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The meeting was small and informal; when Tarquin had invited them, he’d made it clear there was no conflict to resolve, no decisions to be made. The High Lord of Summer merely wanted to exhibit his recent changes in Adriata regarding lesser and High Fae systems to the rest of Prythian’s courts.
The largest group in attendance only had five, from Night. As usual, Spring’s delegation consisted solely of a party of one, Tamlin taking his Fae form. Unusually, there was only one representative from autumn.
It was easy enough to convince Beron not to come - he already didn’t want to go, anyway. More trickier was ensuring Eris could.
Eris’ spies had intercepted the invitation before it could reach Beron, giving him plenty of time to script, direct, and act out his play. The scene began like this: Eris entering Beron’s office to update him on some other menial topic Beron had delegated to him. Once he finished, Eris let the opened letter catch his attention.
“An invitation to a High Lord meeting?” Eris asked, recognizing the heavy white paper with the signature gold embossing. He picked it up, eyes flitting over the page as if reading it for the first time. He painted a frown across his face that deepened into a scowl each time his eyes moved down a line. Carelessly, with a sneer he no longer needed to practice, Eris tossed the letter back on the desk. “Is this a joke?”
Beron did not respond, kept his attention on the documents before him he was reviewing, but the signs of his agreement were so very obviously written on his face.
Eris’ next line: “I’m sure every single one of the other courts will be in attendance to this farce.”
The best way to get someone to do what you wanted was to make them believe it had been their idea along. Eris, in his many centuries, had perfect this art, and no more perfectly than with Beron. Right down to the curl of Beron’s lip as he considered Eris’ wording - which had been no coincidence - as he realized he might need to send at least a representative. Yes, that was the way to go, Beron would be thinking by this point in their conversation. Not showing up would sufficiently convey Autumn’s distaste and indifference, but sending merely a low-ranking official rather than the High Lord… that would be a proper insult, in Beron’s eyes.
Only, Autumn wasn’t going to be sending a low-ranking official.
Beron was already hooked. Time to go in for the kill. “No doubt Morrigan along with at least one of those brutish bastards will be there,” Eris continued. At this, Beron picked up the letter again, re-read it, and tilted his head a bit. The sneer Eris had perfectly modeled his own after appeared.
“This is beneath the matters of a High Lord,” Beron said, putting it back down. Eris scoffed his agreement. Three… two… one… “Which is why you’ll go.”
Child’s play.
A power play to remind Eris of his place. And the perfect humiliation; a nonsensical meeting on a topic that Eris, to Beron’s knowledge, shared Beron’s disdain for. And finally, to add insult to injury, the presence of the Night Court members to serve as a reminder of one of the times Eris had most greatly failed Beron.
Eris let the rest unfold with ease. Surprise and outrage flashed across his features, his fists clenching at his sides slightly. He let loose some power in fake anger, the candles burning brighter and the temperature of the room rising. Beron looked up from his papers to give a warning stare laced with threats at him: Eris’ cue to open his mouth in protest, then close it, gritting his teeth, lips twitching with ire. A chastised son ultimately obedient to his High Lord.
He snatched up the letter, gripping it tightly and wrinkling the fabric. “Of course, my lord,” he spat out. At that, Beron returned to his work in a silent dismissal.
Exit Eris.
And scene.
-
The other courts were surprised that Autumn had bothered to show up, less surprised that Beron had not.
Eris felt… out of place, yet at the same time, perfectly fitted in. There were 8 other High Lords and Ladies (including Feyre Cursebreaker, and the newly crowned High Lady Vivianne of the Winter Court). Eris felt, though he did not miss, Beron’s absence acutely. One day… This might be how all High Lord and Lady meetings would proceed in the future, no matter how far Eris seemed from his goal.
The presentation went well. Tarquin impressed everyone in attendance, including Eris. Though the young High Lord may have not yet inspired any immediate change, he’d deftly planted crucial seeds, set up pieces to fall into place. Hence, Eris: impressed.
After Tarquin wrapped up and ended the meeting, each Court left in groups with some intermingling. Eris spotted Morrigan (avoiding him) chatting with Vivianne, Helion starting a conversation with Rhysand and Feyre Cursebreaker with a roguish grin, Prince Varian with, Cauldron save him, the still terrifying former phoenix.
Eris’ solitude was obvious as he rose from his seat, the room clearing out. It did not bother him, but Tarquin was, of course, a courteous host.
“Hello Eris,” Tarquin greeted. “Has anyone given you a tour of the palace since we rebuilt?”
“Not as of yet,” Eris said. He kept his tone cordial, but not friendly, waiting to gauge Tarquin’s intentions.
“Please, allow me to show you around.”
Eris nodded and stood. “Of course.”
Tarquin made a slight gesture at his guards, dismissing them. They dispersed, as Tarquin led Eris down a hall.
“We held the meeting in a smaller cabinet room, but just adjacent to it… “
Tarquin was open with him. It was similar to how he had been less hesitant to befriend Rhysand, Death Incarnate, Lord of Nightmares. Perhaps Tarquin was not well enough acquainted with reputations yet, or perhaps he preferred to discern people’s personalities with his own eyes.
Strangely, Eris felt himself relaxing in Tarquin’s presence. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d smiled so much, and so genuinely. He even… some of his interactions with Tarquin felt… dangerous. Thrilling in a way unknown to him. A wink here and there, an easy grin, jokes bordering on being teasing. Worse was that Eris was matching him for it. He was intrigued by the High Lord, Cauldron damn him.
They stopped by a large, open window facing the sea. Before it laid a beautiful view of Adriata, bearing no signs of the destruction once wrought upon it by Hybern. Sparkling crystal waters, white clouds rolling lazily across the sky, the cries of seagulls mixing with the sound of the bustle of the streets.
“I think it would be very easy to be your friend.” The words were careful, the remark slow.
Something about the admission made Tarquin’s lip twitch up in a slightly bittersweet, slightly wistful smile, but it was gone in an instant. Eris wondered who he had been reminded of.
“I must admit,” Tarquin turned from the view to face Eris. “I wasn’t sure that Autumn would show up, given the subject matter. How did you find the presentation?”
Eris copied his movement, tearing his gaze away from the city- there was nothing like it in Autumn. “Your ideas are admirable,” Eris answered honestly. “I look forward to seeing what change you bring to Prythian… I imagine it will not be insignificant, High Lord.”
Tarquin was young. His beliefs, albeit somewhat naive, were… Eris both admired and resented Tarquin’s courage, his genuineness.
The High Lord in question considered Eris’ words. After a beat; “Please. Just Tarquin is fine.”
A faint, soft smile tugged at Eris’ mouth. “Alright. Tarquin.” The informality was unusual to Eris, but… he found that he liked it.
They fell into a comfortable silence. Tarquin broke it first with a sigh. “Changing Prythian… it feels impossible some days. Feels… ridiculous. So many people resist it at every turn.”
“Change is good, sometimes. Beron… Beron doesn’t realize that. His notions are, let me say, outdated.” Eris was treading into dangerous territory. But it was still safe enough for Eris- safer than Eris’ behavior with Tarquin. Tarquin’s trusted circles, full of similarly ideal fae, were far from overlapping with Beron’s many circles of scheming power-seekers.
And the only spies around them were the shadows.
Eris had noted several following their steps. They had become familiar to him, as of recent. It seemed the more he interacted with their master, he’d almost come to think he was warming up to Eris. They’d had their few moments of… vulnerability. Openness. But no, there was always still some of that slight hostility. It varied in intensity each time Eris encountered him, sometimes flipping in the middle of an interaction. The pattern eluded Eris, perplexed and frustrated him, that he couldn’t seem to decipher it. He preferred the outright hatred- at least that was predictable. And then there was this; the shadows, a clear sign of his suspicion. That, was ever present, regardless of whether he’d decided to hate Eris slightly less that day or not. Always angling to find an ulterior motive in Eris, though Eris thought he’d made it abundantly clear that his ulterior motive was overthrowing his despot of a father.
It seemed strange to Eris, but could there have been more shadows present than usual?
Tarquin pulled Eris’ attention back to him. “I debated even sending the invitation to Beron,” he said with a chuckle.
Eris answered it. “He was hesitant to even send someone… you have no idea how difficult it had been to convince him to have me attend.”
Tarquin was suddenly staring at Eris more intensely. “I’m glad that you did,” he said with a soft tone and a sincerity that struck Eris in a deep place within his heart.
His jaw slackened, and he smiled lightly. “I am too.”
Eris could have sworn the shadows darkened.
-
Azriel was leaning against a pillar in front of Eris’ room when Eris neared it. His shadows contrasted with the whites and blues of the palace, swirling around him, almost agitatedly. His arms were crossed, mouth pressed into a grim line.
“I noticed you spoke with Tarquin after the meeting,” Azriel said by way of greeting.
Eris resisted the urge to sigh in frustration. “And I noticed you tailing the whole time. Maybe you’re not as good of a spymaster as you think you are,” he snarled. “Your shadows are rather conspicuous.”
“No one has caught on yet.”
Eris raised an eyebrow, nearly gestured to himself.
Azriel’s eyes glinted and he pushed off the pillar and stalked towards Eris. Predator and prey. He tilted his head. “Has it not crossed your mind,” his voice was quiet, “That I might want you to know, lordling?” There was still that bite in his words, but now, a hint of- amusement, perhaps? He was close to slipping into a smooth purr, similar to that infuriating one characteristic of his High Lord.
Eris stilled, uncomfortable with where this could head. “Get to the point,” he snapped. “What do you want?”
Azriel’s face remained impassive, motionless, but there’s impatience and annoyance there. “You should be careful about how you behave around him. You wouldn’t want anything getting to Beron about it, I imagine.”
Eris’ stomach dropped. He moved closer, concealing fear with anger. “Are you threatening me?”
He thought he saw panic flash in Azriel’s eyes, just for a moment. The shadowsinger recoiled. “Wait, no-”
Eris narrowed his eyes. “I should remind you that I am not the only one with secrets Beron would-”
“Eris-” Azriel grabbed his wrist and Eris nearly flinched
“Watch yourself, shadowsinger,” he growled, but Azriel held on tightly.
“I didn’t mean that I’d tell anyone,” Azriel’s tone is sincere, and he’s looking directly into Eris’ eyes. “Just… be careful.” He paused. “You…” Cleared his throat. Stepped away, let go of Eris’ hand. “You are a valuable asset to the Night Court.”
Something in Eris twinged painfully. Azriel may have continued to say more, but Eris pulled away and strode into his room. As soon as he shut the door, he finally let himself breathe again.
-
His interaction from yesterday - with Tarquin, not the disastrous one with Azriel - scored him an invitation to have breakfast with Tarquin and an even smaller group than before.
Eris surveyed the people seated at the table when he entered the room: Feyre Archeron, Rhysand, Helion, Princess Cresseida, Prince Varian, Amren, and… Azriel. Of course.
At least Morrigan wasn’t there. That would have been even worse.
Conversations didn’t come to a screeching halt, but the room was palpably surprised by Eris’ presence - though not Azriel, Eris noted. Rhysand and Helion in particular watched him warily, likely wondering why Tarquin would invite him to the meal, but then again, half the fae present used to have a fucking blood ruby against them.
“Good morning,” Eris said casually as he slid into the only open seat. Tarquin, to his left, grinned at him. Feyre Cursebreaker, seated in front of him, watched him with keen eyes. She offered a polite smile and Eris nodded his head in return.
Eris participated in some of the discussion at the table, such as with Helion, who asked Eris how his mother was doing, or with Feyre. The first High Lady in Prythian was curious about him, more so than the rest of her court. Without centuries of hatred to work through, she was more open to learning more about him. And, of course, she was good friends with Lucien- forget saving all of Prythian (twice), Eris would always be secretly grateful towards her for how she’d helped his brother.
Tarquin also talked with him throughout breakfast. Eris made light conversation with him, yet held himself back a bit. Nothing like the previous afternoon. If Tarquin noted the change, or was disappointed by it, he didn’t show it. The high lord, while still joking and good-natured, returned his friendly tone.
Several times, Eris thought Azriel might have been watching him, but everytime he glanced over at the shadowsinger, he was already looking away.