Remains of Spring - Part 1
Part 1/? | Ao3
To begin with Hope of Spring and read sequentially, start here
Happy @tamlinweek everyone!
[This chapter fits in right after Chapter 3 of HoS]
All day long, something had stirred restlessly beneath Tamlin’s skin. It was more than the ever-constant humming of the Spring magic that he’d grown used to long ago; this was a vibration, a feeling, a sign. He’d had a similar feeling a few times before–before his father ruined his life, before Amarantha had come to continue that goal, before Rhysand and Feyre had finished the job.
He’d been rolling around in his bed, half lucid, for the better part of the night, but every time sleep began to close in, his mind would begin whirring again and shake consciousness back into him, warning him. Each time, his heart was pounding, squeezing almost painfully in his chest as it thumped like a war drum.
Be alert, be alert, be alert.
The moon had passed across the midpoint in the sky–he could see it and all the stars through the open window, the sounds and smells of Spring doing their best to lull him back into sleep again, but Tamlin couldn’t ignore instinct.
He rose from his bed, grabbing his pants from the back of the chair near his desk and sitting to pull them on and lace them. If he was going to be awake, he might as well be useful. He stretched his arms over his head, cracking his spine and reaching for his rumpled tunic. If he’d just be shifting and patrolling, it probably didn’t matter much what his clothes looked like, but he hesitated as he went to pull it on.
Tamlin worried constantly, thinking how easily he had drifted into that spiral of nothing a few years ago. It had started with a lack of caring about things like clothes, visitors, his manor, but it had turned into a complete lack of care about anything. He’d spent the better part of that first year in the woods, prowling the land in his baser form, not allowing any of his anguished thoughts to fully form, hoping he would die eventually. But Lucien and Rhysand would not let him be. He would not admit it even under pain of death, but they’d saved his life. He still resented them for their involvement, considering both had contributed to the state of things in the first place.
When he’d shifted back, he hardly felt like a person at all. Emaciated, matted, dirty, and depressed, he drifted aimlessly around the manor like a ghost, remembering to feed himself and sleep every so often. The worst part of coming back to civilization had been the fact that every single feeling came back to him. He experienced at full force every bit of shame, guilt, grief, and pain. He felt every bit the monster they believed him to be. He had almost been the ruin of Prythian, all for his own selfish needs. He’d sold them out for a female who, it turned out, hated him anyway. Perhaps Feyre had the right idea all along–maybe he deserved to suffer this way.
A few weeks in, Tamlin finally allowed his rage and anguish to melt into soft, devastating grief, and for the first time in centuries, he truly let himself cry. But once he’d begun, there was no stopping it. The emotions hit him like a blow to the chest, knocking every bit of sense and awareness from him as he lay on the floor of the ruined manor, sobs racking through him. He wished more than anything that he could apologize, for any of it, for all of it. But he’d dug himself into a grave so deep that there would be no making amends now. Sending the crowns back to Rhysand would seem like a taunt.
Did it even matter?
No one would ever forgive him anyway.
Tamlin did not truly begin to live again until he heard a soft but insistent knocking on his door one evening. It wasn’t the Night Court, they never bothered to knock. He dragged himself to the doors, opening them tentatively to peek out and see who would dare to come here. On the porch stood a Spring fae, fairly young, looking at him expectantly. He was surprised to not find disgust or pity in her eyes, but a rugged determination as she lifted her chin to speak to him.
“High Lord.” She curtseyed, then bobbed back up. “My name is Tallissa, and I come from the village of Laretta just south of here. I am here to offer my services to the manor.” Tamlin was speechless.
Someone wanted to come back to this crumbling, godsforsaken manor?
“Why?” He asked hoarsely, his voice having not been used for anything other than screaming, crying, or roaring out his pain for close to a year.
“Because you are our High Lord, and you need help. And Spring needs yours.” Her wide, navy eyes were unfaltering, the vines of ivy swinging from her head in the breeze. She seemed earnest, and it didn’t seem like she was going to back down without an argument regardless.
“Tallissa, I fear it’s quite the undertaking.” He tried one last time to avoid the hand being reached out to him, the life raft offered as he barely fought against sinking beneath the waves.
“High Lord, if you please, there is nowhere else I would rather be. And I like a challenge.” He paused, thinking, then nodded once. It was all she needed before she stomped into the manor, her orange and teal skin catching the light of the sun. Tamlin was embarrassed at the state of things now that someone was here, ashamed he’d allowed things to become so dire, but Tallissa just walked straight back to the kitchens and began shuffling around without another word to him.
It took about a week for Tallissa–Tally–to convince Tamlin to begin taking care of himself–bathing, eating regular meals, and allowing her to wash his clothes. In that time, she began the lighter aspects of cleaning the manor, though the more intensive things would require additional help. Another week after that, Tamlin tentatively began to help with the larger projects like moving rubble and repairing what he could with magic. The sun on his back felt good, and the hard work helped him to start feeling a bit more like himself again. He was working himself so hard, he simply collapsed into his bed every night and didn’t dream, a blessing in itself.
Another month in, and Tally had convinced him to allow contractors from the local villages to come begin some of the exterior repairs that Tamlin could not do alone. Slowly, the manor was coming back to life around him, and his soul with it. Since he’d been forced to reconcile with everything in his fae form, he hadn’t dared to shift back into his beast form. He didn’t trust himself not to slip back into old patterns yet, but the urge to shift and just run, the smell of the earth in his nose and the sun on his fur and the wind over his back, was becoming hard to ignore.
Finally, months in, the manor had been restored to its former glory, the gardens were regrowing, and Tally was interviewing staff for the manor. Tamlin had, at great pains, gone into the local villages to apologize, family by family, for the actions that had cost them all so much. Some were not quick to forgive, which he’d understood fully and expected, but still took like a knife to the heart each time it happened. Despite having spent so much of his life not showing any emotion but rage, it seemed once Tamlin had allowed himself to cry the one time, he couldn’t stop. Every night when he returned to his bed in the manor after a day of penance, he would sob great tears at the damage he’d wrought, the lives lost because of his actions. He knew making amends was the right thing to do, but he couldn’t imagine a heartbreak worse than knowing, face to face, exactly how horribly he’d failed the people he was supposed to protect.
But Tamlin pushed forward, the strength of real support bolstering him. He knew he owed Tally the world for this gift she’d given him. Whether people ever forgave him or not, she’d given him a second chance, coming in with unwavering determination and refusing to take no for an answer. He’d given her the nicest room he could find, with a view of the gardens that she loved so much, and she’d simply asked if her wife could come work and live in the manor, too. Tamlin had been so caught up in gratitude for them, he’d commissioned them their own house on the property, which Tallissa had fought against him to accept, but ultimately yielded to have some privacy with Mariela. So, with Tally manning the housekeeping and affairs, Mariela took charge of the men coming back to offer their services as guards and sentries.
Despite the battering that making amends was doing on his soul, he felt as though things were beginning to right themselves after so long amiss. It had been a few months, but the inquiries began to filter back in from both males and females looking for more stable work. He had absolutely no qualms about letting females become sentries, and he would never make the mistake of underestimating them again. At long last, things began to feel normal again, except this time, improvements had been made. Tamlin would never be the ruler he was before, and he didn’t want to be.
When Rhysand stuck his nose in Spring’s business, as he so often did, Tamlin would growl at him that it was under control, but he couldn’t shake the embers of pride that burned within him each time Rhysand left looking impressed. Outwardly, all he could manage to point in Rhysand’s direction was rage and fury. He hated that he still sought the male’s approval deep down–his forgiveness–but at the very least, perhaps it would keep him from sending more people to harass him.
Tamlin was shaken from his thoughts of the past as a loud crash followed by a resounding crack sounded throughout the manor.
What the fuck?
He shot to his feet, half tucking the tunic around his waist and ripping open the doors. He crept to the stairs with the preternatural quiet of a predator, approaching the open foyer in the dark. A cough and a groan rang out through the night, and Tamlin glanced up to see the hole in the roof in shock and annoyance.
We just fixed that.
As he peered down into the dusty air, he saw a figure laying on the ground of the foyer near the bottom of the stairs.
Had they fallen through the ceiling?
Tamlin didn’t see any wings, but that didn’t mean this wasn’t one of Rhysand’s followers. He could hear the figure gasping for breath and groaning in pain, but as the dust cleared, he saw her begin to sit up
“Fuck me sideways. Jesus fucking Christ.” He heard echo quietly, and he fought a laugh. It was a female, and gods she had a dirty mouth. She was looking around the foyer, grasping her arm to her body as though it was hurt. He imagined in a fall like that, it would make sense. She was looking down at her arms and hands like she’d never seen them before, and Tamlin wasn’t sure how she was standing at all after a fall from that height.
Had she been on his roof?
She looked up to where he was, scanning the walls, and he slid back behind the pillar, peeking out again after a moment. When he focused back on her, he was shocked to find she was…beautiful? Her hair was half up and a mess, but he could tell it was a dark brown. It matched her eyes, wide in the dark. Suddenly, her face shot to his and she gasped.
How had she noticed him?
Tamlin was taken entirely aback, but it was too late now. He stepped out from the shadows, and began to descend the stairs.
Say something to her, but his mouth was suddenly dry–his tongue and brain entirely unable to communicate.
He tossed his hand out, lighting the lanterns on the walls, and his breath caught. In the low light, he could see her eyes were a soft brown, the color of a fawn’s coat, and they were entirely focused on him. She struggled to stay on her feet, her arm very clearly dislocated. Even from halfway down the stairs, he could smell her fear and panic, but she met his eyes with awe. She was appraising him, too.
So, perhaps not a spy then.
She winced at the pain, but squared her shoulders and lifted her chin to him.
Brave little thing.
“Who are you?” A stab of guilt shot through him as she flinched at his voice.
“P-Penny,” she stuttered out, but he could see her rally her confidence again. “My name is Penny.”
Penny. The name rolled around in his head, the syllables stretching and her lilting voice ringing like bells. Focus.
“You’re injured. Come.” He could bring her to the kitchen; there were medical supplies in the cabinets there. She wasn’t following him. “Are you going to stand there all night?” She burst into action, limping along behind him, and the sudden urge to take her into his arms so she wouldn’t have to hurt anymore hit him so forcefully it almost knocked the wind from his chest. He shoved the impulse away and turned into the kitchen, gesturing for her to sit at the table in the center of the room while he gathered up the necessary supplies.
“Do you live here alone?” Her voice was beautiful, soft. It caressed his ears like a gentle song, and he took a deep breath.
“Uhm, yes and no. There are attendants and staff who come and go, but no one stays here anymore but me. Everyone else has left for the night, but they’ll be back in a few hours at dawn.” Tamlin tried to think of the injuries he had seen on her, grabbing a few healing tonics as well as items to clean her up. He could feel her eyes on him as he looked, could feel the way that she let her gaze roam over him.
“I am going to check you over for injuries now, if that’s okay,” he warned, not wanting to startle her. The blush that colored her cheeks made his heart race. Now that he was this close to her, he could smell her scent. It was like nothing he’d ever smelled before. Something on top– strange and not quite like flowers, perhaps a hair oil? But beneath it, she smelled of sage and spearmint, the notes twining and mingling in his nose as he fought the strange urge to lower his head to her neck and inhale more deeply.
“Where are you injured?”
“I’m not sure, entirely. When I first woke up, my ribs and chest were the most painful, but even they seem to be improving now.” She pressed gingerly on her own ribs and flinched slightly. “It’s definitely not pleasant, but at least I can take a breath.”
“May I?” She nodded, and he brushed his hands over her sides to press against her ribs. The second his hands made contact with her skin, he felt the magic pulse beneath his skin–the Spring magic sizzling with every breath between them. He did his best to steady his beating heart.
“Your ribs may be bruised, but they don’t seem broken. I am going to check your back now, if I may.” The female turned, giving her back to him in a show of trust that had him a bit shocked as he gently pressed his fingers into her spine and ribs. All intact, thankfully, though the bruising was already starting to blossom across her back in dark violets. He felt her shiver, and the action sent a thrill through him.
What is wrong with you?
“It would appear you’ve somehow escaped mostly unscathed,” Tamlin choked out, mortified by how hoarse his voice sounded. He handed her the healing tonics and instructed her to drink, then turned to get the cleaning supplies from the floor.
“Let me clean the laceration on your forehead, and then I’ll be done.” She lifted her hand up to her head as though she hadn’t been aware of an injury at all, pulling back fingers coated in blood. He dipped the rag in the small, bottled solution he’d brought over with him, and as he was about to touch it, she gasped. His eyes shot up to hers, worried something had happened, but she was just staring at him, eyes wide in awe.
“What…your ears!”
My ears? They looked like normal ears, why would they be concerning to her?
But she was now focused on his eyes, her gaze boring into his. “Where are we?” She asked abruptly.
Perhaps she had hit her head.
“The Spring Court. You fell into my home in the Spring Court.” The girl let out a cackle that bordered on hysteria.
“The Spring Court? Like A Court of Thorns and Roses?” Tears blossomed in the corners of her eyes.
Oh Cauldron, she’s lost her mind. Maybe she had been walking around on my roof before she fell.
“Yes, yes. All very funny. And I’m sure you’re Tamlin.”
Tamlin jumped back as though he’d been shocked.
How could she possibly know my name? Who is she?
Her manic laughter began to die down, and the panic in her eyes became more noticeable.
“Shut the fuck up.” She said, quiet but forcefully.
“I didn’t say anything,” the shock still had him reeling. But now, he wondered if he had been right at first. This was one of Rhysand’s spies, he was sure of it. No one else would glean such joy at pulling one over on Tamlin while he tried to just live his life and mind his own business. The rage was suddenly overwhelming.
“Who the hell are you? How do you know my name? Did someone send you here?” He was abruptly on his feet, trying to put distance between them. But the look in her eyes wasn’t amusement, it was fear, and he remembered the last time a female had looked at him that way. The thought sobered him as she began rambling.
“No! No! I don’t know how the fuck I ended up here! One minute I was sleeping in my apartment and I thought I was dreaming and then I slammed into your house. You’re telling me this is Prythian? We’re in Prythian right this second?” He could see her spinning out of control, her expression taking on the skittish fright of a small animal backed into a corner. Her breathing quickened, and he could tell she was aiming for a panic attack. He knew exactly what they looked like now. She lifted her hand and twisted the skin of her arm roughly, cursing immediately in response.
“Fuck. Ouch.” Gods, she had a filthy mouth. She began to pace like a cornered animal. “Okay. Alright. Okay. Deep breaths. You’re Tamlin.” He could only nod. “We’re in Prythian, like from the stories.” He nodded again, but was becoming more confused with the nature of her question. She seemed so lost, yet she knew where they were somehow.
“Wait, when is it?”
“What do you mean?” He asked.
“Has the second war with Hybern already happened? Do you know who Amarantha is?” He felt hot, oily nausea boil within him at the mention of her name, but nodded anyway. He’d killed her–let the image of him ripping her throat out calm him back down. She couldn’t hurt him or anyone else again. He took a deep breath.
“It’s been three years since Hybern’s armies were defeated in Prythian. The second time. Amarantha is dead.”
“...Then Feyre Archeron is in the Night Court, correct?”
What. The. Fuck.
“What the hell is this? Is this some sort of joke to you? Did Rhysand send you here? I told him I would bolster the fucking sentries and rebuild the court if he stayed the hell away from Spring. Hasn’t he done enough?”
Tamlin felt himself itching with fury.
Why could the damned Night Court not leave him alone?
“No!” She stammered out. “I swear, I have never been here before. I know about all this because where I’m from there are books! Books about you and everything that happened. I have no idea how I’m here or how this is even possible, I swear it. I have never met Rhysand or anyone from the Night Court–ANY court–in my life! I don’t know how I managed to get here, or how I might even begin to go about getting home for that matter! I swear!”
Books?
She seemed to be telling the truth, or perhaps her frantic terror was convincing him otherwise, but he was inclined to believe her.
“I’m sorry. It’s a tender subject. I didn’t mean to frighten you.” He shook himself out, trying to shake the feelings of resentment. He wasn’t trying to scare her, and he was beyond losing control the way he used to. He’d worked hard, and he wasn’t about to fall back into old habits.
“I understand. This must be incredibly disorienting for you. I’m so sorry to have upset you. I wish I could tell you what happened.” She seemed so sincere. He had no fight left in him for her.
“You can stay here. There are many rooms that no longer get any usage. If you would like, that is. You don’t have to.” Was he destined to invite strange women to his house, only to have them flee?
“Where else would I go?” she asked, as though the matter was already settled. “Thank you. Perhaps, I could help? The books aren’t finished, though.”
Tamlin still had absolutely no idea what she meant by the books, but he was absolutely exhausted now, the urge to prowl the grounds almost entirely gone in favor of getting back into his bed.
“Your timeline goes beyond what I know now, but maybe I could provide information? Help Prythian. Help you.” Those final two words pitched through his heart with agony, but he ignored it, walking towards the door.
“There’s no helping me.” He despised how sad he sounded, how resigned. He thought about all his hard work over the past two years, but at the end of the day a fixed manor did not make a fixed person. “Come. Let me show you where you can sleep.” She followed after him, seeming much less tense than before, and much more curious. As they passed the small crater she’d caused with her body, he saw her grimace.
How hard had she fallen?
“You said it’s been three years. It seems like you’ve restored the manor well. And you said people come to work here. That’s an improvement, right?” It unnerved him that he knew these details about him. He hated being at a disadvantage.
How much did she know about him?
“Rhysand made it so I had no choice. We had no idea when the next threat would be coming, so he pestered me until he all but dragged me out of the woods to rebuild. I would have been fine being left there alone. I deserved to be left…I am glad it was rebuilt. I would never give him the satisfaction to say so. But…the people here deserved better–deserve better–than a crumbling court and High Lord. At least, now I get left alone.”
It then occurred to him that perhaps he should be lighter with her to put her a bit more at ease, so he turned to her, tried to put on a show of amusement, and said “Mostly.” Then he turned again to head further into the deep hallway.
“This one will be yours,” he gestured to the left. “I am across the hall, should you need anything. I, uh, unfortunately, there are no ladies clothes remaining here.” He had a mental image of him immediately after the war, shredding everything Feyre had touched here in a fit of rage and grief, then setting fire to the shreds in a show that had rivaled those of Calanmai. “There are some additional shirts and pants in the room which may fit you. But otherwise, we’ll have to go into town for some clothing items for you.”
“Thanks. I’m really more of a pants-and-shirt kind of girl, anyway.” He laughed at this, thinking that sounded like an accurate assessment. He couldn’t picture this fiery, foul-mouthed female in the ruffled dress of a proper lady. He turned to leave and enter his own room before the awkward silence of the air between them swallowed him whole.
Before he could open his own door she called out “Tamlin!”
And when he turned, she simply smiled shyly and said, “Thank you. For the help. And for letting me stay.”
Stay.
Strangely, the word caused a knot in his throat.
Would she stay?
He nodded once, paused, then turned and entered his own room, shutting the door behind him with a soft click. He all but collapsed onto his bed, the fact that a stranger was across the hall not burdening him the way he might have thought.
As he drifted into the warm embrace of sleep, he had the vague notion that the strange restless humming of magic in his veins had calmed.
The biggest thank you to the loml @cauldronblssd for her beta reading and endless support. I will kiss you on the mouth.
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