Courage Is Not The Absence Of Fear, But Rather The Judgment That Something Is More Important Than Fear.

“Courage is not the absence of fear, but rather the judgment that something is more important than fear. The brave may not live forever, but the cautious do not live at all.” — Prince Edward Renaldi

As the rain started to fall, Tamlin scrunched his nose and turned his face towards the clouds. I love rai—

He suddenly ducked, a battle reflex, as Briar’s hands came flying towards him in some sort of awkward karate chop. By the cauldron, what is she trying to do?

Rain wasn’t toxic. In fact, he quite enjoyed it. Yet, she appeared quite panicked over him getting wet. Tamlin stepped backwards, a look of caution flooding his face. He didn’t need more burdens, more people to take care of — more people trying to take care of him. What was she trying to do? His frustration surged, rising as unpracticed magic poured from her fingertips in an attempt to push the water away from him.

The combination of rain and wind left him standing in one half of spring shower, while his other side was perfectly dry. Tamlin raised his brows and carefully ceased the wind powering around him in odd circles. If that didn’t stop, he’d end up with his hair in too many knots for even Lucien to untangle.

Disgruntled, the High Lord only had to take one look at the slender brunette to tell that she was, once again, terrified. This was magic that she couldn’t control. Most high fae were taught about their magic from a young age, which meant that she’d been deprived of this teaching or she had not always been high fae.

His gaze was intense as he focused on her face, trying to place it in his memory. “How about leave the magic to me?”

Tamlin sighed heavily and conjured something much more practical than a windstorm — an umbrella. He handed it to her and motioned to the path. “After you.”

the secret side of me @springcourthighlady

It had been a long day — too long. Tamlin was tired and his head ached after spending so long reading contracts and documents with his courtiers and emissaries. He tried not to wear his glasses in court, but now in the soft light of the setting sun, he was happy to have them to assist as he opened his book to the marked page and began to read. 

The rose garden was his place of solace and comfort. Whenever his spirit was worn, he came here to rest. Very few knew of the small path off the manicured way that led to a small grove of trees and wild roses. He’d swung a hammock between two of them and rested between the branches, letting the wind sway him back and forth. 

In the middle of the chapter, an innocent giggle sprang to life from the pages of the old fairytale that he was reading. Tamlin rubbed his head. Am I that tired?

He yawned and tried to focus again on the swirling letters, but the laughter again distracted him. 

He knew that sound. His ears quirked up and his green eyes brightened.

Nyx! 

His excitement was followed by an equally intense rush of anxiety

Feyre. 

Tamlin peered over the hedges. A flash of black curls revealed the toddler running from his guardian.

He did it! His heart swelled with pride. By the cauldron — I hope she’s not too mad at me.

Nyx stopped, spotting him through the branches. “Tamtam!” 

The toddler rushed through the secret entrance and tackled his legs, knocking him to the ground. Tamlin yelped, suddenly upside down, but happily surrounded by hugs from his favorite tiny fae. 

He lifted Nyx up into the air, making dragon sounds, until he saw a lovely young woman peeking around the edge of the brambles. His face turned red, hot, and he stood up quickly. His posture stiffened, though the color didn’t fade from his cheeks, or ears. 

“Lady…” It took him a moment to place her. He did try to keep track of everyone who lived in Spring, but the increasing amount of names was making that difficult. “Rose? Was it? Lady Rose?” 

I write you letters that you'll never read Paint you pictures you will never see In all my life I never thought I'd be Living without you

The louder she got, the easier it became to tune her out. He had years of experience listening to the people around him yell, threaten, and gesticulate while trying to communicate with one another and he was tired of it. The words turned to a ringing pitch in his ears and his eyes glazed over.

That was what he got for his generosity? For his time spent making sure she was safe and cared for? Tamlin said nothing, struggling not to tense his shoulders. Despite knowing what to say, he did not fight back He simply stood up and walked away. If she was so interested in doing things her own way, so be it. He couldn’t work with someone who refused to trust him. He left the door open behind him and his brisk footsteps were heard echoing into the private areas of his home below.

If she wanted to talk, she’d have to come back during court with the rest of the people asking for help and just like they did — she’d have to mind her manners.

the secret side of me @springcourthighlady

It had been a long day — too long. Tamlin was tired and his head ached after spending so long reading contracts and documents with his courtiers and emissaries. He tried not to wear his glasses in court, but now in the soft light of the setting sun, he was happy to have them to assist as he opened his book to the marked page and began to read. 

The rose garden was his place of solace and comfort. Whenever his spirit was worn, he came here to rest. Very few knew of the small path off the manicured way that led to a small grove of trees and wild roses. He’d swung a hammock between two of them and rested between the branches, letting the wind sway him back and forth. 

In the middle of the chapter, an innocent giggle sprang to life from the pages of the old fairytale that he was reading. Tamlin rubbed his head. Am I that tired?

He yawned and tried to focus again on the swirling letters, but the laughter again distracted him. 

He knew that sound. His ears quirked up and his green eyes brightened.

Nyx! 

His excitement was followed by an equally intense rush of anxiety

Feyre. 

Tamlin peered over the hedges. A flash of black curls revealed the toddler running from his guardian.

He did it! His heart swelled with pride. By the cauldron — I hope she’s not too mad at me.

Nyx stopped, spotting him through the branches. “Tamtam!” 

The toddler rushed through the secret entrance and tackled his legs, knocking him to the ground. Tamlin yelped, suddenly upside down, but happily surrounded by hugs from his favorite tiny fae. 

He lifted Nyx up into the air, making dragon sounds, until he saw a lovely young woman peeking around the edge of the brambles. His face turned red, hot, and he stood up quickly. His posture stiffened, though the color didn’t fade from his cheeks, or ears. 

“Lady…” It took him a moment to place her. He did try to keep track of everyone who lived in Spring, but the increasing amount of names was making that difficult. “Rose? Was it? Lady Rose?” 

She certainly was awkward, but Tamlin found it more charming than annoying. He had his own struggles, socially, it to as often why he stuck with saying as little as possible or relying on Lucien to give the passionate speeches when his mind could not connect with his lips. He could write letters, poetry, music. His command of words was not the problem — it was speaking them. 

He tapped his face ngers on the desk, watching her closely as she stumbled through a few sentences. She didn't ramble when nervous, as he was prone too, which was good. There was so much he'd shared about his life simply because he had not known what to say. The longer he'd been High Lord, the more often he found that people did not want to know about his personal life or hear his burdens. Their own were already far too heavy. He was there as a figure head, a fixer, and High Fae. He did not get the chance to be weak. 

Tamlin pressed his lips into a firm line. She is young, he thought. Elain’s age, perhaps.

The hundred years of life experience of being born fae had not caught up to her in grace, experience, or otherwise. She was much like a kitten in that way. 

“Lady Briar, you do not need to make excuses for yourself in my presence. You are a lot of living beings with needs and priorities and it is my duty as the High Lord to ensure that those are provided for…” 

He swallowed. “As I said before and you astutely noticed, Spring is holding tentative ground without allowing people through our walls. In the last two weeks alone, I have attended more funerals than I would care to admit. The war is over, but death does not end.” 

He cautiously met her eyes. “I understand your concerns for your family. I do…”

Tamlin sighed. She wasn't wrong. Much of this, he did carry alone. Lucien had a family now. The majority of his friends were long dead. The one person he'd hoped to be with was little more than a walking reminder of his pain, at this point. Sometimes, his music and his alone time in nature were the only two things which got him through. “Yet, I hope you understand that I had to learn the hard way about prioritizing my personal feelings over my duties.”

A combination of regret and grief flashed across his face for a mere second before it disappeared. “I am blessed that those moments of weakness did not bring my court to complete ruin.”

Almost — Almost. 

“Right now, crossing the border is just as dangerous to Caiden as it is to remain where he is and I know you desire first and foremost for his safety.” 

Tamlin tapped his feet on the wooden floor. “However, I do have an alternative solution. If you are open to avoiding the reckless pursuit of bringing him here yourself.”

the secret side of me @springcourthighlady

It had been a long day — too long. Tamlin was tired and his head ached after spending so long reading contracts and documents with his courtiers and emissaries. He tried not to wear his glasses in court, but now in the soft light of the setting sun, he was happy to have them to assist as he opened his book to the marked page and began to read. 

The rose garden was his place of solace and comfort. Whenever his spirit was worn, he came here to rest. Very few knew of the small path off the manicured way that led to a small grove of trees and wild roses. He’d swung a hammock between two of them and rested between the branches, letting the wind sway him back and forth. 

In the middle of the chapter, an innocent giggle sprang to life from the pages of the old fairytale that he was reading. Tamlin rubbed his head. Am I that tired?

He yawned and tried to focus again on the swirling letters, but the laughter again distracted him. 

He knew that sound. His ears quirked up and his green eyes brightened.

Nyx! 

His excitement was followed by an equally intense rush of anxiety

Feyre. 

Tamlin peered over the hedges. A flash of black curls revealed the toddler running from his guardian.

He did it! His heart swelled with pride. By the cauldron — I hope she’s not too mad at me.

Nyx stopped, spotting him through the branches. “Tamtam!” 

The toddler rushed through the secret entrance and tackled his legs, knocking him to the ground. Tamlin yelped, suddenly upside down, but happily surrounded by hugs from his favorite tiny fae. 

He lifted Nyx up into the air, making dragon sounds, until he saw a lovely young woman peeking around the edge of the brambles. His face turned red, hot, and he stood up quickly. His posture stiffened, though the color didn’t fade from his cheeks, or ears. 

“Lady…” It took him a moment to place her. He did try to keep track of everyone who lived in Spring, but the increasing amount of names was making that difficult. “Rose? Was it? Lady Rose?” 

Lucien’s simple actions and suggestions were as they always had been—calming. Tamlin laid his head on Lucien’s shoulder and closed his eyes. The darkness was soothing. His eyes were dry, tired. He didn’t know how long it had been since he’d last slept properly. A few days? A week? Nights were miserable. He couldn’t find solace in the room they shared, so he often spent the dark hours pacing the castle halls until he passed out and dawn crept over him. Lucien’s presence was familiar and comforting. Comfort was something which he didn’t readily get from Feyre. Their bond ran deep, but so did their fears. It often left them floating as two separate islands in one bed. This was different. Tamlin felt some of his fear begin melting away as his best friend held him up.

“People are talking anyway.” Tamlin whispered bitterly. There were whispers of his ability to lead ever since the failed wedding. Leaders did not fall to their knees in front of their subjects — not of a broken heart. He wished Feyre had stabbed him in the gut. At least then, people wouldn’t be looking at him the way the did. “I can’t go out on the street without someone staring at me like they’ve seen a ghost.”

The High Lord gripped the edge of the stone railing so firmly that his arms began to shake. He looked up, meeting Lucien’s golden eyes, and faltered under their compassion. Moonlight glowed on his pale face and wavered along his watery lashes. Tamlin didn’t cry—not for anyone; anyone except Lucien Vanserra. “What’s the point, Lu? I feel like one. Even when she’s here, she doesn’t see me. No one does…no one but 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.”