Fire climbed skyward, touching the stars, scorching the black night.
The moon cast a silver sheen across the forest, but the clearing where so many powerful member of Autumn Court were gathered, where Beron's sons stood before the great blaze, was cast in a bloody light.
The frigid air kept the heat of the flames off of Lucien's face as he stared at his father's pyre.
Even his eye remained silent and still.
He had been there, with Eris, Brandt, Einar and Hagan, when the priestesses has dressed and perfumed their father's corpse, when they had put his sword in his hands and crowned his head with sacred herbs. 
And all Lucien could think was, what a waste of good cloth, of good metal, of fine seasoning.
He knew that his father deserved very little.
And still his mood was sour and somber. 
Still he drank silently with Eris, who had slept in Lucien's rooms and risen to inebriate himself further. 
The fire, created by all five of Beron's remaining sons, swallowed the wood, melted the fine ornaments and jewels, and turned their father into smoke and ashes.
Eris, who stood by Lucien's right arm, was stoic.  Cold. 
Neither of them would miss their father. 
But... there was something there as well. 
Something that Lucien saw in Eris' face that he recognized in himself. 
Something that didn't have a name.
Something regrettably akin to... grief.
Perhaps not grief for their father's death, but that they had never known a father's love.
It ate at Lucien, sometimes.
A gnawing inside of him that reminded him that the Mother and Cauldron has deemed him unworthy of that love.
Enough of this.
Lucien stormed forward, ignoring the collective gasp of those gathered behind him, throwing up a shield of headless flame.
Summoning a blaze in his hand, hot enough to melt steel, he stepped into the flaming pyre and looked down at his father's charred face. 
And without sparing another glance, he cast his fire onto the body.
It crumbled to ash instantly. 
With another wave of his hand, Lucien snuffed our the remaining flames. 
Standing, untouched, in a circle of charcoal and dust, still surrounded by golden fire, Lucien breathed heavily and turned to face his brothers.
Brandt, the youngest before Lucien, stared on in horror. 
He had idolized Beron. 
Their fathers death had dealt him the hardest blow. 
And what Lucien had just done was beyond irreverent. 
It went against the natural order of things. 
Burning their father's body and quenching the remaining flames as he had...
It was almost as bad as killing Beron himself.
Lucien glanced at Eris, whose face remained stony and silent, and then turned on his heel and stormed back to the keep.
He needed a stiff drink.
...
Eris stood in silence, but his soul was in tumult.
Here he was, standing at the long burnt pyre of the man who had fathered him.
Of the man he had killed.
He had many regrets in life.
But this... he did not regret killing his father.
He blankly watched the ashes float on the dawn, rising with the sun, and could not bring himself to mourn Beron Vanserra as he remembered what had driven him to murder that night.
His mother's face, bruised and bloodied.
There was no regret or mourning for Beron.
Only for his own damned soul.
But then again, his soul had been damned long before he killed his father. 
...
"You arrogant snake."

Lucien tensed, but did not turn at the sound of Brandt's cold voice.
Footsteps echoed on the stone floor of the throne room, that was dark and empty in the petrified hours of the morning.

"You have no respect," Brandt hissed, his voice much closer now.
Lucien continued to stare, silent, at the banners draped from the ceiling above the throne.
The heavy fabric swayed and billowed ever so slightly in the wake of Brandt's entrance.
A bruising hand gripped his shoulder, digging into muscle and flesh, and spun him violently around to face Brandt's rage twisted face.
"You will look at me when I speak to you, you impudent little flea!"
His arm ached fiercely as he stumbled slightly, regaining his footing.
The spirits in the bottle he held in his hand sloshed against the sides.
Brandt huffed out enraged, heavy breaths, and Lucien's eye spun and whirred, but he said nothing.
His lips found themselves in a tight smirk, infuriating and dismissive.
Brandt gritted his teeth and threw his hand back to strike Lucien, but Lucien only laughed.
"What are you going to do, Brandt?"
He grinned and shook his head.
"I'm not Lucien Vanserra, the least favorite child of Autumn anymore. I am not your outcast little brother."
He walked forward, a spark of molten anger building and pinging through his body like a tiny sun, and stood chest to chest with his brother who had death written on his face.
"I am emissary to the Night Court," Lucien said smoothly, still smiling, still raging inside.
"The largest and most powerful of all of us."
He could smell the smoke on his brother's clothes, the wine on his breath.
Brandt sneered and snatched the front of Lucien's tunic in a tight fist.
"Emissaries die every day, little Lucien. I am more than happy to kill the messenger."
More footsteps echoed behind them, drawing Lucien's eyes past Brandt's head towards the door, where Einar and Hagan slunk in, smiling coldly, full of self satisfaction and sadistic arrogance.
Without taking his eyes off of them, Lucien said calmly, his heart eager to spiral into panic and anger,
"What exactly do you plan to do, then, brothers?"
Slowly, his eyes slid back to Brandt's.
A grin crept onto his brother's face as Einar and Hagan approached, stopping on either side of Lucien.
"You were always such a studious boy," Brandt sneered, and Einar chuckled.
"Why don't we see how fast you learn this lesson."
Lucien didn't even have time to be confused as his knees buckled, the backs of his legs already bruising, his shirt still in Brandt's fist, forcing his back to painfully arch upward, cutting off air and circulation. 
A pained groan escaped him, and all three of his brothers laughed. 
"Look!" Hagan's voice was harsh with a dark humor. 
"Look how mighty Rhysand's emissary is, on his knees before us!"
The cut of Lucien's tunic against his throat made his good eye water and his vision dim, and in desperation, he shoved his hands out, pushing and battering at Brandt's legs. 
His fire forgotten, with panic and the threat of unconsciousness consuming him, Hagar and Einar quickly pinned his arms behind him, wrenching his left arm so hard that he felt the scrape and excruciating pop of dislocation.
Brandt was quick to release his shirt and slap his hand over Lucien's mouth before he screamed.
White hot agony lanced up and down his arm, piercing his spine and blinding him.
The sounds of their laughter faded into ringing.
Something was torn inside.
Throbbing, fiery pain stoked through his left side, paralyzing his lungs.
It might have taken him longer to come to his senses, but their fists against his jaw, their boots in his ribs, made him push the pain in his shoulder away.
Pain bloomed where they struck, his ribs and face aching violently as he was tossed between them like a rag doll in some sick game.
Pathetic cries of pain escaped Lucien's chest, and a small, still coherent part of his mind felt the humiliation he was suffering, and hated it more than the pain.
Brandt's hand was still plastered to his mouth, quieting his protests and agonized groans.
Lucien's body, bruised and bloodied, felt instant relief as the blows raining down on him halted.
Mind in a fog of pain that he had been too naive and arrogant to brace against, his senses had to choose between sight or hearing.
Ears ringing, he caught a flash of gleaming metal out of the corner of his eye.
"Not yet, Brandt. Have a little patience."
Lucien sagged in their grips, aching for the cool stone on his throbbing face, and panted.
Despite his other injuries, the pain from his shoulder lanced through him like a hot poker.
"Stop being cowards. You two have wanted him dead for centuries!"
Lucien wheezed, and surprised himself by realizing it was almost a laugh.
He was going to die. 
At the hands of these three, sadistic buffoons, he was going to finally die. 
How humiliating. 
How appropriate. 
"Well if you're going to do it, do it, brother.  Or I will.  I'm losing my patience with both of you.  And I'm not afraid to make the bastard suffer."
"I'm not afraid, Einar!"

"You should be."

As the blinding pain faded into a sharp ache, Lucien's senses cleared.
A thump echoed through the dark, stone hall, and he lifted his head to see Eris standing before them.
"What is this, Einar."
His voice was as cold as ever, sliding like a frozen blade over every stone that was laid in the floor and walls.
"What does it look like, brother?" Lucien could hear his smile.
Above him, Brandt let out a noise of indignation and jerked Lucien's arm once more, pulling a groan from him and sending stars before his eyes.
"This is not their affair, nor is it yours, Eris. Do not pass over me so frivolously!"
Lucien couldn't help the chuckle that left his bloodied lips.
Brandt had very rarely sounded so desperate. So flustered.
Their father would have flogged him for it.
Eris stepped closer, his steps echoing.
"Then I should call you a coward, and a fool, Brandt."
Hagan snickered, but remained silent.
"How dare-"
"Be silent!"
Eris' voice was like a whip.
"Are you ill, or simply stupid? All three of you. Lucien belongs to the Rhysand. Have you forgotten the wrath of Night Court?"
He stepped closer, until his boots were beneath Lucien's nose, and he could stare down his nose at his second youngest brother.
A smile quirked Lucien's mouth, despite his ragged painful breaths and the fire coursing through his arm.
"Have you forgotten the devastation of Spring so soon, foolish boy? Do not doubt that it will happen here if Lucien dies," he bit out.
"Take out your frustrations on a hunt or in bed. The inner circle of Rhysand's Court is off limits to any of you. Am. I. Understood."
The cold edge of the blade pressed against the soft skin of Lucien's throat, and he couldn't bring himself to flinch away.
"You might be high Lord now," Brandt hissed,
"But your welcome is wearing thin, very quickly.  You defend this traitor?"
Eris was silent. 
Lucien's heartbeat wasn't deafening in his own head. 
Hagan and Einar shifted behind him, their grips looser and less sure now. 
When their eldest brother finally spoke, chills sparked up and down Lucien's skin.

"Is that a challenge?"

The weight in Lucien's head prevented him from seeing any of their faces, but he felt the energy change as dominance and power radiated from his eldest brother, the High Lord of Autumn.
The knife fell away from his raw skin and Brandt released his hold.
Einar and Hagan reluctantly followed suit, and the sudden drop of his mangled arm brought a brutal cry from Lucien as he fell to the floor. 
"Do not forget your place.  You can very quickly become a traitor yourself, little brother."
Brandt muttered a response.
Einar and Hagan wisely remained silent.
"Leave.  All of you."
Their footsteps quickly receded, muted, and the heavy doors closed loudly as they exited. 
Lucien, at Eris' feet, lay in a broken heap. 
Pathetic and in agony. 
Blood dripped from his mouth, nose and brow onto the cold stones. 
His arm twisted against his body unnaturally. 
His chest ached with every open mouthed breath he took.
Slowly, Lucien forced himself to look up at Eris' face.
His brother stared down at him, face blank, eyes like stone. 
His mouth was twisted ever so slightly with what looked like disdain. 
Disappointment.
Disgust. 
Their eyes met briefly, and then Eris turned in his heel and strode the way their three brothers had gone. 
The doors opened, and Lucien heard him bark an order to the stationed guards before disappearing.
Darkness tinged the edge of Lucien's vision. 
His body was exhausted in every way. 
Before the darkness could fully consume him, Lucien felt hands wrap around his good arm, and haul him to his feet, incoherent words pounding against his ears. 
He simply smiled, and his knees buckled as he fainted. 
...
"Bring him in here."
Eris held open the door to his chambers as his guards hauled Lucien in, and dropped him into a chair unceremoniously.
Eris hissed in distaste.
"The bed, you morons."
They glanced at each other, but wordlessly dragged Lucien onto Eris' bed before silently exiting.
Eris stalked across the room and poured an ungodly amount of liquor into a glass, his mind filled with storms.
Lucien was a damned fool.
He had been in Autumn less than two days, and already been torn apart.
Eris grimaced at the bitter taste of the spirits.
He turned, studying Lucien from a distance.
Such a fool, his little brother was.
He scoffed and slung the glass out of his hand, savoring the sharp shatter of it against the wall.
What was Lucien doing?
If he wanted to antagonize their brothers, the least he could do is fight back!
Eris had trained him himself, half the time.
He was no warrior, but he could defend himself plenty well.
Eris scowled.
His little brother, broken and bloodied before him. 
What a high lord he was, barely in control, clawing every moment to keep his people in line using the same fear his father had. 
Only, he lacked the fortitude to enforce that fear.
On silent feet, he slowly approached the bed and dragged an armchair with him to sit. 
Where could he even begin? 
Lucien was a bleeding mess. 
Eris gritted his teeth in annoyance. 
His sheets would be stained beyond repair, and he would have to deal with the mess himself to avoid unwanted eyes. 
"What am I going to do with you, little Lucien," he murmured.
Beneath the fine black tunic he wore, Lucien's left arm was grossly twisted, unnaturally bent away from his body.
Eris reaches forward, prodding the limp limb, searching for breaks. 
He released a breath of relief when he found none. 
His healing magic was limited, and breaks were beyond him. 
Torn muscles and tendons, that he could do. 
It took little effort to shove Lucien's arm back where it was meant to be, but the pain must have been astronomical, for Eris heard a low agonized groan and looked down to see Lucien's eyes fluttering open.
The metal eye clicked at Eris tauntingly, and he scoffed, placing his hands over Lucien's shoulder, where he could feel the heat of torn flesh deep inside. 
Grasping for the small spark of magic that lay deep within the expanse of his flame, he drew it up and pushed it through his fingers, into Lucien.
It flooded his shoulder, and trickled across his body, directed by Eris, towards the bruises and gashes on Lucien's face. 
The effort of using a magic used so infrequently brought sweat to his brow.
"What are you doing."
Eris ground his teeth and redoubled his focus, feeling the damage done to Lucien repair as though it were his own body.
Cauldron this is harder than I remember.
Almost...
"Eris."
He yanked his hands back.
"Is it impossible for you to shut your mouth," he hissed, scowling at Lucien whose generally copper skin was still ashen from pain.
"What does it look like I was doing."
Eris stood, pushing back the chair, a scraping sound filling the room.
"I've done all I'll do. You can deal with the rest of your injury on your own."
Lucien didn't need to know that Eris wouldn't have had the strength or talent to do any more.
"Perhaps it'll be good for you to remember to remain silent," he said, voice low and unforgiving.
He turned on his heel, away from Lucien, who stared up at him blankly, and went to reach for another drink.
"I've never seen you drink so much."
Lucien's voice was harsh and faint, dead from his cries of pain that had alerted Eris to the events taking place in the throne room only an hour before.
He laughed to himself, and scoffed at Lucien once more.
"Much has changed in your absence, little brother."
And this time, even he could hear the bitterness in his own voice.
For all the pains and efforts he took to hide it, his resolve always seemed to crack around Lucien.
Mother above if it wouldn't ruin him.
...
Lucien struggled to comprehend if this was some concussion induced fever dream, or if Eris had truly come to his aid, healed his wounds, and now spoke to him with such depth and emotion in his voice.
Eris the cold.
Eris the brutal.
Eris the unfeeling, cruel monster who held his brothers in check and meted out his father's justice.
The deep ache in his ribs and arm confirmed the reality of it all.
"Why."
Eris faced away from him, steadily consuming his drink.
"Why what."
Lucien shifted, and caught himself before he could groan.
"Why stop them. Why help me? Why... all of this."
Eris remained silent.
The only sound was the whisper of bed cloth sliding over Lucien's blood ruined tunic.
As much as he had been ridiculed, mocked and beaten in the last few days, Lucien's mind was on utter confusion and disarray. 
His feelings for his father's death. 
His relief at being home, in Autumn. 
Eris' behaviour that so deeply contradicted their entire lives as brothers.
"I have work to do."
Eris turned to face Lucien, whose confusion was mirrored in the whirring of his gold eye. 
His face was stoic, devoid of the emotion that had scrolled across his features only moments before. 
"I will have a horse and an escort supplied to you to travel back to the gate.  I expect you to be gone by noon."
And he abruptly turned and stalked to the door.
He paused for a moment before the doorway, and Lucien held his breath, but then watched his eldest brother storm out.
Unease pervaded his body, mingling with the pain as he lay alone in his brother's chambers. 
Eris was right. 
Many things had changed.
But one thing poked at the back of his mind.
When Eris had come to stop their brothers from killing Lucien...
Lucien shifted, gritting his teeth against the pain, too far away to feel the depth of agony in his chest. 

Eris had sounded just like their father.

*HELLO I'm so sorry that this took so long.  I was moving, and then procrastinating lol.  This chapter is such trash, but I will be working on the next chapters.  They WILL be coming out much sooner than the absolute massive gap of time between these two chapters. 
Soooooo sorry I love you all and appreciate your support so much!!!