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acourtofmishapandmistakes · 2 days

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A Court of Ice and Shadows: Chapter 1

OC Character x Azriel

Summary: Set after "A Court of Silver Flames" (ACOSF), this story follows original character Lene, an elite warrior of the Hesker Clan from the Winter Court. Tasked with diplomatic duty in the Night Court, Lene's mission is to help retrain the Valkyries and help squash potential uprising in the Illyrian camps. As she navigates centuries-old animosities and discovers herself beyond the icy confines of her homeland, Lene must confront her past and decide who she wants to become.

Click here for other parts:

Chapter 1, Chapter 2

Characters: Featuring original characters alongside core characters from the ACOTAR series.

Disclaimers: All characters and settings pertaining to the core ACOTAR series belong to Sarah J. Maas, with additional material created for the purpose of this fanfiction

Content Warnings: None.

Note: Some words used in this story are of Norwegian or Scandinavian origin. I do not speak either language, but adapted the researched words to fit the narrative. For notes regarding any of these words, see the end of the chapter.

Chapter One:

The frigid winds of the Winter Court had always been a constant in Lene’s life, whispering secrets of ancient magic and carrying icy promises of the future. As delicate snowflakes drifted gracefully around the towering spires of her home, Lene stood enveloped in her silver furs, her gaze sweeping over the frost-kissed gardens below. Today, the wind gnawed with an unusually penetrating chill, a sensation that Lene normally found invigorating, but now it stirred a restless unease within her. Something was shifting in the air, a change that tingled across her skin like a premonition.

Lene’s fingers tightened around the frozen railing, the warmth of her touch coaxing small beads of water to trail down the ice-glazed iron. She inhaled sharply, the biting cold piercing her lungs and mingling with a faint sense of dread as she exhaled a misty breath, watching it swirl and disappear into the frigid air. Snowflakes caught on the tips of her eyelashes, sparkling momentarily before melting away.

From the shadowed underbrush dusted with snow, a white fox emerged, its movements silent and cautious. The creature paused, its bright eyes scanning the quiet, snow-covered path before it boldly approached the grand manor’s doorstep. With an almost regal air, the fox reared onto its hind legs, as if checking the residence it had been tasked to find. Satisfied, it gently set down a scroll encased in a sleek glass cylinder, protected from the elements. After completing its delivery, the fox cast a quick glance over its shoulder, its bushy tail flicking playfully as it scampered down the pathway, leaving behind a delicate trail of paw prints as it yipped.

As the fox bounded down the path, Lene's eyes caught a glint of red—a vest intricately embroidered with golden threads that spiraled into the design of a complex snowflake. This was no ordinary courier fox; this one bore the distinct regalia of the High Court Palace. As the creature slipped beneath the iron gate and vanished from sight, a wave of curiosity stirred within Lene. What could the High Lord possibly need at such an ungodsly hour?

Turning, Lene retreated from the biting cold, pushing open the heavy double doors to re-enter the manor's welcoming warmth. A rush of heated air kissed her reddened cheeks, a soothing relief from the biting cold. With a fluid motion, she lowered the hood of her silver parka, untying it and draping it gracefully over the red velvet chaise by the entrance. Freeing her almost white, blonde hair from its confines, she let it cascade behind her shoulders, smoothing down her blue tunic that had bunched awkwardly beneath her coat. Despite the slight discomfort, she wouldn’t dare ask her grandmother to fashion her a new one, cherishing each piece the elder matriarch made.

Her boots left soft impressions on the plush rugs lining the floors as her footsteps echoed softly down the richly adorned hallways, framed by dark oaks and pine. Each step carried her deeper into the heart of the manor, toward the grand hall—a magnificent expanse where shadows danced with the roaring firelight and the air was thick with the scent of cranberry and pine. Lene took the staircase hurriedly, her feet barely touching the steps before she reached the grand hall floor, striding swiftly across to the large oak door that stood imposingly ahead.

Lene stretched onto her toes to peer through the frosted window panes, her eyes searching the ground where the fox had carefully placed the letter, now slowly being concealed by a fresh layer of snow. With a determined breath, she opened the grand door, its hinges releasing a soft creak that echoed faintly in the chilly air. Bracing against the cold, she stepped out to retrieve the letter.

Clutching the frozen cylinder, Lene hastened back inside, the door shutting swiftly behind her as a few rebellious snowflakes danced in with the gust of wind. Leaning against the sturdy oak, she wrapped the bottom edge of her tunic around the silver cap of the letter holder, using the fabric to insulate her fingers as she twisted it open. The cap finally gave way with a resounding clink, releasing the sealed message inside.

Lene tipped the holder, allowing the parchment to slide smoothly into her waiting hands. Tucking the glass container securely under her arm, she carefully unrolled the scroll, revealing the familiar, thin, and curled handwriting of High Lord Kallias. Her eyes quickly scanned the message, taken aback slightly by the formality of such a message:

“My Dearest Lene,

I apologize for the inconvenient timing of this message, but please know I would not call upon you without need.

I request your presence tomorrow morning at the castle to discuss a rather urgent matter regarding a neighboring court. Rest assured, the details are not grim, nor cause for any concern or panic. But this is a matter that will need to be addressed promptly.

Please meet me in the central court room tomorrow morning at 10 and I shall provide more details then.

I look forward to seeing you,

High Lord, Kallias”

Lene’s brows furrowed as she mulled over the cryptic nature of Kallias’s message. What urgent matter could involve another court yet not be cause for concern? With a twist, she secured the parchment back into the glass holder, the lid clicking firmly into place. Pushing off the door, she made her way through the grand hall entry towards the sitting room, her head swirling.

Upon crossing the threshold, Lene found herself enveloped in the warm embrace of firelight, illuminating her grandmother, seated regally in an aged wingback chair. The flames seemed to brighten her grandmother's braids, intricately woven threads of silver and white that shimmered with a touch of otherworldly luminescence. Those piercing blue eyes, sharp as the edge of winter, met Lene's gaze, reflecting a similar hue yet distinguished by whirls of deep sapphire. Her grandmother's brows knit together in keen scrutiny as tracked Lene’s march across the richly adorned sitting room, her hand poised elegantly around a glass of brandy.

Lene settled at her grandmother's feet upon the plush carpet, drawing her knees to her chest and resting her chin atop them. The scent of pine from the crackling fire mingled with the aged notes of brandy, weaving the comforting aroma of home around her. In the quiet, her grandmother studied her, the silence stretching between them.

"Something troubling you, elskling?" Her grandmother's voice finally broke the silence, a soft yet formidable sound in the dimly lit room.

Lene's lips twisted wistfully, her eyes remaining fixed on the dancing flames. "I'm not sure," she murmured, the words barely a whisper.

Her grandmother took a measured sip from her glass, finishing it in a slow, deliberate gulp before setting it aside. The crystal caught the light, glinting briefly. "You seem restless."

Lene paused a moment, "It's a letter from Kallias," she confessed, her voice a mix of curiosity and unease as she unfolded her legs, stretching one out while keeping the other bent. She retrieved a cylindrical holder from the floor, handing it to her grandmother. The elder's fingers, bony yet steady with the weight of years, accepted the parchment. "He's summoned me for tomorrow morning to discuss matters at another court."

Her grandmother unfurled the parchment, eyes scanning the words swiftly. "And what makes this summons so troubling?"

Lene watched her grandmother's expression, seeking any sign of insight. "It’s his formality and vagueness," she explained. "That’s unlike him. He’s normally much more blunt."

Her grandmother's hands deftly rolled the parchment back into its ornate glass cylinder, the movement elegant and practiced. Leaning forward, she passed the container back to Lene, her eyes narrowing slightly as they captured her granddaughter's troubled expression. "So, is it his tone that stirs this unrest within you?"

"It’s just peculiar," Lene admitted, placing the letter beside her on the lush carpet. Her gaze drifted away, lost in the shadows that the firelight failed to touch. "The last time Kallias and I spoke, he mentioned nothing about unrest or discord among the courts. Everything appeared...relatively quiet."

She hesitated, a frown creasing her brow. "In fact, it seemed as though Prythian was experiencing some form of odd harmony." Lene’s voice grew softer, more introspective. "I’ve harbored doubts about this peace, grandmother. It feels too quiet, like everyone is parading around in masks of smiles and happiness while something festers beneath the surface."

Turning her head to meet her grandmother’s age-wise eyes, Lene’s own shone with a mix of resignation and defiance. "I suppose I’ve been bracing myself for the reality to shatter it. For someone smart enough to take advantage of it."

Her grandmother absorbed Lene’s words, her aged face lined with understanding but tempered with the hardness of someone who had witnessed atrocities committed when thin layers of peace began to crumble. “I do not fault you for preparing for the worst. The most devastating storms often follow the calmest days.” Lene’s grandmother hesitated, thinking over her words, “But you cannot live your life on the calm days only fearing for what is to come.”

Lene let out a soft scoff, drawing her knees closer to her chest once more. "I appreciate the insight, Mormor," she murmured, her gaze fixed on the flickering shadows cast by the fire rather than her grandmother's face. "Do you believe there’s something more at play? Something... larger?”

Her grandmother reclined deeper into the wingback chair, the empty brandy glass twirling idly in her hand. "I don't believe Kallias would summon you without substantial reason," she mused. "You possess one of the sharpest, most tactical minds at his disposal. Perhaps he does indeed sense a shift on the horizon. But pondering the unsaid here is a futile endeavor. You will learn what you need to know soon enough. For now, perhaps there's virtue in the ignorant bliss of the unknown."

Lene smiled wryly, rolling her eyes affectionately. “You know I’m incapable of basking in ‘ignorant bliss,’” she quipped, her fingers air-quoting the last words.

At her grandmother's beckoning gesture, Lene moved to sit directly before the older woman, crawling on hands and knees before turning to face away from her. Her grandmother's fingers deftly began unraveling the small braids in Lene’s hair, undoing the intricate knots with gentle precision as she combed through the long strands. "You are very much like me, Lene," she observed quietly.

A laugh bubbled up from Lene’s throat. "I can imagine how delighted Mama would be to hear that comparison.”

Her grandmother gave a gentle tug on her hair, eliciting a slight hiss from Lene. "It’s your mind, elsking—it races too much, always darting ahead, never quite content to simply be here, in the moment."

As her grandmother tenderly rebraided her hair, the comforting touch that Lene often sought in moments of frenzy. "Mormor—" Lene began, only to be gently interrupted.

"It would do you well to allow yourself time to rest, to let your mind ease," her grandmother advised, her voice imbued with a soft firmness.

Lene drew in a deep breath, "I wish it were that easy," she confessed softly.

Finishing the braids, her grandmother expertly arranged the twin plaits over Lene's shoulders. Lene caught one, her fingers tracing the woven strands, pulling at a few loose ends as she contemplated her next words.

Her grandmother's gaze lingered on Lene, memories flooding back of a time when she was but a child, her small figure always close by. When allowed, Lene’s grandmother would allow her to sit with her in Kallias’s father’s court with Lene silently urging her grandmother to re-braid her hair while seated comfortably in her lap. Those moments seemed to echo in the quiet of the sitting room, where Lene, the red-nosed little snowflake, used to watch the other fae children play in the snow, always by the side of her mother and grandmother.

Lene parted her lips to speak, but her grandmother preempted her words with a reassuring hand on her shoulder, standing up from her chair. Lene looked up, meeting her grandmother’s eyes as she leaned forward to press a kiss to her forehead. "You were born with a strong head on your shoulders, burdened with the desire to care for others, and you excel in your role. There's no need to unsettle yourself over possibilities that have yet to manifest, my elskling," her grandmother said, her hands cradling Lene's face, eyes searching hers deeply.

"I know, Mormor," Lene responded after a moment, her voice steady as she took one of her grandmother’s hands in her own.

Her grandmother smiled gently, a sparkle of affection in her eyes. "I know you know. I just want you to trust in that." She bestowed another tender kiss upon the crown of Lene's head before standing. "Get some sleep, Lene."

"I won't be much longer," Lene assured her, her voice soft but firm. "Sov gott, Mormor."

"Sov gott, my elskling," her grandmother called over her shoulder as she exited the sitting room, leaving Lene in the comforting solitude with only the crackling fire to fill the silence.

Lene glanced over the letter, lying on the floor, scoffing as she once again ran through the various possibilities for her summons before standing from the floor, drawing the letter up and retreating to her bedroom for the night.

Parts:

Notes:

Elskling - “Darling” in Norwegian

Mormor - “Grandmother” in Norwegian

Sov gott - “Sleep tight” in Swedish

Thank you for taking the time to read this first chapter of what I hope will be a larger series. I haven't written anything long form creatively in years but I am hoping through this I can rekindle some of my love of writing. I know that this may not be everyone's cup of tea but for those who are willing to indulge me in this, I so greatly appreciate you. I am slowly relearning to appreciate the art I can produce and allowing myself this outlet is so healing. Much love, and to many more. - A Court of Mishap and Mistakes

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