Chapter Text
Strangers. Lucien Vanserra was completely and utterly surrounded by strangers. He sat at the council table created by him and his friends. His family. A small band of exiles that dared to dream - to want more for themselves and others below the wall. He had always known that he would outlive them. Mourn them. That he would be responsible for keeping their memory alive. He never considered, however, that everything he had built with Jurian and Vassa would outgrow him.
Lucien looked around at a council of human nations and territories. Some leaders were human or half-fae, some represented monarchies or democracies, but they all ignored him. He led the first generation of leaders alongside his friends, the second generation revered him as a sage, but this lot treated him like an ancient relic. They often bickered over each other as they were doing now. If they weren't arguing, they were scheming and schmoozing. In that way, they reminded him of the courts above the wall.
He wasn't sure why or how it had not hit him sooner, but Lucien missed his home. Not the Autumn or Spring Court or even Velaris - but Prythian. He had not returned since Elain's wedding, where her viper of a sister nearly bit his head off. Lucien couldn't believe it, but at that moment he missed Nesta too.
He missed familiarity - some sense of stagnation. Humans changed quicker than the seasons and developed new technologies too fast for him to keep up these days. Hell, with more readily available access to magic the human territories started to see an industrial boom. Lucien hated the isolation and unfamiliarity that plagued his everyday life. Once again he was without a true home.
He fidgeted with the crisp paper in his hands, his thumbs stroking over the creases left by his back pocket.
Dear Lucien,
I hope the human territories have continued to treat you well. I apologize for not reaching out sooner or more frequently.
Starfall is coming up. Maybe you would consider visiting us back in Velaris. The Night Court misses its old emissary, and I miss my friend.
Best,
Feyre
Lucien smiled faintly at the letter before looking back up at the dysfunctional group in front of him. When had everything devolved so much? They swore like sailors and acted like petulant children.
He sighed. Maybe it was time to return to Prythian.
Lucien knocked on the door of Feyre and Rhysand's river house in Velaris. He stood at the front steps, shifting in his clothes. As he waited, he peered back over his shoulders to look at the town.
Velaris beamed with the same technologies that thrived in the human world. Factories were being constructed on the outskirts near the edge of the mountain valley. The wealthier citizens drove around in their brightly colored automobiles on the cliffside roads bordering the city. He watched as tints of blue, red, and purple flashed past and around the city. They were accompanied by shrill honks and deep revving of engines as fae raced by.
Lucien's attention was swiftly ripped away from the city by the front door swinging open. Nesta stood past the threshold, staring down at Lucien. He took a step on the next stair and opened his mouth to speak. The door slammed shut - inches from his nose.
Lucien blinked, utterly baffled. He knocked again.
"Nesta," he said, "could you let me in?"
Silence. He knocked again. Stubbornness and pride kept him planted on those steps. He'd wait there all night if he had to. After all, he was invited to be their guest.
With his fae hearing he could make out the sound of shuffling footsteps then two female voices bickering. He listened closer. A satisfied smile peeked out from Lucien. It sounded like Feyre was chastising Nesta.
Sure enough, Feyre opened the door a moment later. A strained smile plastered her face. Nesta stood behind her in the shadows, glaring at the two of them.
Feyre's expression softened as she pulled Lucien into a welcoming hug.
"Sorry about her," Feyre said.
Lucien chuckled, "It's good to see that she hasn't changed a bit."
“I should head home,” Nesta said. She moved past Feyre, ignoring Lucien as she did so.
“Say hello to Cassian for me,” he said. Lucien was surprised when Nesta’s face whipped towards him with a sour expression. She was treating his friendliness just as harshly as if he had mocked her.
“Do it yourself tomorrow night,” she said before stomping away. Funny, he could hear her hooves clomping as she walked.
"It seems like you haven't changed either,” Feyre chuckled.
“Looking into my mind again, are we?”
“Oh please, you were practically screaming that one.”
Feyre and Lucien studied each other, figuring out how time had changed the other. Lucien realized she had cut her hair into a short bob. The front pieces of her hair were braided towards the back. He contorted his face into comical shock.
"Has empty nest syndrome gotten to you that badly?"
Feyre rolled her eyes, swatting his shoulder playfully.
"Can a lady not change her hair once in a while?"
They laughed as Feyre welcomed him into her home.
The River house was just as large as he remembered it, but with all of the modern technologies as the human world. They were more ornate than what was common, which must have been the work of Rhysand.
“Where did you get all of these,” Lucien asked.
“Velaris has tried its best to keep up pace with the human territories.”
“Does it make you feel old too?”
“It makes me feel ancient,” Feyre chuckled.
They walked into the sitting room where tea and sweets were sitting. A half-drunk teacup rested on one of the side tables.
“I didn’t think you had a sweet tooth,” Lucien said.
“I don’t,” Feyre replied pointedly. “Help yourself.”
Feyre and Lucien sat in chairs opposite of each other. He poured himself a cup of tea, and topped hers off.
“So, how’s planning the festivities going?” Lucien wasn’t too sure how to start the conversation. He knew she listened in on Azriel’s reports, and they wrote to each other sparsely. They had never sat down and talked since Lucien didn’t know when.
“There’s so much to do,” she confessed. “I mean I’m not only planning back to back social events. I’m also trying to get the house ready for when Nyx comes home.”
“How is he these days?”
“I wouldn’t know,” Feyre pinched the bridge of her nose with her fingers. “He’s always off with Cassian in Illyria. I swear he’s more of a warrior than he is a boy. I had to make Cassian vow to bring Nyx back in a cage if he had to.”
“Does he not call?”
“I’m afraid the wiring can’t make it through to the mountains,” she sighed. “They only ever managed to install one phone in all of Windhaven.” Feyre set down her tea. “I write to him, and it’s sometimes returned.”
“The beauty of parenting.”
Feyre rolled her eyes, and slouched down into her seat.
“No one told me that all I’d get out of the deal is an ungrateful child.”
“Maybe you should try your luck with a second.”
“Oh, cauldron no,” Feyre laughed. “Nyx is enough work, believe me.” Nostalgia washed over her face. “I can’t wait until he’s home.”
Lucien let Feyre daze off, probably reminiscing about raising her son. He realized that maybe he had mocked Nesta earlier, even if unintentionally. If Nyx hadn’t come home yet, then neither had Cassian.