Prompt: Wild Card - Pent Up

Bingo!

if you want to see the full bingo card you can head over my tumblr: bastardsonofday and search #bingo fic masterlist, because apparently i cant put a link nor an image in here

The fire boiled inside of him. Lucien ignored it, carrying on from day to day, pretending it wasn't there. There was a sun burning inside him. It festered, eating away at everything that made Lucien Lucien until one day, there would be nothing left. But Lucien couldn't let anyone know. He couldn't let anyone see that he was changing. So he pushed it down, farther and farther away from him, ignoring it, postponing it. There was no heat inside him, he told himself, nothing warming his veins, nothing that made him burn.

But the fire continued to boil away. Until one day, it would explode.

It built up over time. First, the fire only burned when he used his magic. When Lucien would light a candle in his cold Autumn home or would roast the fish he and his brothers had caught, it would spark, lighting up inside him. At first Lucien thought that it was nothing to worry about, that it happened to everyone. But when he mentioned the flash of heat to Eris, he was scoffed at and ridiculed. "Stop making up things." His brother had told him. So Lucien ignored it and doubted himself. Maybe it wasn't real, maybe he was making it up—and when it stayed, clearly burning inside of him—maybe it would go away on its own.

Then, the fire grew. It burned in him with the harder emotions, like anger and sorrow (feelings which he would be quite familiar with in the coming years). He would feel a rumble inside of him and then the fire would make him gag. It would crawl up his throat and eat away at his esophagus, making it painful to speak. Then it would vanish, as if it was never there originally.

The longer he was alive and the more he used his magic, the more powerful the sun inside him became. It flared when he had strong emotions, or when his memories (flashbacks) were too real. It burned his insides when he was in pain or when he ate something spicy. When he cried it cooled inside his belly, and became leaden in his stomach.

But it was still there. Growing. Pulsing. With every breath it sparked. With every thought it flickered.

Lucien couldn't ignore it much longer.

He was curled in on himself, in the middle of his bed. It was cold and it was night. Jurian and Vassa were out with Feyre and Rhys, something about negating Vassa's curse and going to Rita's—the pain had been too much for him to listen well. He'd declined and had excused himself, explaining that he would be going back to his apartment for a good night's sleep.

He'd managed to hide the pain which rotted in his gut, as he stumbled through the City of Starlight. He hoped Elain couldn't feel it, this was too painful for him to wish on her—no matter their current feelings toward one another.

He barely managed to get the key in the lock before his hand cramped. He tried as hard as he could to turn the key, and the door flicked open with a clunk. He stumbled into the apartment, not bothering to even close the door. Lucien collapsed onto his bed. He curled in on himself and screamed as the pain festered in his belly.

It had gotten worse since Hybern. There had been… something at Hybern, something had… snapped. It had been a shot of light, which had burned through him. Unlike his usual pain based fire, that fire had been so painful and then with the snap that had freed him from Hybern's magic the pain had disappeared. Then the light.

Then it was all over. He went back with Tamlin, and the pain came back—worse than ever before.

Building, festering, rotting inside of him.

The pain—it hurt. Lucien cried. Tears, hot and salty, rolled from his good eye. It hurt.

The fire burned and burned and burned. His pain seemed to feed the fire, only making it burn brighter. And the fire fed the pain. Over and over.

Lucien's head swam, he cried and screamed until his voice was raw and his tear-ducts dry.

He was going to die here. He was going to die.

Lucien closed his eyes, and with a strangled gasp he passed out from the pain. Because he passed out, Lucien didn't feel the pain abate in an hour. Because he passed out he didn't see the glow that emanated around him. Because he passed out, he didn't know that the sun that burned in his belly had finished its nova cycle and had cooled down. Because Lucien passed out, he had no idea that his magic had fully developed, and that he, Lucien Vanserra, the bastard son of the High Lord of Day, now had all the power that he should have. Because Lucien passed out, he didn't sense the shift in his smell, the heavy weight of the power which had been pent-up inside him for so long settling into its rightful place.

Because Lucien passed out, he couldn't see how the sun inside him exploded. It shone around him, drawing attention from passersby on the street. For a five mile radius around him people were blinded, the sunlight shining through walls and other barriers. But this time, the sun gave Lucien no pain, only hope and warmth and softness.

A great shift happened. Across Velaris people could smell the Heir of Day and feel his power. Rhys and Feyre exchanged concerned looks, unsure of what exactly was happening, for they could feel it too. And for the first time in a long time, Lucien slept without pain, though his fire continued to burn inside him. It did not boil, it did not burn with the malice of before. Instead, it sustained—flickering inside of him gently, like a candle. Both fires, the sun from Day and the wildfire of Autumn, working together to keep him warm.