Tell Me Every Terrible Thing Youve Ever Done And Let Me Love You Anyway. Unknown

“Tell me every terrible thing you’ve ever done and let me love you anyway.” — Unknown

vintage heart-shaped lockets

“I think I like to forget the bad, as much as I can.” He winced, looking away briefly, so that Feyre couldn’t see the darkness which clouded his eyes when he thought of his father and brothers. They’d lost their rights to be called family, in his mind. Blood didn’t determine that — loyalty did. Lucien was his brother. So was Andras. He would much prefer to forget what he could and nurse the wounds they’d left in peace. Tamlin sighed heavily, his brows bent low with empathy, as he again met her eyes. Gray and questioning, they still actively searched for his loyalties. How was he supposed to tell her of the feelings that burgeoned beneath the surface of his heart? He would go to any length for her. He’d kill for her. He’d die for her. Nothing hurt more than knowing the sense of unbelonging she felt inside her own family, because he understood it in his core.

“How could that ever make you bad?” He whispered, gently reaching up, and resting his hand on her cheek. “I may have disowned my family before the pain of them disowning me could set in, but that does not mean I don’t understand feeling left out. Feeling…alone. Invisible.”

Tamlin slowly dropped his hand as she turned to face the nature around them and adopted a similar stance, instead, letting his long legs stretch into the grass as he lay with his arms back behind his head. He watched her, watch the world. She was so quiet. So observant. Yet, her family were fools if they could not see her beauty, or her worth.

“No.” He swallowed. “Fate is a lazy man’s way of excusing his poor choices. For every action we take, there is an equal or opposite reaction, right? Choice has consequence. While I admire…

“Romance,” Tamlin could not help the smile that inched up his face, nor the blush that tinted his ears. “It is no excuse for the way a man chooses to live.”

He sat up, inching closer toward her. “Being here, with you, right now…is a choice.”

Tamlin once again found himself caught up in her gaze. “One I am particularly glad I made.”

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?

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

Tamlin let the music lull his badly fractured nerves into the soft hum of active concentration. He set his fiddle away safely and took a seat at his desk. He was no stranger to working late into the night, it was part of carrying his title and the weight of an entire court on his shoulders. He’d not expected to be in meetings past the sun's setting. 

He pursed his lips, watching it descend through the western window, with a wrinkle set deeply into his forehead. Stress was his constant companion and spending time with his found family was one of the only things which relieved it. 

He was missing a dinner with Lucien and Elain to take this meeting, but given the circumstances he knew that they would want him to be here. This concerned children and they had one on the way, soon. The High Lord needed to do everything he could for Spring — not just his own family. Tamlin swallowed his frustration and pushed his bruised heart far, far away.

All she’s trying to do is reunite her family — just like I have. This is the least I can do.

He cracked his knuckles and organized the papers left on his desk, during his walk. Death certificates, as he’d been warned. Too many of them. One was too many and there were five. 

Tamlin glanced over the first two. Tension settled in his jaw. He reached for his glasses to try to clear the headache which had been building for hours. They belonged to two adolescent boys who’d been caught by a wildly roaming Naga after a well-established curfew. 

He’d broken curfew many times as a young boy and it never got him killed. There was still so much wrong with Spring. Thing which even he, a High Lord, could not mend. Even if he spent all his hours patrolling the borders, evil would still find a way to sneak through. He carefully signed his name and moved on, making a mental note to speak to the family himself. 

The third was a sentry. Tamlin’s brows knit, he scrawled his name and carefully pinned a note on sending his regards to the family. 

The fourth belonged to a mother, who died in labor, and her infant who had not survived brought in the fifth. Tamlin ripped off his glasses and shoved them aside, feeling his emotions rise above their careful containment. A sentry was one thing, and a young fae another; but a mother? Her infant? 

What am I doing? I can’t even keep people from dying long enough for new lives to start. I am failing these people. Spring isn’t safe — 

A knock on the door interrupted his thoughts. “Come in,” Tamlin said gruffly. 

The small brunette, Briar, peeked into the room. She looked better now. She wasn’t covered in mud and her hair was…clean, at least and she wasn’t shivering. Anything else mattered very little. Clean and warm were what he could ensure, not safety. 

“Lady Briar,” He uncovered his eyes, forcing his voice to be alert, and hoped that he did not look as exhausted as he felt. “Feeling any better? Warmer, I hope.” 

Tamlin did not meet her eyes until he finished signing the death certificate of the baby fae. Then, he sat back in his chair and offered her a simple nod. She’d asked for the meeting and had his full attention. “I have heard your plea. Tell me about 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.”