Ive Seen A Lot Of Beautiful Things With A Heavy Heart.

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

— Albert Camus

𝗑 - 𝗑 / 𝗑 - 𝗑

“People speak of grieving their dead, but they are silent for those that remain. How do you grieve the one who still breathes? You don’t. You can’t. You can only learn to live without them — as seconds turn to centuries. People are not possessions. They cannot be replaced when lost.”

Tamlin, to Feyre, a ballad of thorns and roses

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

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.

a broken hallelujah

Tamlin was coping — or, that was what he told himself. He was making an effort. He woke up in the morning and dressed, fed, and cared for himself as he should. Magic helped on the days that was too overwhelming.

It isn’t a crutch. He swore. I don’t need crutches.

If no one could see his brokenness, didn’t that mean he wasn’t?

That was what he wished, despite that deep down Tamlin knew that one had to allow themselves to break before they could heal.

Broken bones always hurt when they weren’t set properly and he was tired of setting his bones back into place. He was weary, not just tired. His soul dragged along the edge of the ground underneath every smile that he conjured for his people.

They are happy.

That is all that matters.

He was simply a vessel. It was his job to keep Spring just as alive, as much as he was dead.

The darkness and destruction which both Hybern and the Night Court had wrought on his home was immeasurable. He couldn’t begin to process the damage, let alone repair it alone.

Yet, it didn’t stop him from trying. When he looked around the ruins, he didn’t feel angry; he felt empty. He still did not have it in his heart to blame Feyre Archeron for her misdeeds, despite that they were many. He loved her and always would. Love was to blame.

With the manor under repair, he chose a small house in the village and lived among his people. Calanmai was approaching and his dread ached in his chest.

What if I can’t do this? What if I fail?

Tamlin did not know how much longer his body would tolerate the magic before it gave up completely. He needed an heir.

If he did not have one when that happened, things would fall into a much deeper disarray than they already were. He couldn’t bear the blame for that.

Only a week ago, he had sent notice across his lands that a fertility potion would be available for the young lady chosen by Spring on the upcoming festive night. It explained how bearing him a child would bring great honor to their family and exemption from the Tithe.

He made sure to acknowledge that it was a choice. He’s rewritten his words until his fingers bled. Any girl who did not wish to conceive would be provided her own contraception and those who were against it completely were advised to stay far from the festival that night.

Tamlin groaned, pulling at his hair, as he suffered through another migraine. It was only dawn and the magic was already surging through his system like a cold and deadly drug. He was unsure why the idea of siring an heir with a random woman seemed so trite. Every High Lord had a drive for building their own family…but, the only woman whom he wanted in his arms was the very same one who had destroyed them. Feyre.

His eyes clouded with frustrated tears — red, hot. Tamlin crumbled into his sheets and his from the dawn. Whether he liked it or not, tonight was Calanmai. Life continued to move on, although he had not. Why? All I ever did was love you.

Ten hours later, the High Lord straightened his back in the mirror and dipped his fingers into the blue paint which had been left outside his door, as requested. In the old days, Lucien had always been the one to paint his body with the ancient whorls which helped transfer the magic from his mind to his body. Instead of those comforting and caring hands, his own fingers traced his bare skin and left behind coded blue circles.

He stared blankly at himself as the drums began to rise. Ordinarily, he’d have been with the rest of the fae, playing his instruments and enjoying the free flowing wine; but he was in no mood to celebrate. His mood dipped further downwards as the magic swirled around his brain, thick and murky, like tainted liquor.

He finished the painting and did not bother to wash his hands, smearing the left overs on his black trousers.

It is useless to resist. Tamlin ground his teeth, forcing himself to breathe. What Spring wants, Spring takes.

Spring wanted an heir.

He growled. The pain in his head continued to build.

No…no. I…didn’t want this — I wanted no one else. No one but her.

He bent down on his knees in front of the fireplace, covering his mouth to bury his scream. The magic continued to compel him towards the door. He shuddered, breathing heavily, as he ventured forwards. He felt like he might throw up.

He had completed the ritual for the past two years and the pull out into the darkness had never been this strong before. It had never been this painful.

Tamlin buried his heart in the sodden ground and accepted his fate stalking out the front door and slamming it on its hinges. The music and dancing came to a slow halt as he approached the circle of faeries who’d come to celebrate, prove their worth, or watch him fail. His green eyes glowed in the dark and he scanned the crowd, meeting the yearning eyes of many young fae females in their glittering gowns. He yawned and stalked past them, but stilled as he saw movement on the edge of the trees. Someone was watching.

He tilted his head — almost beastly in the way he hunted the horizon. The movement stopped, but it did not take him long to find the young female fae hiding in the dark shadows, dressed in starlight, and shaking in her slippers. Need hit him in pulses of warmth. He stumbled backwards, shocked by the strength of the desire for a stranger. The magic rarely made it past the boundaries around his heart. What was happening to him?

All Tamlin knew was that this was the girl. This girl was like no other. She turned to leave, but he caught her by the arm and swept her up against his bare chest. His heart thrummed in his chest as they connected. Without a single look at her face, Tamlin winnowed to the cave. They landed on the hard ground and he was left spinning. She stood before him and her hood dropped from her shoulders, illuminating her face in the moonlight.

“You.” He whispered. “Anyone but you.”

@sad-scarred-sassy