#i was going to draw leif | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

draguta · 10 months

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.a court of fate and fortune | twenty-four.

pairing: lucien vanserra x fem!reader

summary: | book two | lovers separated, powers that won't be controlled, a doomed wedding. with the threat of war looming over prythian, lucien, Y/N, tamlin, and rhysand's inner circle must scramble to find allies and prepare themselves for what is to come. but Y/N only has one aim; to find her way back to lucien, and protect him at all costs.

chapter warnings: violence

chapter word count: 5019

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Wyvern

Leif was eerily quiet. The usually busy village, sat South-East of the Manor, close to the Wall, was now silent, save for the howling of the wind through empty streets, the rattling of window shutters as that same breeze past them by, left open in the rush as the villagers ran for cover, and the thumping footsteps of the Wyvern.

You’d never seen a Wyvern before. You remembered reading about them once, in the books from Tamlin’s library when you were trying to find out anything you could about your powers. Had found detailed drawings and descriptions of them in that worn copy of ‘Old Magic of Prythian’. You knew enough to know that they had been created by a High Fae centuries ago, during the First War, to use in the battle against the humans and human-sympathisers, but they had been too unruly, too wild, and had been set free to roam and breed in the mountains of the Night Court as they wished, drawn to the cold and the isolation that those mountains provided.

How one had made its way all the way to the Spring Court, you weren’t sure.

Even the amount that you had read about them could never have prepared you for the sight of it before you.

You’d begged Lucien to take you with him, had practically fallen to your knees the second you had all left Tamlin’s study, and left the High Lord behind as well. Yet, he’d been more than willing.

“I wasn’t planning to leave without you,” he’d said, a small glint of pride in his eyes; pride that you would want to help, that you were willing to put yourself in danger to protect the people of this court, even if the High Lord himself would not. Perhaps if circumstances had been different - if Tamlin had agreed to send aid - neither of you would be willing to let you go there to face such a creature. But as the situation stood, they needed all the help they could get. “Just…don't use your powers there. The villages are old-fashioned, and I don't think they'd appreciate...dark magic. And try not to get yourself hurt, and definitely not killed.”

Silas had disappeared whilst you and Lucien had gone to his room, decking yourselves in plenty of weapons; you yourself had two twin swords strapped to your back in a similar fashion to how you had seen Cassian wear his blades, three daggers strapped to your thighs and a sword in your belt, as well as one small blade, no bigger than a letter opener, tucked into your boot as a last resort. Lucien had resorted to his sword, bejewelled dagger, and a bow and quiver of arrows.

When you met Silas outside, he had a handful of recruits, some faces that you didn’t recognise, led by Wren and Rhyder, each of them dressed in their armour, ready for battle. And then you winnowed, Silas gripping Wren’s hand, Rhyder taking the two other sentinels, and Lucien gripping your own hand tightly.

You were sure you saw the figure of Tamlin watching through the window.

Your boots hit slowly and carefully against the dirt-road that led through the village of Leif. Candles were extinguished inside the houses that you passed, the smoke curling and coiling into the air and out through the cracked windows - anything to keep the Wyvern from knowing their location. Lucien paused at the corner of a tavern named, ‘The Smoking Dragon’, much to the irony of the situation, and glanced over his shoulder, glossy locks of hair, tied back in a low braided bun at the nape of his neck, casting orange and auburn hues against the green of his tunic. He raised a hand and lowered it swiftly in a motion that said, ‘stay low’. Neither you nor the sentinels deigned to disobey.

He peered around the corner once, his shoulders stiffening enough that you had to fight the urge to reach forward and squeeze his hand in reassurance. He glanced back, looking over your shoulder to Silas and the other sentinels. One point at Wren and Rhyder and a point to the left, and then at the other two and a point to the right; they were to spread out, surround the area where the Wyvern was, and attack from all sides. From Lucien’s silent command, Silas would take the far side, directly opposite, whilst you and Lucien would attack from your current vantage point.

The sentinels scattered, each staying as low and silent as the mid-morning allowed. Lucien swallowed, hand on the hilt of his sword, as his eyes landed on you.

“This is going to be difficult,” he said slowly. “Wyverns are notoriously tricky to take down. When we’re out there…I never want to stop you, Y/N. If you want to fight, then you can fight. But I can’t protect you out there, not when I’m trying to protect this whole village.”

You nodded, understanding what he was trying to say, even if he was skirting around his point. That he wanted you to be safe, but that you couldn’t be his responsibility once you were both out there, facing down that creature. You couldn’t be a burden to him. “You can trust me to protect myself, Lucien. You won’t need to worry about me out there.”

He drew in a shuddering breath, nodding once, almost as if to reassure himself that was the case. He closed his eyes for a moment, leaning in to place a warming, soft kiss to your forehead; that kiss alone gave you enough strength to know that you’d both make it through this without a problem. You weren’t nervous, not in the slightest, until-

Sliding the two swords from your back, you slipped around the corner, tucked in tight behind Lucien. The great snarling beast was five times the size of a horse - the largest creature you had ever seen. Large yellowed fangs protruded from a grizzling mouth set below slitted nostrils and beady yellow eyes. Claws sharper and longer than Tamlins poked from the ends of its padded feet, the black scales that coated its entire body blanketed the part where snake-like skin met smooth, onyx-like claws. It’s leathery wings reminded you of your friends back in Velaris, but where Rhys, Cass, and Az’s wings were beautiful, like the point where night turned to day when the sun shone through them, hueing them a shade of purplish-red that you wished you could bottle to gift Feyre for her paintings, these were solid black, no light or hope amongst the darkness.

The sight brought a chill up your spine, one that made you shudder despite the warmth of the day.

The two of you trailed the outskirts of the tavern, keeping to the shadows that the buildings provided, out of the eyeline of the Wyvern. It snarled and spread its wings as it canvassed the area - what you presumed was a marketplace of some sort - searching for any poor soul that hadn’t made it to sanctuary in time. But there was no sign of life save for the single solitary candle sat in the front-facing window of the abandoned tavern, with the patrons and landlord no doubt having run to the back seaking cover.

Lucien pulled the bow from where it sat on his back, the string wrapped around his chest. Silas crouched low across from us outside a bakery as you made base in the empty porch doorway of the tavern. Wren and Rhyder appeared on the far left between a set of houses, and their brothers-in-arms from the right down what looked to be a back alley. They were all poised, ready to strike. As were you.

You held one sword in each hand, their weight heavy in your palms as you awaited Lucien’s signal. But he had a different plan.

A nod to Silas on the far side of the marketplace had the commander throwing a hand up to the other two teams, telling them to wait as he pulled his own bow from his back and sheathed an arrow in its string.

In almost perfect sync, he and Lucien raised their bows, one arrow aimed at each of the Wyvern’s eyes; if their aim was precise enough they could bring the creature to its knees in only one blow, making its death easier to conquer for the rest of us.

You couldn’t help but allow your eyes to drift to Lucien, even as the Wyvern’s long, spiked tail slashed and smashed at the buildings nearby Wren and Rhyder. Even as they ducked and rolled out of the way, narrowly missing being hit by falling debris, a shriek sounding from a female somewhere inside. Lucien looked like one of the paintings she had once seen in Tamlin’s gallery, fearsome and heroic. No longer was he the snarky emissary, the proud and caring lover. This was a side of Lucien that you had not seen before.

A thin coat of sweat from the stress and pressure of that bow held tightly in his grip sheened across his forehead, dripping from his brow and marking his golden skin with a glorious sleek shimmer, almost like the drips of water as it melted from the edges of ice. His red-hair seemed even more fiery, the same stark colour as the very centre of that candle flickering in the open window behind you. His face was set in determination, his brow low and lips pulled in between his teeth into a thin line that echoed that curve of the bowstring. And those eyes that you had stated into so many times, that you had seen burn and simmer with the entails of release - of pure pleasure - now showed no signs of that male that you took to your bed each night. Now they only showed the warrior that he had trained to be, had spent so many hours in the Autumn Court during his youth, no doubt, honing to perfection.

He was…glorious.

Every inch of him, in that split second that he sheathed his arrow and raised it before him, pulled back to meet his brow, was godly. He was like one of those male figures cut from Tamlin’s gallery, the strong heroes that saved the damsel and claimed his reward. The ones who had fought alongside the Old Gods, should legends be believed, and moved from memory, to story, to myth, to legend. Perhaps Lucien would go down in legend…

His finger pulled away and the bowstring snapped as it hauled the arrow forward at a pace so fast you almost couldn’t see it as it whooshed through the air, hitting its mark perfectly. The Wyvern screeched in pain, thrashing uncontrollably, those wings flaring in anger to span the entirety of the marketplace, blocking your sight of Silas, Wren, and Rhyder. The sound was almost unbearable, a blood-curdling wail that echoed through the silent village, bounced off the rolling hills to travel further and beyond, likely reaching to even the Wall itself.

Lucien had hit it directly in the eye, that black slit of a pupil in the centre now no more than a bloody cavernous hole where an eye had once been. The yellow of its iris was stained red.

Another screech that sounded like nails against a chalkboard, and you knew without seeing him that Silas’ arrow had been let loose. But when the blow hit and the Wyvern’s head thrust to the side…the arrow hadn’t hit its mark, piercing the Wyvern just below its sharp, lengthy cheekbone.

“Shit,” Lucien muttered under his breath. The Wyvern had been injured, but not enough that the few swords that your forces carried on you might be able to bring it down alone. The bow was thrown to the side, and Lucien reached for his sword, turning to look at you, face grave. “We don’t have a choice.”

“I know,” was all you said in response, your grip on your swords tightening.

“We go it together,” he said, metal eye whirring as if it were somehow scanning the marketplace - the Wyvern itself - for possible strategies, all whilst he focused his attention on you. “And we make it out together.”

It took all of your strength not to lean up and kiss him right there. Instead, you simply nodded once, a determined grin on your face. “Together,” you confirmed. He smirked, hitting the side of his sword against the one in your right hand, the soft ‘clang’ barely audible over the shrieks of the Wyvern.

And together you went, Lucien leading the charge, you flanking him from behind. The pair of you were like shadows as you approached the creature; its enormity alone was enough to make the hair on the back of your neck stand to attention as you peered up at it, its form seemingly growing bigger and bigger the closer you got to it.

“Aim for the wings,” Lucien said over his shoulder as the pair of you neared the creature. “That way it’ll be grounded and can’t fly away and come back to terrorise us another day. And whatever you do, avoid the tail.”

For you realised, as he said that and the great tail of the creature swung high over your heads, that the end was pointed; small barbed spikes trailed along three sides until they reached one great sword-like tip at the very end. And that final point was a different colour to the others that sat in a dark, midnight black; it was tainted a coruscate of deep, shimmering blue. The same colour as the sky above Velaris when the night clouds rolled in over the wards that Rhys had set in place to keep the city safe from attack.

Poison.

Silas mirrored our movements across the marketplace from us, pausing in the same place as we did, right below the point where the clawed tip of the Wyvern’s wing shadowed against the cobblestoned ground. That spiked tail flew over your heads, and you and Lucien ducked, the wind whooshing around you as it shaded you for no more than a second.

From the corner of your eye you caught sight of Wren and Rhyder approaching the Wyvern’s right foot, swords at the ready, and somehow you saw the entire plan play out before your eyes. Knew, without having to ask, exactly what your strategy was. As, it seemed, the sentinels did too.

In perfect synchronicity the two sentinels poised at the Wyvern’s left foot, and Wren and Rhyder, lowered their swords in a slick blow to the Wyvern’s ankles. The creature howled in pain, its forked tongue slithering from between its fangs in an aggressive hiss; a warning to whomever was brave enough to attempt to take the Wyvern on. Its wings on each side dropped to the ground in a strive to block and protect its two taloned feet; that was your chance.

Your blade slid through the leathery skin of the Wyvern’s wing with such ease, like a knife sliding through parchment, or an Illyrian shooting through the clouds. Such ease that it almost startled you.

Two gaping holes across its right wing. One across its left, courtesy of Silas. The Wyvern was grounded.

But that didn’t mean it wouldn’t still put up a fight.

That tail whooshed again, striking a heavy blow against Wren and Rhyder who had been ducking free of the heavy wings. They flew back, the hit hard enough to have them hitting against the ground a good ten feet away, heavy and harsh. Their grunts and pants of pain echoed around the marketplace.

Even as your eyes fell on Silas rushing to their aid, to that tail swinging directly toward him, to the deathly point delivering a fatal blow to his stomach. His tunic stained red beneath his armour as he dropped to his knees, a tinge of blue poison mingling with his scarlet blood. His face paled in an instant, eyes glassy even from your view on the far side of the marketplace.

Your feet moved instantaneously, urging you to go to him, to help him. But Lucien’s hand gripped around your wrist, pulling you back, and when you turned to look at him with incredulity, his eyes told you exactly what he was thinking. ‘Not now,’ they seemed to say. ‘We’ll go to him after.’

After the Wyvern’s demise.

The tail whooshed again, followed by a thunderous ‘clap’ as the Wyvern’s wing rose toward the skies and slammed back down on the cobblestone, enough to throw you off balance, falling back against the ground with a hard smack to the back of your head. Burning pain rushed to the wound that was no doubt there now, but you brushed it off, ignored it, eyes scanning the marketplace. Lucien was no longer at your side, thrown back himself and hauled back on the other side of the wing, closer to that deadly tail.

The tail swirled in the air again, and it was all Lucien could do to roll out of its way, further away from you. You had to do something, had to move - fast. The Wyvern’s whirled its tail again, lunging for Lucien, who was knocked off kilter to the ground once more; fear flashed in his eyes.

You didn’t stop to think, not as you ran - not toward the Wyvern, but away from it - grabbing an old wooden beam that had been knocked to the ground amongst the debris left from the Wyvern’s attack, racing back toward the tavern. There was a candle there, somehow still lit and flickering in the window, the flame wafting with every whoosh of the Wyvern’s tail and wings. As you ran, you pulled at the hem of your tunic, ripping enough that it would cover the end of the beam, wrapping it around and around until you finally came skidding to a halt at the door of the tavern, right where that window lay open, one shutter blown closed, the other creaking in the breeze.

Holding the wrapped end of the beam in the candle, you watched as the flames caught alight, eating away at the cloth, curling and burning it, the once blue ripped shreds turning black under the heat. You slid your swords back into their holsters on your back - they weren’t needed, not right at this second - and kicked open the door to the tavern with the sole of your boot.

The air inside smelt of stale ale and cooked stew, but it was tainted with something else - fear. There were no people there, you ascertained, eyes scanning the overturned tables, knocked over stools, and abandoned mugs on the tables as you swiftly made your way through to the back, to where you assumed the stairs would be.

You were right, an old, narrow, and rather rickety stairway was tucked behind the bar, leading to the upper levels. The torch lit the way, faelights on the walls long-since dulled to nothing.

The room upstairs that you found yourself in was large, a communal sitting area of some sort that led off to a hallway at the back that no doubt housed the inn’s rooms. A small whimper sounded from the corner, and you whirled around, eyes landing first on a small fae child curled on the floor, and then on the others behind her. Patrons of the tavern downstairs, fae rooming in the inn, landlords of the building, all huddled together in one corner, a mixture of different fae, from winged, to blue-skinned, to High Fae that looked as if they came from different courts. They shook and trembled with fear, each of them watching you wide-eyed and terrified.

“It’s okay,” you whispered. “We’re here to help. I’m not going to hurt you.”

Only that young girl at the front - the child - nodded.

Then you turned with such determination that it almost shocked you. An open window at the far end of the room, one that would look out across the entire marketplace; the perfect spot. You didn’t have a plan, not really, just the outline of an idea, but it was the best you were going to get at this point. You prised open the shutters, and the sight that beheld you almost made your knees buckle.

You were at eye-level with the Wyvern, those bloody gouges where its eyes had once been still holding the two Spring Court arrows in place, each one marked with the green of their court. You could see the drool that snarled from the tips of its fangs, could make out every scale on its body, thick like armour.

You only had one shot; one chance.

Legs trembling, you clambered onto the window ledge, leaning as far out as you could, torch blazing in your hand. Your eyes fell to Lucien, who had staggered his way to the edge of the marketplace, now gazing up at you, face pale white. But you didn’t stop, didn’t let his shock nor the fear that swirled in your stomach stop you.

The torch lingered near the slitted nostrils of the Wyvern, and it paused, its thrashing coming to a momentary stop as it felt the heat upon its skin. It was working.

“That’s it,” you whispered, as if speaking to the creature itself. “Follow the heat.”

The last few senses the Wyvern still had; temperature and smell. It followed both of them, leaning toward the fire as if trying to assess whether it was a comfort or a threat. And then, with one hand on the hilt of one of the swords strapped to your back, you bent your knees and used every ounce of strength you had to throw the torch into the skies.

Seconds. You had mere seconds. One step back. Sword drawn from its sheath. In a run, you leapt from the window, just as the Wyvern’s head turned upward to follow the heat of the blazing torch. Sword stretched above your head, you pierced the creature at the top of its long, scaled neck, your slight run before your jump providing enough momentum to tear through the armoured scales. The creature shrieked, writhing and gyrating beneath you as your sword slid, you along with it, down the length of its neck, blood splattering against the cobblestones, across your face and body, as you went. You closed your eyes, not wanting to see the guts and innards that were escaping through that gaping hole.

You didn’t open them again until you reached the point where neck turned to ribcage, your sword getting stuck on the upper bones. One push with your feet against the creature’s chest had your sword flinging from its body, hauling you back and onto the ground below. You yelped at the sharp pain that flooded though your every bone as you collided with the cobblestones.

The creature shrieked once more, legs collapsing, and it was with great effort that you were able to shuffle out of the way as the creature fell to the ground, unmoving and unbreathing.

The silence that followed was deafening. The Wyvern was dead.

Faces began to peer from the windows and doors, heads poking up here and there, whispering to the others that the coast was clear. That the High Lord’s sister had saved them. That the Queen Killer had saved them.

But your eyes were on the corpse of the Wyvern. Were drifting to the pale form of Silas, hunched against the cobblestones on the far side of the marketplace. On the sentinels that surrounded him.

“Get him back to the manor!” Lucien’s voice called from somewhere, and a moment later he came into view. He was clutching his rib as his other hand came down to rest on your shoulder, eyes scanning your body, trying to find any wounds, trying to discern what was the Wyvern’s blood and what was yours.

“I’m okay,” you whispered, exhaustion already interweaving with the words. Your sword dropped from your hand with a clatter, just as doors began to swing open, and locals began making their way over to you. “I’m okay,” you said again, although it was almost more to reassure yourself of that fact than Lucien. “Silas-”

“Will be fine, if we can get him back to the manor in time,” he said, hand falling to wrap around your own, hauling you to wobbly feet. “We’ll have a healer look over him. He’ll be healed in no time, I’m sure.”

Then a hand clapped your back, and you turned to find faces staring at you - watching you with awe. The villagers cocooned themselves around you, pressing close to you, strings of ‘Thanks yous’ and ‘The Mother bless you’ echoing in your ears. You stepped back, pressing your back to Lucien’s chest, just as the whisperings of ‘Cauldron sent’ and ‘Queen Killer’ began to find their way back to you from the crowd.

It was too much. Too much like…like Under the Mountain. Like that night after you had killed Amarantha, when those that had been trapped there with you looked at you with awe, looked at you as if you had truly been sent by the Cauldron.

“Take me home,” you whispered, words that you had once asked Lucien before, in that aftermath so many months ago, echoed once again. “Please, take me home.”

Lucien’s brows pinched, but he nodded once, hand tightening around your own as you were swallowed by an Autumn swept fog, wrapping around you both, one that smelt like him; like crisp apples and crispy frost-coated leaves.

Tamlin was waiting when Lucien returned to the manor, Y/N still held tightly to his chest. His face was thunder itself.

“Before you start-” Lucien began, but Tamlin cut him off, even as Lucien pushed past him and led Y/N, still shaking in her boots, to the foot of the stairs.

“How could you be so reckless?” Tamlin snapped. Lucien’s eyes narrowed, heart beating so fast that he was sure if he looked down at his chest he would see it poking from his tunic with each beat.

“Reckless?” He bit in return. “We saved those people.”

“And you took her with you!” Tamlin fumed, motioning a throwaway hand toward Y/N. Lucien seethed. “What would have happened if she had been killed?”

“I never would have let that happen,” Lucien argued back. And he wouldn’t have. Never would he allow anything to happen to her - he would have laid his own life down in that battle against the Wyvern if it would have been payment for her heart to remain beating.

“You wouldn’t have been given the option,” Tamlin said through gritted teeth. He opened his mouth to say more, but a door opened behind them, and Lucien’s golden eye whirled to find Alis hovering there awkwardly. He cleared his throat, turning to her.

“Take her upstairs please, Alis,” he said calmly, a small, tight-lipped smile aimed her way. “Tend to any wounds that she has, and make sure she bathes.”

Alis gave a short nod, rushing over to Y/N, dress whispering against the tiled floor as she went, and with one arm wrapped around her shoulders, guided Y/N toward the stairs. Lucien turned back to Tamlin, white knuckled fists at his sides.

“You can’t keep her in this manor forever,” he said, chin raised defiantly. “She is more than capable of looking after herself. I saw that today. It was Y/N who brought that Wyvern down. She showed more strength and bravery than you did - you left those people to die, and it was her, the female that you see as weak, as needing to be protected, that stood there in your stead.”

“And look what it’s done to her!” Tamlin said, enraged. Lucien cast a sideways glance at Y/N who was slowly but surely taking the stairs step-by-step. She did look haggard and exhausted, covered in the blood of the foe she had defeated that day. It clung to her hair, mixing with her own blood seeping from a small but deep gash on the back of her head. Yet…she looked determined, looked strong and content. “She could have been killed! What were you thinking? What is going through your head?”

Lucien took one short but confident stride toward his High Lord. “I’m thinking of how proud of her I am.”

Tamlin scoffed, a haughty laugh that should have intimidated Lucien, should have made him feel foolish. “Pride?” He huffed. “Why in all of Prythian would you feel pride?”

“Because she accomplished something incredible today,” Lucien said firmly. “And it was an honour to witness it.”

Tamlin cocked his head in utter disbelief. “Who made you her spokesman. Why would you care what she does?”

“Because I’m in love with her!” Lucien breathed as if it were obvious. He paused, eyes wide, turning to the stairs where he found Y/N frozen to the spot, staring at him over her shoulder. He had said it, there was no turning back now. “I am so, frightfully in love with her and that terrifies me. I’m not simply sharing my bed with her. I intend to share every single day with her, until my final breath.”

Tamlin looked like a deer caught in the firing-line of an arrow marked for its heart. His eyes were wide in surprise, his mouth parted slightly. It would have been almost comical, and Lucien likely would have laughed at the dumbfounded look on his face, had he not been so unsure about what the High Lord’s next words would be.

Tamlin swallowed, closing his eyes as if to will away whatever anger was rising within him, and he only whispered, “Go. Get out of my sight.”

Lucien didn’t need to be told twice. He sprinted for the stairs, taking Y/N’s hand, Alis clutching the other, and beginning to help her up the stairs. She looked at him in shock.

“Y-You told him,” she whispered. Lucien smiled softly.

“He had to know sometime,” he said with a small shrug. “And I’m tired of hiding. If I’m going to be with you, Y/N, then I don’t want it to be in the shadows. I wish to sing it from the very rooftops.”

She beamed, and Lucien could practically feel his heart glowing at the sight. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

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