AN: This has been drifting in my head for a while and I'm not sure if someone has done something similar, so I'm giving it a shot. I also firmly believe that Lucien deserves more for what he's been through, so we'll see what can be done about that! (He's also my favourite and needs more love) I haven't finished all the books yet, but this begged to be written. If someone's OOC, let me know. Enjoy the show!
The car pulled into a pristine gravel drive, the rock crunching under the tires. Feyre stared dispassionately out the window at the manicured grounds and manor, silently pondering who made the decision to house a private government training facility in Hogwarts. The manor was made of warm brown stone, had windows with pewter panes and small stone lions mounted on the walls; it was beautiful and very obviously old and very much not her style. Not that she was complaining. Almost anything was a step up from there, and a beautiful manor with a lot of acreage would have very few people complaining. A voice in her head whispered exactly what colours she would use to capture the vibrancy of the grass on a canvas.
As soon as the car was stopped, Feyre stepped out and made her way to the trunk. The ride over with her driver had been completely silent and very awkward. All Feyre wanted to do was find some food, process what the hell had happened in the past few weeks, and sleep. She didn't care if the car door was slammed a little harder than necessary; she was hungry, tired, jetlagged and cranky, so slamming a door was a very forgivable thing.
Feyre had just been wrapping up her gap year and was settling her finances for school when the letter had arrived. It had been hand delivered by a beast of a man who claimed he worked for the government of Prythian, and he'd handed her the letter, suggested she read it, and said he'd come collect her three weeks from then. The end.
And so here she was, climbing out of a very attractive but unsociable stranger's car in front of a small castle while her family sat on a good chunk of the money she'd earned over her gap year and a fat check from the Prythian government.
Whoop di doo.
Just as she reached to open the trunk, her driver's golden hand slammed down on top of hers, stilling her movements.
"Er, excuse me? I'm trying to get my luggage." Feyre gave the man a firm glare before ripping her hand from beneath his.
The man looked down at her a moment before replying, his voice deep and apathetic. "The staff will leave your bags in your room. You need to take the tour." With one more glance he turned and walked away, leaving Feyre staring at his retreating back and completely alone.
The foyer was just as beautiful as the outside of the manor, if a bit old fashioned. A crystal chandelier scattered light across pale green wallpaper, and the space was furnished in honey-coloured wood. A few overstuffed armchairs were scattered around, and in one of them sat a man.
He was reading a book, cross-legged and bouncing the foot resting on his knee. Long bronze fingers tapped the cover in a short, repetitive pattern. A curtain of red hair concealed his face from Feyre's view, but if the rest of him were anything to go by, it would be sharp and attractive. His navy blazer, collared shirt and fitted trousers lent his careless lounging a calculated air.
"Is there something you want from me, or are you just going to keep staring?" asked the man without looking up from his book. Feyre blinked from her musings and flushed slightly at being caught.
"I was sent here for a tour…? If we can just get this over with that'd be great because I really need some sleep…" she trailed off, her irritated tone fading to nothing. He's looked up at her as she spoke, and now she really was staring, but not just because his face was attractive.
It was almost exactly as she'd assumed. He was made of sharp angles, all bronze cheekbones and ethereal symmetry. But what really had her staring were his eyes.
One was a warm russet brown and gazed coolly up at her. The other was a vibrant gold, the colour marking it obviously false, and seemed to stare through her soul. A vicious scar traveled down that side of his face, bisecting his eyebrow and the eye itself, until just above his jaw.
The red haired man noticed what her attention was fixated on, and his voice cooled. "Well then, Feyre, we can't afford for you to lose your beauty sleep." The barb in his words was not missed by her, and Feyre internally cringed.
He strode away without her, and she was left to jog after him.
Day 1 and already alienating the staff. Great.
The man introduced himself as Lucien, then launched straight into the tour.
"This division of the Prythian government deals with intelligence on an international scale. The building you are in now houses most of the facilities. The space is divided into several divisions, or courts, as we call them. We're in Spring, where you'll most likely be spending your time. This is where basic training takes place. Get used to it; I think you'll be here a while."
They turned a corner to continue the tour when a doubt niggled at the back of Feyre's mind. She stopped walking, and Lucien whirled around with an impatient huff.
"How do you know my name? I didn't introduced myself in the foyer yet you used my name." The question came out more as a demand, but that was no love lost between them.
Lucien only smirked at her, his golden eye unnervingly fixed on her face. "It's my job to know everyone that breathes within a mile of this place."
"Is that required of all the house staff or just you?" Feyre wasn't sure if this was curiosity speaking, or her strange urge to get on his nerves.
"It's not required of any of the house staff. Are you quite done with the questions? If you're literate, the handbook is on your side table. If you're not-" here the corner of his lips pulled up again, and Feyre ached to take him down a notch because he obviously knew of her dyslexia and was intentionally pushing her buttons.. "-you'll just have to shut up and listen."
Feyre never was fond of obeying people who pushed her around. "And if you're not house staff, why're you giving me the grand tour?"
Lucien scoffed. "Hell if I know." He looked pointedly at her cheap sweats and rumpled t-shirt before continuing down the hall, his movements graceful and serene. "But it's way below my pay grade."
"Are you always such an ass, or is it just to me?"
Oh, shit. Feyre immediately froze. She had just blatantly insulted someone who dressed, moved and spoke like they were very important, but with a little thought realized that he fully deserved it. So Feyre straightened her spine and stared him down as Lucien turned to face her.
"Don't for one moment think you're special in anything." His words were delivered with a hidden bite to their honeyed tone, but the low chuckle that followed soothed the sting. Turning to face her his smirk was more of a smile, and something bright gleamed in his eyes. "I think I'm starting to like you."
The tour continued, with Lucien's continued taunts just slightly less acerbic. He took her through the Summer, Winter and Dawn courts, and Feyre's fingers itched for her cheap paints and brushes she'd left at home. Each court had its own colour scheme, and the doors which separated them were heavy wood and beautifully carved with motifs representing the court they would be entering. She wanted to paint all of it.
They'd stopped in front of the door to the Day court, Feyre's mind wandering and Lucien still talking about gods-know-what.
Suddenly there was the frantic shuffling of many people from the other side of the door, and a muffled 'excuse me, sorry, move!' leached through the heavy wood. The door was violently wrenched open and a woman sprinted through, colliding directly with Feyre. The box she was carrying toppled to the ground, and she was immediately on her knees picking things up and replacing them. Lucien followed suit, helping without a word.
"I'm so sorry, but I have to run-" Feyre's hands joined hers in picking up the various papers strewn across the hall, and the woman looked up.
Her dark hair was a mess, a halo of flyaways escaping from what was once a tidy bun. She had a pretty face, pale and smooth with well-defined features. Her chocolate-coloured eyes were a little more almond than round and tired, with tears brimming in them.
She and Lucien were speaking so quickly that Feyre really had to concentrate to follow.
"Rose, what are you doing here, aren't you on call? Where's the escort to let you through?" Lucien asked, concern colouring his voice.
"I went to assist in unloading the air evac and didn't really look at who it was until we were trying to stabilize him… they sent me out when they had him cleaned up enough to identify his face and know I was close with him. So here I am, collecting documents he needs to sign before he passes to keep myself occupied so I can get through the last few hours of my shift." She pulled a plastic key card from her pocket and tossed it to Lucien. "I nicked this from Tam to get in all the doors and I don't need it going out. Could you slip it back for me? I'll owe you one."
Feyre took a closer look at her and noted Rose was wearing blood smeared hospital scrubs. "You're covered in blood," she pointed out, and immediately berated herself for stating the obvious.
Rose gave a slightly strained smile and hastily stuck her hand out for Feyre to shake. "Hello, Feyre, I'm Dr. Rosalind, a trauma surgeon here. I've heard much about you. We'll have to chat later-"
"Oh, gods," choked Lucien. He sat back roughly on his heels, one hand fisted in his hair and the other clamped over his mouth. On the ground in front of him was a document with the name 'Andras' printed in bold. Rosalind gently removed the paper, the last one, and placed it in the box. She laid one small hand against his forearm, then leaned over and gently brushed her lips against his cheek.
"I'm so sorry, Lu." A breath in, a breath out, and a clinical mask settled over her pretty features. "Good luck with your tour." And with that she picked up the box and ran off, weaving through the people in the hall.
When she'd disappeared, Feyre turned to Lucien. The raw emotion she'd just witnessed was gone, replaced with a stiff composure. He rose and brushed off his trousers, motioning for her to get up. "Who's Andras?"
Lucien almost growled. "A dear friend of mine, and someone I've got to deal with Tamlin about." He whirled on his heel, his curtain of red hair fanning out behind him. "I'll take you to your room. In a few hours make your way to Tamlin's office and he should be available to discuss what you're actually here for." His words were tight and clipped, and Feyre decided that following him without provocation would probably be safest.
Feyre flopped on her bed, toeing off her shoes and sighing. She'd showered, changed and unpacked, not that she'd brought much. Just her clothes, some toiletries and her battered sketchbook. She picked up the coil-bound book and flipped it to one of the few blank pages, grabbed a pencil and started sketching some of the Spring motifs that detailed her room. It wasn't quite like painting, but it would have to do.
When the sun was beginning its downward arc, Feyre decided that enough time had passed. Exchanging her sketchbook for the map on her sidetable, she jammed her feet into her old converse and hesitantly made her way out the door. The halls were painted green with honey-coloured wood floors, just like every part of this court. The tapping of her soles made Feyre glance around, wondering why the halls were completely empty of people.
Following the map to Tamlin's office, Feyre passed a large dining hall with the sounds of clamouring people laughing, eating and talking spilling out into the hall. Through all the hustle and bustle, Feyre had forgotten that she was absolutely ravenous. But she didn't want her first impression on Tamlin to be one of tardiness, so all she afforded herself was one longing look at the caf before she trekked on.
Tamlin's office had no reception area, nor were there chairs in the hallway. Feyre was left leaning against the wall, admiring the pattern of the curling vines in the paper. Raised voices drifted through to the hallway, and a closer inspection revealed the heavy door had been left slightly ajar. Barely a thought was given to the sins of eavesdropping before her eye was pressed as close to the gap as possible.
Inside the office was Lucien and… her chauffeur? having a very heated discussion. Lucien was planted firmly in front of the other man, gesticulating as he spoke. His eyes flashed angrily, though none of this seemed to have any effect on the man other than to make him angry. The other man was absolutely massive. Built like a brick shit house, thought Feyre. Feyre herself was tall, Lucien was taller, yet the man towered over the redhead.
"...you need to stop this. You're sending out your men, your friends, to die senseless deaths that could have been avoided!" Lucien's voice was filled with fire, and his hands fisted at his sides. "Now Andras is dead, and that's on you."
The man crossed his arms over his chest, and a dangerous aura thickened the air. "I had no choice, Lucien," he growled.
"Oh, you had a choice. Just because hitting everything is the only order you seem capable of giving does not make it the only option available, and it most definitely is not the right one." The man stiffened, yet Lucien continued. "Other courts are noticing that Spring has one of the highest mission fatality rates. If you don't start rubbing your two brain cells together and make smarter choices, someone will do something about it and it won't be pretty-."
"ENOUGH!" A resounding CRACK split the air, and Feyre nearly banged her head against the door in shock. Lucien was staring at the floor, one hand pressed to his scarred cheek. A look of shock and fleeting remorse crossed the other man's face before being replaced by an indifferent mask. When Lucien looked up, a fire burned so bright in his remaining russet eye that Feyre almost took a step back.
"F*ck you, Tamlin," he ground out. Lucien removed his hand from his face, revealing a stark print on the bronze skin.
Tamlin (Tamlin? thought Feyre, Tamlin was my driver?) gave him a steady look. "Is that how you speak to your superiors?"
Lucien stiffly saluted him, mockery and scorn dripping from the gesture. "F*ck you, sir." Then he spun on his heel and strode out the door, almost knocking her over.
"Next time Feyre," he called, half way down the hall, "don't drop your eaves so loudly. I could hear you breathe."
Feyre cautiously entered Tamlin's office, standing awkwardly in front of the large beech desk. There was a chair, but she sure as hell wasn't going to sit after what she'd just witnessed. To add to her unease, an impressive looking rack of firearms loomed on the wall behind the desk. She had no idea if any were loaded, and had no intention to stick around and find out.
"Feyre." Tamlin gestured for her to sit, but she just nodded at him and stayed standing.
"Hi." Tamlin frowned a little at the defiance, but no further confrontation was offered.
"This is going to take a while, so you might want to sit."
"No, I'm good, thanks."
A moment's pause, and Tamlin shoved a small pile of pamphlets and papers at her. "In there is your schedule, your course outlines, the rules and restrictions, staff list, and grounds map. Now, if you look at your course outlines-"
Feyre cleared her throat, glancing at the clock. "Sorry to interrupt, but I need to leave. I'm meeting someone regarding my room in a few minutes." A lie. "I'll ask them to go through the details with me after the meeting." Hopefully not a lie.
Tamlin looked mildly surprised but didn't question her about the meeting. "What about your dyslexia?"
"I've learned to work through it." Not a lie. Mostly.
"Alright then." Feyre didn't need further dismissal to get the hell away from that man. She walked down the halls to the cafeteria, papers in hand and the sound of Tamlin hitting Lucien echoing in her ears.
The cafeteria food was surprisingly good, which Feyre was thankful for. 'Good' was relative though, she had a feeling almost anything would taste better than canned soup and pizza.
By now most of the long tables were empty, everyone having finished their meals and left. She'd caught the hot-food lady just before they started cleaning up dinner, and her plate was now heaped with steaming meats and vegetables.
Feyre looked around the near-empty dining hall, picked a table at random and began to make her way over to enjoy her meal in silence.
Her plans were disrupted when a chipper "Feyre!" beckoned her across the hall. Though this government training program may not have been her choice at all, Feyre decided that if she had to go through with it, she might as well make a friend or two.
Rosalind was halfway through her own plate of food when Feyre sat down across from her. "Hey," said Rose, smiling around her fork. "Did you get settled in?"
"If you mean by dumping my suitcase into a drawer, then yes, I settled in quite nicely."
Rosalind laughed. "Oh, Feyre. I see why Lucien likes you. He needs someone to snap back, so don't be shy. You can call me Rose if you'd like. Sorry for the rushed meeting earlier, I had to run."
"That's fine," said Feyre. There was a beat of awkward silence before Rose picked up the conversation again.
"Have you seen Lucien around? I was supposed to meet him here, but he never showed."
Yes, I saw him get beat by his boss not 10 minutes ago. But that isn't something you say about someone you just met to someone you also just met, so Feyre settled with a simple, "He left Tamlin's office just as I went in about 10 minutes ago."
Rose nodded, and picked at the fruit on her plate. "Are those all your courses?" she asked, pointing at the pile of papers Feyre had on the bench beside her. Feyre blinked at the abrupt change in topic.
"Yeah, I left the office before I could go through them with Tamlin." Rose looked inquisitively at her but didn't pry. Feyre was grateful for that small mercy; Rose seemed like the kind of person who enjoyed having their fingers in all the pots. Feyre was not quite ready to be a pot.
"I can help you with that if you'd like." Without asking, Rose pushed away her half-untouched plate and moved to sit beside Feyre, scooping up all the papers and neatly arranging them on the table. She gave Feyre a once over, looking at her full plate. Feyre's stomach growled, making her blush lightly. Rose chuckled. "You eat, and I'll talk."
Rose began sorting through the papers. Feyre went straight for the roast beef and oh gods, roast beef had no business tasting this good.
Between Rose's excited voice going through her schedule and the glorious food in front of her, Feyre decided that maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all.
Rose was going through the activities available on the grounds when Lucien stormed in. His hair was curtained around his face, hiding the hand-print marring his skin. Wordlessly, he sat down on the bench across from them and started eating the remaining food on Rose's plate.
Rose paused in her dialogue at the clink of tableware. "You were supposed to be here thirty minutes ago."
"Apologies," he said, not sounding apologetic at all. "I was caught up in something." He reached into his trouser pocket and tossed a crumpled sheet of paper onto the table before reaching behind him and slamming down a handgun.
Feyre jumped. "Whoa, why do you have a gun?"
Lucien pinned her with a flat stare. "I always have a gun." His hand disappeared into his blazer, and a moment later a throwing knife slid onto the table. "And a knife."
Rose uncrumpled the paper, laying it flat on the table for all to see. It was a colour print of Tamlin's face with the eyes and forehead shot out. Feyre whistled and Rose's eyebrows nearly disappeared into her hairline. "What'd he do to deserve this?"
Feyre could practically see the half-truth forming on his lips, so she answered instead. "Tamlin slapped him. Hard."
Rose's reaction was immediate. "Give me your face, Lucien."
Lucien turned to Feyre and hissed at her, "A little louder, please, they didn't quite hear you in China."
Rose bent down beside Lucien, one knee on the bench for balance. She tucked his hair behind his ear and tilted his face to the light, her lips thinning at the large bruise forming. Her fingers brushed gently at the edges, making the red haired man wince. "That feels amazing, Rose, please poke the bruise harder."
Rose hummed before straightening out and patting his other cheek. "I would, but I took an oath and you're not worth breaking it. Feyre, could you watch him for a moment? I'm just going to grab something." Rose walked briskly from the cafeteria, leaving the table's two occupants staring at each other.
"You don't have to stay if you don't want to," said Lucien. "I've learned my lesson long ago that it's easier to just listen to her when she gets like this than to face the consequences later."
"But she's so…" Feyre searched for the right word. "...tiny."
Lucien snorted in a very undignified manner. "Yeah, 5"3 and slim as a whip, but she's a force of nature. Makes her a damn good surgeon, and gives her a cool head during times of crisis."
Feyre nodded. "What's your job in all this? You and everyone else seem to know everything there is about me, but I know almost nothing at all and no one's offering any information. All I know about you is your name and that you're an ass."
Lucien smirked. "I'm an emissary and hostage negotiator, but my contract with Spring also makes me Tamlin's second."
Feyre couldn't help but be a little impressed, though she would sooner starve than show it to him. "How are you an emissary if the only thing that comes from your mouth is snark?"
"Oh Feyre, ye of little faith. I do have a filter, but it's less amusing than riling people up. Mixing emotions and negotiations is a rookie mistake." Lucien grimaced and tapped his golden eye. "That's one lesson I will never forget, and one mistake I have yet to repeat."
Feyre's own eyes widened. "Oh, shit."
"How eloquent. There may be a politician in you after all."
At that moment Rose strode in, catching Feyre just before she delivered a scathing retort. "Oh, don't mind me," said Rose, setting down a first aid kit and immediately prodding Lucien's face. "I heard what he said. Tear into him."
"I don't think I need to, you doing your thing is making him flinch enough." As if cued, Rose's thumb brushed a particularly sensitive spot and Lucien drew away, hissing.
"Feyre, can you go through the kit and find me alcohol wipes and bruise cream?"
"Sure." Feyre snapped open the box and rifled through its contents, setting a couple of the wipes aside. The bruise cream was more difficult to find. Gauze, surgical tape, shock blanket, staple gun…? "What the hell?" asked Feyre, waving the staple gun in the air.
"Surgical stapler for extreme emergencies. Please don't use that unless you've been trained." Rose looked up from inspecting the bruising beside Lucien's eye. "Actually, I'd rather you put that back in the box. Your waving around a staple gun is making me nervous." Feyre mumbled an apology, replacing the stapler and handing Rose the bruise cream.
Rose smeared the cream onto Lucien's face, ignoring his winces. "There's some bruising really close to your eye. Did you feel contact there?"
"Can't remember, my face was too busy being in pain."
"You're useless." Feyre watched their interaction, not bothering to hide her amusement. "In that case, you're going to have to take out your prosthetic. I need to check to see if the acrylic has made any lacerations on the tissue over the implant."
"Feyre, you might not want to watch this," said Lucien. He had ripped open one of the antiseptic wipes and was cleaning his hands. "I'm not sure if you're queasy, but it's not pretty." Feyre recognized his words as more than just looking out for her; it was also a dismissal, a plea for privacy.
"Yeah, I'm heading back to my room for a closer look at my course outlines. I think you're teaching my introductory firearms course."
Lucien groaned. "Then thank gods it's only two weeks." Feyre laughed, gathered her papers and began to walk away. When she was halfway across the cafeteria, Lucien called to her again. She turned, but his back was to her and his hair blocked what Rose was doing in front of him. "New recruits have the first few days off. Rose and I are going riding tomorrow morning, if you'd like to join us."
Feyre paused. Was the man who just asked her to ride horses the same one who'd been taunting her since her arrival?
He must have taken her hesitation for disinterest. Casually, he shrugged a shoulder and added, "If you don't know how to ride, we can teach you. I've been riding since I was a kid." Rose peeked over his head and gave her a wide smile and a thumbs up.
"Sounds good." Something warmed in Feyre's chest. Day 1 and two potential friends with an invitation to try something new? Not bad
AN: Now that the stage has been set, the real drama can start! Rose was meant to pop in, introduce Andras and pop out, but she kind of wrote herself. The oath she's referring to is the Hippocratic oath. I have a feeling she'll be back plenty with out favourite foxboy. Please submit requests of what you want to see, I'm willing to write pretty much anything! I'm off school right now, so updates won't be extraordinarily long in coming. Constructive criticism is welcomed!