Thehighlordofspring - The Ever-fixed Mark Shall Not Be Shaken

♥️The photo on my second banner, as taken by myself last summer at a local rose garden, at dusk. Requested by @teddyhoneybear. | Please don’t repost without permission — if so, credit ♥️

“I miss you deeply, unfathomably, senselessly, terribly.”

— Franz Kafka

honey, you’re familiar

like my mirror, years ago

idealism sits in prison

chivalry fell on its sword

Tamlin paced through the daffodil fields, running his fingers across the tips of the petals, and trying to focus his thoughts on the soft breeze that blew through the valley. It ruffled his hair and rushed through the flowers, sending bees in somersaults, and reassured him that everything would be okay. Things may be broken now, but that didn’t mean that they didn’t continue. The flowers still knew how to bloom and the bees still gathered in around them, humming a song of good will and grace. Spring was still alive.

He closed his eyes and let the harmony of nature whisper to him the things that only the High Lord could hear. He could sense the health of his land, from the depth of the soil to the tip of the sky. Although it quivered — frail, and new — there was an ancient strength rising from deep underneath the ground. He could feel the old magic creeping towards the surface and reaching for a hand to hold.

Yet, it stopped short. The swell shortened to a soft sigh and Tamlin opened his eyes. The sun was ever bright and the air ever warm. Just as promised, spring had come again. In the distance, he saw a few faelings trampling through the fields. The return of his people brought up complicated emotions. His court had been silent for so long. The laughter continually caught him off guard.

This time — with a soft smile. The High Lord tucked his long hair behind his ear and walked further away. A private picnic could not be private if little children were in danger of running into his excursion from the manor with his lady. He chose a space on the hill above and watched as Feyre climbed to greet him.

Halfway, Tamlin ran to meet her. A wide smile crossed his lips and he lifted her off of the ground, holding her to his chest. The feeling of her arms slipping around his neck was the more security than he could ever ask for — not many got to see their loved one returned from the dead.

I lost you once. I can’t lose you again.

His grip around her waist tightened as their eyes met. Her playful gaze softened his serious one.

What do I want? To kiss you. Oh, to kiss you.

“What do you think he wants?” He whispered, pushing her hair away from her newly pointed ears. “Except to treasure you for the next thousand years of his life?”

The Wild of Spring @lockinspo

Tamlin still wasn’t used to seeing Feyre walking the grounds of the Spring Court and his heart not jumping within his chest. Only weeks ago, he’d watched her die in his arms. Her blood stained her cheeks and his tears washed it away. Despite the time that had passed, it still felt like he was there — frozen in that moment, never to see her again. Now, he watched from a distance as she walked along the gravel paths. Although she wore a smile, often, he couldn’t help but feel that there was something so much deeper.

There was for him. Neither one had managed to find the words to speak of it yet. He held his hands back, watching the ground moved as he walked. All he wanted was to know the thoughts that swirled beyond her placid visage. He bit his lip, swallowing hard. They would make it through this, wouldn’t they?

They would. They’d made it through so much worse.

Tamlin quickened his pace and made his way to the kitchen, where he found Alis bossing around the new, poor chef. Bless her soul — training an entire household in only weeks. She must be tired. He politely waited until the conversation ended and then requested a picnic basket from the chef.

“Alis?” He asked. “Can you ask Feyre to meet me in the glade? For lunch?”

Alis gave him a knowing smile. “Yes, my lord. I’m assuming you don’t mind the pants and tunic?”

His eyebrows wrinkled. What was she talking about? “Never…why?”

“People have been talking.” The housemistress sighed. “Say she’s still a bit wild for a High Lady.”

Tamlin pressed his lips into a frown. “Feyre may wear whatever brings her the most comfort. If the rumors don’t stop, send the culprits to my office tonight.”

Alis nodded quickly as he headed to the door. “Koda?” She asked.

“Yes?” Tamlin’s attention was recaptured at the use of his nickname.

“Might you run a brush through your hair. You look a bit wild yourself.”

He smiled, his eyes crinkling. “Wild is always welcome in Spring.”

Tamlin // here stands a man at the bottom of the hole he's made