#feylin fic

[arson-09]

thinking about the lost potential of feyre/rhysand mating bond but the plot is feyre deciding that FUCK the mating bond. she picked tamlin and no matter what hes who she wants to be with. Tamlin, despite his hate for rhysand is like no i mean, the bond :( and feyres just i WILL break this, my title isnt feyre cursebreaker for NOTHING. Rhysand actually continues to be a villain and no one gets character retconned

does anyone know a good fic with this concept/similar? i know im not the first to think of this

[sad-scarred-sassy]

The tragedy of Spring🥀 - Chapter 6

Summary: Feyre Archeron finds out the truth.

Notes: I needed to get this out before it drove me insane! I hope you guys like it.

Read on AO3 or keep reading below the cut.

“You will be mine” She heard his voice, soft, vibrating over her body and luring her through the haze.

“And I will be yours” She felt his fingers on her waist, the place where she had felt them on her all night, moving her, guiding her. She felt a creeping sensation throughout her body, emerging from the pit of her stomach, screaming at her to run, but when she opened her eyes she saw stars and a universe of calm and comfort. A voice in her mind told her to run towards it, to grasp it and bathe herself in it, in the feeling, in his touch, his words.

But her body felt paralyzed, unsure.

Through the fog in her world she conjured a thought. “I don’t need you” She tried to get away, but his hands held her to him and she couldn’t help but stay still under them.

“Oh but you do” He said, voice soft and breathy, like a beautiful viper. “I can give you what you want, what you need. I can keep you safe”

“Safe?” The word felt so foreign to her now.

“Nothing bad will ever happen to you by my hand” He breathed on her skin and her body reacted. “That’s my word”

She knew something was off, something she couldn’t place, like when trying to hold on to a dream but feeling it slip away.

“Say it. Say it, Feyre” His breath hit her neck and her body trembled, urging her to speak or to flee, she wasn’t sure. The world was too dark, her body felt too tired and she was so desperate for that light, shining from his star-flecked eyes.

“I am yours, you are mine” She chanted, her words coming out monotonously, her vision blurring, hands and legs tingling.

“Perfect” She heard him say. “Close your eyes and rest, my mate ”

——

“Feyre”

She felt a pang in her stomach, like a rock had been dropped inside of it, painfully and all at once. Her arms and legs lost all strength as she looked into her sister’s wide and shocked eyes. She heard a horrible, consistent ringing in her ears, like a woman screeching inside her head, maybe that was her.

“You will be mine. And I will be yours”

Rhysand’s voice rang inside her mind. It couldn’t be. It had to be a mistake, Elain had to be mistaken.

“Feyre, calm down” Elain said, but she wasn’t calm herself, she looked lost too. It didn’t reassure her in the least.

“Y-you have to be mistaken” She felt herself say.

“Feyre I-“ Her brown eyes were glossy, tears beginning to form. Feyre couldn’t accept it.

“No! He’s my mate! I felt it, I felt him!” She was yelling now, but her sister only watched her.

“What I showed you, I didn’t make it up” She said softly, holding her hand tightly, as if she may disappear.

Feyre stared at her and it dawned on her then. How the moment she had come back from the dead she hadn’t felt it anymore, that tether to him that used to be like a piece of her soul, like he owned some of hers the way she owned some of his. How it had been easier to separate her thoughts from him then, easier to reject him, easier to want to leave him. He had broken the bargain.

“Nothing bad will ever happen to you by my hand”

She realized she was hyperventilating when Elain got to her feet and told her to breathe with her, to calm down. But she couldn’t calm down, because she was inside a nightmare, her world was falling apart, her life was a complete lie.

Why? The question popped inside her head and she couldn’t find an answer.

Why? Why? Why?

She realized she was chanting it, holding herself, rocking back and forth. Elain was trying to hold her together, but she was panicking herself.

“What’s happening?” She heard a familiar voice ask. Lucien. She started sobbing then.

“Lucien, help me. You need to get Nesta” The world was a vacuum, the voices were muffled. She needed more air or she was going to die.

“What is happening Elain? Why is she having a panic attack?”

“Listen” Elain rose. “I think we could be in danger, just get Nesta and don’t tell anyone. Not Azriel, not Cassian, not Rhysand. Please”

A moment later Elain was holding her hand again.

“Feyre, listen to me.” Her voice was so clear and solid she had to obey. “You need to breathe slowly, or you will pass out” She held her face in her small hands. “Listen to me, everything will be okay”

“No, it won’t Elain” She was sobbing, her head was throbbing and her whole body was shaking. “Why would he do this? Why would he make me do this?”

“I don’t know” Elain was trying not to cry.

As if on cue she heard Nyx’s cry from his nursery room.

A second rock, a bigger, more disgusting rock dropped inside her stomach and she looked up at Elain’s face with a horrified expression.

“No” Elain whispered. She shook her head softly. “It couldn’t be” But her brown eyes cleared, and she could see the truth hitting her in the face.

“An heir” She coughed.

Something inside of her snapped, and she stood up, running towards his room. She almost tripped a few times, dodging vases and furniture as she kept going towards the voice of her son crying.

When she finally arrived she almost threw herself at him, picking him up and cradling him in her trembling arms.

Feyre Archeron knew two things. One, the love of her life had lied to her, manipulated her and used her. Two, she would not let anyone take her baby away from her.

Elain caught up to her, Lucien and Nesta trailing behind her with concerned faces.

“Feyre-“ Nesta said, her grey eyes looking at her with such concern it made her want to keep crying. She looked at her older sister straight in the eyes.

“Run” She said and she winnowed.

——

When she arrived in Spring, she didn’t have any time to question herself, question why she had come here, she only had time to hold her baby tight to her body, as if scared someone might rip him away from her at any moment, and started running through the thick foliage of the forest. She knew she was close to the old manor, she had memorized these woods thoroughly.

Her bare feet were aching as she kept going, Nyx crying in her arms as she felt her own tears stream down her face. She was scared and hurt, and she couldn’t stop crying too.

When she finally reached the old manor she halted abruptly as she saw faeries of all kinds stopping whatever they were doing to look at her curiously.

Her chest was rising and falling quickly as she looked at their faces. Fae of all colors, shapes and sizes appeared to be working on the manor, reconstructing it. In that moment she felt the guilt of her past actions hit her like a thunder.

There she was running for help to the place she willingly destroyed, condemned thousands and never looked back. She wanted someone to step up and kill her right then and there. To make her pay. Make it all go away. The fae folk only stared at her some more.

“Feyre Cursebreaker?” One of them said and she couldn’t help a sob.

She shouldn’t be here, she should leave. Go somewhere else, somewhere no one will know.

“Feyre?” A voice soft but low that she knew all too well said from her back. She swirled to look at him, as if she couldn’t help it.

She saw his green eyes first, his tied golden hair second, strands falling on his perfect but sweaty face.

“Tamlin” She choked slightly. She looked down at her baby and then at him again. “I need-I don’t know where else to go and I-we need help” She sobbed, feeling like the worst person, the smallest most pathetic worm in the universe as he approached her slowly, as if scared she may run away, with only deep concern in his emerald gaze. As much as she looked for it, she couldn't find one hint of gloating in his eyes, not a pinch of contempt. She only wanted to crumble down and cry.

When he stepped in front of her, hands up as if he wasn’t sure what to do with them, he steadied a breath.

“What do you need?”

----

The wrath of a High Lord was something Nesta Archeron had been strangely acquainted with by now. When Rhysand snarled in her face, waves of dark power emanating from his tall frame as his muscles rippled, she didn't even flinch. 

“You let her leave” He spat at her, staring her down. “Where is she?”

“I don’t know” She said, but her own anger was already beginning to drown her, she could feel the cold fire tingling in her fingers, waiting, like a snake before it strikes. 

“I said, where is she?!” He screamed, pushing the table that had been between them like it was nothing, making it crash against the wall with a loud thump. She only stared at him, unamused. 

“Rhys, let’s just calm down” Her mate’s voice sounded from her side. Cassian was wincing with each word spoken, unsure what to do, what to say. She tightened her fisted hands, the weight of Ataraxia on her hip comforting her. “I’m sure whatever is going on can be resolved if we all just calm down” 

Feyre had told her to run, but she would be damned before she did that. Nesta Archeron would never cower before a male ever again, she had promised herself that, and this one wasn’t any different, most powerful High Lord or not. Besides, she wanted to be the one to have the pleasure of delivering the news.

“No” She said and both males pinned their eyes on her. She pointed at Rhysand. “He is a liar” She made sure her voice was clear and sharp as Cassian’s eyes only looked more shocked by the second. “He machinated a mating bond with my sister, your so-called High Lady, made her seal a bargain and then made sure she forgot about it” She cocked her head at Rhysand. “Now she knows, and she left you”

Rhysand’s face was suddenly displaying a cold, calculated fury she had the displeasure of knowing too well.

“No, that’s not true, where did you come up with something like that?” Cassian was saying, but her eyes were on the High Lord. When Rhysand didn’t utter a word, Cassian became more agitated. “Rhys, what-” 

“Tell him” She said softly, tenderly, like speaking to a toddler. “Tell him what you did to her. You can also mention all the ways in which you tormented her Under The Mountain, then pretended to be her savior” She savoured the venom in her tongue. 

Shadows sizzled in the corner and she knew Azriel had been listening for a long while.

“Rhys?” Cassian tried, but Rhysand’s violet eyes were fixed on her, weighing what to do, probably planning how to kill her without making Cassian go mad.

“She took my son” He said and the whole house trembled. 

“She took her son” Nesta said. “She died for him, remember?” She was sure he would try to kill her now.

“Rhys tell me this is not true” Cassian was pacing now, his heavy steps reverberating through the wooden floors of the River House. “It cannot be true”

“It is” A melodic voice sounded from her periphery. Azriel. “You did that to her. You made her believe she was your mate? How could you do that?” Azriel’s shadows swarmed him, the anger and betrayal on his face was cold and horrifying.

Rhysand’s eyes left her for a second to look at his favorite subject. “I had no choice”

Nesta scoffed, Cassian ran his hands through his long hair. 

“I will not repeat myself, where is she?” He commanded with such force her body fought to stay still. She straightened. 

“I don’t know, and even if I knew, I wouldn’t tell you even if you made him torture me” She pointed at Azriel, who was stiffly looking at his High Lord. Centuries of blind loyalty and undying brotherhood, hanging by a thread, a thread she had no issues in cutting. “I will leave now, and if you try to stop me, I will make you eat shit”

She turned to leave but Cassian held her back. “Wait, Nesta let’s just, let’s hear him out” 

“No” She said. “I don’t give a fuck about his reasons. There is no justification, not this time” She spat. Her mate’s amber eyes were devastated, lost, like he was a stranded child, he looked like he may cry, and she didn’t fault him for that. She tightened her fists again as she fought the urge to simply stay, give in to him and comfort him. But she couldn’t, and Cassian knew it, he was trying to deny it but he knew there was no coming back from this.

She looked at Rhysand one more time and her eyes of steel met the violet fury of his. He disgusted her. “Leave her alone, or I will put you down, and you know I don’t make false promises”

[bookishfeylin]

The AU in which Feyre is Resurrected as a Human

@feylinweek

For Feylin week day 3: AU. I’d love to revisit this AU and flesh this out into a multi chapter fic (I’m thinking maybe 5-8ish chapters?) at a later time but here’s a oneshot for now, so I’m sorry if it doesn’t go super in depth. :)

It was numbing, and painful, to emerge into the daylight after months stuck in the darkness Under the Mountain. 

Feyre winced, and leaned into Tamlin further as he led her outside, letting the sunshine wash away all the worries she’d been nursing ever since Amarantha had reminded her of the ultimate fate of her relationship with Tamlin. 

She supposed she should be grateful—after all, she’d never heard of another human being resurrected by the High Lords of Prythian—and Feyre supposed she should focus on that rather than her worries over her relationship with Tamlin ending as she aged and died within the next century, but Amarantha had made a good point. She was only human. Tamlin was not. For now they could be happy. But it wouldn’t last.

“Are you alright, Feyre?” Tamlin asked, his gentle question interrupting her spiraling thoughts. 

Unable to speak, Feyre nodded. Darkness and horror clawed at her heart and mind, but Feyre didn’t want them to take over. So she nodded, and cleared her mind.

~~~

The marriage happened a year later, when Prythian was finally at peace, and the darkness and horror had finally left her alone.

But the anxiety stayed, and on their honeymoon Feyre finally, finally found the strength to voice her long-suppressed worry.

“Don’t forget about me after I die.”

She’d spent months agonizing over how to say it, and in the end decided not to sugar coat it.

In Tamlin’s arms, she felt him shift at her statement, before his knuckle came under her chin to tilt her head up.

She was surprised to see confusion in his eyes. “What do you mean?”

“I assume after me you’ll have another wife, centuries from now. And I’m ok with that… I just— I just don’t want you to forget me.”

“I could never forget you. But I already know I will not be taking another wife after you, Feyre. And I hope you know that too.”

“Tam—””

“I don’t want you to worry, love. I’m determined to grow old beside you.” Feyre laughed at that, knowing Tamlin was not going to age at nearly the same rate as she was, but accepted his declaration nonetheless. They should enjoy their happiness together while they could, after all.

~~~

Days before their tenth anniversary, Tamlin began acting differently. It started with secret meetings with Lucien, then his advisers, then quiet conversations with the staff of the manor. After noticing how tearful Alis was after one such meeting, Feyre felt compelled to ask what exactly Tamlin was telling them all, but Alis refused.

Then their tenth anniversary arrived, and it felt, to Feyre, almost like a month-long goodbye party. They toured Prythian, danced with their people, and made love under the stars. And then, the day after they returned, Feyre awoke to find a human asleep next to her.

~~~

The first thing Feyre did, upon seeing Tamlin in human form, was laugh herself senseless. Her laughter woke her husband up, and he raised a brow after he was awake enough to realize what was happening.

But her laughter ended after he explained he planned on staying in a human form for the rest of his life. “I told you I want to grow old beside you, love. I plan on sticking to that promise.”

It wound up being an emotional day for them both, especially as they packed their things and were wished well by Lucien, who Tamlin had appointed as his successor, and the staff of the manner alike. Tamlin and Feyre took a pair of horses and rode them to the border, then walked across to the Human Lands, never to return.

~~~

The decades passed by, marked first by the birth of their children, and later by their grandchildren. By the time they had entered their seventies, guilt gnawed at Feyre over Tamlin aging alongside her, and she begged him to change back into his immortal High Fae form to avoid death, but he refused.

So it nearly killed Feyre when she woke up, at 83, to find he had passed away in his sleep. Only the love for her family kept her going. 

In time, Feyre’s health too began to fail, and when at 90 she lay on her deathbed with her daughter watching over her, she was surprised to hear footsteps enter her bedchamber. Opening her eyes, Feyre breathed a sigh of relief when she caught sight of the blond High fae in front of her, extending a hand. 

Slowly, she took his hand, leaving her body behind as she followed after Tamlin, happy to have joined her husband in the afterlife at long last. 

They had indeed aged together. And now they would have eternity to spend together as well.

[goforth-ladymidnight]

The Perfect Gift

Pairing: Tamlin x Feyre (Feylin)

Rating: G

Word Count: 5k

Summary: What do you give a High Lord who already has everything?

Read in its entirety below the cut:

Snow was coming, but not to the Spring Lands. The sky beyond the dining hall windows was heavy and gray, but the magic over the Spring Court kept all but the gentlest rains at bay. Then again, the newly reinstated High Lord of Spring had been rather distracted lately, tending to his Court and countryside in the wake of Amarantha’s reign. And it was late enough in the year that it could possibly snow, just a little.

Had it already been three months since their triumphant return from Under the Mountain? Those dark days were like a bad dream, darker than the darkest night of the year, which was fast approaching. Winter Solstice was in less than a week. Even though it was not a Spring holiday, there was much to celebrate. There was much left to do.

The servants had already begun decorating for the grand celebration. Faerie lights twinkled in the evergreen wreaths and garlands adorning the hearths and halls of the manor. The air was filled with the spicy scent of pine, mingling with the perfume of the large bouquets of white roses on display in every room. Crystal vases and bowls sparkled on their beds of delicate white lace, filled with flowers or an assortment of mixed nuts or colorful sugar plums.

Even the dining table looked festive. Gold plates and fine silver gleamed in the light of a half dozen brass candelabras as fine beads of white wax rolled down the tall tapered candles. Fragrant steam rose from savory tureens of herbed, golden broth, wreaths of freshly baked bread, and a large dish of seasoned fingerling potatoes. There was also roast lamb, mincemeat pie, and slabs of sweet and smoked cheeses amidst pots of honey and bowls of fresh fruit. Cut-crystal decanters of white wine stood tall between the platters of food. If anyone was still hungry, the kitchen had prepared a sweet, dark plum cake for dessert, purportedly the High Lord’s favorite as a child. The only thing missing was the High Lord himself.

As Feyre stood beside the table, she took a slow deep breath, willing her wild heartbeat to slow. The lunch hour was growing late, and Lucien had promised to send Tamlin to the dining hall, alone, where Feyre would be waiting for him. It had taken her nearly two weeks of planning to arrange everything. Alis had helped her select the menu, and Lucien had agreed to keep Tamlin busy until the table was set.

Once the room was ready, no one else was permitted into the dining hall. This was no easy task, but it was the only place she could spend with Tamlin alone, at least outside the bedroom. Tamlin gave her as much attention as he could, but it was nearly Solstice, and he was very busy.

Feyre twisted the fingers of her velvet gloves, her eyes darting between the door and the foods she had so carefully chosen. Was it enough? Would he like it? Oh, when was he coming?

Sssoon enough… The tattoo on her left hand seemed to writhe in answer. She frowned and tugged the hem of that glove down further. If a certain High Lord of Night dared to show his face now after months of silence… Ugh. It would be just like him to force her to join him for Winter Solstice, just to torment her and Tamlin… That arrogant prick… Just as she imagined slapping his smug face with the same glove she wore to hide the bargaining tattoo, the doors to the dining hall opened.

She sucked in a sudden breath, then, when a familiar figure stepped through, she straightened up with a glad, grateful smile.

Tamlin glanced around the empty hall with a furrowed brow and slowly stepped inside. “Feyre? What… Where is everyone?”

Feyre took a deep breath and spread her hands wide. “Surprise.”

With a bemused smile, he stepped closer. There were still faint lines where his enchanted mask used to be, but, like the memories Under the Mountain, they were beginning to fade. Even so, they did not detract from his otherworldly beauty. His unbound hair curled softly around his broad shoulders, as warm and golden as his flawless skin and the flecks of amber in his spring green eyes. The tunic he wore was much darker, evergreen edged in gold thread, which was one of the more formal ones he wore to meetings, of which there had been several, lately.

As he came to stand before her, Feyre continued, “I… I asked Lucien to take over your duties for the day.”

Tamlin’s eyebrows raised. “Take over…?” He let out an amazed chuckle and rubbed his chin. “That explains his odd behavior…” he murmured, then asked, “What on earth did you have to promise Lucien in exchange for that?”

She gave him a wincing smile. “Unrestricted access to your wine cellar… for a year.”

“Oh, is that all?”

She twisted the fingers of her gloves as she admitted, “And… no border patrol assignments for a month.”

Not to mention keeping Ianthe away from him for an entire week, she thought, but since Tamlin seemed to value the High Priestess’s counsel, she kept that to herself.

Sss-sss-sss. The tattoo seemed to mock her, but a quick pinch on her wrist seemed to silence it.

If Tamlin noticed, he showed no sign. Instead, he chuckled wryly and rubbed the back of his neck. “That will take some rearranging,” he mused, “but I’ll manage.”

Feyre grimaced. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to make more work for you. This was supposed to be an early Solstice gift for you…”

“Is that right?”

She blushed, then halfheartedly gestured to the table set for two. “It’s just… You’ve been so busy lately, I thought…” She hugged her arms and mumbled, “Never mind. It was a silly idea.”

Tamlin stepped closer and placed his warm hands on her arms, being careful not to de-puff her puffed sleeves. “It’s not silly,” he insisted. “It was very thoughtful of you to arrange all this.”

“Thoughtful,” she scoffed. “If I were truly thoughtful, I would have known what to give you for Solstice.” She shook her head and shrugged. “But what do you give a High Lord who already has everything?”

He opened his mouth to answer, then looked away as he considered her point. “Well, I… That is… I mean…” He spread his hands and shrugged. “You don’t have to give me anything at all. You went Under the Mountain for me… If anything, I should be showering you in gifts—”

She huffed a laugh and stepped back. “You already have,” she said, gesturing to the blue velvet gown she was wearing. “I have enough gowns to clothe a small town.” She dropped her hands and sighed. “I just… I wanted to give you something because I… I love you,” she said softly.

He smiled sadly. “I love you, too.”

She nodded. “I know you do.” She sighed again, a heavier sigh as she gestured to the table. “We’ll have lunch together, and then you can go back to your usual duties. I won’t keep you.”

“No, please. Keep me. You already have me,” he insisted, touching her arm, then he looked over at the meal she had thoughtfully planned. “You said Lucien agreed to take over my duties for the day, right?”

“For a price, but… yes.”

“Hmm.” Tamlin rubbed his chin, looking thoughtful. “You know,” he mused, “that means that I have the whole day—we have the whole day—to do whatever we want. And I don’t want to be High Lord anymore.”

Feyre’s eyebrows shot up.

“In fact,” he went on, “I would rather follow orders instead of give them. So, Feyre Cursebreaker, how would you like to be High Lady for a day?”

She realized her mouth was hanging open, but she managed to find her voice as she pointed to herself. “Me? High Lady?”

“It would only be for a day,” he assured her. “And only if you want to.”

She looked at him askance. “This doesn’t involve any transference of magic, does it?” she asked cautiously.

“No,” he promised. “At least, not unless you plan on putting me out of my misery,” he added with a teasing wink.

She bit back a chuckle. “I think you’re safe.”

“Then you agree?”

She nibbled on her lower lip, considering it. “On one condition.”

“Name it.”

“No one can know that we’re doing this,” she said firmly. “I don’t think I could handle anyone else calling me High Lady… Not Alis, not Ianthe… If Lucien found out, I would never hear the end of it.”

“I wouldn’t dream of telling him, or anyone else,” Tamlin promised, placing his hand on his heart and giving her a solemn half-bow. “High Lady.”

She let out a sudden giggle, then pressed her fingers to her lips. “So… what exactly does a High Lady do?” she asked nervously.

“Whatever she wishes,” he said, straightening. “Unlike certain unfortunate emissaries, she has no meetings to attend. No important decisions to make. No duties, whatsoever.”

Her shy smile grew into a grin. “None?”

“None.”

“And you…?”

He waved his hand with a flourish. “I am but your humble servant, my lady,” he said, bowing deeply. When he rose, although he tried to maintain his solemn air, a coy smile touched his lips, and his green eyes sparkled with mischief.

It reminded her of the Tamlin she had fallen in love with, before they went Under the Mountain, when there was time for riding horses and lying beneath singing willows and swimming in pools of starlight… Which gave her an idea…

“Very well, then, my loyal subject,” she said, drawing herself up, which made Tamlin’s eyebrows rise. “My first decree as High Lady shall be… a picnic.��

“A splendid idea, my lady,” he said grandly, which made her grin. As he offered her his hand, he asked, “Where to?”

After a moment’s consideration, she slipped her hand in his calloused palm and declared, “Somewhere I’ve never been. You know the Spring Court best. Surprise me.”

He smiled and squeezed her hand. “I know the perfect place.”

He winnowed them there in the blink of an eye. One moment, they were standing in the dining hall, the next they were outdoors, surrounded by falling snow. Except it wasn’t snow, for the air was warm, and the scent was sweet and fragrant. Feyre gasped as she turned around and realized they were standing in the middle of an apple orchard in full bloom.

Falling blossoms drifted past and landed on her hair and shoulders, which made her giggle like a child. The sky was still gray, but it didn’t matter. She felt lighter than she had in a long time. How long had it been since she let herself laugh? Too long, she realized, as she closed her eyes and tipped her head back and let the blossoms fall from her hair and tickle her cheeks.

“You look so beautiful,” Tamlin said in an awed voice.

She opened her eyes to look at him and found herself speechless. Despite his fine dress, he looked right at home among the flowering apple trees, a true prince of the wild. And when he smiled, her heart fluttered like blossoms on the breeze. This was the Fae she had fallen in love with, the one she had gone Under the Mountain for, and she would die for a hundred times over if it meant spending eternity with him.

She found herself blushing under his attentive gaze.

“So do you,” was all she could think to say, even though she meant it. Being Made High Fae had not made her any less tongue-tied. She could only hope that would become easier with time. She wanted him to know how much he meant to her, which was why she had come up with this arrangement in the first place. She hoped he liked it. She hoped it would be enough.

He smiled again and nodded. “Shall we?” he said, gesturing to the blanket spread out at his feet, and it gave her something new to stare at.

It would have taken a dozen servants to pack the feast from the dining hall and transfer it to the blanket underneath the apple trees, but Tamlin had done so in the blink of an eye. There was the dish of potatoes, the bread, all the cheeses, the pies, the roast lamb… He had even poured the wine, or at least his magic had.

“Ohh, it’s perfect,” she breathed, and it was.

A similar picnic in the mortal world would have seen them picking stray blossoms off their food, or awkwardly repositioning themselves around protruding tree roots, or even spilling their wine when they set their goblets down on uneven ground… but this wasn’t the mortal world. This was Prythian.

The lamb stayed warm, the wine stayed cool, and the plum cake tasted like it had been baked with faerie wine, which it had probably had. The combined flavors of steamed fruit and rolled spices burst pleasantly upon her tongue, and the hint of faerie wine gave her a pleasant buzz.

Tamlin was seemingly not immune to its effects, either, for he set his empty plate aside to lay back upon the ground, looking less like a High Lord and more like a human… that is, the faerie equivalent of one. As he tucked his hands beneath his head, he closed his eyes with a satisfied sigh. “I can’t remember the last time I had plum cake,” he said contentedly. “My compliments to Her Ladyship for her most exquisite taste.”

Feeling immensely pleased with herself, Feyre rested her back against the nearest tree and smiled. “I’ve never had plum cake before,” she admitted, picking up her wine to salute him in turn. “My compliments to the High Lord for his taste. What a pity he can’t be here to enjoy it.”

Tamlin opened one eye and smirked at her. “I’ll be sure to save a piece for him when he gets back,” he quipped.

She chuckled and lifted her wine for a sip.

“What about you? What did my High Lady enjoy for Solstice growing up?”

She nearly choked on her wine, then ducked her head in embarrassment. “I don’t know,” she mumbled, wiping her mouth on her glove. “Chocolate torte, I suppose.”

“You suppose?” Tamlin rolled onto his side and propped himself up on his elbow. “Don’t you know?”

She shrugged. “Sweet treats and fancy dresses were the first thing to go,” she admitted reluctantly, looking away. “You know. After my father…”

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed his bemused smile fade as he remembered her poor, mortal life in the cottage, and she wished she hadn’t said anything at all.

“Look, it doesn’t matter now,” she said hastily, trying to distract him. “Today is about you. This is your Solstice gift, remember?”

“I remember,” he said firmly. “I also seem to remember appointing you High Lady, which is why—” He shifted from his side onto his knees in one smooth, fluid motion, “—I want to know how to make today special for you, too.”

Her cheeks heated in embarrassment, or perhaps it was the wine. “You don’t have to—”

“I want to,” he insisted. “You’re my High Lady…”

“I don’t want to be your High Lady,” she said irritably, then wished she could take it back when she realized how it sounded, when she saw the hurt in his eyes. “I didn’t mean it that way,” she said quickly. “I meant—not your High Lady—I mean, I still want to marry you—not that you’ve asked yet—I-I mean…”

She covered her hot face and groaned. When he didn’t speak, she managed to take a deep breath, then sighed. As she lowered her hand, she looked away so that she wouldn’t be able to see the disappointment in his eyes.

“I don’t want to give you orders,” she said softly. “I don’t want to give anyone orders. Please. Take back your title, and let’s just pretend that I didn’t say anything. All right?”

She glanced up in time to see him sit back on his heels and take a slow, deep breath. After a long, painful moment of silence, he nodded. “All right,” he said gruffly, then offered her his hands to help her stand.

The picnic was over, then. So much for her Solstice gift. She set down her wine with a sad sigh, then slipped her hands in his. As she stood, she opened her mouth to apologize and say that she would gladly continue the game, when something cold hit the top of her head, and she could only squawk as it fell across her face and her hair.

“What the…?” She let go of Tamlin’s hands to brush away the cold something, only to find clumps of snow sticking to her gloves and melting in her hair.

A soft, rather sly laugh distracted her from her shock, and she looked up to see Tamlin trying—and failing—to hide his smile.

“My apologies, dear lady,” he said, mouth twitching. “When I winnowed us here, I didn’t expect the trees around us to be so… low.”

This was the second time today that he had left her standing there with her mouth wide open, and she closed it with a snap. “You winnowed us…?” She looked around at the pale landscape. “Where?”

“The Winter Court, of course,” he said simply, as if they hadn’t been standing in a Spring orchard only a moment ago. “At least, the outskirts,” he added, gesturing to the snowy pines and the mountains behind him. “I didn’t want to alarm Kallias by dropping in to his Court unannounced. Wars have been started for less, you know.”

“You don’t say,” she drawled, then sucked in a quivering breath as she rubbed at her blue velvet sleeves, trying to ward off the sudden chill. She was standing ankle deep in a snow drift, and her breath was visible in the icy air. “And we’re here because…?”

“Oh, forgive me,” he said, flicking his hands and unfurling a heavy cloak that hadn’t been there a moment ago, from somewhere between. As he stepped forward and drew its welcome warmth around her shoulders, he said kindly, “There now. That should help.”

As she gratefully pulled the fur-lined cowl closer to her chin, she sniffed and remarked, “Thank you, but you still haven’t told me what we’re doing here.”

“Isn’t it obvious?” he said with a sly twinkle in his eye.

She looked at him askance.

“Your first—and last—decree as High Lady was to take you somewhere you’d never been. So, here we are. Somewhere you’ve never been.”

Her eyes widened. “I meant in the Spring Court!”

“Did you? You never said.”

She barked a laugh and slowly shook her head. “You’re mad.”

He gave her a grand bow. “You flatter me, lady.”

With a twinge of guilt, she remembered her earlier retort. “I didn’t mean what I said before. About not wanting to be your High Lady…”

He slowly straightened, his smile fading. “I’m afraid it’s too late,” he said quietly.

The icy air seemed to stab her lungs, and her hand froze at her throat.

Before she could reply, he continued, “If you want your title back, you’re going to have to take it from me.”

Her eyebrows rose as he stepped backward in the snow with a slowly growing smirk. As an understanding smile touched her mouth, he turned around and dropped to all fours, changing into his beast form. His golden hair turned to golden fur that then sprouted all over his changing body, and bone-white antlers sprouted from his head. The transformation was almost too quick to follow, but she was High Fae now. His beast form didn’t frighten her anymore; she marveled at the sight of it.

Tamlin took a few bounding leaps into the snow, then shook the flakes of snow free from his fur as he turned to face her. His plumed tail slowly wagged as he dropped his forelegs into a strangely playful bow. She bit back a laugh, for it reminded her of a dog wanting to play fetch.

“Well?” he asked, in his deeper, beastlier voice. “Do you want your title back?”

She slowly nodded. “Yes,” she breathed.

“Then come and get it.”

She hesitated with her gloved hand still at her throat, then, when he didn’t move, she took a slow, deliberate step toward him.

As the snow crunched beneath her boot, he bounded away like a deer in the woods, startling her with his swiftness. She scarcely had time to register his movement before he circled back with a huge, beastly grin. “You’ll never catch me at this rate!” he called out before running away again.

Her laugh carried across the snow as she watched him, then, gathering her courage and her heavy velvet skirt at the same time, she began to give chase.

Her pretty white boots were not made for snow, but the snow was fresh, and she had more strength as a High Fae than she ever did as a human. Still, she stumbled occasionally, but running kept her warm. Tamlin never ran as far away as he did the first time, and he often circled close enough that she could almost reach out and touch his fur… Almost.

Her laughter echoed through the snowy woods each time she came close enough to see the wicked green gleam in his eye, and his beastly grin told her that he was laughing, too. But he would not let himself be caught so easily. A distant part of her wondered if anyone in the Winter Court would notice their game and report back to their High Lord, but aside from a few startled birds, she saw no one, and she was grateful. Not because she was afraid of looking foolish, but because she didn’t want to share Tamlin with anyone else.

After several minutes of this, she paused to catch her breath in the middle of a clearing. She was too winded to call after him, so she dropped to her knees and watched as Tamlin zigzagged through the snow-laden pines, a golden blur in the gray mist. It didn’t take long for him to notice that she was no longer chasing him. He quickly circled back and padded to a standstill at the edge of the clearing.

“Do you give up?” he called out, breathing hard himself. Although his words could have been taken as a challenge, there was a cautious nature to his tone. This was just a game, after all.

She sniffed and wiggled her stiff, frozen nose as she pushed herself to her feet. “Not yet,” she called back, then, straightening up, she launched the snowball she had formed and hidden beneath her cloak. He was fast, but not fast enough. She was High Fae, too, after all. His green eyes widened just before the snowball struck his muzzle and spattered all over his beastly face.

He shook his head, but not in a pained way, then pawed at his muzzle to brush away the rest of the spatter.

That was all the distraction she needed.

“Oof!” he cried as she tackled him, throwing her arms around his furry neck. They fell into a great heap there in the snow, and she would have cried out “Victory!”, but she was laughing too hard.

It took her a moment to realize that he was laying beneath her, unmoving, and his stillness made her smile vanish. She pushed herself off of him, then leaned over him and touched his great furry shoulder. “Tam?” She swallowed hard, then gently shook him and said, “Tamlin… Are you all right? Did I hurt you?”

He didn’t answer, but opened one green eye before suddenly rolling onto his back and pulling her along, pulling her against him and trapping her with his massive paws.

“I’ve been slain,” he moaned as she giggled into his fur. “The High Lord has been slain! Who would have guessed his consort was capable of such treason?”

When she managed to stop laughing, she said, “Treason, indeed,” then lifted her head high enough to look into his eyes. He winked. She smiled and wiped away the last of the snow from his muzzle. “I thought it was rather clever.”

“Indeed, it was,” he agreed, then changed shape as he laid beneath her, shrinking back into his High Fae form. His heavy paws shrank into hands, and his antlers disappeared into his hairline. He was still wearing his green and gold finery, although he looked a little more tousled than before. More than that, he looked… happy. He brushed a melting tendril of hair from her cheek as he smiled up at her and murmured, “High Lady.”

Her breath caught. Unable to speak, she traced his jawline with her fingertips, then bent her head and kissed him. His fingers were welcome warmth as they threaded through her hair at the back of her neck, as he slowly and lingeringly kissed her back.

“Thank you,” she breathed when they parted.

His head fell back into the snow as he sighed, still smiling. “There’s no need to thank me,” he said, then huffed a laugh and touched the side of his nose where the snowball had struck him. “You earned it.”

She bit back a shy laugh. “I didn’t mean that,” she said, reaching up to rub that spot on his cheek. “I meant… Thank you for giving me another chance. For forgiving me at all.”

“There is nothing to forgive,” he assured her, covering her hand with his. “I did trick you, after all.”

She couldn’t help her smile. “So, you did. Was it worth it?”

“Without a doubt,” he said firmly, then sat up with her. “I haven’t had this much fun in years. Centuries, in fact.” He brushed off his sleeves and glanced around. “As much as I love Spring, there’s something to be said about getting away from it all, if only for a day.”

“That’s what I wanted for you,” she said eagerly, then blushed when he looked at her curiously. “I… I didn’t think you would agree if I asked you to come away, so… I suppose I tricked you, too.”

“You’ll have to trick me more often, then,” he said, nudging her playfully with his shoulder. “The Cauldron knows I needed it.”

She reached out and tucked a stray, wet strand of hair behind his arched, pointed ear, which was beginning to turn red in the cold. “Why Winter?” she asked him. “You could have taken me anywhere in Spring, yet you brought me here. Why?”

“Do you remember that painting you gave me?”

Her brow furrowed. Had he guessed that she had tried—and failed—to paint something for him for Solstice? She hadn’t enjoyed painting since—with a sudden gasp, she remembered. The painting of the frozen woods.

“I couldn’t take you over the Wall,” he explained with a sad smile. “I couldn’t risk you being seen in the mortal lands as High Fae, but… I wanted to show you those snowy woods. So, I brought you here, where I knew you’d be safe, because I wanted to remind you—just as you once reminded me—that you’re not alone.”

Tears pricked her eyes as he continued, “We’ve been through hell and back these last few months. We both have our bad days, even now, but… just like the frost at the edge of the forest, we can’t let them take over. We can’t let them win.”

She swiped away a stray tear and huffed a laugh, if only to keep from crying. “I didn’t think you noticed.”

“I always notice,” he said, taking her frigid hands in his. Her thin, velvet gloves were soaked in melting snow, but somehow his hands were as warm as sunshine cracking ice. He bent his head and breathed the warmth of Spring itself onto her hands. “I should have said something sooner, but I thought, with Ianthe there, you’d be all right.”

Feyre tried to hide her grimace. She couldn’t tell him that the High Priestess, who hadn’t even been there Under the Mountain, and who, with her effortless beauty and her ambition and her clever wit, made her feel lonelier than ever. Instead she murmured, “She’s not you.”

He said nothing, but released her hands to cup her neck and kiss her. It was a wonder the snow didn’t melt around them from the heat of his touch alone.

She sighed when they parted, and was glad when his hands didn’t leave her neck. She welcomed his warmth. She hadn’t realized how much she missed it, not when it was always Spring outside.

“Forgive me,” he whispered, rubbing her cheeks with his thumbs. “I couldn’t go to you when you needed me Under the Mountain, and I shouldn’t have continued to let someone else take my place at your side, even if it was temporary.”

Feyre winced at the memory. “I know you’re busy—”

“You’re a part of my Court, too,” he declared. “You shouldn’t have to bribe Lucien into taking over my duties just to see me once in a while. You’re my consort, and I love you.”

She smiled away her tears. “I love you, too,” she whispered. “But… I’m not your consort.”

His soft smile vanished until she reminded him, “I’m your High Lady, remember?”

He chuckled, then leaned forward to kiss her forehead. “Come along, then, my lady. Let’s get you out of the cold.”

He pulled away to take her hands and rose to a crouch to help her stand, but she pulled back on his hands and asked, “Where are we going?”

A sly smile touched his mouth. “I was going to take you home and bundle you in furs in front of the fire, and feed you chocolate torte and mulled wine, but… you’re my High Lady. Where would you like to go?”

It was a tempting offer, and one she would gladly accept that evening, but, at the moment, she had something else in mind. “We still have half the day to ourselves,” she reminded him with a smile. “You know Prythian best. Surprise me.”

He grinned. As he helped her to her feet, he said, “I know the perfect place.”

~ The End ~

[positivelyruined]

Venture back into Prythian with me tonight | chapter four of A Ballad of Thorns and Roses has been posted.

links: Ao3 | subscribe to the story to receive email notifications for updates and subscribe to my user for notification on any work I post

As always, big thank you to all of my betas, who sometimes read four different versions of these scenes before convincing me that it is good enough to move on. Bless them for joining a discord, dealing with my endless spam of questions, and continued fascination with this character and his haunting narrative. Betas: @ennawrite & @wingsdippedingold 👏👏👏

Big shoutout to both the besties who remain half the reason of why this story keeps going and one hundred percent the reason why I am brave enough to publish it. @shadowqueenjude & @sonics-atelier

my dearest, gentle readers

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[lilyslittlewife]

acotar bridgerton au/regency au

so, im thinking about writing a bridgerton au. The thing is: a) who would be the queen, and b) who would be lady whistledown

[legendl0re]

Working on Chapter 5 of my Tamlin healing arc fanfic where he and Feyre finally have their hash out and acknowledge all of the shit they did to each other in the past few books, and it’s feeling really cathartic to get them to talk about their shit when they failed so spectacularly to do so in ACOMAF (dammit SJM)

Legit one line is like “if we just fucking communicated we would probably still be together” and the tragedy that comes with that feeling of having messed up your chance at a relationship.

All while Nyx is just chillin in the room eating apple bapple sauce.

This is why I write fics xD

[potatoplace]

Omega Needs - Chapter 8

Feylin, eventual Feysand

chapter 7 | chapter 9 | series masterlist

Story Summary: Feyre presented as an omega after being changed into a high fae Under the Mountain. Her heats have been hellish, and Tamlin has neglected certain aspects of her presentation. After the disastrous wedding ceremony, how will Feyre’s omega handle being away from her Alpha?

Warnings: A/B/O dynamics, smut, domestic arguments, slut shaming, mentions of gore (UTM arm stuff) body shaming, small mention of forced food restriction, this chapter is kinda painful, feylin smut, Ianthe

Words: ~5.2k

Author's Note: it's here! I'm very happy with this chapter- well. I'm sad about it cause poor Feyre 😭 it ended up being more brutal than I had imagined it would be?? So um. Yeah. I hate, hate, hate Ianthe. I hope you guys like the chapter!

18+ only pls

🩵💚🩵💜🩵

Feyre was dying.

She was sure of it. She had to be dying, with the overwhelming heat coming off of her and the immense pains in her abdomen.

Granted, Feyre’s thoughts had been very muddled lately, moments in time disappearing from her memory and nothing made sense.

Feyre had realized again that she was back in Spring, separated from her perfect nest she had made before. She wasn’t sure how many days had passed, how long she had been drifting in and out of sleep.

Ianthe visited her far too often, cramming food into Feyre’s mouth and commanding her to eat and plying her with tea that sent her back to sleep.

Tamlin had come to her four times.

Feyre knew that one for sure, she could vividly remember the instant relief she felt when the alpha had knotted her, each and every time.

She only wished it had happened more often.

Right now, Feyre had her hand between her thighs, desperately trying to find some sort of reprieve from the fire ravaging her flesh. She’d been in the same position, hips rocking when she could summon the energy. She wished she had her nightgown still, the one that smelled so perfect. But it had disappeared at some point when she was asleep.

Her bedroom door swung open, and Feyre managed to look towards it, hoping to scent her alpha-

But it was the rancid scent of Ianthe, wilting roses and dirt that got stuck in her nose for hours after she was left alone.

Feyre groaned, turning away from the alpha as quickly as she could manage.

“Feyre, we’ve talked about this. You need to eat, and you need to drink something,” Ianthe scolded. “Now, turn around omega.”

She fought the command as long as she could, but she was already so weak, so tired. Feyre rolled back to the alpha, grimacing as pain lanced through her.

Ianthe attempted to pry Feyre’s mouth open and place a piece of a sandwich inside, but Feyre wouldn’t budge.

The taste of her fingers were like ash, and Feyre nearly vomited, but she held her mouth closed, unwilling to eat the food she was offering. Every time she ate, it meant that Tamlin would not appear, and she needed his knot.

Feyre kept turning her head away from Ianthe’s chilled fingers, until finally the alpha huffed and stormed out of the room.

Finally. The scent of her would linger, but the intensity was already so much lesser…

Her right hand returned to between her thighs, slowly rubbing at the bundle of nerves there.

She wished she still had her nightgown, the one with her alpha’s scent… just the thought of it, so fresh and clean and intoxicating lessened the burning of her body for a moment, before kicking up to a level higher than before.

Feyre let out a wail, in so much pain that she could hardly breathe.

The door opened once more, and the scent of lilacs, cedar and earth filled Feyre’s senses. Or nearly what she needed, but it would do.

She took a few greedy lungfuls before turning her head to the door to watch Tamlin swing it shut.

“Alpha,” she groaned, and she wanted to present for him, if only she had the strength in her limbs to do so.

“Omega. Ianthe said you refuse to eat.” His voice was tense, verging on angry and Feyre cowered into herself, terrified that she made the alpha upset. “You need to eat, Feyre.”

“Pain,” Feyre whispered.

Tamlin gave her a pitying look before approaching her in her nest and sitting down next to her. “You hurt too much to eat, omega?” He asked, and Feyre nodded her head slightly. “Do you need alpha’s knot?”

Feyre moaned at that, the thought of being filled and locked to an alpha just what she needed. She let Tamlin pull the sheets from her body, prowling over her naked form. She was already leaking slick steadily, and he was able to push in in one slow thrust, stopping for a moment to let Feyre bask in the fullness.

Finally. Finally full again.

Feyre came quickly, her body overstimulated from the days on end need that flooded her. Her second came as Tamlin’s knot started to catch, so close to what she needs.

And then they were blissfully locked together, Tamlin’s seed coating her insides. I hope I have a baby, Feyre thought as Tamlin gently laid them on their sides, and arm wrapping around Feyre’s torso. Feyre sighed, the heat finally abating for the moment.

She had nearly nodded off to the calming sound of Tamlin’s breathing and steady heartbeat when his knot started to deflate, and he moved to pull away.

All tiredness left Feyre’s body, and she was flooded with instant panic as she quickly turned to wrap her arms around the alpha.

“Don’t leave, alpha, please don’t leave me,” Feyre cried pathetically, fat tears already pouring from her eyes. “I’ll do whatever you want please just don’t leave me, stay with me.”

Tamlin let out a heavy sigh. “Feyre, you know I have things to-”

“Alpha, please,” she wailed, grasping tighter to him when he tried to move.

Another sigh. “If you eat, omega, I will stay with you. But you need to eat and drink,” he commanded gently, and Feyre bobbed her head in agreement.

She still didn’t move.

“Omega, you need to sit back against the headboard to eat.” She let go of him with a pout on her face, but scooted back against the wall as he asked. Tamlin moved the tray that Ianthe had brought in onto the bed right in front of Feyre’s crossed legs. “Eat.”

Feyre sighed and picked up the sandwich, bland and ashy on her tongue. She choked it down as quickly as she could, then took the teacup that Tamlin was now offering her and drained that swiftly. Feyre placed the cup back on the tray, and turned her eyes on the alpha expectantly.

Tamlin moved the tray onto her nightstand and moved up the bed, taking Feyre in his arms. He pulled a blanket over them, a pale green and entirely too scratchy on Feyre’s sensitive skin, but it would have to do. Feyre snuggled into his hold, breathing in his scent and relaxing as she listened to his heartbeat.

Tamlin kept his word and stayed with Feyre throughout the night, knotting her a total of five times.

When she awoke for the final time, her mind felt clear once more. Her heat was nearly gone now, only a dull ache and mild fever after receiving the care and hormones she needed.

Tamlin stirred behind her, his arm tightening around her middle before pulling away entirely. Feyre rolled to follow his body, still not ready to be without her alpha.

“Tam? Where are you going?” Feyre asked softly as he stood up from the bed and began pulling his clothes on.

“I have a meeting to get to, Feyre. I’ll have Ianthe come and check on you soon,” Tamlin said stiffly, already fully clothed and walking towards the door. Anger bubbled in Feyre’s chest, overriding any sleepiness she had held onto.

“This isn’t fair!” Feyre yelled at his back. “You barely helped me during my heat, you haven’t marked me, you didn’t think to let me choose how to decorate my nest! It’s like you don’t even care about me anymore!”

Tamlin spun around faster than Feyre had seen him move in a long time, faster than at their wedding. “I’m the one who doesn’t care?!” He shouted back at her, his scent and face flooded with anger. “You couldn’t even make it down the aisle to me Feyre, how do you think that made me feel? And then you run off with him, when you were due for your heat any day!”

“You know that I had no control over-”

“You came home reeking of Rhysand! Lucien said you were clinging to him, like some desperate omega whore!” He spat at Feyre, and she shrank down into her bed.

“Get out,” Feyre whispered, pulling the blankets over her body tightly.

“Feyre, I didn’t-”

“Get out!” Feyre screamed, throwing a pillow at him as hard as she could. A moment later her door opened and slammed shut, rattling in its frame.

Tears streamed down Feyre’s face as she curled in on herself tightly, a pillow clutched to her chest.

Omega whore. That’s what she had been, hadn’t she? She had gone into Rhysand’s room, slept in his bed, ground against him…

Feyre sobbed. Everything Tamlin said was true. She was a horrible, horrible omega. She doesn’t deserve his mark, that’s probably why he hasn’t given it to her yet.

Hours passed, but Feyre stayed in the same position, tears constantly flowing down her face.

The thoughts wouldn’t leave.

Feyre stayed there until the sun had dipped below the horizon, after Ianthe had come to try and force her down to the dining room.

She finally moved to bathe. Her body felt disgusting after however many days she had spent in a heat soaked haze. The warmth of the water did little to warm her heart, which felt cold and brittle at the moment. Like she would shatter with one more vicious word from Tamlin.

Feyre stayed in there until her skin was pruney and the water had cooled, barely managing to wash herself with her limited energy. She dragged herself out, drying herself a bit before stumbling back into her bedroom.

Her nest was atrocious. She could see that now, after having built one exactly how she liked in the Night Court. It was filled with muted greens and browns, colors that she had felt safe wrapped in when she was a human- but now, now she needed vibrancy, a reminder that life is bright and joyful even when she doesn’t feel that way.

This nest, she hates.

Feyre ripped all of the blankets off, the pillows, the finally the sage green sheets, all of them tossed into the corner of her room. Feyre went through her closet and wardrobe, happening across a set of dusty pink sheets and a soft white cotton nightgown.

Better than nothing.

She pulled the nightgown over her head, then put the sheets on as fast as she could manage, feeling her exhaustion creeping back in after all of the movement. She slipped between them, relieved that these sheets seemed softer than the ones before. Feyre sighed, letting the tension leave her body with it as she curled in on herself again.

Omega whore.

Tears trailed down her face again as the insult echoed in her mind.

Finally, Feyre slipped into sleep.

Nightmares found her.

She was back under that mountain, trapped in a cell once more with her arm a broken, infected mess. This time, Tamlin came to see her.

“Does it hurt, omega?”

Feyre’s face scrunched at the title- “What?”

“Your arm,” he said, gesturing to it. Feyre looked down at it, saw the bone poking through skin. She nodded and looked back to him. “Good. Stupid omega whores like you deserve to be in pain.” Faster than she could see, his hand darted through the bars of her cell, fingers grabbing the bone protruding through her skin and pulled.

Feyre screamed, the pain worse than anything she had ever faced, but he didn’t let up. He grabbed her arms with his other hand and twisted, bones snapping further-

Feyre bolted out of bed, barely getting to the toilet in time to empty the contents of her stomach into it.

Knocks were coming from Feyre’s door, had been since she woke, and the door quickly opened after her retching started.

“Feyre, are you okay?” Lucien asked as he pulled her hair away from her face, a soothing hand on her back and she leaned on the bowl of the toilet for support.

“Nightmare,” Feyre whispered once she was certain her stomach was empty. She rinsed her mouth in the sink as thoroughly as she could. “What did you want?”

Lucien looked her up and down, taking in her pale, shaking frame. “I wanted to invite you out for breakfast in the gardens,” he suggested gently. “Tamlin…” Feyre shook harder at his name, and Lucien took her hands into his, the alpha’s scent of autumn leaves and crisp wind and calm soothing Feyre’s omega. “He told me what happened, your fight. I wanted to make sure you are okay, and offer you a way out of breakfast in the dining room if you wish.”

Feyre nodded her head. That sounded nice, better than dealing with Tamlin’s cruel words bouncing around in her head as he and Ianthe most likely ignored her. “I’d like that. Give me a moment to change?”

“Of course, Feyre. I’ll be waiting outside,” the redhead said with a soft smile. Feyre looked through her closet for something to wear-

All of the dresses were far too complex for her to put on herself. They required lacing in the back, both for the corset and the dress. She shuffled through everything, and happened across a few skirts and matching shirts- perfect. Feyre pulled out a pale pink set and quickly stripped herself of her nightgown and slid them on. The fabric was soft and flowy, and the skirt ended at her knees. The shirt had long sleeves that billowed slightly around her arm before coming in to a cuff at her wrists, and buttoned up the front.

How had she never worn this in the past year here?

Feyre knew the answer. She was rarely allowed to dress herself, let alone wake up on her own and not by the bustling of maids entering her room and prepping her for the day. She shook her head. She was allowed to today. Thank the Mother, Feyre didn’t think she could stand to be near Ianthe this early after such a horrible day and night yesterday.

Feyre made her way to the door, before she remembered to grab a pair of slippers to protect her feet. She opened the door, and found Lucien leaning against the wall opposite it. “Ready?” Feyre nodded. “Let’s go then, dear Feyre.” She took his extended arm gratefully, happy to have a calm, kind alpha near her to put her omega at ease. They walked slowly down the halls, as Feyre was still feeling exhausted from her heat and subsequent fight with her alpha.

Soon, they hit the front doors of the manor, the dining room only separated from them by the double glass doors. Feyre could hear the hum of Tamlin’s voice, Ianthe’s grating laughter. She tugged Lucien outside, not wanting to linger in case one of them decided to come to the door and drag her inside.

Lucien led her to a secluded spot in the garden, a table already set for their meal. Feyre was happy to note that there were no red roses in sight, something she was sure Lucien had planned for. Lucien pulled out a chair for Feyre, to which she shook her head but sat anyway.

“You know you don’t have to do that, I’m not lady, after all,” Feyre said as Lucien took his seat across from her.

“I know, Feyre, I just like to be nice and treat you as one,” he replied with a chuckle, and took the lids off of both of their plates. Feyre looked to hers, then at Lucien’s, and back to hers.

“Why do you get more bacon than me?”

Lucien snickered at her before he moved two more pieces of bacon to her plate from his, giving them an equal four each. “I didn’t plate the food, Feyre, otherwise I would have given you ten pieces, knowing how much you love bacon.”

Feyre’s plate was… sad, in her opinion. Two fried eggs, a slice of toast with a small amount of butter, the now four pieces of bacon, and a small bowl of fruit. She had forgotten how much smaller her portions were here, after being allowed to dish food out for herself as she liked. But at least Lucien was kind enough to sacrifice some of his bacon for her, that made a small smile on her face.

They ate in silence for a few minutes, though she could practically feel the questions rattling around in Lucien’s head. “Yes, Lucien?”

He sighed, setting his fork down. “Are you okay, Feyre?”

Feyre blinked at him. “I’m fine, Lucien. Pissed at Tamlin and exhausted, yes, but I’m fine. Why?”

Lucien’s eyes darted away from hers for a moment before meeting her blue orbs again. “You were very distressed when you came home, and I wanted to make sure that nothing…” he paused, searching for the right words. “If anything happened to you while you were away, Feyre, you can talk to me about it.”

Feyre stared at him. That’s what he was worried about? She couldn’t help but laugh at his suggestion. “Lucien, nothing bad happened to me in the Night Court, I promise you. Rhys was very proper once I went in to heat, he brought me here as soon as it started.” Lucien breathed a sigh of relief, and it was obvious to Feyre that this had been weighing heavily on him. “If he had had any ill intentions toward me, he could have kept me for the last day of the week that I owed him. But he didn’t, he brought me back here.” Feyre couldn’t help but defend Rhysand, he had been more attentive and caring to her in the five days she had been in his court than the entire last year in Spring. Lucien opened his mouth, but Feyre stopped him before he could disagree with her. “Lucien, I felt safe in his court. He and Mor were very kind to me, and never forced me to do anything while I was there.”

Lucien exhaled heavily, Feyre’s words not what he had been expecting. “I am glad that you were safe, Feyre. I do wish you weren’t bound to him, still. But it is good to hear that you are not in danger of being tortured.”

Feyre snorted. “The only torture I’ve been through is Rhys’s training, though even that was enjoyable.”

“Training?” Lucien asked warily.

“Yes…” Feyre paused, gauging his reaction. His mechanical eye was whirring, looking over Feyre’s form for any injuries. “He asked to help me train my mental shields and…”

“And?”

“And my magic,” Feyre added hesitantly.

“What magic, Feyre?” Lucien asked. “You haven’t shown any signs of magic over the past year, you know that.”

Feyre’s eyebrows scrunched together. “Yes I have, Lucien. Remember that god-awful dress Ianthe had tried to force me into? The one with red roses stitched all over the skirt of the dress?” Lucien nodded his head the memory coming back to him. “I set it on fire.”

“No, we decided that it had caught fire on the candle nearby, Feyre,” Lucien said as he shook his head.

“Lucien. It was me. The candle was several feet away from the dress. And the first signs of magic normally come in the beginning stages of life then fade, right?” He nodded his head again, confusion in his eyes. “And I was able to conjure wind in the Night Court after practicing, Lucien. Rhys thinks that I am close to my first magical expansion in my body, and that my magic is growing in at an accelerated pace after being Made.”

Lucien looked off to the side, deep in thought for a minute. “If that’s true, Feyre, then you do need training, and as much as possible. Uncontrolled magic is dangerous, especially once an expansion hits the body…” he trailed off.

“Will you talk to Tamlin about it? I would like to train when I’m home, as well. With Tamlin, if he’s willing,” Feyre asked cautiously. The last time she had asked to train in any way, Tamlin had exploded in anger, insisting that Feyre would never need to train, would never be in danger again.

“I’m not sure if that’s a good idea, Feyre… You remember how he was when you asked to learn to use a sword.”

“But that was a year ago, Lucien! Things have changed now, Rhys told me that Hybern is planning to go to war against Prythian. I should be training, you even said so!”

Lucien sighed. “Alright, Feyre. I’ll talk to him about it. But I can’t promise anything.”

Feyre breathed out, relieved that she had convinced him to try. “Thank you, Lucien.” He gave her a soft smile, one that she returned. “So… how many days was I in heat?”

“Nine days, Feyre.”

Nine? “What? But they’ve never lasted more than a week…”

“Tamlin was… well, he wasn’t in much of a state to help you, after you returned,” Lucien said cautiously, and his words lit a fire in Feyre’s chest. “You were crying out for your alpha, even when… even when Tamlin was holding you.” Heat moved to Feyre’s ears- had she really, truly been acting like an omega whore, just like Tamlin said? “It’s not your fault, Feyre, you were covered in Rhysand’s scent, and without Tamlin’s mark, well, most omegas normally latch on to the alpha they see when they first go into heat,” he added when he saw Feyre’s face fall.

“But- I don’t understand, why wouldn’t Tam help me?” Tears formed in her eyes, another layer of shame covering her.

“Tamlin was enraged that you had been near Rhysand in that state at all, he… he destroyed his study over the first few days.”

“But did he even stop to think about how much pain I was in? He stayed away long enough that my heat extended, Lucien!”

“He came to you in the end, Feyre. He’s trying, there’s just been a lot to adjust to in the past two weeks.” Feyre tried to let her anger go, she did. She knew that her leaving during their wedding ceremony would have consequences, just not to the degree that Tamlin would ignore her during her heat…

“I can’t… I can’t forgive him for that, Lucien. None of this was my choice, I should not be punished for a bargain that saved my life.”

“I know, Feyre, I know. Please, just give him a bit of time. The two of you can cool down and talk about this when you’re ready.” Feyre nodded her head in agreement after a moment. She would be giving him a wide berth for the next few days- she didn’t think she could see him and not hear the words he spat at her yesterday. Lucien breathed a sigh of relief, happy to have gotten Feyre to agree. “So, besides the training, how was the rest of your time?” Lucien asked curiously.

“Well… I started drawing again… the view from my bedroom was so magnificent, I couldn’t help but start again,” Feyre said softly, thinking about the many sunrises and sunsets she had seen over that beautiful mountain range.

“Feyre, that’s amazing!” Lucien congratulated, taking one of her hands in his. “So you were truly comfortable there?”

Feyre nodded her head. “Yes, it was a nice experience, actually. Which did surprise me. But Mor, she brought me some catalogs to shop from if I wanted, and…” Feyre paused, not sure if she was willing to share the information, but she was excited enough that she couldn’t stop. “They let me pick out whatever I wanted for my nest, and it turned out… I had never realized that I was supposed to feel completely relaxed in my nest, fully safe. But when I made one there… it was perfect,” Feyre gushed, remembering the soft feel of fabrics between her fingers, the beautiful colors surrounding her bed. When she finally looked at Lucien’s face again, his eyes had softened significantly.

“I’m happy for you, Feyre. It’s beautiful when an omega finally creates their perfect nest for themselves. Is that why you fought with Tamlin…?” He asked cautiously, and Feyre sighed again.

“Partially. I feel like my needs as an omega have been… pushed aside, deemed less important. And I feel like, if I don’t get them met soon, that…” she stopped mid sentence, unable to finish her thought.

“That you’ll collapse in on yourself?” Lucien offered, and Feyre nodded in agreement.

“Exactly. I’m still not fully used to having all of these new urges and desires, and I’ve been relying on all of you to tell me what I need. But in the Night Court… they actually offered it to me, put my omega at ease. Do you know where I’m coming from?” Feyre asked Lucien, tears building in her eyes.

“I do, Feyre, I do. I’ll talk to Tamlin about it, try to get through to him for you. You don’t deserve to be miserable in your new designation. And I’m sorry, that we didn’t help you before,” Lucien said softly, rubbing slow, soothing circles on the back of her hand.

“Thank you, Lucien. I just want to feel safe, cared for-”

“Hello, you two,” came a cheery voice from behind Feyre, but dread filled her stomach as she turned to look at the intruder. Ianthe, dressed in her priestess robes as usual. “I came to grab Feyre from you, we have a lot of preparations to get through for the new ceremony,” Ianthe said, extending a hand for Feyre to take.

Feyre stayed seated, unwilling to follow the alpha anywhere. After all, she was the reason the first ceremony was interrupted.

“Feyre, get up right now,” the alpha commanded harshly, and Feyre’s body followed the order instantly, much to her dismay. “Good girl, now come with me.” Feyre placed her hand on Ianthe’s arm and let the alpha lead her back into the manor, away from the kind aura of Lucien. “We need to get you measured for a new gown, I’m sure those heathens in the Night Court ripped it shreds and burned it,” Ianthe spat, dragging Feyre into sitting room where she had spent the majority of her time over the past year.

Ianthe clicked her tongue and a maid entered, measuring tape and full length mirror in hand.

“Do we really need to take new measurements?” Feyre asked. “I’m sure that I am the same size as I was a week ago, Ianthe.”

Ianthe sucked in breath. “I’m not so sure about that, Feyre. How much did food did you shovel into your face?” She asked, a venomous edge to her words. She guided Feyre in front of the mirror and stripped her of her clothes. “See that?” Ianthe asked as she pinched the skin covering Feyre’s stomach. “That’s fat, you silly little omega. You had to have eaten your weight in food there, Feyre.” She gave her a sickeningly sweet smile before pinching the skin on her thighs as well. “Next time, omega, show some restrain, hmm?”

Ianthe snapped her fingers, and maid came over to Feyre and began measuring every part of her body. Ianthe would huff after one, telling Feyre how much she had grown in each area. By the end of it, Feyre was holding back her tears, and could barely look at her reflection in the mirror.

She had thought her body was finally taking shape how it should have over the past year- but she was wrong. Feyre could hardly stand to see the fat hanging off of her, every movement causing it to jiggle slightly.

When Ianthe finally handed Feyre her clothes back, she put them on as quickly as she could, wishing for once that she was hidden beneath one of the ridiculously poofy dresses Ianthe liked to clothe her in.

Ianthe led her to the couches, where a tray of tea was waiting for them, kept warm in the enchanted teacups that Ianthe favored. She encouraged her to drink, so Feyre did, if only to keep the peace. Yea with Ianthe normally ended with Feyre being dreadfully tired, normally retiring to her room for a few hours of napping until dinner.

Ianthe waited for Feyre to finish her entire teacup, and then poured her another from the pot before speaking.

“Now that the… disappointment is over, Feyre, we can begin to work on the theming for the wedding. Again,” Ianthe added, anger lacing her tone. “The ceremony will be in four months. I believe that a lovely, tradition Spring Court wedding is still the way to go, what about you, Feyre?”

Feyre knew it was a trap, knew that anything beyond what Ianthe suggested would simply not do. But she couldn’t help it.

“Could we theme it to the season we’re in? We would be in Winter, by the time four months pass.” A winter wedding would be lovely, Feyre thought. She could almost see it, trees covered in glistening white snow, snow falling over a beautiful wooden archway as she walked down the aisle to Tamlin, using the season that almost killed her to bring to life the beautiful promise of forever that they would make to each other.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Feyre. Tamlin is the High Lord of Spring, he cannot have a Winter wedding.” Ianthe shook her head at Feyre, eyes narrowing heatedly at her. “Spring it is. Any requests for flowers? Roses, of course, will be included, it would be a waste to not include the former Lady’s lovely rose gardens after all.”

“Anything but red-”

“Feyre. It is foolish to ban a color such as red from a Spring wedding that includes roses!” Ianthe hissed at her, her scenting flooding with anger.

But Feyre was angrier. “I do not care, Ianthe, I will not have another panic attack at my own wedding!” Feyre screeched at her, nearly ready to rip her claws into Ianthe’s stupidly pretty face. “This is my wedding as well as Tamlin’s, you would be best to remember that.” Feyre had a growl building in her throat, until she locked eyes with the now fuming alpha.

“And you, Feyre, would be best to remember that you are lucky that Tamlin still wishes to marry you, after the stunt you pulled two weeks ago. And running away with another alpha, at that! Omega whore is right,” Ianthe spat at Feyre before standing from her chair and sweeping out of the room dramatically.

As soon as Feyre could no longer hear her footsteps, she made her way to her room as quickly as she could, choking back tears the entire way.

She reached her door, opening quickly and shutting it softly behind her before sliding down it, tears flowing from her eyes.

Too much, all of this is too much.

Feyre crawled to the bed, hoisting herself onto the mattress after a few tries. She curled up underneath the sheet, holding her legs to her chest as she slowly cried herself to sleep, sunshine still pouring through the windows of her bedroom.

Series Taglist: @icey--stars @homeslices

[praetorqueenreyna]

“Don’t be afraid,” he spoke to her for the first time. “I won’t hurt you. I’m Tamlin. What’s your name?” Still wary, Feyre regarded him closely before answering, expecting a trap. “Feyre. Feyre Archeron.” “Welcome to the Spring Court, Feyre Archeron.”

from my Fairy Tale AU fic aged grey willows deceiving thy sight

[ginavampina]

Closure - Part 5 and 6

CONTENT WARNING FOR EATING DISORDER

AU Where Tamlin gets closure with Feyre and Rhysand ✨

[feyres-divorce-lawyer]

surety

Ao3 SquidgeWorld Word Count: 1,599 For @sjmromanceweek Day Two: Traditions

The noon sun that had provided reprieve from unusually chilly breezes was now setting behind, the dying light painting the forest clearing canary. He and Feyre had set out before lunch, wishing to make the most of their day before heading back to Rosehall.

They’d ridden east, the pool of starlight their first destination, spending hours lapping its surface, then hours more simply resting on its bank, his head in her lap as she painted, occasionally feeding him the boysenberries they’d packed. They started back on their route after she’d finished, her spry hands quickly hiding the painting from his seeking eyes. Later, she’d murmured into the kiss she’d used to distract him.

Tamlin, leaning against the tree he’d tied his horse to, stared at her now. She was still astride, her silken hair glowing burnished gold under the sunset, the strands not tied back falling in her face as she reached to pet her panting horse. The white, brown-spotted mare turned her head basking in the praise after helping Feyre win their impromptu race.

She gave a few final strokes to the mare’s mane before making to get off, and he winnowed to her side, hands reaching to help. Feyre looked down in surprise and smiled at his antics.

Mother, she was beautiful.

“What?” she whispered, cocking her head, blue-gray eyes roaming across his face.

He swung her up and over, arms tightening as he didn’t set her down completely, not wanting her any further away. “You’re beautiful.”

Her smile became mischievous. “So are you, m’lord.”

He decided to play along, resting his forehead on hers. “Oh your beauty is incomparable, my lady. You possess the face of a poet’s muse, the softness of your hair is an owl’s envy.” Tamlin looked down. “Your lips…”

He heard her breath hitch, all traces of mischief dashed as the space between them became heavy with desire.

“My lips?” she prompted, tilting her head as she leaned closer.

Tamlin suddenly thought his actions far superior to words and closed the minute distance between them. They parted when breathing became difficult, and he finally let her down but kept his arms banded around her hips. Feyre beamed up at him, looking every bit the incomparable marvel she was.

“I have a gift for you,” she said.

Tamlin perked up, itching to see what she’d made this year. Their outing was an annual one, a day he always made time for after Feyre had reminisced about a mortal holiday for love, named after a saint of some sort. He’d found it peculiar at first, not understanding why a specific day was needed for love, as if it was not to be celebrated every day. The pure joy on Feyre’s face as she told him how she and her sisters, before misfortune struck their household, would be each other's saint of love for the day, though, was all he needed to make sure she could keep the tradition, the gift giving along with it.

Tamlin’s gift this year had been extending her painting room. He’d noticed the room getting more cramped with completed pieces the times he’d been invited in, whether to model or admire, and had started calculating what it would cost to expand the space. With the Court still in recovery from the five decades of desolation, it was a project Tamlin knew could take years. The seven years of planning, though, had been worth the expression on Feyre’s face when he revealed the renovation at dawn. There were many times he wished he had her talent and ability to visually capture moments, and the sight of her then had been no exception.

Tamlin had been looking forward to her gift since he first saw her mixing her paints. Flora sprung beneath their feet as his magic leaked with his excitement, anthuriums and azaleas covering the ground in a blanket of red and pink. Feyre shook her head and laughed. “You’re so impatient, like a puppy.” Besotted like one, as well, he thought.

She tried to move his arms away and, instinctively, his body refused to budge from hers. “Tam, the painting is in my coat pocket.”

Oh, right.

He released her, sheepishly rubbing the back of his head in slight embarrassment. Verdant eyes watched in hawk-like fashion as Feyre brought out her canvas and magically resized it to its original dimensions — she’d shrunk it when she’d finished the piece; a smaller size allowed ease of movement and concealment. Her hands shook as if in fear and worry spiked Tamlin’s heart. Before he could even move to open his mouth, Feyre quickly turned the painting around, and the sight rendered him speechless.

The background was a setting he’d seen a million times: Rosehall in all its glory. His mother’s gardens were so vivid, that he absentmindedly wondered if Feyre had found a way to seal them on canvas. What truly caught his breath, however, were the five people in the foreground.

Five. He immediately recognized himself and Feyre, both of them were standing as she rested her head on his chest, his left arm around her waist, and his right… His right hand was placed on the shoulder of a girl in the middle of the painting. She looked to be on the edge of adulthood by Fae standards; soft cheeks that were shedding that child-like roundness, the blunt points of her ears that were just starting to form the sharp peaks of mature High Fae ears.

On both sides of her were a boy and girl, who upon further inspection were twins. They were true younglings, their heads barely reaching the older girl’s knees. All three had glaring similarities: golden brown hair, though the boy’s was the darkest of the trio by a shade or two, the older girl and boy’s sparkling blue-gray eyes, while the youngling girl’s were a bright evergreen, and finally the shape of their mouths, a shape he could trace blind.

Tamlin’s head snapped up to Feyre standing resolutely, trying to gauge his reaction.

“Are you-” he rasped, voice suddenly hoarse.

“N- no,” Feyre stammered, “but-”

She cut herself off, and fidgeted, anxiously shuffling her feet. A moment later he felt a brush against his mind, Feyre’s daemati magic kindly asking for entrance. He let her in, knowing she only resorted to mentally speaking when physically overwhelmed. The act had been a crutch before, when they were both horrible at talking to each other and Feyre had found arbitrary conversations far easier. Tamlin thought them past it now, so he knew the severity of her emotions at the moment if Feyre was reverting to old habits.

I’m not pregnant, she started, but I want to be.

Oh, he thought

A month ago, one of my older archery students, Aria, you know them.

He did. Over the last three decades, Feyre had founded monthly art and archery classes that quickly gained enough students to make them daily. She no longer taught as often as she did before but still went every other fortnight or so.

“Yes I do, they’re half-peregryn, right?” Tamlin said aloud, giving Feyre an anchor, an offering back into the real world and away from the corners of her mind.

“They are,” Feyre murmured.

His offer taken, Tamlin used it as an opportunity to take and set aside the painting. He pulled her into his arms as he slowly bid her to sit down with him. Her legs in his lap and head on his shoulder, he waited, slowly brushing her hair with one hand, letting her take her time to keep talking.

“Last month, they came with a child,” Feyre whispered, “their child. And I was hit so hard with this longing , my eyes watered.” Tamlin could imagine it, Aria’s child, Feyre’s sudden at her lack of one, like he was there — Feyre’s magic must not have fully rescinded yet.

At the risk of sounding idiotic, Tamlin asked, “Do you want one? A child that is.” Children, by the looks of it, his mind supplied unhelpfully.

A small nod, and then, “Do you?”

It saddened Tamlin that he could not answer immediately, this request of hers was not one he could fulfill with no hesitation. Tamlin hadn’t the faintest idea on how to raise children, and the only inkling of knowledge being “don’t make them feel unworthy of living” didn’t inspire confidence.

Through the small link between their minds that Feyre still hadn’t severed, Tamlin felt her hopes lowering. He’d been quiet too long.

“I don’t not want them,” he said, then winced. That was as reassuring as a no. “I wouldn’t know what to do.”

“New parents usually don’t. It’s always their first time.” She had a point there, and because she knew the first fear that would come to him, she said, “You’d never be like him, you know. Your father.”

“You’re sure?”

She raised her head and turned to face him, eyes holding such emotion he was tempted to ask why she thought of him deserving of such devotion. “I’m sure.”

She shifted to fully sit over his lap, arms coming around to hug him, head back on his shoulder.

“Can I think about it?” he asked.

Feyre nodded vigorously. “It’s only fair, I’ve had a month.”

Tamlin gazed around the clearing, his stallion still tied to a tree and Feyre’s mare lying down in its shade. The sun had set fully, the moon slowly on the rise to take its place. He wrapped his arms around his lady and breathed her in.

“I love you.”

“You’re sure?”

“Thorns and all.”

[arson-09]

ive gotten EXTREMELY invested in my sleeping beauty au for tamlin week and i simply must share this rough draft because it makes me so happy (to reiterate this is not a finalized piece so forgive any weird proportions, unfinished lines etc)

[sad-scarred-sassy]

The tragedy of Spring - Chapter 4

Summary: An unexpected conversation.

Read on Ao3

Feyre had excused herself from Helion’s reunion in his suite, simply wanting to get some rest bracing for another long day of meetings ahead, when she stumbled upon him in the quiet halls of the palace that always hosted the High Lord’s meetings. She had gasped softly at the sight of him, and had debated turning around and leaving. Damn her when she didn’t, when her treacherous feet had planted and she had watched him come to her slowly, reluctantly, as if he was also debating engaging with her.

“I see you’re doing better” He said, his body stiff. Up close he looked better than she had seen him before. His hair seemed longer, shinier, his clothes were perfectly tailored to his strong body, much bigger and buffer than he had been the last time she saw him.

Before coming to Dawn, she had told herself that she wouldn’t spare him any of her time, thoughts or energy. Rhysand hadn’t even mentioned anything regarding their last catastrophic discussion about Tamlin and she had been glad for it. She had made a decision, she had accepted that her relationship with her mate was not what she had thought it was, she had tried to find happiness in what she could control. She had tried to forget about her conversations with Tamlin in Spring and what it had awoken in her. It didn’t serve her, it only made things murkier.

She didn’t know why she was entertaining him in that moment, but she was, and it irritated her. It irritated her the way he was looking at her, as if he could read her, as if he could see beneath her shiny exterior.

“You too” She said, signaling awkwardly to his regal attire. He did look like a High Lord of Spring, tall and proud, full of color and sizzling with raw power.

He looked down at himself, as if just now gathering his appearance, fists flexing at his sides in the dim corridor of the exquisite palace.

“It’s been nice hearing about Spring thriving again” She blurted out, well aware that this conversation was a stolen one, an unnecessary one. She fidgeted with her long midnight blue sleeve at the thought of the Court she had helped destroy, trying to bury the deep guilt she felt now. Why did she even mention it?

He nodded, flashing her a small smile. She caught the glimmer in his eye at the mention of his flourishing Court, as if something dead inside of him had come back to life. With an introspective shock, she realized he looked beautiful. She locked her jaw and took a sharp breath.

“If you will excuse me” She turned to leave.

“Feyre” He called and she stopped in her tracks, she could feel his intent eyes on her, but she didn’t look at him. She braced herself before turning towards him again, her whole body urging her to find out what it was that he wanted to say, why he stopped her.

He was looking at her with a slight surprise in his face, as if he hadn’t meant to stop her, he opened his mouth to speak and hesitated.

“You didn’t go back” He said and uprighted himself, standing taller. “Is he treating you right?” He asked with a small nod of the head.

The question surprised her and the look of pity in his eyes enraged her.

“Why do you care?” She asked watching as his head cocked in a lupine way, hands moving to cross at his back. He seemed bigger, more confident than she had ever seen him. It made her tense and hesitant, unable to leave, to remove herself from his preying green eyes.

He shrugged. “I do” He looked her over, waiting for her response. She wouldn’t admit it out loud, but seeing him here, healed, confident, thriving made her feel like she was a failure. If he wanted to hear a sob story from her he wouldn’t get it. She would be damned.

“He is” She said tightly. In a way, it was the truth. Misery likes company, they treated each other like they both deserved to be treated. Rhys was more often than not gone, and it worked to keep some peace when they did see each other. Still, silent dinners and tense conversations were the normal, and she had grown used to him deciding most of everything regarding their lives. Since their conversation he had at least stopped pretending to give her false agency.

She kept looking at him, his face was calm, unruffled, simply reading her like she was an open book. It was uncomfortable. She didn’t need his sympathy or valiant display of protectiveness.

“I’m his mate and High Lady, he would never treat me poorly” She said, the words intended to make him back off, but they didn’t land. Instead he simply watched her. His green eyes just moved up to look at the delicate crown in her brow for a second, before dropping down, gaze narrowing slightly.

“I never knew you wanted that” He said very quietly, almost to himself, words filled with something that sounded like regret, eyes saying ‘I would have given it to you, had you only asked’. She fisted her hands, she didn’t know why she felt so riled up by his soft disposition. Nothing she threw at him was giving him pause, she felt petulant and immature.

Maybe she was.

“Yes, well” She said, dropping her gaze. “I don’t think I knew myself” Her tongue finished and she immediately regretted it, reiterating in her mind that she shouldn’t even be speaking with him, and should just leave.

“You’re a fine High Lady” He said and she stopped in her tracks.

“Am I?” She pinned him with her eyes, a spark of rage in her tone “Don’t mock me”

He knew how little power she had in her situation, she could see the pity in his eyes, the ‘I told you so’ that he wasn’t voicing.

“I’m not mocking you” He said and she wanted to roll her eyes, but she held it, going with the ruse of the civil conversation they were pretending to have.

“You know I’m not-“ She said but pressed her lips. “I’m trying to help, as much as I can” As much as he lets me, she didn’t say. She had been submerging herself more on learning about politics, history and management, had also been trying to help implement new laws for the Night Court, laws that would abide females, she figured someone should care, since she had began to realize it wasn’t a priority to her husband. It also served to make herself more busy and ultimately less in her head. She had presented the new policies in the meeting earlier –Rhysand had let her, eager to display a modern front and flaunt her as High Lady– and she had felt Tamlin’s green eyes intently watching her, his whole attention poured on her while she talked.

Those same eyes were now placed on her intently, his expression serene and contemplative.

“It shows” He said, raising his eyes to look at the hallway beyond. Then he gave her a smile. “I always knew you would become a great leader” She stared at him, his words hitting something inside of her that she didn’t think she would feel– regret.

“Have a good night” He gave her a nod and began turning to leave.

“Lucien told me he and Elain were visiting the new Court” She blurted out before he could leave. “He said it was beautiful” She said and blushed a bit at her own words. She should have let him leave, should have left the conversation at that, but she didn’t. Why didn’t she?

He looked like he hadn’t expected her to say something like that. He ran his hand through his hair, she forgot he had never been too good at taking compliments, much less for his hard work. “It’s still small. I invited everyone on my lands to join and help build it, grow something from the ground up” He mumbled, then he looked up at her again.

Lucien had told her how magical it was, and she had reluctantly listened to him talk about it while they had tea, swallowing her shame and guilt. Him and Elain told her all about the new Spring Court, located in the middle of the Forest, built around a river and waterfalls. Tamlin had convinced his people –initially very reluctant– of helping him rebuild something beautiful, had used his riches to create a safe haven for whoever needed it. Elain had been so enthralled by it, even if Feyre knew her sister still held some resentment towards Tamlin, she could see she had grown to respect him.

Standing here now, a small, ridiculous, foolish part of her wished she could see it as well.

“I’m sure it’s wonderful” she cleared her throat.

“You are welcome to visit” He said, green eyes pinned on her every breath and movement. She felt a flush form in her chest all the way to her face, and she realized, all of a sudden, what she was doing, what conversation she was having. She fisted her hands and took a breath, she needed to talk plainly with him and leave.

“He knows I went to Spring” She said and looked into his unmoved eyes. Mentioning him in that manner broke her from the faint spell she was in, and she held the urge to look at the shadowed corners as if expecting to see her friend there lurking in the dark, listening, watching her at all times. She didn’t rule out that possibility.

“Hm” He said, not in shock, just as if confirming a suspicion.

“You knew?” She asked, feeling a sudden irritation rise up inside of her.

“I have been warding my lands better” He crossed his arms in front of him. “My new sentries sensed a few attempts at trespassing. I had a hunch”

She felt a cold panic go through her. “What? What if he-“ Her heart started beating loudly in her chest, she hadn’t thought of the possibility. “What if he destroyed what you’ve built?”

Tamlin gave her a small laugh. “Why do you think he hasn’t done that yet?” He cocked his head at her. “Rhysand is smarter than that, fortunately or unfortunately for us” He gave her a cold smile. “Give me some credit, Feyre. I’ve been dealing with him for centuries, I know how to keep him on his side of the continent”

“You don’t know what he’s capable of”

“I do. I know very damn well” She felt the weight of his stare then, knowing what he meant. “He probably knows you’re talking to me right now”

She pressed her lips tightly. “You are being way too calm about this”

“I do not care, I thought that much was clear”

“You should care. This isn’t a game. And I will not be a pawn you use to somehow try to win it” She said almost as a whisper.

“You still think everything I did was to win some fucking game against him? Don’t offend me” He took a step closer, a wild energy exuding from him, one she could not begin to process, resigning to simply feel it encase her, fighting the urge to enjoy it.

“It was never about him” He said. His hot breath hitting her face. “When I risked everything I had for you, it was not about him, not about winning” He stepped closer again, she felt the wall behind her as she tried to put more space between them. Her heart was suddenly pounding too loudly in her ears, her throat, the bottom of her belly.

His green eyes were roving her features, something like hunger pulsating from them. Her throat was closing, her mouth was dry. She had to stop this.

“He will kill you” She repeated what she had told him once.

“I want to see him try” He spoke and she felt the words hot on her mouth.

“I thought you didn’t care”

“I changed my mind” His face hovered above hers, his chest so close she could feel the heat emanating from him.

“I’m his mate, Tamlin” She said very, very softly, making him shudder slightly, his eyes dropping to her mouth when she spoke his name.

“That didn’t stop me before” He whispered, the rumble of his gruff voice vibrating through her whole body.

“I thought you were sorry about that” She breathed.

“I’m not sorry about trying to save you from him. I would do it again” He said and she frowned.

“Stop risking everything you have for me. I am not worth it. Move on” She clenched her jaw.

“I am not risking shit” He whispered, his lips so close to hers she could almost feel them. “I was blind before, but not anymore. I’ll move on when I see you’re happy”

“I am happy” She sniffed. He simply stared at her, saw through her lie. “You have more important things to worry about” She said when his eyes dropped to her mouth, her jaw, her neck, her heaving chest.

“Maybe” He said, voice breathy and slow. She had forgotten about the chemistry that used to encompass their relationship, that used to cloud her mind and make her forget their struggles, she never thought she would ever feel it again, the pining and heat of having him so close, talking to her like she was a beast he was trying to tame.

“Come to Spring” He whispered again.

“I can’t” She couldn’t believe his words, couldn’t believe her own words. “My life is made”

“You still have control of your life, Feyre” He said quietly. “You once dared me to fight” He looked down at her mouth, then back at her face. “Fight”

“I have fought my whole life” She trembled.

“So you know how” He gave her a one over, eyes taking her in, memorizing her.

“I won’t fight to go back to you” She said, a spiteful remark that only had him narrowing his eyes.

“You don’t have to come back to me” He said, but his nostrils flared as he smelled her, smelled her uncalled for, betraying heat. “It’s a safe haven, you will always be welcome” He cocked his head and her blush deepened. “You used to love being wild in Spring, do you remember?” His words caressed her.

Images of memories flashed through her mind’s eye–running around through fields of grass and wild flowers in feeble dresses, racing through forest paths in bare horseback, dancing sweaty and euphoric to the melody and beats of summer solstice music, making love in the soft earth–loud, messy and animalistic sex that made her feel like a goddess.

Her heart was hammering on her chest when she came back to the present, and she couldn’t form a word.

“I know you loved it, feeling free” He said softly, so softly she felt like crying.

“Was I?”

“As much as anyone can be, no one is truly free, you know?”

“Are you?” She breathed. “As free as anyone can be?”

“No” He said and wet his lips. “I’ve finally made peace with it” He said. “But you still can be”

She shook her head before responding. “No, no I can’t”

His intense eyes watched her for a few more seconds, then, he gave her a crooked smile. Stepping back he gave her a short bow. “High Lady” He said, then he strolled away, left her standing there in that empty hallway.

If Rhys knew about the conversation she had with the High Lord of Spring, he didn’t say, and she didn’t really care.

But his words stayed with her, and she realized that the decision she had made to be content, to accept her situation and not fret, tasted oddly of resignation.

And there was nothing she hated more than giving up.

[bookishfeylin]

Of Beast and Beauty

@feylinweek

For Feylin Week Day 4: Beauty and the Beast. This references some of my other oneshots where I delve into Tamlin's childhood and adolescence.

It begins when Beron makes a small, snide comment to Feyre at the first meeting of all the High Lords around a year after Amarantha.

“How can you love a monster like that?”

At the time she’d rolled her eyes and turned to talk to Tarquin instead, not noticing how Tamlin had stiffened beside her.

Tamlin had implied that he was viewed as more… animalistic, perhaps, than other Lords due to his shapeshifting abilities. And Feyre sensed that there was something very important about Tamlin’s past that he was refusing to share with her, as her lover himself seemed to have a curious love-hate relationship with his magic. And after Beron’s comment, Tamlin had grown more distant. 

But after days of her seeking him out and being relentlessly affectionate, Tamlin was acting normal, and had seemingly forgotten what Beron had said. 

Seemingly.

But it's after they announce their engagement that the drama truly begins, in the form of Rhysand winnowing directly into Rosehall manor one bright spring day. He’d walked through the hallways, dodged Tamlin as he attempted to throw Rhysand out, and casually slid into Feyre’s painting room, closing the door behind him. 

Then Rhysand turned around on his heels and said, “you do know what he is, don’t you?”

Feyre had been stunned, at first, that Rhysand would be so bold that he’d stroll into her painting room in broad daylight, but she quickly recovered and glared at him. “Get out.”

“Hush, and listen to me. You know that your fiance is a beast, don’t you?”

“Get out of here, Rhysand, and don’t speak of him that way.” Her voice trembled, and Feyre slowly sat down her tray of paints on the easel she’d been using. With a flick of her hand, Feyre summoned a small flame between her fingers, but Rhysand merely looked at the fire and shrugged. 

“I’m trying to talk to you,” Rhysand began, before dematerializing into a cloud of shadow when Feyre attempted to flick her flames onto him. He rematerialized behind Feyre and grabbed her, holding her arms together tightly and preventing her from using her magic. “Perhaps you haven’t been told that Tamlin spent a decade straight of his life as an animal?”

That made Feyre freeze, and she turned around to look at Rhysand, frowning. Tamlin had what?

“As I said, your fiancé is a beast, Feyre. Do not let the façade of civility he wears convince you otherwise.”

Then Rhysand was gone, and soon even the shadows had retreated so hard it was almost impossible to believe he’d been there.

With a sigh, Feyre walked over to the doors of her painting room, opening them to reveal a stricken-looking Tamlin.

“Tam—“

Her fiancé flinches at the sound of her voice and pulls away from her touch, and a heartbeat later he’s gone, disappeared out the window in a flash of light. 

~~~

Tamlin doesn’t return for hours, and by the time dusk begins to bleed into night he’s still gone.

After a quick conversation with Lucien, asking him to look after the manor while she’s gone, Feyre grabs a blanket and pillow and heads off into the woods, determined to track Tamlin down so she can, at the very least, sleep beside him tonight. 

Feyre spends several hours checking all of Tamlin’s favorite hiding places, and glares at any puca who attempt to follow her—though they know to keep their distance from the future spouse of their High Lord—and in the end winds up in a meadow on one of the rolling hills overlooking the manor. It’s beautiful view, looking at Tamlin’s lands—their lands, and Feyre is content to sit and stare at their home and the night sky beyond it while the gentle breeze carries her scent around the forest, trusting she knows Tamlin well enough to know he won’t leave her alone, at night, in the middle of the forest. 

It’s not long before her patience is rewarded when a giant, golden beast slowly emerges from the woods, giving her an exasperated look, before trotting toward and curling around her.

Leaning against Tamlin with the blanket over her shoulders and the pillow at the back of her head, Feyre begins to stroke the fur around his antlers, before whispering, “Tell me, if you want.”

He looks at her, his green eyes oh-so-recognizable even in his beast form, before nuzzling against her torso as he begins to speak. As he speaks of his father and his older brothers, of railing against injustice and years forced in a form not his own as punishment. 

The truth wears on Feyre like a cold, heavy stone. 

She’s not sure how to comfort him, or what she can say, to tell him his father was wrong about him, to voice the absolute horror she feels that a parent could do that to their own child, to convince Tamlin that he’s not a monster or creature or beast when he has spent centuries thinking otherwise. A few loving words cannot ease centuries of pain. Telling him he’s not a beast won’t do anything to prevent him from ignoring her and continuing his self-loathing.

So in the end, she declares something else. “I love you no matter what you are, Tamlin. If you are a man then you are mine. If you are High Fae then you are mine. And if you are a beast, then you are my beast.” And she holds him close.

And as beauty holds her beast and her beast cradles her, they finally, finally manage to find peace and fall asleep.

[thrumbolt]

Lmao people calling me a Feylin is probably the biggest insult.

I haven't liked Feyre since she turned fae. I don't want her anywhere near Tamlin. He can do better!

[positivelyruined]

I’m writing out of order and have started to work on the post-Calanmai scene. 👏👏

*rubs hands together*

This story has honestly taken on such a life of its own with so much more originality than I thought there would be. The canon is definitely there and visible and, enjoyable, *cough* sometimes better; but it is also out of order and strewn with new details.

I’m really enjoying creating A Court of Thorns and Roses (Cece’s Version).

I got lost for a bit among a lot of personal stress, several hiatuses, and a reading block; but I’m glad to be back to writing — even slowly.

It can be so easy to get lost in the idea of fandom wish fulfillment when you’re writing fic; I did that for a bit with this; but I think it’s pretty crucial to remember that if you aren’t writing this for the sheer love of telling the story, it will never be yours. It has to be yours before it can be loved by any part of a fandom.

A small and loyal following who treasure something with their heart means so much more than your ArchiveofOurOwn statistics.

I hope people continue to enjoy ABOTAR and its slow updates. There is so much more on the horizon! I have 17 Chapters finished and plan on releasing a new one when 20 are done.

I hope people love the in depth exploration of Tamlin, the new backstories and added details, the small changes and world repairs, and the Tamcien, and the Feylin. Sometimes the Feytamcien.

My New Year’s resolution this year was to grow as a writer and jumping into this project has already taught me so much. I’m thankful for the friends I’ve made along the way.