her broken phone behind. She would have no use for it anymore. She ran down corridor after corridor until she found an air vent. She pried the gate open with her hands and put Squeak on the metal ground, just as she was doing that, she heard footsteps.

“Find her! Find that Maiden and get me her gem!” A voice yelled. It was so loud that she could hear it from her current place. Her heart stopped when she heard it. She knew who it was.

“Go. Get that card to everyone else. I’ll buy you some time.” Estella said. Before Squeak could say his goodbye, she placed the grate back on. She listened as the tiny steps of her friend had faded until she couldn’t hear them anymore. She sighed as she heard people closing in on her. She mockingly held her hands up in surrender as she turned around and saw guards closing in on her.

“You’re coming with us girl.” A guard said.

Estella smirked. “No I won’t.” She said. She began snapping her fingers and humming. The guards exchanged confused looks amongst each other but raised their swords closer to her when she started singing.

“Ooh oh oh oh, ooh oh oh oh

Be careful making wishes in the dark

Can't be sure when they've hit their mark

And besides in the mean-meantime I'm just dreaming of tearing you apart”

The white sparkles circled around her again and this time, she was in her Maiden outfit. She shot a blast of white energy at a guard. She then started dodging swords as best as she could but still got some scratches and the occasional small stab on herself while firing spells in defense. The wounds weren’t enough to stop her.

“I'm in the de-details with the devil

So now the world can never get me on my level

I just got to get you out of the cage

I'm a young lovers rage

Gonna need a spark to ignite”

A small reddish spark formed on both of her palms. She struck the closest guard in the chest with her palm and watched as the fire rapidly grew on his clothing. The guard screamed and dropped his sword and tried to put the flames out by hitting the flaming area.

“My songs know what you did in the dark

So light em up up up, light em up up up

Light em up up up, I'm on fire

So light em up up up, light em up up up

Light em up up up, I'm on fire

Ooh oh oh oh (in the dark-dark)

Ooh oh oh oh (in the dark-dark)”

The sparks rapidly turned into fires that covered her hands. She then swiftly defeated the rest of the guards surrounding her with those flames. They all screamed in pain and dropped to the ground when the pain got unbearable. She used the flames to cauterize the stab wounds. The scratches won’t be much of a bother. She walked away from the vent, going in the direction of freedom, burning anyone that got in her way. Just as she was almost to the gates, a magical barrier suddenly went up and knocked her back. She flew across the room and her back landed on the stone wall.

Estella groaned in pain as she slumped to the ground. She checked on the fire and they had faded. She looked up and saw Irmia at the other end of the hall. Her hand was outstretched and she lowered it seeing her opponent. “I knew there was something off about you ‘Bilal’ or should I say, Maiden of Dreams?” The redhead girl said. Estella stood up, her legs shaking a little as she tried to regain some balance.

Irmia ran at Estella and they started fighting. Both fired spells to take the other down. Some missed while some hit their mark. During the fight a pair of red and blue parrot like wings sprouted from Irmia’s back. What surprised Estella was that feathers also sprouted from her ears. The feathery limbs flapped, allowing her to float in the air. The wings carried her higher up in the air until she deemed the height acceptable. She then started firing spells, from her airborne position. It became harder for Estella to dodge and fire her own spells at Irmia, aa the girl would simply fly away from them. She hissed in pain when she got hit in the side.

Estella placed a hand on her side, feeling the warm and sticky feeling of blood on her palm. She noticed something shining on one of the walls. It was a picture frame made of silver. She didn’t care to look at the photograph it held, she knows what she could do. She aimed a small spell at the frame and fired. The spell bounced off the frame and flew at Irmia. The redhead tried to get out of the way but the edge of her wing got hit. She gasped as she fell a bit until she regained some control. She looked at her wing to see some of her feathers singed. She growled and looked back down but Estella was gone.

“So she used her speed huh?” She muttered. “Too bad I can still hear her footsteps. She has no idea what’s coming for her.” She smirked as she thought about who the Maiden will be up against next.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Estella huffed as she came to a stop. She couldn’t run for long while her side is bleeding. She used her free hand to light a small fire on it then quickly put it on her wound. She bit her bottom lip to keep herself from howling in pain. She removed the palm once she felt like it was done. She was about to walk off when she heard laughter. Laughter that made her blood run cold in her veins. She turned around and saw the man who owns the lair. “I thought it would’ve been the one that looked like that Street Rat but this I never thought.” Jafar said. “The Maiden of Dreams, the only Maiden who could perfectly sneak in without suspicion.” The eyes on his cobra staff lit up. “Let’s see how powerful you are girl!”

A red beam of energy shot out from the eyes, heading towards Estella. She dodged out of the way but barely made it. She could feel the heat from that blast. She fired her own spell back at him but he swung it with his staff like it was game of baseball. It hit her in the chest, knocking her back. She groaned in pain and tried to sit up but found the task difficult. She used a lot of her magic and can feel the effects. A red force surrounded her, canceling out her ability to move. Jafar used his powers to make her stand up straight and floated her towards him until she was right in front of him.

He laughed as he patted her head. “Nice try little girl but you’re no match for me.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Back at the hideout, the other Maidens waited anxiously for Estella and Squeak to get back. They were expecting both of them to walk into the base but were surprised when it was just Squeak. The poor mouse was panting heavily and slouched to the ground in exhaustion. “My goodness, what happened?” Neige asked as he gently cupped the creature in his hands.

“W-We got caught.” Squeak said. “T-the spell w-wore off.”

“Then where’s Estella?” Drew asked. She looked out the window hoping to see her friend walking up the path to the front door.

“S-She’s not c-coming. S-She threw m-me into a v-vent and gave m-me no choice b-but to go. S-She didn’t w-want me to be c-caught.” The mouse said. He untied the sack from his neck. “I-I saw her get c-caught by J-Jafar.”

Freya took the sack from Neige’s hands. “What?!” She said. “Jafar has her?!”

“Oh no.” Isabelle said. “We need to get her out of there!”

“But we can’t just barge in there!” Aquila said. “He’ll know when we step foot into there and we’ll get caught too!”

“But we can’t sit pretty and do nothing!” Rielle yelled. Arguing broke out between the team of heroes. Everyone was shouting over one another about what to do to get their friend back. The noise was so loud that it woke Primrose from her nap.

“QUIET!” The dragon yelled. Everyone else quickly went silent hearing the dragon yell. It was completely out of character. “Why don’t we go over what we have and then figure out a plan. It’s better than fighting and getting nowhere.” She yawned after she said that.

“She’s right.” Freya said. She opened the sack and took the card out. “We’ll take Jafar down when he strikes his plan and get our friend back as well.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Weeks had gone by since Estella had been captured. She sat in the prison made of stone except for the metal gate that separates her from freedom. She slept in a pile of old cloths and used one for a blanket. Her left ankle donned a new metal cuff connected to a chain mounted on the floor. She had enough room to walk around but not get out. She still wore the all black outfit and took her hoodie off to get some air on her skin. She wore a black tank top underneath the hoodie thankfully. Her guards constantly changed from Kalim to Irmia to Jamil and she wouldn’t speak whenever either of them asked a question or spoke in her direction. The worst part of this situation was that her earring is in Jafar’s possession.

Ever since Jafar took that piece of jewelry off her ear, she felt awful. The first few nights in captivity consisted of her softly crying herself to sleep. She was a failure to the Maiden of Dreams. If the earring could easily be lost to her like this then she doesn’t deserve to have that honor anymore. She was a fraud to not the Maidens but to her family as well. She hadn’t spoken to anyone, barely ate or drank, and hardly slept. It didn’t help that she didn’t have the meds for her depression and anxiety so the demons in her mind are thriving. The only solace she received was when no one was in sight. When she couldn’t see any of her guards, she would sing softly to herself. It was something that kept those dark thoughts in her mind at bay.

The time right now would be dawn. She looked at the sunlight slowly starting to creep into the cell from the cracks of the stone walls. Her only source of light filling up the cell filled her with ease for just those moments. She closed her eyes as she stayed up due to nightmares and sighed in relief. The light is coming back. She started humming unaware that she would provide a show.

Jamil was walking down the cold, harsh stone steps to the dungeons to start his shift of watching the Maiden of Dreams. When she was first caught, she refused to say her name or anything about her. Jafar had thrown in that cell to break her and from what he could see, it was working. He nodded at Kalim as he was climbing up those stairs. “Did she sleep at all?” The brunette boy asked. Kalim shook his head. “I see.” He said.

“Good luck Jamil.” Kalim said before he continued his way up. Jamil continued making his way down but stopped when he heard something. It sounded like… singing? He slowly crept closer until he saw the source. He stopped in his tracks seeing the girl singing softly, like no one could hear. He decided to take a minute or two to listen to the song.

“There's darkness in the distance

From the way that I've been livin'

But I know I can't resist it”

As quietly as he can, he took a seat on the stairs. Her voice… it was very calming and angelic for him. He leaned his head against the stone wall, wanting to hear more.

“Oh, I love it and I hate it at the same time

You and I drink the poison from the same vine

Oh, I love it and I hate it at the same time

Hidin' all of our sins from the daylight

From the daylight, runnin' from the daylight

Oh, I love it and I hate it at the same time”

Those lyrics made him think. What’s going on in her head? He then thought about the special assignment his boss had given him. A part of him didn’t want to go through it now but the other half did. Guess the lyric about loving and hating at the same time made sense in this sense. He realized that he had to get it done and stood up, breaking free from the siren’s song. He quickly walked up to her cell, making his presence known.

Estella stopped singing and blushed from embarrassment when she saw Jamil. How much of that did he hear? She blushed some more thinking about that. Her face quickly lost the red from embarrassment when he pulled the keys out of his pocket and unlocked the door. He swung the metal open and closed it behind him as he stepped inside the cell. For a moment, they stared at each other wondering what the other would do. Estella tried to make herself smaller when he started walking to her. He crouched down on his knees in an effort to be eye level at her. She moved her head down and closed her eyes.

He rolled his eyes and grabbed her face, gently to not cause any bruising. He couldn’t do that after hearing such a beautiful voice. “You’ve been given us trouble ever since you came here.” He said. “First you steal plans, injured some of the soldiers and now you’re refusing to say anything about the girl behind the gem. The Sorcerer of the Sands has had it with your stubbornness.” Her eyes opened once she felt his breath on her face. That’s when the pain started. When she met his gaze, she could feel something in her mind. Something trying to take over. She wanted to pull her head out of his grip but she would hit her head against the stone and possibly break her skull. She wanted to close her eyes but he was using his other hand to carefully hold her top eyelids open. All she could do is resist. A pain grew in her head the longer she resisted. It reached the point where it was like a really bad migraine.

“It’s no use.” He said. “Just give up.” A few more minutes passed and he could see her eyes becoming more red. He smirked when those pupils had fully turned. He let her go and stood up. “Stand up.” He ordered. She stiffly stood on her feet, staring at him with those red eyes. He pulled out the shackles and clamped them down on her wrists. “Follow me.” He said, trying to ignore the guilt threatening to grow. He lead her to Jafar’s throne room. The Socerer smirked seeing her red eyes.

“Well done, Jamil. Now, we can get all the information on this girl.” His eyes cast themselves on the girl. “Start asking her questions, I want to know everything about her and the Maidens.” The boy nodded and looked at her.

“What is your name?” He asked.

“Estella Garcia.” She responded.

Both of their eyes grew wide in response. “I never expected an Garcia to be a Maiden.” Jafar said. He then chuckled the longer he thought of this revelation. “We all know that the Garcia’s is one of the most ancient human families that practices magic. I want to know everything about the knowledge her family has gained over the centuries.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next time the Maidens had encountered Jafar is on the battlefield. They tried to break in to get their friend but security measures had grown and they almost got caught themselves. Yuui summoned her sword and got into a sword fight with their opponent. The two clashed their blades until Amity won. She took the sword on the ground and looked up, seeing an ally struggling. “Maverick!” She yelled before tossing the blade at him. He caught the blade with his free hand and used it in his fight.

When he heard about what happened to Estella, he insisted on helping them getting her free. Isabelle fired a spell at Kalim while Drew and Freya handled Jamil and Irmia. The battle waged on until Aquila managed to take Jafar on his knees. Maverick placed his sword on his neck since he won his last battle. The sharp tip of the blade was threatening to draw blood. “Where is she?” He asked.

“What have you done to our friend?!” Drew said as she fought Irmia.

“Jamil, call her!” Jafar ordered, ignoring the question.

“Estella, show yourself!” Jamil said. The Maidens stopped in their tracks when they heard that name. They could see a figure walking onto the battlefield. The heroes stood in shock, seeing Estella, in her magical outfit, the earring back on her ear. She didn’t run to their side and greeted them, she stood there still. It was odd.

Rielle took a good look at her eyes and felt his blood freeze. “Uh guys.” He said. He wasn’t the only one to notice the change in her. Maverick noticed too when she just stood there, like a statue.

“What did you do to her?!” He yelled at Jafar. The Sorcerer only laughed in response.

“Estella, free Jafar.” Jamil ordered.

“Yes, Master.”

#twst magical girl au #estella garcia #twisted wonderland self insert #jafar #jamil viper #kalim al asim #rielle #neige leblanche #squeak #primrose #isabelle rosa #drew #freya grimoire #aquila #irmia #yuui/amity #maverick downy #cristaleria #not my ocs

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poem-today · 9 months

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A poem by Edmund Spenser

Prothalamion

Calme was the day, and through the trembling ayre Sweete-breathing Zephyrus did softly play A gentle spirit, that lightly did delay Hot Titans beames, which then did glyster fayre; When I, (whom sullein care, Through discontent of my long fruitlesse stay In Princes Court, and expectation vayne Of idle hopes, which still doe fly away, Like empty shaddowes, did afflict my brayne,) Walkt forth to ease my payne Along the shoare of silver streaming Themmes; Whose rutty Bancke, the which his River hemmes, Was paynted all with variable flowers, And all the meades adornd with daintie gemmes Fit to decke maydens bowres, And crowne their Paramours Against the Brydale day, which is not long: Sweete Themmes! runne softly, till I end my Song.

There, in a Meadow, by the Rivers side, A Flocke of Nymphes I chauncèd to espy, All lovely Daughters of the Flood thereby, With goodly greenish locks, all loose untyde, As each had bene a Bryde; And each one had a little wicker basket, Made of fine twigs, entrayl`d curiously, In which they gathered flowers to fill their flasket, And with fine Fingers cropt full feateously The tender stalkes on hye. Of every sort, which in that Meadow grew, They gathered some; the Violet, pallid blew, The little Dazie, that at evening closes, The virgin Lillie, and the Primrose trew, With store of vermeil Roses, To decke their Bridegromes posies Against the Brydale day, which was not long: Sweete Themmes! runne softly, till I end my Song.

With that I saw two Swannes of goodly hewe Come softly swimming downe along the Lee; Two fairer Birds I yet did never see; The snow, which doth the top of Pindus strew, Did never whiter shew; Nor Jove himselfe, when he a Swan would be, For love of Leda, whiter did appeare; Yet Leda was (they say) as white as he, Yet not so white as these, nor nothing neare; So purely white they were, That even the gentle streame, the which them bare, Seem'd foule to them, and bad his billowes spare To wet their silken feathers, least they might Soyle their fayre plumes with water not so fayre, And marre their beauties bright, That shone as heavens light, Against their Brydale day, which was not long: Sweete Themmes! runne softly, till I end my Song.

Eftsoones the Nymphes, which now had Flowers their fill, Ran all in haste to see that silver brood, As they came floating on the Christal Flood; Whom when they sawe, they stood amazèd still, Their wondring eyes to fill; Them seem'd they never saw a sight so fayre, Of Fowles, so lovely, that they sure did deeme Them heavenly borne, or to be that same payre Which through the Skie draw Venus silver Teeme; For sure they did not seeme To be begot of any earthly Seede, But rather Angels, or of Angels breede; Yet were they bred of Somers-heat, they say, In sweetest Season, when each Flower and weede The earth did fresh aray; So fresh they seem'd as day, Even as their Brydale day, which was not long: Sweete Themmes! runne softly, till I end my Song.

Then forth they all out of their baskets drew Great store of Flowers, the honour of the field, That to the sense did fragrant odours yield, All which upon those goodly Birds they threw And all the Waves did strew, That like old Peneus Waters they did seeme, When downe along by pleasant Tempes shore, Scattred with Flowres, through Thessaly they streeme, That they appeare, through Lillies plenteous store, Like a Brydes Chamber flore. Two of those Nymphes, meane while, two Garlands bound Of freshest Flowres which in that Mead they found, The which presenting all in trim Array, Their snowie Foreheads therewithall they crownd, Whil'st one did sing this Lay, Prepar'd against that Day, Against their Brydale day, which was not long: Sweete Themmes! runne softly, till I end my Song.

'Ye gentle Birdes! the worlds faire ornament, And heavens glorie, whom this happie hower Doth leade unto your lovers blisfull bower, Joy may you have, and gentle hearts content Of your loves couplement; And let faire Venus, that is Queene of love, With her heart-quelling Sonne upon you smile, Whose smile, they say, hath vertue to remove All Loves dislike, and friendships faultie guile For ever to assoile. Let endlesse Peace your steadfast hearts accord, And blessèd Plentie wait upon your bord; And let your bed with pleasures chast abound, That fruitfull issue may to you afford, Which may your foes confound, And make your joyes redound Upon your Brydale day, which is not long: Sweete Themmes! runne softlie, till I end my Song.'

So ended she; and all the rest around To her redoubled that her undersong, Which said their brydale daye should not be long: And gentle Eccho from the neighbour ground Their accents did resound. So forth those joyous Birdes did passe along, Adowne the Lee, that to them murmurde low, As he would speake, but that he lackt a tong, Yet did by signes his glad affection show, Making his streame run slow. And all the foule which in his flood did dwell Gan flock about these twaine, that did excell The rest, so far as Cynthia doth shend The lesser starres. So they, enrangèd well, Did on those two attend, And their best service lend Against their wedding day, which was not long: Sweete Themmes! runne softly, till I end my Song.

At length they all to mery London came, To mery London, my most kyndly Nurse, That to me gave this Lifes first native sourse, Though from another place I take my name, An house of auncient fame: There when they came, whereas those bricky towres The which on Themmes brode agèd backe doe ryde, Where now the studious Lawyers have their bowers, There whylome wont the Templer Knights to byde, Till they decayd through pride: Next whereunto there standes a stately place, Where oft I gaynèd giftes and goodly grace Of that great Lord, which therein wont to dwell, Whose want too well now feeles my freendles case; But ah! here fits not well Olde woes, but joyes, to tell Against the Brydale daye, which is not long: Sweete Themmes! runne softly, till I end my Song.

Yet therein now doth lodge a noble Peer, Great Englands glory, and the Worlds wide wonder, Whose dreadfull name late through all Spaine did thunder, And Hercules two pillors standing neere Did make to quake and feare: Faire branch of Honor, flower of Chevalrie! That fillest England with thy triumphes fame, Joy have thou of thy noble victorie, And endlesse happinesse of thine owne name That promiseth the same; That through thy prowesse, and victorious armes, Thy country may be freed from forraine harmes; And great Elisaes glorious name may ring Through al the world, fil'd with thy wide Alarmes, Which some brave muse may sing To ages following, Upon the Brydale day, which is not long: Sweete Themmes! runne softly till I end my Song.

From those high Towers this noble Lord issuing, Like Radiant Hesper, when his golden hayre In th' Ocean billowes he hath bathèd fayre, Descended to the Rivers open vewing, With a great traine ensuing. Above the rest were goodly to bee seene Two gentle Knights of lovely face and feature, Beseeming well the bower of anie Queene, With gifts of wit, and ornaments of nature, Fit for so goodly stature, That like the twins of Jove they seem'd in sight, Which decke the Bauldricke of the Heavens bright; They two, forth pacing to the Rivers side, Received those two faire Brides, their Loves delight; Which, at th' appointed tyde, Each one did make his Bryde Against their Brydale day, which is not long: Sweete Themmes! runne softly, till I end my Song.

Edmund Spenser (1552-1599)

#edmund spenser #english poetry #elizabethan poetry #prothalamion

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kilannad · 2 years

Text

Decay and Growth Chapter 2

Masterlist

Chapter 2:

Lucien discovers something about Nesta that makes him worried for the safety of Velaris.

Nesta and Eris exchange some slightly aggressive letters.

Eris and Lucien have a conversation where Lucien puts two and two together and gets four.

Tarquin has a conversation with Cresseida and then sends a letter of his own.

Ianuarius 12th, Year 1 A.W.

To Lady Nesta, Human Emissary,

Why would I direct a desire for intelligent conversation towards Morrigan or my brother when you make much more interesting company? Besides which, it's much easier to flatter when you don't have to lie.

As for your position--in my experience as a courtier, it's important to have contacts in as many places as possible. Even if it means occasionally stepping out of the letter of our jobs and into the spirit of them. If you'd like, I have quite a few acquaintances that would be glad to hear from you and the illustrious Night Court. Of course, I'm also more than happy to keep these tête-à-têtes to ourselves.

I notice you didn't comment on the state of the Night Court. Rebuilding and governance are going well outside of your two major cities I hope. Tell me, has Rhysand announced which is the official capital: Velaris or the Hewn City?

Until next I receive your words I remain;

Prince Eris of Autumn.

Ianuarius 14th, Year 1 A.W.

Lucien found Nesta at a dingy little tavern called the Wolf's Den. It was in the run-down part of the docks, just a few blocks from her apartment. By now, after sharing several meals with her--most involving some level of snippiness between the two of them--he's managed to figure out the way her head tips towards the music that spills through her poorly sealed windows and how she always reeks of booze. So when he stops by her home for dinner and she doesn't show for over an hour, he follows the sound of music and drunk laughter down the streets and into a tavern.

It's tight and well warn, cramped with bodies pushing away from the cold winter and looking for company and drinks. A live band played; Spring fiddle and Summer vihuela keeping a quick, cheerful tune that had brass coins tumbling into the group's fiddle case. As Lucien slid through the crowd, he dropped a gold mark, tipping his head to the quartet. He'd left behind his waistcoat, knowing he was going into the ragtag part of Velaris and was left in only a plain white linen shirt and his brown breeches. With his hair loose and wild, and a snatched mug of ale in his hand, he could almost pass for any of the other working-class faeries filling the tables.

The band started a rousing rendition of “One for the Road” and the whole tavern roared in approval, a hush falling as the lead singer sang out, “And the barkeep said, 'What'll it be?'” only to be answered with the call of two dozen drunkens bellowing, “Oh, I'll have one whiskey, one porter and rye~”. Lucien was impressed with how well they all managed to slur their way through the long, long, list of drinks that made up the chorus. Clearly, this was a tavern regular.

Nesta was in a back corner, far from the hearth but near the bar, accompanied by two males and a deck of cards. Lucien slid into the last available seat just as one of the males slid a small pile of brass and silver coins over to his corner of the table.

“Do you mind if I join?” he asked, flashing a silver mark. “I'm good for it, and desperate for a break.”

“Aren't we all?” the one who'd just won said with a laugh. He seemed to be a cloud nymph, with puffy white hair floating around his head and a short, beefy stature. His eyes, the same primrose pink as a northern dawn, were old and weary. The eyes, Lucien knew, were the only true way to tell how old a fae was. “I'm Irfon. That's Delvin and Nesta.” Delvin, a tall naiad with webbed fingers and Sidra-teal skin, gave a nod of greeting. Lucien doubted he'd seen his second century yet.

“We're familiar with each other,” Nesta said, greeting him with a quick smile and an even quicker shuffling of the cards. Lucien nearly had a heart attack at the near friendly reception. The group agreed to play Hearts, since they now had four players, and they all slid two brass marks into the pot. Despite the alcohol on her breath and slight glaze to her eyes, Nesta dealt the cards with an easy hand that told him she'd been gambling in taverns for a while.

They played mostly in quiet, Nesta tapping her foot to each new drinking song or sea shanty that the band played. Whoever won the hand paid for a round of drinks, Lucien soon learned, and it wasn't hard to tell Irfon and Delvin both joined Nesta at least semi-regularly because she asked them the occasional question about Irfon's daughter Millie--the female was trying to make it big in the theatre--and how Delvin's father was doing after the war--the loss of his arm made fishing difficult, but the family was working together to keep the business going.

It became equally obvious, as the evening wore on and the crowd got rowdier and rowdier, that Nesta was losing willingly. Lucien figured out that Delvin and Irfon both liked to lead with highs and throw their hearts in sparingly, but Nesta seemed to adopt her strategy to whatever card they played, winning hands only a few times and seeming not at all bothered to lose what Lucien figured must have amounted to twenty gold marks in only an hour or two. Lucien, upon this discovery, won enough to make himself seem occasionally lucky, but otherwise played the part of an only semi-competent card player.

Sometime around their sixth or seventh hand, the drinks making Lucien feel warm and fuzzy despite being watered down, an argument started near the other side of the tavern. The others ignored it, so Lucien followed their lead, until someone yelled, cutting above the din of the place: “Well, maybe if your precious High Lady cared to get off her mate's cock and visit the rest of the court, we wouldn't need to come to this city!”

“The fuck did you just say?” someone else slurred, glass breaking as they knocked a table in their effort to stand. “Watch your mouth about the High Lady. Not after everything she's done--”

“Done for this city, maybe,” the first voice cut in, sounding just as drunk and just as furious. The band halted their playing and started packing up, other faeries all standing to make their way to the door or beginning arguments of their own. “You lot bitch about immigrants but maybe consider what's happening outside your gold-plated toilets--”

“The High Lord sacrificed for fifty years. You can show some fucking respect.”

“He whored himself for a single city and let the rest of his court rot while he got on his knees--” Someone threw a punch and in a flurry, the whole bar had broken into a fight. The bartender, a gruff looking dryad, only sighed heavily and began pulling the bottles of liquor off the shelf and settled them behind the bar. Probably couldn't afford anti-theft and protection charms, Lucien thought.

Delvin collected the latest pot, despite them still being in the middle of a hand. “You going to get home alright Nesta?”

“Don't I always, Delvin?”

“Got company tonight?” Irfon asked, collecting the cards. Lucien helped picked them up.

“Just the fireling, I'm afraid.”

Irfon narrowed his eyes at Lucien, but he only swept up Nesta's jacket and helped get her into it. “I'll get her home safe, you have my word.” He didn't comment when Delvin slipped the last collected winnings into Nesta's coin-purse while she got her coat settled.

It earned Lucien a snort and eye-roll, but Delvin and Irfon both disappeared into the throng of bodies and left Nesta with him, so he must have done something right.

“What,” Nesta taunted when he didn't move for a second. “Is the little lordling scared of a bar fight?”

“Mostly just disappointed I'm not drunk enough to warrant jumping in. C'mon m'lady, I'll protect your virtue.”

It took a few elbows and a singed eyebrow, but Lucien got them both past the pit of violence without any significant difficulty. They stumbled into the cold winter night, clutching each other and swaying onto the icy streets. Nesta tucked her scarf tighter around her, the soft white blending with her puffy winter coat until she looked like a marshmallow on sticks. Lucien couldn't stop laughter from bubbling up.

“What?” Nesta demanded.

“Nothing.”

“I'm drunk, not stupid.” She pulled his hair, earning a sharp yelp. “Tell me what's funny or I'll just keep pulling.”

“Ow, ow, okay.” He rubbed his scalp after she'd released him, swatting half-heartedly at her hand. “What a vicious streak you have, my lady.”

“Oh, so it's okay when males get violent when upset, but a female can't?”

“You misunderstand me. I was giving a compliment. I do so love a female who can stand up for herself.”

Nesta rolled her eyes. “Stop trying to get up my skirt, fireling.”

He hadn't been, not really, but the edges of the street were still fuzzy and they were still holding on to each other to keep from slipping on ice, the bar fight a distant echo. For some reason, Lucien found it a good idea to wink his good eye and drawl, “As her ladyship commands me.”

She scowled at him, but she must have been drunker than he thought because the scowl was aimed a little too far to the right. She muttered something, but then seemed awfully focused on staying upright so they lapsed into silence.

The cold air was doing a terrific job at sobering him and he hated it. It had become a semi-habit of his to get drunk with Vassa and Jurian on nights when he couldn't handle the feeling of the incomplete bond or was worried he'd do something unbearably stupid like start screaming at Feyre. Or worse; when Eris came over and the fucker started making suggestions on politics that, damn him to the Dark Mother, made sense. In short, alcohol had, in the wake of war and coups and fucking mates, become something he went to in order to dull the pain. This had been a nice change of pace.

“I wouldn't,” he said abruptly. Nesta looked a little puzzled and he realized she'd probably lost the train of their conversation. “Fuck you I mean. Not because you're not gorgeous--I mean you are, obviously, I do have eyes--but I mean I'm not trying to get up your skirt no matter how shapely your legs are--” So maybe he was drunker than he thought. He should probably stop talking at some point, or would that be even more awkward? Could anything be more awkward than what he was saying? Oh gods, was he still talking?

“Lucien,” Nesta cut in.

“Oh thank the Mother.”

“Make sense. Why wouldn't you sleep with me?”

“You're my friend,” he said and watched as her face went peculiarly blank. He was probably offending her. Nesta, he'd learned, was both the easiest and hardest person to offend on the planet. “I mean, you like insulting my hair and I think you'd light me on fire if I wasn't immune to it, but you let me use your kitchen while mine was being fixed, and now you still let me cook for you, and you don't get offended when I insult you back--the opposite, actually, which is weird, but works for you, I suppose. I--” He lost his momentum, so he shrugged and offered, still on the street outside her apartment and probably-definitely drunk; “You're my friend, and I'd like to have not slept with at least one of those.”

Her face made a complicated circuit between what Lucien could only describe as constipated, pale-faced horror, and--finally--begrudging acceptance, like a raccoon had gotten into her trash again and she didn't have the energy to be mad about it. Lucien thought he might be the raccoon in this situation.

Nesta dragged them both up the stairs to her apartment, where a still warm casserole sat on top of his discarded waistcoat. “Funny,” he murmured. “I could've sworn that I left a bag of groceries here.” He didn't think he'd made a casserole before he went to find Nesta, but admittedly things were a little blurry from earlier in the evening.

“Idiot,” Nesta muttered, sweeping up the platter and fumbling with the lock until she managed to get it open. They stumbled inside, the dark apartment making it hard not to get tangled together. Lucien used half a thought to light the fireplace so they could see. Nesta snapped her neck around, barking: “No fire.”

“I won't waste your wood stores,” Lucien assured her. He knew she rarely lit a fire and figured the cost and labor of firewood was a weight to her when she didn't have an income of her own.

She looked at the fire, where it burned without fuel, lighting the place in a quiet warmth. “It--what?”

“You call me fireling and yet you doubt my ability to keep a fire burning through the night? How you wound me.”

She shook herself, shoving the magically appearing casserole into the fridge and then pushing Lucien until he landed on the couch. He watched, curious and a little distant, as she stumbled her way into throwing a blanket and pillow his way.

“I can get home,” he defended.

“You couldn't even figure out that my neighbor stole your groceries to make me a casserole. You're not going anywhere.”

That probably wasn't entirely fair--Lucien would've figured it out if given a little more time to think about it. Still, he didn't argue, not finding it worth it.

“Have you really slept with all your friends?” Nesta demanded.

It took Lucien a second to figure out why she asked, but then he remembered what he'd said earlier. “Oh. Well, most of them. And a few dozen besides.”

“Even Tamlin?”

Lucien's heart twisted in his chest, his jaw aching from the last time they'd seen each other. “I lived with him for over two centuries. Fifty of those were spent in a constant state of high tension.”

“Feyre?” Nesta demanded, looking a little sick.

“Gods no,” he laughed, more bitter than he'd like to admit. “Feyre and I were barely friends when she went Under the Mountain and sure as fuck aren't friends now.”

That seemed to settle Nesta, because she nodded and stumbled her way into the bathing room. By the time she came out, face still faintly wet, Lucien's mind had spun back around to the tavern.

“Are fights like that common?”

She blinked, struggling to keep up with him, before seeming to realize what he meant. Nesta huffed, pulling her dress up and off before she even made it to her room, calling over her shoulder, “I thought you kept up with business in all the courts, oh powerful and wise emissary.”

“I try not to spend much time in Velaris. I have too much business elsewhere.” A partial lie. Even now Lucien felt the distant tug towards Elain, the bond a weight in his chest that made him feel heavy and needy. A perversion of the light and joy he felt whenever Jesminda held him, a mockery of everything he'd once dreamed for himself. He couldn't bring himself to resent Elain for it--she hadn't chosen this bond any more than he had--but it didn't stop the bitterness from clawing at his throat.

“Then you've missed the immigration wave. Now that Velaris is known and word is spreading, refugees from the other Night Court towns and villages are coming in droves to find work in the aftermath of the war. Amarantha's beasts affected more of Night than Rhysand is willing to admit and now there are hundreds without homes or jobs and plenty of openings in Velaris after the war and Attor invasion.”

“Seems like there's an easy solution right there,” Lucien offered tentatively, already knowing it wasn't that easy.

“It would be,” Nesta said, collapsing into her bed, “If the people outside of Velaris didn't bring criticisms of Rhysand and the Inner Circle into this perfect city. These days, everyone is three seconds away from starting a fight, about one thing or another.”

Lucien stayed quiet, letting the knowledge wash over him and slide into place among all the other facts he has on the courts. The Spring lords breaking into new regional powers, Summer's rebuilding efforts, Winter seeking food trades, the Solar Courts maintaining polite but firm distance. Autumn beginning to offer relief aid to their neighbors. And now Night, with its internal problems spilling into their secret city.

He was too drunk to figure out all the implications, but Lucien knew they weren't good.

“Lucien,” Nesta murmured from her bed.

“Yes?”

“Remind me to give you a letter tomorrow. Your brother is a dick.”

“I told you,” he laughed. “But why don't you send it yourself?”

“Can't.”

“Rhysand never showed you how to send letters? Strange. I'll teach you in the morning.”

“No, I mean I can't. I don't have my powers anymore.”

Lucien couldn't help it; he laughed. A beat of silence passed and he realized Nesta hadn't been trying to make a joke. He sat up from the couch, blanket pooling. Only the fire lit the apartment, and he could barely make out the vague form of Nesta on her bed from this angle.

“Nesta, that is the single worst lie I've ever heard in my life.”

“I mean it,” she snapped.

“Bullshit.”

She sat up, glaring from her bed. “What would you know about it?”

“I can taste your power,” he said. “The way it burns the air cold around you, I mean.” He didn't mention his eye, or what he saw when he looked at her. He hadn't asked about the string tied to her rib yet and didn't plan on it any time soon. Some things about his magic eye he'd never share.

“You what?” Even from this distance, Lucien could see her eyes go wide.

“I'm from Autumn,” he pointed out. “Your power is fire and death. I bet you anything any Autumn fae would take one look at you and know you still had magic.” She smelled like Autumn if he was honest. Decay and warmth, fire and steel; just like his distant memories.

“I don't have magic.”

“Nesta--”

“No.” He paused at the snap, the power in her voice. She sounded almost like-- “I have no powers, Lucien. I barely had control over them during the war and I have none now.”

He didn't believe it. Couldn't, not with his eye and the fire in his veins. A blind and deaf rat from Autumn would still know her as kin, as something ancient and old as the Living Woods. If she had no control over her power it'd only come back to eat at her, to consume until it had nothing left. Maybe that was why she looked so thin these days--he'd thought it was the alcohol and lack of eating; it had been the reason he'd found a reason to come over in the first place, a few weeks ago. Maybe for his brother, maybe out of pity, but mostly because Lucien regretted failing Feyre when she'd looked the same and couldn't, for the life of him, figure out why the Inner Circle let Nesta waste away in her crappy apartment.

Lucien hadn't expected to like her, not after their previous interactions. But damn him, he had so few friends left and couldn't help but see broken and cold Nesta Archeron as one of them.

“Alright,” he murmured into the quiet of the apartment, fire burning silently with Autumn Court warmth and power. “I'll send the letter in the morning.”

He'd figure out how to convince Nesta to train her powers another time; when his head wasn't swimming. He didn't want her being eaten by her power or losing control and blowing up Velaris or any number of other awful side effects that came from too much power and too little control.

Lucien had lost enough friends over the years; he wouldn't lose another.

Ianuarius 15th.

To Eris Vanserra, Eldest Prince of Autumn,

You are exactly as terrible as your brother claims. Is the rebuilding of Autumn so easy that you have time to exchange letters with a woman female you've only seen once or twice? I would've thought you had better things to do, based on the rumors about you. Like kicking puppies.

I have no interest in your acquaintances, as I've learned the company you keep. I haven't had the pleasure of meeting Kier myself, and have no interest in it. Do you consider your dealings with him remaining in the 'spirit' of your job, or do you simply enjoy causing chaos? Though, I will grant you your ability to imply insult with the word 'illustrious' is almost impressive.

The Night Court remains as it always has--uninterested in sharing its secrets beyond its borders. If the purpose of these letter exchanges is to try and get information from me, I'm afraid you'll have to look elsewhere. As I've pointed out before, I'm emissary to the humans, and as such a thing isn't needed at the moment, I have no business with the Inner Circle of Night. If speaking with Morrigan scares you so much, perhaps address your questions towards Lucien. As far as I can tell, he's the best of you Vanserras.

If you send a letter to appear in my bathroom again, you won't enjoy the consequences.

Lady Nesta Archeron.

Ianuarius 18th.

To Lady Nesta, the Kingslayer,

Apologies for the poor letter placement, my lady; without a description of your preferred sending spot, I'm afraid I can only send my letters directly to wherever you are. I'll do my best not to draw your wrath, however. Is there a preferred time you'd like me to send letters? I take the fact that this letter appeared under my pillow as an indication little Lucy is sending your letters for you. Didn't want a detailed description of my personal rooms from him?

For your information, I have twelve smokehounds: magic hunting dogs faster than the wind. I assure you, I've never kicked a single one. I find them much better company compared to people. Well, most people. Perhaps I'll show you them one day.

I'm glad you find my ability to insult with compliments impressive. I assure you I have many more skills you'd appreciate.

Kier is a rather interesting character, don't you think? He's a thousand years old, has ruled as Steward for the last seven centuries, lived through three High Lords' rules, and yet--only now does he truly begin straining against the confines of the Hewn City. How funny that his initial attempt at reaching beyond the Night Court for alliances involved Morrigan and distancing her from the growing power of Rhysand.

I consider my dealings with him a necessary piece of my plans, and, if I thought my advice would be welcomed, I'd tell Rhysand to consider him the same. Have you ever put a rat on someone's stomach and covered it with a bucket and then held a torch to it? The rat squeals and squeals, which is bad enough, but the worse comes when it goes quiet. Because eventually, when the rat realizes mercy won't come, it starts getting desperate. And then it starts digging down, straight through the flesh and blood of the victim. It will do anything to get away from the heat and pain.

Kier has started going quiet.

I must ask though, since I have spent so long rambling and it is only polite, if you are uninterested in a courtier or emissary role outside of wartime, what do you do these days? You say you have no dealings with the Inner Circle, but surely they don't let you, family and Cauldron Made both, go far from their grasp.

I await with bated breath your return letter, my lady.

Prince Eris Vanserra.

Ianuarius 22nd.

To Prince Eris, Heir of Vipers,

Strange how you and your brother can be so very similar. As I told him a few weeks ago, I have no powers. They disappeared after the war. As such, my sister and her mate leave me be; they are no masters of mine. I have no say in how they rule the Hewn City or the rest of their territory, no matter my opinion on the situation. Interesting as it is to hear your vivid opinion, I'm afraid I don't care.

I said I found your ability almost impressive. You, like the rest of the fae males I've met, tend to fall short. And for the record; I prefer cats. Less slober, that way.

Thus far, I've been as polite as can be expected, but since you continue to avoid answering the question, let me be more blunt: why are you writing to me, Eris Vanserra? And don't pretend it's because you wished to reach out to a Night Court emissary. We both know you've been aware of my lack of influence.

Lady Nesta Archeron.

Ianuarius 23rd.

To Lady Nesta Witch-Fire,

I would be an absolute fool if I believed you've lost all your powers. Have you forgotten that I was there at the last Summit? I saw your cold fire blaze in your eyes, and I couldn't look away. You are breathtaking in your wrath.

You wish to know why I write to you, my lady? It is because I saw the fire slumbering in your veins that day and knew immediately you were meant for far more than a simple human emissary. You are wasted in the Night Court. Absolutely wasted.

Ianuarius 31st, Year 1 A.W., Band of Exiles' Manor

Eris swirled the scotch in his glass and tried desperately to push down the bond. Dawn had been an hour ago, and yet Nesta showed no signs of finishing with whatever company was warming her bed. The warm pulse of pleasure tightened around his rib and tugged northward, so sharp and painful he wanted to burn the world to ash. He should be glad for some feeling from her--since it was usually only a void of apathy--but he was a selfish asshole and the thought of anyone but him touching her smooth pale skin drove him to violence.

He'd thought, for a few brief weeks, that he was getting somewhere with her. The occasional trickle of amusement would come across when he knew she was in Lucien's company, and there was always a familiar burst of half-hearted annoyance when she got one of his letters. Until the last letter he'd sent, when only a flash-fire burst of doubt and loathing had greeted him. Since then, he'd gotten nothing but those too frequent pulses of pleasure when she took lovers. If Eris found out Cassian was the one warming her bed, he might actually start burning things to the ground.

“I don't suppose you plan on leaving any time soon?” Lucien asked, rumpled and wearing only low-hanging sleeping pants. He'd been in bed with Jurian and Vassa when Eris had appeared a handful of hours ago. Eris had left them to it, helping himself to the human scotch Jurian kept on hand. Now, Vassa was out flying, bird once more, and Jurian contentedly sleeping upstairs.

“Have someone better to be doing?” Eris sneered. Lucien only glared at him flatly.

“You're drunk and pissed. Why.”

“Who says I'm either of those things?”

Lucien held up the empty bottle of scotch. “This was unopened when I went to bed.”

“Human alcohol is weaker.” It was a half-assed deflection and they both knew it. Eris said, “I have a meeting with Lord Vanka later today.”

“Grandfather likes you,” Lucien points out. “And if you make him a few promises about some fancy tapestries, he won't give you too much trouble on the Winter trade deal you're trying to set up. But you know this, and it isn't why you're pissed and getting drunk in the human lands.” Lucien's golden eye clicked and whirled as he added, “This wouldn't have anything to do with the fact that Nesta hasn't asked me to send a letter for the last week and will no longer eat dinner with me, would it?”

“She hasn't been eating?”

“That isn't even close to what I said, but glad to know my guess was right.” They glared at each other for several long beats but in the end, Eris had to look away.

He'd pushed too hard too fast, and he had no one but himself to blame for Nesta pulling away.

“Look,” Lucien started, plucking Eris's glass from his hand. “I don't know what game you're trying to play with her, but she's a friend and--”

Before he could go on, a white-hot burst of pleasure came across the bond as Nesta found her release. Eris couldn't suppress the snarl that rumbled from his throat. Lucien's russet eye widened in surprise, staring at Eris while his gold clicked and shifted to stare at--

Eris's rib.

Eris had guessed some time ago that the eye allowed Lucien to see wards and glamors, though he'd privately had theories about some latent magic of Lucien's effecting it. He had not, however, considered if that meant Lucien could see other forms of magic connections.

“Lucien,” Eris warned, unfamiliar panic crawling down his spine. His brother's gold eye was still staring at his rib while shock, surprise, and realization played across his face.

“By the Cauldron,” he breathed.

“Don't--”

“Is she really your--?”

“Finish that thought and I will end you,” Eris snarled. Lucien stared at him blankly for a full minute before, all at once, he downed the last of the scotch and slammed the glass on the table.

“I thought I was hallucinating,” Lucien admitted quietly, the crack of the blazing fireplace nearly drowning him out. “When I noticed your string, I mean. Then I figured whoever it was must be someone Beron would disapprove of and that was why there had been no announcement.”

Eris stayed tense for another moment before he forced himself to relax, the fire banking along with his breath. “I mean, you aren't wrong, really. How long have you been able to see the mating bond?”

“Since I got the eye, I think, though the first time I saw it was when Rhysand first came to collect Feyre at her wedding. I didn't realize what it meant until we were at Hybern. It only shows up when the bond has snapped for that individual. It's like--like a little red string, tying two people's ribs.” Lucien shook his head, tugging at his hair. “I just don't understand how this is possible.”

Eris snorted. “The Cauldron has a sense of humor.”

“No, Eris, I don't mean why were you two put together, I mean how is it possible Nesta is your mate when Cassian is hers?”

“Bullshit,” Eris spat, fire burning in his veins. “That's just some nonsense rumor started as some crap romance story in the aftermath of the war. You said it yourself last month that they have nothing to do with each other.”

“I'm sorry,” Lucien snipped, “Which one of us can see mating bonds?”

Eris stared at him blankly for a moment. “Are you telling me that--” Eris didn't finish the thought. Couldn't. Not when he had a soft, half-frayed string tugging him northward.

Lucien grimaced, and reluctantly said, “It's snapped for both of them, though you're right they don't seem to be doing anything about it. It's loose and thin, nothing like Rhys and Feyre's.”

Eris had to sit and absorb that. He'd never heard anything about someone having two mates outside of nonsense romance stories. Some breeds of lesser faeries practiced polyamory, and Dawn and Day were both known for their wide variety of relationships, but never had there been proof of such a thing. Even with all the rumors and what Lucien had said last month, Eris had never seriously considered that Cassian might actually be Nesta's mate. It didn't seem possible. Or perhaps it was simply a cruel joke from the Cauldron.

“How long have you known?” Lucien asked quietly.

“The Summit,” Eris admitted. Lucien's eyes softened with pity. “Get that look off your face,” he snapped. “You tell anyone about this, one word--”

“You don't think she deserves to know?” he cut in. “Bond with Cassian or not, she won't be pleased to know you kept this from her.”

“Forgive me if I don't take mating advice from you, little brother. We've seen how that works out. Twice, even.” It was a cruel, vicious thing to say to him, but Eris was a cruel, vicious person. He did not want Lucien's pity or understanding, and throwing Elain--and Jesminda, his once-thought mate--back in his face at least made Lucien's eye blaze with familiar hate.

Eris left before the meeting could devolve further. He found it highly unlikely he'd be getting any more letters and needed to prepare for his meetings.

It was for the best anyway. What would a female like Nesta Archeron--clever and quick with her words and magic brighter than an inferno--want with a viper like Eris?

Februarius 2nd, Year 1 A.W., Adriata

“Are we going to talk about it?”

Tarquin turned from the sparkling blue of the sea, stepping past the softly billowing curtains and sweeping into the sitting room where Cresseida lounged in a shimmering dress of teal. “Talk about what, cousin?”

“Don't pretend to be daft,” she snipped and swirled her glass of pale witchberry wine.

“Why not? It seems to be what all my advisors expect from me.” She glared at his joke, keeping his gaze as she took a pointed sip and waited for him to get serious. With a sigh, Tarquin settled on a couch across from her. He didn't take the glass of wine that appeared for him, only waved his fingers in silent dismissal to the invisible servants and waited for their presence to fade. He often felt like it was too soon in his Lordship to start day drinking to get through all his meetings. Of course Cresseida, nearly two centuries older than him, had decided ages ago that there was no point to power and responsibility if she couldn't drink in her free time.

“What do you want me to say, Cress?”

“I want you to put a stop to it,” she hissed.

“Don't you want your brother happy?”

She rolled her eyes, clicking her glass onto the low sea-shell encrusted table. “Don't start with me, Tarquin. You know this is bigger than that.”

He sighed, turning his head into the cool sea-breeze. Summer Court storm season usually lasted through fall, but this year, with the magic of the land still weak from all the deaths of the royal family and nearly five decades of missed Calanmai, their poor weather was lasting well into the winter. It made the wind harsh and biting and he welcomed it on his face.

The fall immediately following Amarantha's death had been the worse flooding Summer had ever seen and put back their rebuilding plans significantly. Last year's Calanmai--Tarquin's first ever as High Lord--had helped stabilitize the magic somewhat, only for Hybern to come in and shatter their wards all over again. Now, they were living through another long hurricane season and he could only hope he'd be able to have at least a few years of uninterrupted Calanmai celebrations--no matter how little he enjoyed it--before the next disaster struck Prythian.

Because if he'd learned anything in his eight decades of life, it was that there was always another disaster.

“Tarquin, are you even paying attention to me?”

He blinked, turning away from the ocean that sang to him and back towards his cousin. He'd drifted again. “I heard you, Cresseida.”

Her face softened, the pinched lines around her dark eyes smoothing into worry. “Where did you go?” she murmured.

“Where I always go,” he said simply before shaking his head and refocusing. “What do you want me to do, Cress? Ban Varian from seeing Amren?”

“Yes! It's inappropriate and dangerous.”

“He's happy.”

“He's compromised. Or have you forgotten what Night did to us?”

“Of course I haven't,” he snapped at her. Even now, his gut twisted with hurt and anger at the memory of the diplomatic meeting turned heist. It'd been the first serious diplomatic visit he'd had since he became High Lord and the Triumverate still hadn't forgotten that it'd ended with their most sacred treasure stolen. Tarquin doubted anyone would forget it for as long as he ruled; passed that, even.

“You revoked the Blood Rubies,” Cresseida pointed out tightly. Another of his choices that was constantly pointed to as a failing.

“Hybern was baring down on our shores; Prythian needed unity.” She opened her mouth, but he cut over her, “Forgiven is not forgotten. You think I enjoy that we were made fools of by Night? But consider the facts.”

“The facts are they're a bunch of self-righteous egomaniacs with too much power.”

Tarquin didn't necessarily agree with that, but he understood where Cresseida was coming from. Amren, he knew from Varian, had lost nearly all of her otherworldly powers, but that still left three Made females, two Illyrians of unheard of power-levels, and Lady Morrigan all united under Rhysand. It was too much power in hands none of them really trusted, but it wasn't as if they could do anything about it. Even a suggestion that the High Lords should discuss a distrubution of the Made Archerons would lead to an all out war. It wasn't worth the body count.

“The facts are that, methods and personal characteristics aside, the Night Court sacrificed greatly to stop Hybern and Feyre did free us of Amarantha.”

“You admitted yourself that Feyre went to free Tamlin,” Cresseida pointed out. “He's the one that killed Amarantha and yet here we are, leaving Spring in shambles.”

Guilt twisted his chest, and he leaned his head back. Spring was another disaster that needed his attention. Beron had been reaching out recently, claiming to want to make amends and re-strengthen Seasonal Court ties. Tarquin didn't trust it, but Kallias's emissaries had been overheard discussing Winter and Autumn trade negotiations and Tarquin worried about having enemies on all sides. Winter was desperate for food and help rebuilding in the wake of being hit hardest by Amarantha, and Kallias, for all Tarquin liked the male, would do whatever necessary to keep his lands safe from further loss. Especially now that he was mated and, rumor had it, trying for a child.

“You were friends with Lucien, weren't you?” he asked finally.

“Once,” Cresseida said quietly. “But now that he serves Night and after what happened to Spring...”

Tarquin grimaced in understanding. After what Feyre had done to Spring--destroying an entire court from the inside in the wake of one war and at the dawn of another--no one wanted anyone from Night visiting their court for any length of time. Hence the problem with Amren.

“I'll tell Varian to keep his relationship with Amren inside Night borders,” Tarquin decided. “And invite Lucien to be my personal guest at his earliest convenience.”

Cresseida's brows scrunched together as she puzzled over his reasoning. “You don't want to upset Varian--”

“I don't want to upset the once-dread goddess he's sleeping with,” Tarquin corrected. “I'll reiterate to him the importance of keeping Summer Court business out of the bedroom, but considering what she once was and who she is still connected to, I'm ill-inclined to upset her over something that, so far, has proven to be a non-issue.”

She pursed her lips but gave a grudging nod. “And Lucien?”

Tarquin looked past her, as if he could see the Spring Court from his comfortable Summer sitting room. “Lucien,” he started slowly, trying to think how best to put his reasoning without sounding like a naive fool he was often accused of being, “Spent over two centuries in Spring. Even if he is no longer welcomed in those lands, he still has valuable knowledge. I might need that.”

“For what?”

“To help Tamlin.” He smiled at her surprised face. “You're right, cousin, as usual. Night can't be trusted, not truly, but we are in no position to begin breaking ties with them just yet. Not when the Solar Courts were all hurt significantly less than the Seasonal ones in recent decades. We need to rebuild and we need allies.”

“Tell me you haven't started believing Beron's nonsense,” she groaned.

“Don't be insulting,” he scolded. He tilted his head and admitted, “I am starting to like Eris, though.”

“Are you mad?”

“No. But I've come to a realization, in the wake of Hybern and Amarantha.”

She stared at him warily, but asked, “And that would be?”

“We all wear masks.” She blinked at him, so he went on, “To survive, I mean. Or for our own gains. While Under the Mountain we all scrapped and bowed, not just Rhysand. Tamlin, in the end, really did turn on Hybern and use his position to our advantage, even though after Feyre he had little reason to. Beron pretends at half-assed civility to hide his cruelty and whatever it is he desires. Eris...” Tarquin shook his head. “I don't know what Eris hides, but I don't think his cruelty is honest.”

She stayed quiet for a moment, reaching out and pouring another glass. The humidity built in the air, and the curtains curled around themselves. Another storm was brewing.

“Why?” she asked simply.

“Because when we were at the Summit, for all he said nasty things, he spoke against his father. Because our spies tell us he reached out to Thesan for the antidote and took it alongside his brothers despite Beron's orders. Because when Tamlin went to Autumn and forced Beron into action, his army was ready to march and I doubt that was Beron's doing.”

She let out a slow breath, looking out to the sea. “Most people would call you a hopeful fool for thinking the best of people.”

“I think the world needs a few more hopeful fools,” he murmured.

“High Lords can't afford to be fools,” she pointed out. “Not these days.”

“Oh, don't worry,” he laughed bitterly, “I haven't forgotten my duties as High Lord.” She looked to him in surprise. With a heavy sigh, he flicked his fingers and summoned a letter from the false bottom of his desk. He hadn't yet shared this correspondence with anyone, but after spending several nights rereading it until he had it memorized instead of sleeping, he needed another outlook. “Kallias sent this to me at the beginning of the week.”

She flicked the cream parchment open and read it, her silver brows climbing higher. She read it twice, thrice. He didn't blame her. He'd stared at it again and again, until everything from the traditional greeting Swift tides and strong winds to High Lord Tarquin of Summer to the signed High Lord Kallias of Winter, Lord of Flurries blurred together. Only after she'd dragged her eyes over it three times did she lift her head to stare at Tarquin.

“He wants you to marry his cousin?!”

“Princess Zellia,” Tarquin comfirmed quietly. “She's his last living relative: a bastard of his uncle he's legitimized.”

“Wait, his uncle? I thought the rumors were--”

“That he kept a yuki-onna as a mistress? Yes, I've had our spies comfirm it.”

“You really are mad,” Cresseida breathed.

“She's barely fifty, born the year Amarantha took power,” Tarquin started pointing out. “She helped Vivianne protect Winter over the years so she has experience. With Kallias already married and mated, the chances of her bearing the Winter heir are basically zero. It'd tie Winter to Summer more closely than anything else and, if we don't take it, chances are Kallias would offer her to one of Beron's sons if he thought it'd help Winter.” He sighed and tugged his hair, the tight braids tangling together. “The Triumverate have been pushing me to marry.”

“One of their daugthers,” Cresseida countered. “Not a half-breed bastard.”

“Cresseida,” he snarled in warning. She had the decency to look apologetic.

“I'm sorry, Tarquin, you know I have nothing against faeries but you have to consider how this will look to Summer. High Lords always take wives from their own court to keep the magic strong. And always a high fae. To take a half yuki-onna from Winter as Lady of Summer would be an insult and cause a riot with the lords.”

This was why he needed Cresseida. She had a nasty habit of telling him the truth, even if he didn't want to hear it. Especially if he didn't want to hear it. Still, these were all things he'd considered already and he still wasn't certain they outweighed the advantages.

“It'd send a message,” he settled on saying.

She stared at him. “Mother save me; Tarquin tell me you aren't seriously considering this. Not as a part of your equal fae initiative.”

“What better way to start moving towards equal rights than to give faeries a voice in my family?” Cresseida made a strangled, unbeliving sound, but he began gaining steam. “She has powerful magic and Rhysand is proof that being part faerie does not disqualify someone from inheriting the magic of the land. With the power that Night has, we need stronger ties to outside courts and neither Spring nor Autumn are in any position to help us. It'd send a message to everyone in this court I'm serious about bringing change to Summer and would satisfy everyone that says I need to marry to make up for how many royals we lost to Amarantha.”

“There has never been a Lady of Summer that wasn't born here,” Cresseida said viciously.

“And there has never been a High Lady. Or three Made sisters. Or a conqueror High Queen of Prythian. Times are changing, Cresseida, and staying in the past will do nothing to help our people.”

Silence discended on the room, broken only by the sudden boom of thunder and downpooring of rain. Without saying a word, Cresseida drained her glass and stood.

“I am but a Princess of our people, High Lord,” she said coldly. He flinched at the distain in her hard, dark eyes. “And obediant to the current of the seas. If that will be all?”

He searched for something to say--he hated leaving things like this--but knew he'd only start a worse argument if he kept pushing. Sometimes he had to let the ocean rage before it'd calm.

“You are dismissed, Princess,” he finally murmured. “Please see to that letter to Lord Lucien.”

She dipped into a perfect curtsy before turning on her heel and sweeping away. With a groan, Tarquin retreated to his chambers, where he could sit at his desk and brood over the frothing ocean in the distance.

There'd been a time, once long ago when he'd been nothing but one of half a dozen Summer Princes and captain of a royal vessel, when he thought he might one day find his mate and fall in love. That he could have adventures on the seas and return respected enough that his uncle Nostrus--or whichever of his cousins took the throne--would listen to his advice on slowly closing the equality divide. That one day he might see the servants that cleaned his rooms and prepared his meals and he would be able to call them by name and thank them personally while looking them in the eye.

A naive, foolish dream many people thought. But what was the purpose of power if he could not make his dreams reality?

Knowing it was a taunt to the Cauldron and Mother, Tarquin wrote two letters that night, sealing them with the whirlpool crest of Summer and sending them off before he could doubt himself further.

Then he poured himself a large glass of wine and wondered if he'd be married by this time next year.

Sharp thorns and colorful blossoms to High Lord Tamlin of Spring,

You have my deepest apologies for not reaching out sooner. Summer continues to struggle in the wake of these last decades, but we are rebuilding stronger than ever. It is my hope that, as Prythian settles into peace, we might come together and form a bond between our homes that has not been seen for generations.

With your permission, I'd like to visit Spring and dine together, so we might discuss the future of our lands and how best we can help each other in the wake of these trying times.

Awaiting your response;

High Lord Tarquin of Summer, Lord of Tides.

Cold flurries and thick ice to High Lord Kallias of Winter,

I admit to being intrigued by your offer, Kallias, though I hope you will take no offence at my hesitation to saying yes outright. I won't insult you by laying out all the reasons why this is a dangerous suggestion, but these are dangerous and changing times we live in. All the same, I have never lied to you about my desires and I'd like to think we are something like friends, so I am open to further discussion.

Summer remains plagued by storms, and I understand your focus for these next months will be your people through this cold winter. I am hoping that through this spring Summer rebuilding efforts will bloom, so I have tentative plans to invite all the High Lords to our Solstice celebration for the sake of fostering peace. If it'd please you and your cousin, I'd be honoured to make Princess Zallia's aquantance then.

I do not undervalue this offer; I have cousins that mean much to me. Please have no doubt that, had we still both been only princes distant from our thrones, I would say yes in a moment.

I hope we can continue tying our courts together, but until then I remain:

High Lord Tarquin of Summer, Lord of Tides.

#ACoDaG #my writing #acotar fanfiction #pro nesta archeron #pro eris vanserra #pro lucien

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