DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the characters in the universe of Sarah J. Maas or her A Court of Thorns and Roses trilogy. This story is inspired by the world and characters of ACOTAR.
CHAPTER 1
Eris loathed his father. Absolutely rutting loathed the creature. He supposed there was a time when Beron had not been so cruel— perhaps in his youth, before he had to beat his brothers down for the position of High Lord of the Autumn Court. Beron, the oldest and most awful High Lord. Rhysand and Feyre didn't have to prove their point to anyone in the meeting of the High Lords; Beron was greedy as he was evil, and his own broken family could attest to that.
But Beron was gone now. The Forest House was near empty of the Vanserras. One year ago, Eris had orchestrated his removal as High Lord with Rhysand and Feyre's help and Beron now seethed in the underbelly of the Court of Nightmares under the High Lord of the Night Court's careful watch. After centuries of mastering his pretense at being a prick and honing his reputation for cruelty to please his father, Eris had had enough of the Vanserra male idiocy and thrown three of his own brothers there to join their father after multiple failed assassination attempts on their part. Lucien was his only remaining brother still in the picture, and although they were never close he held Lucien in growing esteem. Lucien deserved happiness as much as he didn't deserve the vicious family he was born into, and Eris wished him the best with Elain. Their visit to the Forest House had been brief, but Eris had allowed Lucien to show Elain the hold of the Autumn Court so that she could meet the Lady.
Their mother still resided in the House. Eris remembered her wide smile and pearly laughter as it had once rung through the halls of the House as she chased him around in games of hide-and-seek when he was a child— but that glowing woman was now gone, her magic near diminished from the depressive stupor Beron had graced her. After Beron's fall she remained the shell of that lovely mother, but Eris was glad to know that, at least, she was now finally able to go about the House in peace, and would no longer be cowed by his father's shadow.
"Eris," she said, beckoning him over to the armchair in which she sat, unfinished embroidery in her lap. One pale hand was extended to him.
Snapping from his reverie, Eris gave his mother a small smile and came over, bending his knee slightly to speak to her. "Mother, can I get you anything? Is there anything that you need?" And he hated how her eyes flickered with a humble surprise when he asked that, every time he asked her, because nobody had ever shown her kindness when his father was near. He had only been able to do so when his father was not around, but that had been rare.
But she smiled back at him— a soft, if not sad smile from mother to son. "No, Eris, but thank you for asking." She straightened the front of his jacket with a gentle tug. "I have a favor to ask of you."
"Tell me, Mother, and it shall be done immediately."
She cast her eyes down, then looked up again into his russet stare. Her firstborn. "There is a flower that blooms in the caves around this time. Please, son, could someone find me this flower and bring it home to me so that I can make a potion with it? I recall it being singular and beautiful, but cannot remember was it looks like in detail. I don't quite feel like I'm up for the journey to find it," she added apologetically.
Eris briefly laid his hand on hers, which was resting on the leather arm of her great chair, and said, "Consider it done. I'll go out myself for some fresh air and exercise." Her gentle smile was all he needed. He knew exactly which flower she sought, and why she couldn't bring herself to collect it in person. He didn't wait for her to thank him before he strode out the door and told the House servants and guards to keep vigilant in his absence.
The caves were a long distance away from the Forest House, but after winnowing to the very edge of the woods, Eris took this chance to breathe in the fall and soak in its vibrant array of colors.
He breathed in the fall around him in reverence to all that was beautiful and bright in his otherwise cursed heritage. His was a Court of transition, of harvest; but while Beron had worked the tenants hard and taxed their farms harshly, Eris had opted to revise the labor system to appease the lesser Fae who worked the land so dutifully under his father's tyranny. Less money was spent on weaponry (his father already already had an impressive armory) and more was spent on research and new farming technology. The new High Lord granted his tenants and their families holidays of no work, and had additionally lessened the taxes Beron had reaped for too long. Solstice was approaching in a few months, and as the leaves of the Autumn Court turned more yellow than red, his people had begun to form a community. The harvest, in turn, beckoned in generosity. He could smell it in the slightly misty air. Even as a child, Eris had loved the perfume of fallen leaves, the crisp aroma of autumnal flora intertwined.
But right now, Eris realized with a jolt, there was another scent too— one that did not belong here. All of his senses sharpened to locate its source. The flower could wait. Though the scent was unfamiliar, he had to see if it led him to friend or foe. No one had walked through the woods of the Autumn Court freely without Beron's knowledge. Eris was determined to keep his borders more open than his father did as High Lord, but he had to know what this stranger was doing so close to his family home.
Besides, the thrill of the hunt sang through his bones. Eris followed the scent— an earthy willow and amber, with a hint of bergamot— and brought forth a small blaze flickering in one hand just in case. It wasn't just his first year as a High Lord that taught him caution; he'd been looking out for his own survival, especially among his own brothers, for centuries.
He stopped dead in his tracks. A rustle. He heard a rustle, the lightest crunch of fallen leaves, on his right—
And took a single step back so that a very small dagger whistled just past his nose.
The dagger had barely just embedded itself in a tree trunk with a thunk before Eris, snarling, sent a blast of crimson heat flying in the assassin's direction.
Tree trunks and branches hissed in the wake of the High Lord's power, burnt limbs smoldering and crumbling into ash. The smell of burning wood and seared foliage filled his nose, and the falling embers and ashes from his heat gave way to the returned silence of the autumn wilderness. Steam rose from a small pool beyond, in which the attacker had gone down with a wet crash.
Eris snarled as he approached the assassin, who stirred feebly and attempted to crawl fully out of the water before finally collapsing. That dagger throw had been no joke. He'd get closer, and one more blast from his flame—
Again, Eris stopped dead in his tracks. A powerful, indescribable feeling had struck him so that all the hairs on his neck stood, and his chest caved in to something akin to devastation as the High Lord of Autumn stared down at the most beautiful female he had ever seen.
Hi reader, ACOTARIST here! I'm new to writing and publishing fanfiction, although I've been writing my whole life and am inspired by authors like Sarah J. Maas. Please feel free to leave reviews! Thanks so much for reading, and stay tuned for more on Eris! - ACOTARIST
