To Love Someone Is Firstly To Confess: I'm Prepared To Be Devastated By You.

to love someone is firstly to confess: i'm prepared to be devastated by you.

Tamlin wasn’t fine. He hasn’t been fine for years. He wasn’t certain that he ever had been and didn’t believe that he could be again. Going under the mountain had been hell itself. The only thing that made it survivable for the weeks before Feyre appeared was praying for his own death. He’d waited and wondered — completely silenced, under Amarantha’s bonds. 

Then, there had been Feyre. Something in him broke when he saw her being manhandled by the Attor.

“I SET YOU FREE!” He wanted to scream. “All I wanted was for you to live.”

He remembered banging his head against the hard throne carved from the rocks to which he’d been chained. No, no, no. 

The room went fuzzy. Blood poured down his temples until Amarantha’s hand rose from her lap and forced him to be still. 

She could control his body, but she could not control his tears. Those were all his own. 

Tamlin focused on the distant lights of the village, losing track of where he was until his chest began to ache again. 

What had the physician called it? Stress cardiomyopathy. Broken heart syndrome. 

When Feyre backed down the aisle, he remembered a dull ache start in his diaphragm. It exploded as she ran away. He would have followed her, but all he could do was fall to his knees…in front of his people. His entire court saw his heart break in two. 

He did not remember much after that — only the distant call of Lucien’s voice, pretty lights, and more pain than he remembered in a hundred years. 

“Be honest,” Tamlin’s throat was raw as he briefly met Lucien’s eyes. They glowed in the dark like golden stars. “Neither of us are fine. No one is — not after what happened; but we joke and we laugh because otherwise we would start screaming.” 

He fiddled with the edge of his tunic, running his claw down the center of his opposite hand. He did not wound himself, but the idea…it was soothing. 

He knew Lucien would take the blow before letting him be hurt. Where did he go? 

“Anywhere, everywhere.” Tamlin pulled his knee up to his chest and rested his chin there. “My memory has gone dim and my heart aches, but my soul remembers. As much as I may try to make all of this to poetry, some days it turns out that the blood was never beautiful. It’s just very red.”

Red like the roses he’d planted with his mother.

Red like the petals which Feyre so feared. 

Red like the line on his palm as he lost focus and his claw broke the skin. 

“Anywhere away from here.” He said, leaning forwards, and lying on Lucien’s waiting shoulder with a low groan. “I can’t take one more sunrise without her, Lu. It’s killing me.” 

“you okay?” from Lucien

Tamlin finally turned his head the third time that Lucien spoke. He had a gift for zoning out and tonight was no different. He stood on the balcony, watching the sun drift into the darkening sky, and faced the general direction of Night Court. It had been six days, twelve hours, fifty-nine minutes, and twelve seconds. By morning, Feyre was supposed to be home. If she was not, there was little his people could do to stop him from winnowing to Rhysand’s gate and demanding her return.

“Huh?” His glazed, green eyes drifted towards the faithful Autumn Fae who’d long kept him company. “Sorry —”

Was he okay? Tamlin’s memory prompted him to answer, but he quickly found that he did not know what to say. Was he okay? No. It had been a long time since things were okay for Tamlin. Yet, Lucien knew that. His question held more beneath the surface.

How was he, really? How was his heart? Did he still wish it were solid stone?

“I’m…fine.” Tamlin whispered, avoiding eye contact, and swallowed his shame. “This is my fault, Lucien. Perhaps if I had not told her how I felt, she never would have come after me.”

He knit his fingers together and hoisted himself up to sit on the stone railing of the third floor balcony. That short a fall wouldn’t injure him, but the allure of danger was just enough that it helped quiet the ache in his chest. “Are you…okay?”

“I’ve seen a lot of beautiful things with a heavy heart.”

— Albert Camus

“People are not burdens, Feyre. They have burdens. Please, trust me. Carrying a few of yours in exchange for you saving my life is literally the least that I could do.”

Tamlin, a ballad of thorns and roses, chapter sixteen

The soft spring air drifting across the eastern meadows let Tamlin drift away on the puffy white clouds that scattered across the soft blue sky. The warm breeze and bright sun on his skin refreshed him and left him floating off into a warm daze. Feyre’s hand kept him anchored to the moment and the ground. Otherwise, the high fae very well might have begun floating. He rubbed his thumb over her palm in slow circles.

Her fingers were calloused, but he didn’t mind that in the slightest. Each groove in her thumb or line in her palm was the mark of some injury or achievement. High Fae could endure life altering pain and it would barely leave a mark unless the weapon were made of a particular caliber. Tamlin still felt every wound, but there were scars he could not show.

He liked hers. They were marks of being living and real. She was something that he could hold onto when everything around him erupted in storms. Feyre was no darling. She had her thorns, her bolts, and her bruises — but the more that he learned of her, the more dear to him she became. She never stopped fighting, whether it was for the last piece of chocolate cake or his time and attention. Only recently had he seen her truly relax.

He heard her words and contemplated them - before answering.

“It was a childhood dream of mine,” He said slowly, biting his lip. “I didn’t always stay at the manor and my Mother and I sometimes took days near the lake in a small cabin when I was small. Being with her was different. We were a different family than what everyone saw at court. There was no greater bliss than spending evenings on the dock by her side and drawing with glowing chalk late into the night.”

“I guess I can’t say I wanted a whole new family.” His brow wrinkled. “I just wanted to be away from the spectacle…the scrutiny.”

He opened his eyes and turned his head to face her, shyly catching her gaze. His soft green eyes piqued with both curiosity and nerves.

“I’d like to think we would be.” He whispered. “That paths cross for a reason. What do you think, Feyre? Do you believe in fate?

@thehighlordofspring sent: ‘it feels nice…being here with you.’

Feyre was coming to terms with her freedom now and even so it felt weird to sometimes not think about her family even though she could feel the hole in her heart where they should be. Looking up at the clear blue sky she turned her head to change her view to the male laying next to her. Tamlin, she once thought of him as her jailer, but now she had a completely different view of him. He rescued her in a way from the life that she was living and she was thriving in his court.

One hand reached out to touch his as she looked back up at the sky a little smile touching her lips. "It feels nice being here with you too." She closed her eyes enjoying the feeling of the sun on her skin letting it tan her further than she had already become living here. He could leave her in this field and Feyre would take a nap on the plush grass dreaming about all of the things this meadow made her want to paint. "Do you ever wonder what it would have been like if you were born to a different family?" She asks quietly not daring to look at him.

"Do you think we would have been like this if you were born human like me?" Now she opened her eyes rolling her head over so that she could study the planes of his face from her view.

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