The Father and the Sun (a post ACOWAR fanfiction)

           If it wasn't for the bruises, Lucien would have thought that his two days in Autumn were a fever dream.

"Hurry up."

Lucien turned his head to the sentry assigned time escort him to the gate, and scowled. 
He'd been growling at Lucien all morning, and by the mother if he wasn't so beat to hell...

Lucien gritted his teeth.

His horse tossed it's head, tugging at the bit, prancing uneasily beneath him.
The damn thing probably hated it there as much as he did.
The noon sun made the sharp autumn air almost pleasantly cool, countering the frigidity of morning and night.
A light breeze rustled the jewel colored leaves, and with every step the horses took, a crackle and intoxicating scent wafted up from the ones carpeting the ground.

Lucien grimaced, and shifted uneasily in the saddle. 

How was it that he could so easily fall back in love with a court that hated him? 
His body still suffered the fresh pain of his brothers' fury, and yet his heart was content.

Despite all this, what really concerned him was his mother's absence. 
Why wasn't she here?  Why had she fled directly after his father's death? 
He had always known her to have a strong, capable spirit, and her whole life had been full of taking on responsibility that would break a lesser woman. 
Why now would she abandon the court of her birth?
Lucien shook his head, brow furrowed.

None of this made sense. 

Eris' change in disposition, his mother, and the ever present tug from the mating bond that Elain refused to accept, or deny.

"You can't take the horse, emissary."

Lucien started in the saddle, and turned to see he had mindlessly led his mount nearly to the entrance of the gate, his escort a distance behind him.

The male's helmet covered his face, no doubt hiding the disgust and irritation that was pouring off of him in waves.
Curling his lip, Lucien swung down off the horse, who nipped at his shoulder, the nasty thing.
Without another word to his former lord, the sentry swung both horses about and rode back the way they had come, leaving Lucien alone with his few travel bags and the gate before him.

He gritted his teeth, and his eye clicked in irritation as he hefted his bag onto a bruised shoulder.

...

"Will you not stay and rest here for at least a night, Lucien?"

Viviane's gentle, frosty eyes searched Lucien's face, her face etched with concern as she took in his injuries. 
Kallias stood at her side, arm around her waist, brow furrowed. 

Lucien merely shook his head, offering a polite smile.

"I deeply appreciate your hospitality, my Lord, my Lady, but I cannot waste any more of your time, nor my own."

The high lord and lady of Winter shared a glance, a wordless conversation between mates, and Lucien's heart squeezed as he fought to clear his mind of roses and iron engagement rings. 

Kallias cleared his throat.

"We've sent a message to Rhysand, to send someone to fetch you in light of your condition."

Unlike his mate, Kallias still held wariness and distrust shoddily hidden in his glacial eyes for Rhysand's emissary, Tamlin's right hand, and the son of Beron Vanserra. 

That he offered solace, had sat Lucien to sup at his table, and tolerated his presence even this long was a miracle surely wrought by his love for Viviane.