The Death and Rebirth of Spring

by JuliLyng

Summary:

She was no lady. Tamlin could tell that much, just from a glance. Hell, he wasn't even sure she was human. He could smell death upon her. Death, and salt water, and smoke.

But, then again, he was sure that after months upon months of lying around in his own tears and sorrow, just waiting for someone to finally put an end to him - he probably smelled worse, by far.

---

When a stranger comes knocking on Tamlin's door, finds him dying and nurses him back to health, he finds himself shaken awake from the heartbreak and sorrow that has been slowly claiming him since Feyre left him.

Chapter 1: A House of Ghosts

"Now Time throws off his cloak again

Of ermined frost, and wind, and rain,

And clothes him in the embroidery

Of glittering sun and clear blue sky.

With beast and bird the forest rings,

Each in his jargon cries or sings;

And Time throws off his cloak again.

Of ermined frost, and wind, and rain.

 

River, and fount, and tinkling brook

Wear in their dainty livery

Drops of silver jewelry;

In new-made suit they merry look;

And Time throws off his cloak again

Of ermined frost, and wind, and rain."

- "The Return of Spring" by Charles I de Valois, Duke of Orleans

 

---

 

Chapter 1: A House of Ghosts

 

The door was open. By all accounts, the estate looked abandoned. Despite the overgrown gardens and the generally unkempt appearance of the grounds however, the windows of the mansion looked intact and the roof wasn't caving in anywhere. 

Danielle had camped outside for the past 24 hours or so, laying low in the shrubbery to make sure that she wasn't seen. Only for short periods of time had she left her spot, mainly to relieve herself. Berries and rations had she with her at all times, just in case a beast would snatch it if she left it behind somewhere. And she wasn't exactly in a position to share. 

To her surprise, no one had entered or left the mansion, this past day. Not a single occupant, nor even a scavenger. Not as much as a rat. 

Who in their right mind would turn down free, first class shelter such as this? 

Even in this overgrown wilderness, full of beasts and fae of every kind, she could hardly believe that she had been the first person around for so long that the place wouldn't be occupied, at least by squatters. 

The war had really done a number on the spring court, it seemed. She definitely wasn't blind to which territory she was travelling through. 

A glance towards the rapidly darkening blue sky, gradually shifting from a pale blue to a deeper cobolt, told her that evening was approaching. Even here, night came quicker in the early spring months, though the temperature seemed to stay much more temperate than in the human lands further to the south. An educated guess would say that it was currently the early days of march, but travelling and surviving on her own meant that sometimes, the days just flowed together.

With a deep, wary breath, she slowly got on her feet, brushing off her trousers "Here goes nothing.." she mumbled to herself. She couldn't waste anymore time. Experience had shown her that night tended to attract much more viscious beasts than daylight, and she wouldn't pass up the advantage of walls and doors to hide behind. Not to mention the possibility of an actual bed to sleep in. It would be the first time in months.

With long steps, she traversed the overgrown terrain, supporting the straps of her leather backpack under her heavy woolen cloak. She cursed under her breath as her foot caught on a crawling vine, causing her to stumble to her knees. The vine was moving on it's own, snaking it's way across what used to be a gravel path between the floral beds. The plant - creature, or what it was, seemed intent on keeping her out.

If that was her only adversary, she was in luck. Lips pressed into a cool line, she brandished her machete, and cut the vine with a quick swipe. The plant hissed, and drew back with a whine. 

"That one is on you." She reprimanded it, standing up again and turning back towards the looming building. It seemed downright eerie, now that the sun had disappeared behind the trees, allowing it to cast it's long, looming shadows over the grounds around it. The windows were pitch black, reminding her of the empty eyesockets of some kind of giant, long dead beast. Nothing stirred inside, as far as she could tell. Though the rustling in the deep, dark forest around her, as well as the squeaking and scurrying in the trees, told her that the area around was densely populated. 

She wouldn't wait around to find out by whom. The nights she had spent so far, in hollows and the underbrush, was more than enough. And it hadn't been without troubles.

She hopped up the steps to the front door, and after listening outside for a moment, slid inside. And she closed the door behind her. The hinges creaked so loud that she was sure something would jump out at her in response.

She gritted her teeth in tense anticipation. 

Her dark eyes took in her surroundings as she waited, with bated breath. 

The silence that enveloped her, was suffocating. 

The inside of the mansion was twice as eerie as it had looked from the outside. 

Deep clawmarks marred every surface of the entry hall, from the wallpaper to the cabinets and banister of the staircase to the upper level. Smashed pottery and painted porcelain covered the floor, and paintings had been torn from their places on the wall. A mirror still hung on the left side of the room, though it was smashed too, leaving a pattern of cracks that warped the image within beyond recognition. 

The floor was dirty, even spattered with something that might have been old dried blood, as well as myriad boot prints, leading towards and away from every door down the long hallway, on either side. 

The telltale signs of fighting - but it seemed to have been long ago, judging from the layer of dirt and dust that had settled inside of the boot prints and claw marks since. 

Much fresher, were the paw prints, criss crossing the room, as if some large beast of a creature had been pacing restlessly, moving from room to room, and up and down the hallway. The prints were huge, five-toed, and each of those crowned with a viscious-looking talon. 

Danielle kneeled, curiously placing a hand inside one of the prints. There was no question about it - the paw was easily the size of her face. Maybe even her head. It could kill her with a single swipe. If that creature was still here, she would have to get out before it noticed her. 

But, wouldn't she have seen it, then? Or heard it, by now? If it was indeed some large, cat-like predator, it must have heard the creaking of the front door. 

She advanced, trying to tread lightly. Even so, she still felt like she was being watched. The little hairs at the back of her neck tingled, standing on end. She contemplated saying something, just to test whether she was truly alone. Logic won out, however. If someone was there, wishing ill upon her, they would have to act sooner rather than later. If nothing happened, she was safe, and then there would have been no reason to act like some paranoid crazy person.

She passed several rooms, as she walked towards the central staircase to the floor above.
A front parlour, every remaining knick knack and flower pot smashed, was the first door to the right. Even the pretty, lowbacked chairs inside were ripped and smashed to pieces. She could imagine lords and ladies having sat there, in those chairs, in front of the now empty fireplace. Her imagination conjured the clinking of porcelain, accompanied by youthful faces, pointed ears and gilded finery.

It was like the echo of that past still lived inside these walls. Perhaps the spirits of some of those people still remained, watching her, judging her. 

She sent up a silent request, for those possible spirits to let her respectfully borrow their home for tonight.

As she ascended the stairs, careful not to lean on the broken banister, she peered into the next rooms on the left side of the hallway. The doors, for the most part, were ripped off their hinges. There was a dining room, with only a beautiful, almost throne-like wooden chair still standing. Even the long table was turned on it's side, at least one leg broken off and tossed away. Every room was in a similar ruined shape, as if a hurricane of teeth and claws had passed through and torn up everything in it's path. 

It struck Danielle then, how much hatred it would take to go through an entire mansion of this size, and tear up everything you came across. How much rage you had to contain, not to burn out along the way and give up. 

It was almost kind of impressive, if it wasn't so grim.

Step by solid step, she climbed the stairs to the upper landing, to explore the next floor and find a place to set up camp. She became more and more certain that she was, in fact, in luck, in that the house was completely deserted. 

Her mind was whipping out a plan of action, for setting up camp in one of the rooms and then exploring the bottom floor more thoroughly, to see if she could find a larder, hopefully containing some leftover pickled goods. Her plan, however, was derailed when her eye caught on something, just a few steps past the stairs. 

Blood. A trail of fresh, thick drops of it, splattering the hallway's polished wooden floor. It reflected the light of the rising moon outside, silver glow streaming in through the large glass doors of the balcony at the end of the hall. 

And there, pushed against the white woodpanelling, seemingly discarded after the bloody act had been committed; a large, onyx dagger. It was a wicked looking thing, covered in a fresh coat of blood and decorated with some manner of carved symbols, which Danielle had neither time nor mind to decipher right now. 

Her senses sharpened, as her world narrowed with the singular intent of following that bloody trail. Someone had been hurt - someone needed help, now. 

Heartbeat pounding in her chest, adrenaline rushing, she cleared the distance between herself and the trail in a few long steps. She scanned the floor, mapping out the clear trail of red droplets, forming a path like gleaming red pearls for her to follow.
The bloodied doorframe at the end of the trail was like a painted arrow, showing her the way. So she followed that lead, grapping onto the doorframe to gain leverage as she sped around the corner, throwing herself into that room. 

She smelled it in the same moment she saw it. And yet, the sight was twice as horrific as the smell. 

She had found the murder victim she had been rushing to aid. And the raging beast she had been fearing to encounter.

They were one and the same. 

She found herself in a large, ornate bedroom. It was in just as bad shape as any of the other rooms she had spied into. The canopy was ripped and coming down over a bed, which had been shredded and torn, with one side of it entirely collapsed. 

And on said bed, lay the beast. The light was dim in it's otherwise incredibly green eyes, glazed over with fever and impending death. It lay on it's back on the bedding, horned head resting on the pillow and one long front leg hanging off it's side. The paw was as huge as she had expected. The expensive, silken covers under the creature were soaked through with blood, dripping onto the floor. It's thick, golden coat of fur was matted with it. 

The wounds were plain to see, despite the fur. Somebody had stabbed the creature multiple times, through the chest.

She needed to act now. She had no way of knowing exactly how bad it was, or if an infection had already taken hold. 

"I'm coming in. Don't move." She told the creature, with all the gravity of the professional that she was. The creature didn't respond. His breathing was laboured and trembling, mouth half open to reveal a set of long, deadly fangs. 

She had no delusions. This was an insane thing to do, even if the creature was most likely a fully sentient faerie. He could kill her in a heartbeat - except, no. Not in that state, he couldn't. 

As she neared the bed, the smell was stronger. A smell of unwashed, sweaty fur, mixed with the metallic tang of blood and earthy scent of dirt. 

She set down her pack by the bed, and pulled out her machete to cut up the overhanging canopy for make-shift bandages. 

That was the first time she saw the creature move, apart from the shaky, uneven breathing. He flinched, pupils shrinking and paw contracting in fear. 

That meant he was at least somewhat lucid. A good sign. 

She set down the weapon, letting it lean against the bedside table. She gathered the long, sliced ribbons of fabric, balling them up. "I'm going to stop the bleeding the best I can. But I may need to stitch the wounds closed." She told him, words quick, but clear. She focused on the wounds, and set to work on stuffing the fabric inside, to stop the bleeding. The creature groaned in pain, but apart from a bit of tension, there was no resistance from the creature. 

"There we go - that was the worst part. Next up, I'll try and clean the area around the wounds as best as I can." She told him, unsure how much he heard or understood. The talking was as much for herself as for him, to ease some of her own tension, causing her hands to tremble. 

She scanned the room for something to use as a basin for the water she had brought in a canister. She found exactly that - a basin, probably used for washing. It would have to do. She rushed to pick it up, and did away with the worst of the dust. Then, she rolled up her sleeves to her elbows, and poured in the water. The creature seemed more awake now, more alert, as it watched her work. 

She soaked some of the fabric ribbons inside. "Later, I'm going to boil some water to disinfect it. But this will have to do for now." She mumbled, eyes razor focused as she took out the rags and wrung out the worst of the water.

That, was when the nearest paw weakly rose, and slumped onto her arm. "D... Don't.." A hoarse, gravelly voice escaped the lips of the beast, as he struggled to speak. His eyes were desperate, full of sorrow and pain. She looked to him with bewilderment, eyes flickering across his. She didn't know exactly what he was protesting against, but he wanted him to know that he was not alone. That she would do her best to help him through this.
"It will be alright. But I have to disinfect it, or it might fester." She told him, placing a hand on the furry foreleg of the fae. She got back up to her feet, and leaned in to start cleaning the wound. "It might sting, but I will be gentle." She promised, meeting the eyes of the beast, gaze intent and unwavering. 

"It will be alright." 

 

---

End of Chapter 1.

 

 

 

 

Chapter 2: Farewell

Tamlin's POV:

He had been waiting for death to come for him. He had been waiting for months. He had taken down his wards, unlocked his doors, and simply stayed there. Alone, within the empty, silent bones of what used to be his rich and thriving estate.

Sooner or later, he knew it would happen, and he would welcome the face of death with open arms. Be it in the form of a lesser fae with a grudge, or - just as likely - his traitorous Feyre, or her hateful turncoat of a mate.

Her mate. 

The very notion of Rhysand, of all people, being her mate was like poison in his veins. Burning, seething under his skin, with no chance for hin to escape the agony. 

His very life had become a waking nightmare. One that even true sleep did only provide a rare and temporary solace from. 

The female he loved had betrayed him. Completely and utterly broken him, and taken from him every single thing that gave his life meaning. 

His court. His love. His friendships. His identity. His decency. Even his reputation. 

Since Feyre left - truly, willfully left of her own account - leaving his court in shambles and ruin, he had spent countless waking hours contemplating two very simple questions;

When and where had his life gone so wrong? And what had he done to deserve this torment? 

Still, he came up with no clear answer. Only more regrets, more memories of grief, and loss. 

Not only of Feyre, or of Lucien. But of his commanders, who had been with him through eons, but had now turned their backs on him due to Feyre's deceit. And of the courtiers who had willingly gone to their deaths, to the human lands, for a chance to free them all from Amarantha's curse. 

Perhaps, that was his fatal flaw - that he would believe in the best intentions of others. 

In his naiveté, he had failed them all. 

Alone in the large, ruined estate, with only his thoughts to keep him company, he waited. And had been waiting all through winter, like a wounded deer, for the wolves to find him, and have their feast.

This day, when sleep had finally swept him off into sweet oblivion, it finally happened. He had awoken suddenly to a sharp, throbbing pain in his chest, and a feeling like the very cavity within his ribcage was collapsing in on itself. Instinctively, he shot up into a sitting position, eyes tunnelling on the assailant above him. But in the very instant his eyes managed to focus on the face of the man that was to be his end, the onyx blade penetrated skin, muscle and flesh once more.

And he stared into the eyes of the very person he had deemed most likely to be his final doom.

Rhysand.

The highlord of the night court stared back at him, with an expression of unyielding, icy hatred. "For my sister, and my mother." He told him, with his dagger buried deep inside Tamlin's right lung. Slowly, he slid it back out, as if wanting to savor every moment of sharpened steel against flesh. Breathing was almost impossible, with his lung having collapsed.

Tamlin tried to speak, to roar in a desperate attempt to make Rhysand back off. He lifted a paw to swat his adversary off of him - but Rhysand had the upper hand. Quick as a viper, he struck again, burying the blade deep inside his upper abdominal cavity, striking upwards beneath his ribs. 

"And this - this is for Feyre. For all the suffering you put her through." He hissed, through gritted teeth. And then, he twisted the knife. The wounded beast let out a strangled wail in agony, as he buckled and clawed at Rhysand's arm. The dark male hissed in pain, as Tamlin's claws tore into his flesh, shredding the sleeves of his coat to pieces. He pulled out the knife, drawing it back over his head to thrust in a final time. But a purely instinctual, primal fury, to fight for survival, had claimed Tamlin, and as he thrashed, he managed to fling Rhysand across the room. 

The male hit the wall hard, and with a bang, fell onto the closet on the floor, which had already been toppled long before.

Tamlin's vision was swimming, his head spinning. Nausea followed, as all the blood rushed from his head, to pool somewhere within his chest cavity. He collapsed back on his pillow, breathing laboured. Every inch of him finally realized the inevitable truth - he was dying.  

He had already lost his will to live, months before. He was emaciated. Weak. Cold. 

Rhysand had seen it, too. Because as he got back on his feet, brushing off the knees of his fine dress pants, he said; 

"Consider this a final mercy, old friend." 

He picked up his dagger from where it had fallen on the floor, and with a final, disdainful incline of his head in farewell, he stalked out of the room. 

Tamlin's gaze followed him, taking note of every last bit of blood - his blood - still dripping from that illyrian blade. 

He didn't have it in him to thank Rhysand for ending his life. That stubborn shred of pride still lingered. 

He was in no state to demand anything, but if he had a final wish, he would have liked the last face he saw to have been a friendly one. The face of someone that really knew him, and had cared. 

For Rhysand, that had been a long, long time ago. 

As Tamlin watched, Rhysand chucked the dagger aside, as if merely touching it filled him with disgust. Then, he looked over his shoulder, meeting Tamlin's gaze, with a look that couldn't be discerned.

"Farewell, Tamlin."

With those final words, he was gone. Swallowed by a curtain of purest night, stars twinkling in his wake.

He had winnowed away, most likely to the Night Court, leaving Tamlin to face his end alone. 

Silence fell. Time lost all meaning. For every passing moment, every heartbeat, he could feel his life force slipping, as he drifted in and out of lucidity.

The grand estate, which seemed to have been dying alongside him, had finally become his tomb. 

He couldn't move, even if he wanted to. His body was trembling, with cold and heat and fear, all at once. All he could do was stare at that empty doorway, as his body and instinct clung to that final shred of life - the magic inside of him, refusing to let him pass without a fight. It would attempt to heal him, or at least keep him going, until it too would become spent. 

His eyes glazed over, obscuring the lifeless walls and wreckage around him. Little by little, the world around him slipped away. In those moments, while life slipped away, he allowed himself to dream. 

In his mind, life returned to those walls. They became vibrant, in the color and sunlight of spring, and he heard Feyre's laughter. Saw her enter through the doorway, and twirling once, asking for his opinion on a new gown that Alis had brought for her. 

He noticed that she was human. Still human, and so full of that joy and spirit that he had fallen in love with. A thirst for experience, and for the magic of this peaceful land that they called home. 

He heard the voice of his mother. Felt her gentle hands caress his hair, as she had done so often through the night in this very bed, when he had been scared of the dark as a child. When he would crawl into her bed, seeking the comfort of a warm, safe embrace. 

That child inside of him longed for that embrace in this moment, before he would be leaving this world forever. 

He clung to that soothing presence. To the memory. Perhaps, when he died here, his spirit would return to the cauldron. Perhaps, he would find her there. And maybe, he would even find that mortal soul of Feyre, which had died when Amarantha had snapped her neck. The part of her that had loved him, as much as he loved her - and which had never returned from the other side. 

Gentle, warm hands touched his brow. His chest. He shuddered at the feeling. Then - pain. He groaned, eyes opening, focusing - just in time to see a shadow above him. A shadow, brandishing bright, gleaming steel.

He flinched, unable to truly move. His mind was reeling. What was happening? Why was this happening? 

He was dying. He would disappear, along with the pain and the misery. 

"I'm going to stop the bleeding." 

A voice reached him, strange and muddled, through the mists surrounding his mind and obscuring his blurry vision. It was a female voice. A stranger. 

He groaned, trying to roar in pain and protest, as she dug into his wounds. He wanted to weep, like a child - to weep at how unfair this was. That his suffering was being prolonged. 

Why would this stranger not let him die in peace? Did she not understand that he wanted this? 

Then, she pain faded, as she withdrew. It became a dull, pounding ache, filling his torso. 

He was so tired. Absolutely exhausted. The stranger drew close once more, speaking in that soothing, gentle tone; 

"I might need to boil some water later, to disinfect it.." 

He wanted nothing more than to sleep. To go in peace. He gathered all of his remaining energy, to just lift one arm, placing his paw on the arm of hers that was drawing close, holding what looked like a soaked rag. 

"Don't.." He barely recognized his own voice. It sounded like the voice of someone else, coming from somewhere in his proximity instead of from his own, dry mouth. 

His lids grew heavy, and in that final moment before sleep claimed him, his pupils expanded and he saw her. The stranger, smiling down at him, her brown eyes alight with concern.

"It will be alright. " 

He knew that it was a lie. A beautiful lie, much like those that Feyre had given him those last few months before she vanished for good, taking every bit of sunshine and hope with her. 

And yet he clung to that lie, allowing it to whisk him away into the darkness, knowing that wherever he would emerge on the otherside, it would have to be better than here. 

Anywhere would be better than here. 

 

---

 

End of chapter 2. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 3: Chase the darkness away

The first night was always the most critical, especially considering the risk of infection. As for that, the horrible fever that the fae seemed to have caught was a very bad sign. 

It had been a stroke of luck - or perhaps, a merciful gift from the lingering spirits around - that Danielle had come upon a small sewing kit in a drawer in the kitchens, when she had gone to boil the water to disinfect the rags she had cut from the canopy. 

The sewing kit was simple, containing silk thread and a selection of needles. She would need a sturdy one, and she kept her fingers crossed that one of the bigger ones in the kit would do. 

That, and that the beast wouldn't snap her neck or claw her face off for what she was about to do for him. 

When she returned to the bedroom, carrying her disinfected rags in a pot of hot water and her sewing supplies, the beast seemed to have fallen into a deep sleep on his own. So far so good - that meant she would most likely have the peace she needed to get the wounds cleaned up and ready for sewing, which of course also meant removing the cloth that she had already stuffed inside to staunch the bleeding. 

She worked, mostly in silence. Sometimes, just to fill the time and out of habit, she would conduct idle small-talk, as much to herself as to him. It made the grim atmosphere of the silent, empty mansion feel a little less heavy and oppressive. 

"I hope you don't mind me staying for a little while. I mean, there is plenty of space for the two of us. And I could really do with a roof over my head, just for a little while." She told him, as she lightly dabbed at the deep, open wound beneath his ribs. It's edges were frayed in a gnarly sense, which made her wince. 

"Gods - whoever did this really had it out for you, huh?" She murmured, glancing towards the creature's face with pity.  He was sleeping, mouth half open, breathing soundly. The teeth still made her bite her lip in begrudging respect for what they could potentially do to her, should he get the inclination. 

"Have anyone ever told you that you have impressively sharp-looking fangs? Because you do." she shook her shoulders out, loosening her joints before she picked up the sewing kit. 

"Please, don't use them on me, though. I'm only trying to help. This will hurt, but it's better than an open wound - trust me." she let out a bated breath, as she threaded the needle. 

Carefully, she supported her elbow along the beast's large, muscled shoulder and sturdy collarbone, leaning against him for support. 

As soon as her needle pierced the torn, red flesh of the first wound, the creature let out a raw, pained whimper, which reverberated through every inch of his hide. Danielle felt it all through her heart, to the marrow of her bones. 

There was something about that sound - the feeling behind it - that told her that it wasn't simply the pain of the needle. It was something deeper. The sound of a wounded soul.

For a long moment, she sat there, still as a deer listening for the sound of cracking branches, waiting to see if he would awaken. The expression on his face seemed pained. His brow furrowed and lip curled up at the corner in a trembling sneer. But it was the wetness and tension at the corner of his eyes, that pulled on her heartstrings. 

"I'm sorry." She whispered, as she reached up to gently stroke the golden fur at the side of his face and along his neck. 

What she was sorry for, exactly, she couldn't say. Was it for the pain she would inflict while she mended him? Or sympathy, because he was in this situation in the first place, hurt and alone? Or, as was likely, a mixture of both. 

Mostly, for how wounded and vulnerable he was. 

Bit by bit, he seemed to settle, the tense muscles of his face relaxing as she stroked his fur, murmuring to him. And she resumed her work, keeping an eye on his face once in a while as she did. Sometimes, he would let out growls of discomfort, and every time the needle pierced the angry, red skin under the damp fur, he winced in pain. Most importantly, he did not fight against her care. If he was awake or really aware of what was happening, he gave little indication. 

While she worked, the sun started to settle, casting long shadows across the floor. The shadow of the tree limbs swaying outside the large window resembled long, bony arms, straining to reach the bed with their long, dark fingers. 

The notion sent a chill down her spine. She could hear the distant sounds of the howling wind - or, at least she was quite sure that it was the wind. Hopefully, nobody would get the same idea as her, and seek shelter from the weather within this house, tonight.

She turned her gaze back down to her work. She was almost done sewing up the last wound, but the deepening shadow across his abdomen, courtesy of his emaciated waist and protruding ribs, made it difficult to see what she was doing. 

"I need light." She murmured, brow furrowed in grave concentration. "Excuse me. I'll be back soon - I promise." She said, quickly securing the needle under the stitches, before she drew back with a pat on the creature's shoulder.

Her back and hip joints felt stiff as she got up, and rewarded her for stretching with a few audible cracks. 

For how long had she been sitting there, tending the wounded fae? Hours, at least. Time had flown by!

And she noticed, to her own amusement, that she felt calm and content. Content in a way that she hadn't, since she had first arrived in this world. 

Time had flown by since then too, she realized, as she rummaged through her backpack in search of the candles she had brought from the town south of the border to Prythian. 

It had been almost a year since she died. Or, she was quite sure she must have died. She keenly remembered the feeling of cold iron against her temple, and the shortlived burning, the crack and the pain, as the bullet passed through her skull. 

It was a surreal feeling. Her spirit left her body, and she found herself surging towards a bright light, far above. 

On the other side of that light, was a liquid world. An inifinite sea of cold, and dark. She swam through that world, up and up and up, and as she did, she was remade. A body was woven around her spirit, until it was encased anew, and she was ready to emerge. 

All she could remember thinking to herself, was that she needed to find a way out. Find a way back to life, because she was not done. This was not her end. And so, she fought her way back to the surface, until her hands and face broke the icy waters of oblivion. She tumbled out of a large ornate tub, onto the wooden floor in the cargo hold of a large warship. 

Curtesy of the sweet - shockingly, also royal - couple that led this army, she was given food, clothing and shelter on the ship, until they could dock at the next harbor for supplies. 

In exchange, and because she couldn't help being of use, she had busied herself on the ship, making use of the skills she had as a military-trained medic, to help tend the still injured soldiers onboard. 

That was where she learned of the war, and the courts. Of the fae, and the strained relationship between the peoples. 

Since she left the ship, as it docked on the southernmost part of the continent, she had been on her own. She hadn't wanted for anything, as the lady - Miriam - had made sure she was sent on her merry way with plenty of gold and practical supplies. 

"You can always come with us, you know. Make a life for yourself on our island. There is peace and room for anyone in need." 

The beautiful half-fae Lady had said. 

But, grateful as she was, Danielle couldn't make herself accept the offer. 

"I was given a second chance. I died with unfinished business, and I need to figure out how I can make this life count. I can't squander it."

She had told her. And so, she set out, to wander from village to village across the continent, with no clear destination, nor purpose. She had no idea what she was searching for, or where she would end up. 

If nothing else, she was grateful that it had led her to this abandoned estate - because, if it hadn't, that fae male wouldn't have had this shot at survival. 

"Ah.. there you are." She grinned, as she fished out a handful of candles, bound together with a woven string of wool. A small note was attached to the string, reading; 

"So you may find light in even the darkest night.

We hope you find what you are looking for.

- Miriam"

With a warm, grateful smile on her face, Danielle untied the string, and set up the candles around the room, replacing the burned out stumps that had been left by the previous occupants. 

Lighting every candle with her box of match sticks, she wondered when this room had last been illuminated in the night, to chase the darkness away. 

 

---

End of Chapter 3

Chapter 4: Till the Break of Dawn

The night was long, but none the less far more comfortable than the previous ones. 

Not that it took much to surpass nights spent curled up among the roots of trees, or under the open sky, lying flat in the tall grass to hide from ill-intentioned fae or other predators. 

Tonight, she knew that she wouldn't get much sleep. She needed to check up on the beast at least every hour, to make sure his temperature didn't rise any further. 

She had loaded him up with cool cloths on the most vital parts of his body, and bandaged the sewn up wounds, just to protect the stitches and keep them clean.  

After that, when she was finally left idle and therefore restless, she had busied herself by tidying up the room a little. Broken picture frames and trinkets beyond salvaging had been moved to the corner closest to the door. Paintings that were still intact had been hung back on the walls, and intact objects strewn about had been put back on shelves and in drawers where they seemed to belong. While she had been able to hoist the vanity and the one bedside table back on their feet, she had to give up on the closet, which was simply too heavy and massive for one woman to handle. The back of it seemed to have been smashed in, and blood was splattered across it - a grim remnant of the struggle which seemed to have taken place between the beast and his assailant. 

With a shudder, she turned from it, and instead sat down to sort through a small wooden box she had found under the toppled vanity. Not that she was considering scavenging valuables from this house (it would be rude, considering she had asked for sanctuary from whatever spirits might still be haunting this place - a sanctuary that she wasn't about to squander). She was simply curious, and needed something to occupy her, to keep her from drifting off to sleep when she was supposed to keep an eye on her gravely wounded patient. 

To her surprise, the wooden box seemed to contain the personal effects belonging to whoever had lived in this room before. A selection of masculine silver and gold rings glinted from within, as if in greeting, when she opened the lid. She picked one up, turning the thick, golden band in the candlelight. Around the rim a detailed, delicate design of vines and leaves was etched. Another ring resembled the head of a stag, the antlers splayed wide across the knuckles of the wearer. It's eyes were inlayed with pale saphires, flawless in their facets. 

She placed the rings carefully back into their spots in the velvet interior. 

Among the rings, however, one stood out. Primarily due to it's size. She picked it up, and to test a theory, slid the ring onto her own finger. 

Yes, it was indeed a woman's ring. She held her hand out before her, studying the small, golden band. It was masterfully crafted, made to resemble twining branches, wrapped around the slim finger of the female who wore it. 

"Why would anyone leave something like this? They must have left in a hurry.." she muttered to herself, sliding the band off her finger. She looked to the beast sleeping beside her. 

"This wasn't your doing, was it? Because if it was, this could get mighty awkward." her smile was one of ironic humor. She was about to place the ring back into the box, when her eye snagged on something inside - words, etched inside the ring along the curve. 

To my  Feyre - With Love Everlasting.

The words sent a pang through her heart. 

This was a wedding band. A wedding band, abandoned in this large, silent estate. 

"What happened here.." She murmured, incredulously. A myriad of terrible possibilities swam through her mind, sending a shiver of dread up her spine.  

She turned her gaze away, and shut the box with a Clack. Then, she pushed it under the bed with her foot, content to leave it there for the time being. 

As she got back up to stand, Danielle's stomach immediately protested. Not an unreasonable protest, mind you, since she hadn't eaten since this morning. 

"I'll go find something to eat." She told the fae male, realizing that he probably wouldn't even hear her, since he was still fast asleep. His breathing had slowed and deepened this past hour, since she had finished tending to his wounds. A very good sign indeed, so she didn't feel guilty as she picked up the nearest candle stick and strode out into the dark hallway. 

Accounting for how difficult it actually was to find a larder in a manor of this size, not to mention having to do so while trying not to stumble over smashed furniture in the dark, and with only a candle to light the way for her, it took Danielle at least an hour before she was finally heading back up the stairs. And she had made sure to bring plenty of food back, so that it would be at least a few days before she had to make the trip again. 

To her surprise, the larder in the cellar had been heavily stocked with dried and cured meat. An amount that could easily last her months, if she didn't eat more than she absolutely had to. For a beast like the one upstairs, though - she might very well have to restock their food supply within the next few weeks. 

Better safe than starving - especially if the alternative for the fae was to devour her, instead. 

Carrying a tray loaded to the limit with a jar of jam and strips of dried meat, as well as a cured elk's thigh swung over her shoulder, she trudged back up the familiar stairs towards the master bedroom.

When she reached the top of the stairs, she had gotten so used to the only sounds around being the howling wind and the echo of her own footsteps, that when a shrill creeeeaak sounded to her left, her soul was ready to flee her body in pure fear. 

She stayed put for a long moment, keeping her eyes fixed on the door that had seemingly just moved on it's own. The room beyond was dark, except for the faint, silvery moonlight streaming in through a window on the eastern wall. 

Nothing moved. It may have just been the wind. Perhaps a window was left open? 

She set down the tray and the thigh of meat, and stepped into the dark room - with only her candlestick and hand-to-hand training to protect her from whatever may lurk inside.  

 

It was an office. That much was immediately clear, as soon as she entered. The large writing desk had seen better days, judging from the angry claw marks marring it's polished surface. The highbacked chair that had evidently belonged to the office's owner had, seemingly, been flung across the room, and the wall opposite the desk was splattered with something which Danielle at first feared might be more blood. At closer inspection, it was red paint.

There was more of the same on the floor, in all the colors of the rainbow, including brushes and a smart leather-and-wood carrying case. It was a beautiful item, uniquely engraved with the letters F.A. 

The name in the ring echoed in her mind. Perhaps the F was for Feyre, whomever this person had been. An artist, perhaps? Definitely a daughter or mistress of this house. 

She turned her attention to the dominant flavor of mess that covered every surface of the room; Books and parchment was strewn about, some of it shredded, some of it crumpled. 

Danielle placed her candlestick on the desk, wax dripping. Then, she kneeled down, pulled some of the parchment to her, and began to sort through it. She didn't know why she cared so much. Whatever had happened here was obviously a tragedy, and there was little she could do about it now, to make a difference for these people, whose memories lived inside these walls. But, she felt compelled to figure it out - as if it was a duty that came with occupying their space. To honor those that had been here before her. 

At first, it was all a jumbled mess. Pieces of letters, of political and strategic missives. Those were the most interesting.

Not that the map of the Spring Court and of Prythian wasn't useful, but those wete torn to bits and pieces too and there was no way for her to mend them. So she piled the pieces and put them aside. 

Then, she begun trying to piece together the letters and missives. It was a daunting task, much like trying to do several assorted puzzles at once, with all of the pieces scattered to the winds. 

There was no way she could be done in a single night. When dawn broke, casting it's warm and golden rays into the office, she had assembled quite a few letters. Granted, it was mostly the less torn ones and those that were merely crumpled rather than ripped. Her eyes were itchy and sore from strain and the dust blanketing the stale air. Her candle was halfway burned down.

It had been worth it, though - because she realized where she was. Who this house had belonged to. Tamlin, the high lord of Spring, and his lady-to-be - Feyre Archeron, known as the Curse Breaker. 

There were still so many mysteries to uncover, however. Questions occupied her mind, vying for attention;

What had happened to them? Where had they gone? Why were their posessions still here?

She forced her insatiable curiosity down. She could, after all, continue her Detective work the coming night.

After all, a dead detective wouldn't get any answers. Survival had to take priority - including that of her charge. 

She had gone to check on her patient a few times throughout the night, and last she checked - a few hours before dawn broke - he was still sleeping soundly. His fever seemed to have broken, and his fur was dry and not too warm to the touch. Matted and crusted with blood, sure, but that was a problem for himself to fix if he was able to. 

Danielle stood up, stretching her sore and tired limbs - and had to steady herself with a hand on the table when her balance failed. The room spun around her, and her stomach churned with a loud, furious grumble. 

"Ok, Ok.. I'll feed you before bed.." she sighed, glaring down at the hollowness under her blouse. She actually hadn't yet decided where she herself would sleep - but figured that there was bound to be more bedrooms around. Maybe even one with a bed that was still fit for sleeping in. 

At the prospect of sleep and dried meat with sweet jam awaiting her, with a grin on her face and a bounce in her step, she turned to the door. 

She stiffened, her face blanching with a gasp. She hadn't heard any footsteps - but perhaps, she had been too preoccupied with her snooping to notice. 

"You should have allowed me to die." A hoarse male voice spoke from the door. His tall, broadshouldered figure occupied the entire doorframe. At first, she couldn't make out his features, shadowed as he was with the light of the hallway behind his back. 

For a long, breathless moment, silence lay heavy over the space between them. As her eyes adjusted to the dimness, his features became clearer. 

A pale, gaunt face, surrounded by a tangled, matted mass of golden hair. Thin, sharp shoulders impeccably squared over protruding ribs and a scarred torso. One elegant, long-fingered hand was resting against the doorframe, the other holding a leg of dried elk as if it weighed less than nothing. His mouth was a tense, hard line, as his eyes were trained on her, piercing her with the sharpness of an arrowhead. As if she was prey. 

If the three sewn up wounds on his sickly pale skin hadn't given him away instantly, those eyes would have. 

The most striking green eyes she had ever seen. The color of the lush forest outside, though dulled by bitterness and grief. 

Danielle let out a long, silent breath. Instinctively aware that the barest show of vulnerability could set him off. And she forced her voice to remain steady, as she responded;

"That was never an option." 

 

---

End of Chapter 4. 

 

 

Chapter 5: A cold welcome

Tamlin's POV:

He had been so ready to welcome death. Welcome it with open arms, and peace in his heart. But it never came. Instead, he had been forced to drift in and out of consciousness, riding out pangs of pain, the sting of the needle and a fever that made his head spin and throb. 

Through all of that, however - she had been there. Talking to him, her voice soft and soothing, as her gentle hands stroked his fur. 

There were moments, in his fevered state, where he had been able to convince himself that the woman was Feyre, and that she had returned to him. That it had all just been a bad dream, borne from feverish delussions. At other times, he had dreamt that she was his mother, and that he was a boy again, sick in his bed while she cared for him. 

When he awoke, the dreams evaporated along with the heated state of his body. He was back in his ruined estate, surrounded by the wreckage he had wrought. Every broken piece of furniture and tear in the walls were like scars left behind by his anguish and despair. 

The air was thickly scented with blood and sweat - but there was something else too, which had caught his attention. Notes of something familiar, yet unknown, colored the scent, and made him wary. 

And so, lured by an instinct to protect his territory from uninvited guests, he swung his legs over the edge of his bed. That was when he noticed that his legs were pale, and hairless. Distinctly high fae, rather than those of the beast form he had lived in for months now.

Whatever had triggered this transformation in his unconscious state, he didn't know. Perhaps, it was his dreams. Dreams of a simpler time, where rage and sorrow weren't as all-encompassing as they were now. Slowly, he lowered his bare feet to the floor. He shivered with cold as his feet touched the wood.

This would have been a lot more pleasant in his beast form, but he didn't have the strength nor energy to transform. No, he had to do this in the shape he was in - even if he was acutely aware of how weak and miserable he must look. It wasn't a given that he would be able to chase the intruder out of here, but by principle, he had to try.

Tamlin pulled on a pair of trousers, though he winced and ached as he did, and had to take more breaks than he cared to admit. Since when had he become such a whimp? So sensitive to a bit of pain? It was as if his very body rebelled against the weakened state he had put it in.

At least somewhat dressed, to protect his own dignity, he left the room and followed the scent down the hallway. His steps were slow and soft, like the paws of a stalking cat. The closer he got, the more familiar the scent seemed. His nostrils flared, eyes narrowing.

Yes, he knew that scent. 

Tamlin made a conscious effort to stand tall, even if he had to grip the doorframe like a lifeline to keep his posture upright. He held her stare, his own eyes dark with disapproval and warning. 

She was no lady. Tamlin could tell that much, just from a glance. Hell, he wasn't even sure she was human. Now that he was in the room with her, the strange notes within her scent were more easily distinguishable. He could smell death upon her. Death, and salt water, and smoke.

But, then again, he was sure that after months upon months of lying around in his own tears and sorrow, just waiting for someone to finally put an end to him - he probably smelled worse, by far.

Most importantly, however - was the sweet and metallic scent of blood that clung to her. His own blood. 

As the woman slowly got to her feet, every movement balanced and controlled, he took note of how tall she was for a human woman. She was leanly muscled, too, and what little was visible of her somewhat tanned skin was peppered with tanlines and fresh cuts. Her thick, dark hair was pulled back in a ponytail, which immediately reminded him more of the tail of a fox with how bushy it was. 

Every bit of information his sharp mind gathered from the woman's appearance was vital to the assembled picture of what he was dealing with. She was a survivalist - perhaps a scout, or a soldier from the human lands or the distant continent, coming to surveil the former borderlands of his court. But, that didn't add up with her decision to save him. To take the time to treat a wounded fairy, who might easily have torn her apart as her only thanks.  

Or why she had been foolish enough to stay, long enough for him to catch her rummaging through his personal study, piecing together classified correspondence of his court. 

The woman had saved him, and by doing that, she had doomed him completely. And, if he so decided, she had doomed herself as well.

"You should have allowed me to die." He said, his voice hoarse and foreign to his own ears. How long had it been since he had spoken, and not been in the form of a beast? His nose even scrunched up, as if he was snarling and baring his teeth like a viscious predator. 

The woman didn't flinch. Neither did she lower her stare.  Evidently, she knew that he and the giant, furry creature she had tended were one and the same - and, just to be safe, she treated him with the same caution she would if he still had a maw of deadly fangs. A smart decision - but not one that would save her, if he decided to pounce. 

"That was never an option." Her response came without hesitation.

He recognised the voice immediately. The characteristically smooth, almost silky tone of triggered something akin to a deja vu. Hazy memories of that same voice soothing him, talking him through the pain and the fear while she cleaned and bandaged his wounds. How he relaxed under the needle, though his skin felt like it was on fire. 

For how long had she been tending him? The sun was high in the sky when Rhysand had entered his house and attempted to kill him. And now, the sun was rising again. 

It had to have been more than a full 12 hours. 

Something tightened in his chest. Something deeper than the itchy, sore stitches.  

"Why?" He asked, the word shot at her like a piercing arrow. What was she hoping to gain from this? "Look around. I have nothing left to offer anyone. No influence, no favors worth owing. I have become less than the lowliest of lesser fae." He told her, gesturing to the ruined mansion around them. The silence was deafening in it's pure lack of life, lack of servants scuttling about on every floor. His voice almost seemed too loud, too booming as it attempted to fill the silent void that pressed in on them from all sides. 

The woman looked at him, and he could tell that her mind was turning over the information he gave her. As if she was trying to piece together the answer to a question only she knew. 

"What would you say if I told you that it was an act of kindness and mercy? That the only thing I'm asking for is what was already granted to me by circumstance." She responded, every word chosen carefully. To avoid falling into some kind of superstitious faery trap, Tamlin would bet. She held up her palms, gesturing to her surroundings. "Shelter." She elaborated. A simple thing - the basest of needs. 

Tamlin's brow furrowed, as he attempted to read her. Was this some kind of trick, perhaps? Her sort-of-human scent betrayed only a bit of fear, which was to be expected in the presence of someone like him. It was likely that she sensed the pressure of his magic - Feyre had mentioned it's oppressive force. 

"If you had let me die, you would have been able to use the estate as you see fit, until scavenging fae would run you off. Why spend your time and energy tending to me, instead of simply letting me die, taking what you could, and saving yourself the trouble?" He asked. He honestly didn't understand. And on top of that, he could feel his slowly mending body tiring simply from standing upright for the two minutes he had been out of bed. It was incredibly frustrating. He grit his teeth to bear it. He wanted to see this interrogation through. "Instead, you allow me the chance to find you here, going through my personal correspondence, and risk my wrath. Is that worth it to you?" he snarled, half from the indignation of what she had been doing, and half from pain and frustration with his own weakness. 

The woman's dark eyes widened instantly. Not with fear, but with clear surprise. As if pieces of the puzzle she had been trying to solve in her mind just clicked into place. "You're.. Tamlin. High Lord of the Spring Court!" It wasn't a question. It was a conclusion. 

Wait.. she hadn't known? She hadn't known who he was or even where she was staying? 

Tamlin let out a heavy sigh, lids drooping for a moment as exhaustion settled in the very marrow of his bones. At least it kept him from rolling his eyes, which was what he actually had the urge to do. 

"Yes. I am." He confirmed, his voice like a rumbling growl from the depth of his chest. He squeezed the bridge of his nose. When had his head started to throb like this? It had to be the fever, or the exhaustion. He had slept very little as of late. This night barely counted, since he hadn't slept as much as he had been unconscious or delirius. 

"You're dehydrated." The woman said, and he heard her boots scuff against the floor as she stepped closer. He peered up over his hand, sharp eyes focusing on the steel canister in her hand. 

She continued. "Take it. It's water. I boiled plenty of it when I had to clean your wounds." 

Her informal, casual tone was so unusual to his ears that it was grating. She had just learned that he was the high lord of spring, and now she was ordering him to drink? 

He hesitated for a moment in the door opening, but then stepped back, with a low, rumbling growl emanating from somewhere deep in his emaciated chest. There was no way in the Cauldron that he would accept something as simple as water from this stranger. Nevermind that she had tended his wounds. A part of his pride still remained. 

However, no matter if he wanted to or not - no matter if he had wanted to live or not - he owed her a life debt. It was frankly a pain in his ass, but he couldn't make himself care. He was so exhausted. Just so, damned exhausted. 

So, as the tentative footsteps of the woman followed him out the door, he said;

"Stay, if you want, for as long as you feel the need. You are free to eat or drink whatever remains in this house." he told her, his tone flat and cold. He didn't so much as glance behind him, until he reached the ruined door of his bedroom. Then, his eyes rose to meet hers. And there was a stern warning, in the murky, dark depths. "You will remain out of my private study, however. Starting now. And you will never as much as open the fifth door to the right, on the first floor in the eastern wing of this estate." He knew from the quiet, unwavering look in her eyes that he had made himself quite clear. 

 

---

 

Danielle's POV:

He was Tamlin. The Highlord of the Spring court. 

It took a little while for the fact to settle inside of her. That he had been here, dying alone, in this ruined estate - and he was supposed to be one of the most powerful, esteemed of the High fae in all of Prythian. 

What had happened? 

She glanced over her shoulder towards the documents she had been gathering, laid out over the floor. 

Well, that project was passed. He had not been pleased to find her looking through those. So she stepped in to quickly blow out her candles. Then she left the dim, dusty room, closing the door behind her, and ventured down the stairs to the kitchen. 

He had allowed her to stay for as long as she needed, and to partake in whatever she wanted. Which meant, she was going to heat some of the water again, and steep some tea that she had found in a cupboard. She had previously disregarded the tea leaves since they didn't do much in regards to medicinal properties, nor did they provide any nourishment - but, it might help her warm up and soothe her enough that she could decide what she would do next. 

Clearly, the High Lord wanted to be left alone. He hadn't even wanted to be saved in the first place.

But that didn't mean that she could just leave him to die. And that was not just in regards to his mortal wounds - it was his depressive state as well. It didn't sit right with her.

Obviously, something had gone wrong during the war. So terribly wrong, that he blamed himself to a point of despair. And someone else must have blamed him, too, since they had tried to kill him.

But the war was over. It was won, and for all intents and purposes the world had seemed to be moving on. She had seen as much on her travels here. Humans were rebuilding homes that had been wrecked, and otherwise going about their daily lives. He needed to get back on his feet, too; even if it was obviously easier said than done. 

She had no place she had to go to - no obligations to anyone but herself. Whatever she could do for this fae lord, she would. Until she felt herself pulled along towards whatever destiny had in store for her - since she had been brought to this world in the first place. 

Danielle let out a huff in satisfaction at her own conclusion, as she sipped on her tea. Her gaze rested on the world outside through the kitchen window, without really seeing it; so lost in thought had she been. That was until a glimmer of white passed the window, drifting on a lively wind. And then another. 

"what the..?" She murmured, blinking and setting down her cup of herbal tea. 

She climbed onto the counter and unhooked the wrought iron clasp keeping the window shut. With a mighty howl, the wind took hold of the window, slamming it open. The wind greeted Danielle by running it's icy hands across her face. In it's wake, it left velvety soft, wet kisses to melt upon her warm, rosy skin. 

Snow. Large, puffy flakes of snow fell from the sky like feathers, to be caught and carried along by the playful wind. 

 

---

End of Chapter 5. 

Chapter 6: A Court of Snow and Buried Hope

---

Danielle's POV:

The temperature fell overnight, and along with it, a seemingly endless amount of snow. What had started as a peculiar but charming drizzle of snowflakes, which melted as soon as they touched the petals of the spring flowers, had become a thick downpour. Anything beyond 15 feet from the windows might as well have ceased to exist, as difficult as it was to see through the storm. 

The first few days, Danielle barely saw Tamlin at all. Where he was when he wasn't in his bed, she did not know. She had removed the sutures in his wounds the first night. His fae body had healed them up so nicely already that there was no need of the string anymore, and she hadn't wanted the wounds to heal around them completely - for obvious reasons. 

The procedure had been done in close to complete silence. The fae lord barely moved a muscle - not out of fear, but silent apathy. He responded to what she said with single syllables and compliance. This close, it was even more apparent how sickly thin he was. His skin was almost as pale as the snow outside, with an undertone of a sandy grey. 

That same night, she had made sure to place a cup of tea and a meal on his nightstand. He was still sitting in that same chair she had left him in, robe undone at his chest, and staring out at the pale sheet of snow that obscured the world.The tea had gone cold when she picked the cup up again the next morning, and the food - still consisting of jam and dried meat - had barely been touched. Tamlin was nowhere to be seen. 

Regardless, she made it a point to make him a cup of tea and a plate everytime she got some for herself. She couldn't very well force him to eat, but she figured that making it as low-effort as possible to do so might mean that he at least got something down. And something, with how thin he was, was definitely better than nothing. 

Getting the entire mansion warm was an insurmountable task. Sure, she had her match sticks to get the fire going, but firewood was in short supply - this was the spring court, after all, and cold days had until now been few and far between. Before long, Danielle was smashing furniture to light a fire in just the most essential rooms; Tamlin's bedroom, the downstairs sitting room, and the guest room which she had chosen for herself. It was rather large, still, for a guestroom, with a queensized bed, a sizeable closet and a large hearth.

A hearth that was never quite succesful in heating the air in the large room. Every night, she would awaken with chattering teeth despite her layers upon layers of blankets and quilts, to a pitch black room. The sounds of the storm howling and snow cracking and crinkling on the windows filled the night, and from the hearth, the last red embers glowed like the myriad eyes of a large, predatory spider. 

And so, her days went. In the daylight hours, she would assemble as many broken pieces of furniture she could, and light the hearths. Then, she would go scavenging for food in the kitchens, the cellar and the larder. There wasn't much, but she did find a little more to supplement their feast of dried meat - honey, pickled goods and a sack of nuts and grains. 

After her first small meal of the day, taken in the downstairs sitting area, she would go for a stroll in the mansion to explore. The further she got from the west wing, the more the cold bit into her cheeks, and every breath became visible as a thick puff of white mist. She had bundled herself up in a woolen blanket over layers upon layers of clothes from the closet in her room. A strange mix of male and female garments, all a little too long for her, and not nearly warm enough for winter. Though, thankfully, not as flimsy as the gauzy clothes she had found in other wardrobes around the house. 

To her amazement, the further she ventured into the other side of the house, the less damaged it was. As if this side of the house had been abandoned, left to the ravishings of time and nothing else. A thick layer of dust covered every surface, the curves of every vase and nooks of the chandeliers that had once upon a time lighted the large, comfortable parlors and game rooms and sitting rooms that lined the long hallways.

The grumble of her stomach told her that it must have been a while past noon, when she happened upon a pair of refined double doors, which had been left open, like an invitation, for her to enter the spectacular ballroom beyond. And so, full of wonder and glee at what she had seen thus far, she heeded the invitation, and stepped inside. Her flatsoled, worn-in boots whispered across the dusty marble floor. Before her, on the far side of the room, floor-to-ceiling windows treated her to the otherworldly view of the snowstorm outside, as it whipped past with the ferocity of a waterfall, clumps of ice tapping on the glass like thousands of curious fingers. Slowly, she turned around her own axis in the middle of the room, under the giant chandelier clad in gold and diamond, eyes wide as she tried to take in everything, from the marble pillars twined with carved vines and flowers, to the brightly painted ceiling showing springtime revelry, to the gilded mirrors on the walls. A stark contrast to the icy world outside. 

"You must have been a wonder to behold in your hayday.." She said, to no one in particular. Perhaps, it was the mansion itself she found herself speaking to, as if it was a kindly old woman whom she was reminiscing with. 

And to her amazement, it was like the house agreed - and wanted to show her. Because, before her very eyes, the sconces along the walls flared to life with small, glowing flames, and the faint sound of music echoed between the walls. A fiddle, playing a lively tune. 

"Thank you." She breathed, speechless in wonder at the small miracle. In reply, a rustling sounded above her. With a squeak, she hopped backwards, attempting to avoid whatever bird or bat had been awoken by her. 

But, it wasn't an animal that dropped down before her. No, it was a bouquet of dried lavender and lilacs, bound with a silken ribbon and now lying at her feet. 

Was the house truly communing with her? Or was it some kind of imp? 

Carefully, she picked up the bouquet. It's scent was heady and perfumed. 

"I.. I am so sorry for burning your furniture.." she stammered, as guilt overcame her. As if this house was a living, breathing thing, and she had stolen from it - or vandalized it. Nevermind that all she had taken had already been quite wrecked when she had found it. 

The only response she got, was a breeze moving through the room, circling her once - and then pushing open a door further down the hallway, hinges creaking like the wail of a banshee. 

For a long moment, she stood still as a statue, waiting for something more to happen and hugging her dried bouquet. 

"Do you.. want me to go there?" She asked, hesitant, eyes darting around and ears perked for a response. Nothing came. So she took that as a yes. 

The fae light in the sconces dimmed as she left the ballroom, and the music of the fiddle subsided, replaced instead by the distant whooshing of wind through the house. Where it came from, she had no idea - the windows were supposed to be closed, after all. Only a single door along the hall was open, still waving just a little, as if beckoning for her to approach. 

Why did it feel like she was breaking some sort of unspoken rule? She was, very specifically, not on the first floor. That was not the room Tamlin had forbidden her from disturbing

And yet, it felt like her lungs were rebelling, preventing her from taking that deep, calming breath that she so sorely needed. 

"OK." She sighed, looking around at the pale green walls and the plaster ceiling above - yes, she was talking to the house. She had to be approaching an entirely new degree of delusion right now. "I am deciding to trust you. Don't you dare be leading me somewhere that will get me in trouble with Tamlin! Alright?" She hissed, with the look of a stern older sibling reprimanding a mischievous toddler. She was still here as a guest, and the last thing she wanted was to give the high lord a reason to throw her face first out into the snowstorm outside. 

The house didn't respond. But, she could swear that there was an expectant tension in the air. As if the house itself was waiting for her next move. 

Step by step, clutching her bouquet like a teddy bear, Danielle stepped forward and into the room beyond the open door. 

 

It was not what she could have feared. No terrible, murdery secret or hungry beast was waiting for her inside the large, square space. Perhaps it wasn't that large, but only seemed so because of the lack of furniture. Canvas upon canvas was stacked at every wall, facing away from prying eyes. An easel stood by a window, positioned to make best use of the natural light. Within reach of the easel was a table full of paints and neatly tended brushes. Judging from the layer of dust in here, this room hadn't been visited for a while, either. 

Most eyecatching of all, were the paintings hung on each wall. A small, but gripping selection, ranging from grim and raw to bright and hopeful at a quick glance. The subject matter wasn't immediately apparent on all of them, but the emotion they were conveying was clear.

"May I have some light? Please." Danielle asked, her voice echoing like a bell in the heavy, dusty silence. 

At her request, fae lights sprung to life around the perimeter of the room, illuminating every shadow and making the paintings come alive in a wholy different way. 

Danielle took a turn about the room, taking her time as she studied each painting. The signature at the corner of every painting, F.A., like the one on the case in the study above, made clear who the artist had been. That elusive presence -  Feyre, that seemed to have left her mark in every significant room. 

The paintings were incredibly varied. Some were simply landscapes - beautiful, lively in their colors, depicting what the Spring court may have been before it all fell into ruin. Fae children playing in the garden outside among blooming flowers, while rays of sunshine gilded their hair. Another depicted a beautiful fae male, with golden skin and flaming red locks, donning an intricate fox mask. His one visible eye shone with secretive character and mischief. A portrait of someone Feyre had known, perhaps?

Other paintings seemed a lot more personal - and a lot darker. One showed an emaciated woman's body, protruding ribs and hips highlighted in a pale grey. lt made Danielle's own gut tense. Another depicted a creature Danielle already knew - Tamlin, in the beastly form she had first met - standing threateningly in a  doorway. Behind him, the night was dark, but the snow glinted in the starlight and the moon above. 

And then, there was the one of a large wolf, it's yellow eyes staring unblinkingly at Danielle. She could have sworn it's expression was one of outright surprise, rather than fear or malice. Once again, the surroundings of the wolf were those of a winter landscape - all naked trees and dry twigs, buried in snow. 

Was there some connection there, or was it all coincidence? After all, here she was, snowed in at the very estate that this Feyre had painted these pictures in. 

"Why did you want me to see these?" She asked the house, breaking her longlasting silence. 

"I didn't."

The low male voice had her instantly whirling to face him. Tamlin wasn't looking her way, though. No, he was looking at the paintings. The wistful expression in his eyes was tinged with a gleam of sorrow.

Danielle didn't know what to say at first. She fumbled for the right words. On the one hand, she felt like she should apologise for intruding upon this space - but on the other hand, it was starting to irk her that half of the words she had spoken to him so far, had been her apologising.

So instead, since he didn't seem to be outright asking her to leave, she simply turned her attention back to the painting of the wolf and softly said; 

"They are captivating. The paintings." 

Tamlin uttered a sound of agreement. "They are honest, and flawed." He said, as if those qualities, to him, were valuable and praiseworthy in their own right. Looking back at him, she noticed that his eyes were resting on the painting of the emaciated human girl.

"Her name is hidden everywhere in this house." Danielle tentatively said, as if by asking she was setting out on broken glass. She knew that it may not be her place to ask, and she told herself that if he didn't want to tell her, she wouldn't ask again."What happened to her?" Her voice was soft and gentle, and she braced herself for the wrath of his refusal.

A wrath that never came.

"She is dead. All that made her who she was, left her body, as I held her in my arms." Tamlin simply replied. There was no change to his tone or his expression as he said it. Just that same flat, sorrowful resignation. There were no tears left to shed for this loss.

Danielle had suspected as much. Yet still, she felt a pang of sympathy for him, in his grief.

"My condolences." She told him, with a small bow of her head.

Tamlin was still standing in the door opening, with a hand resting on the doorframe. He gave no reply to what she said, though his green eyes now met hers, impossibly green and intensely alert, as if he hadn't even been truly present until that moment. Whatever he was thinking, it was impossible to read from his stoic face.

Some primal part in her responded to that gaze, nailing her to the spot. Reminding her that she was in the presence of a possible predator, and that she was the prey. In spite of those instincts, telling her to cower and freeze, she found herself drawn into his gaze. She hadn't noticed before, but even from a distance, the many facets inside of them were breathtaking. As if those eyes held the primordial forest in which all creatures had grown and thrived. 

Lush, green forest resided within those eyes, pale light filtering through the canopy - and hidden deep within, stalking through that wood, was the beast he carried inside at all times. How all of that primal strength and influence could be contained within one physical form was beyond her - and one that for now seemed so broken and almost frail. It at once took her breath away, and left her strangely distraught. The beat of her heart echoed in her ears.

And then, he turned his gaze away. And the world around them seemed to set into motion once more.

"Burn them, should the need arise." He said, his cool, apathetic gaze touching every painting with brief, bitter indifference. "They hold no value to anyone. Not any longer. Though I am sure they will make for fine kindling." And with that, he turned, ready to leave the room behind, with all it's painful memories. 

Danielle was stunned in disbelief. "But.. wait, do you honestly mean that?" She blurted out at his back, arms out wide in a gesture towards all of the beautiful, soulful paintings around her. Every single one seemingly painted by this woman - or, this female - that he had clearly loved and lost. "You don't want to keep just one? As a memento?" 

Tamlin, who hadn't seemed inclined to answer her at all, halted in his step. Without turning, he said; "There is a painting, in my study. You may have seen it while you snooped around in there, a few nights ago." He told her, his head lowering, as he massaged the back of his neck - he was tense. "That one is the only painting of hers that mean anything to me, anymore. Use the rest to light a hearth. They may as well become useful to someone." 

And with that, he left, walking back down the hall from whence he came in long, silent strides. No wonder she hadn't heard him coming. He moved with the silent grace of a panther.

And as Danielle turned her gaze back towards the painting of the wolf, she remembered the painting in the study. Over his desk, hung a beautiful, though melancholic depiction of a decrepit cabin in a sleeping winter forest - and hidden in the bare foliage, lurked a large, dark wolf, stalking a lone doe between the trees. 

When Danielle left the studio, closing the door behind her, it was with a single painting under her arm. That of the large wolf, with the surprised golden eyes. She brought it back to the bedroom she had claimed, and placed it on one of the nails that had been abandoned by it's prior decoration, when the room had been ravaged. 

She liked to think that the wolf might watch over her as she slept, and protect her from those beady red eyes that resided in the hearth whenever the fire died in the night.  

That night, however, certain little details changed. Small, but significant ones - because when Danielle went to pick up the cup of tea she had left for Tamlin on his bedside table in his empty bedchamber, the cup was no longer full.

And when she went to sleep that night, the fire in her hearth never once died.

 

---

End of chapter 6.  

Chapter 7: The Firehaired Messenger

Notes:

Hi!
Due to some questions about why I bolden the dialogue in my stories, I'm going to try something else this time around. I hope it works better and feels less distracting to you all.

Danielle's POV: 

It had been more than a week since Danielle had first arrived at the estate. She hadn't been counting the days, exactly, but 'more than a week' felt right to her. 

It had also been more than a week since she had last seen a glimpse of the sun, or even been outside these walls. Not that there wasn't plenty to do to keep her occupied inside, even if the hearths were going at full capacity almost none stop, so long as she fed them a table leg or two once in a while. 

Danielle suspected that it wasn't only her own luck or skill that pulled that off, but rather a kind gesture of the magic that seemed to be residing in this house. She made sure to thank the house often for the toasty temperature, as well as the other little things that just seemed to be going right these days. Like, when she was looking for an extra wool blanket for Tamlin's room, and she just so happened to find one magically appearing, neatly folded on a nearby table. Or, she needed fresh water, and a kettle full of it appeared on the stove, already in the process of heating up. The house seemed to like being helpful, and they both seemed to enjoy the company in equal measure. Instead of talking to herself, the way she usually did, she found herself chatting to the house, as if it was actually able to respond. She told it her thoughts, her musings about Tamlin, Feyre and the court, and even a few stories of her own life and how she got here in the first place. 

She couldn't explain how, but it felt like the house was eagerly listening. Most of the time it didn't respond, but sometimes, it did - in it's own way, by providing her with something related to what she was talking about. Something it thought she may find interesting, or might need. Like, a book about the history and traditions of the spring court, and an ornate golden mask very similar to the one she had seen on the paiting of the redheaded male.

This evening, as Danielle's stay at the Spring court was approaching the end of it's second week, darkness had settled over the snowcovered and windblown estate. The snow had effectively buried the ground floor. The windows were blocked by a thick layer of it, and Danielle was quite sure that they couldn't open any of the doors to the outside. Leaving through the first floor windows was still an option, of course, but even if they did leave - where would they go? Venturing outside would be akin to jumping ship in the middle of the ocean. All they could do was wait for the storm to blow over, and hope that their food supply would hold out for that long.

This evening, she spent relaxing in a small sitting room. Since she had discovered it, it had quickly become her favorite place to spend her evenings, curled up in the windowseat under a layer of blankets with a book or a map of Prythian. The atmosphere was positively cozy, enhanced by the warm glow and heat of the hearth opposite the rich book cases.

"It is just strange, I think, to know how permanent a mark this Feyre Archeron has made, and to have seen such an honest expression of her innermost feelings and experiences in her paintings - and yet, I have no idea what she even looked like. What type of person she was." Danielle mused aloud, fingers whispering over the parchment on the inside of a book cover. The top left corner, of course, held the same signature that she had seen on every painting in the west wing's dusty art studio.

In response to her indirect question, a piece of gold jewelry appeared, sliding down the first page of the book into her lap. She blinked in surprise, picking it up by it's long, delicate chain. The pendant was quite heavy. On a closer look, however, it was apparent from the line on the rim that it wasn't just a necklace - it was a locket. 

Danielle's eyes widened.

"Oh no.. this is likely personal. You can't just be handing me stuff like this, you know!" She looked up towards the plastered ceiling, her voice a loud whisper of protest.  

The house didn't do anything to reply. It was entirely still, as if to say; So, want me to take it back, or..?

Danielle rolled  her eyes. "You are a horrible influence on me." She mumbled, scolding the house for the audacity of it' attitude. She turned her attention back to the locket, slowly spinning on it's chain as she held it aloft before her. The beautiful etched design on it's front was enhanced by the firelight, as if freshly drawn in by a white hot needle. It depicted a lake, glinting with stars, surrounded by weeping willows.

A dreamy, romantic location. 

She really shouldn't open it. It likely belonged to Tamlin, but she hadn't seen him since this morning, after he had taken his breakfast and tea in his room as usual. To her relief, most of the plates she had brought to his room recently had been almost empty when she had come back for them. He still ate far from enough for a man of his stature - though she couldn't exactly claim to know how much a fae male was supposed to eat. 

Never the less, he wasn't likely to join her in the sitting room. So far this room had been entirely her own space. And, what harm would a small peek inside a locket really do to anyone?  

She turned the locket in her hands, running her finger over the delicately etched surface, feeling the texture of the lines. 

"I'll only take one look - and then, I want you to put it back where you found it." She whispered, out into the empty room. She didn't expect a response. With a final glance towards the darkness of the hallway beyond the open door, paranoid to perhaps find the fae lord lurking there, she flicked open the pendant. 

Inside, was a surprisingly detailed portrait of a girl. Handpainted, it seemed, with tiny brush strokes that must have taken hours to get just right. It was truly stunning, and seemed realistic in it's depiction. Danielle knew in her bones who it was, despite there for once being no signature or name inside.

Feyre was nothing like what Danielle had expected her to be, however. This girl, smirking up at her from the portrait, was so... young. Her slightly uptilted grey-blue eyes were shrewd, almost stand-offish, and yet there was a vulnerable kindness there, in their sparkling depths. As if she had already seen and experienced a little too much. Her wavy, golden-blonde hair fell loose around her thin shoulders, and across her nose and sharp cheekbones, a thin layer of freckles peppered her skin. 

What stood out above all, to Danielle, was the rounded curve of her ears, behind which her hair was held by a crown of pastel spring flowers. 

"She was human.." Danielle breathed, into the still night air. It seemed impossible, and yet, there she was. The only comment the house gave in reply was the crackle and pop of the logs in the hearth. 

Feyre Archeron had been human. Not some otherworldly fae queen, untouchable in her majesty. No, she had been a young human girl - younger than Danielle by far, but just as mortal. And some deep, devastating winter had seemingly changed the girl's life for good. 

Just like this winter was doing for Danielle right now. It was as if fate had planned it this way. That it was spinning her story into being, using a pattern left behind by another. The idea irked her somehow.

She hadn't died and been given a second chance to fulfill the destiny of someone else. Feyre had died, and Danielle felt for her, and for Tamlin's loss - but whatever she did, Danielle was going to do things differently. Her own way. 

Her pondering was cut short by the sudden slamming of a door directly above her, hard enough that it ratled the books on their shelves and the bones inside Danielle's body even through the thick mahogany floor. She slammed the locket shut. The chain slipped through her fingers, dropping onto the windowseat with a delicate hiss. Danielle instinctivelly shot to her feet, years of basic military training kicking into gear in response to the posibility of a sudden hostile intrusion. Who was upstairs? What did they want? Tamlin was usually much quieter than whatever this was. She had to figure it out - had to find a weapon. Her mind was so caught up in the possibilities, that her body acted solely in accordance with muscle memory. 

And her muscle memory didn't account for the layers upon layers of blankets she had heen snuggled into, wrapping around her legs and tripping her as she attempted to sprint for the door.

"Oof..!" The wind was knocked out of her, as the entire length of her body hit the floor. At least her arms were free to brace against the hardwood floor. Despite her one elbow screeching internally at her in painful protest, she sat up and fought to untangle herself, kicking and tearing at the soft, woolen blankets.

Her mind was reeling and spinning, weaving through every possible worst case scenario. Perhaps the assassin had somehow found out that Tamlin hadn't died after all, and had come back to try and finish him off for good? 

Or perhaps some malicious fae creature, thriving in the cold like the abominable snowman, had broken through to the top floor and was coming to devour them? 

Regardless, she needed to get to Tamlin and warn him immediately!

She whipped around onto her side as something appeared at the edge of her vision. Instinctively, she grabbed for it to either trip whatever it was, or be ready for a counter move in case of an incoming blow.

It was a foot.

A large, naked, dirty and ice cold foot. And she was holding the bony ankle above said foot in a death grip. She let go immediately, as if the foot might literally bite her, and snapped her gaze upward.

"Excuse me?" Tamlin asked, every syllable measured and wary, as he peered down at her from above. And she was almost aghast to find that the look in his eyes was one of baffled amusement. The rest of him was no less shocking to behold, covered as he was in a rapidly melting layer of snow from the top of his blond head to his naked feet. His bare torso was covered in the stuff as well, the melted water running down his skin and mixing with the fresh blood of the dead stag swung over his shoulder. He would have resembled some God of the Hunt from tales of yore, if it wasn't for the rosy cheeks and nose, courtesy of the freezing temperature outside.

He glanced, downright arrogantly, towards the tangled mess of blankets still halfway wrapped around her shins. "Do you .. need a hand?" He asked, his voice a soft rumble that sent a shiver up the back of her neck. 

This was, most definitely, the most embarassing and demeaning situation Danielle had ever found herself in. If she could melt into the floor, she would. But given that wasn't an option, she instead sat bolt upright to play it cool.

"Not at all! I was... well.." she tried, and failed, to come up with a plausible excuse for why she was sprawled on the floor. So, instead she turned the topic to the elephant in the room, at least as far as she was concerned. "So, I guess it was you that I heard upstairs? Returning from a hunt outside?" Her mouth was curled up in a pout as she wiggled her feet free from the blankets. How curious, that it was so much easier such a task was when not just kicking and fighting in sheer panic..

Tamlin glanced down towards the head of the stag hanging limply before his shoulder, where he also held both of it's front legs in one large, slender hand. "It may very well have been." He confirmed. "I ventured out and back in by way of the first floor terrace. I figured that our supply of meat would soon be reaching a critical point, and if this weather continues, there may soon come a time that we won't be able to leave to hunt at all. Better get it done now than risk it being too late tomorrow." He reasoned. 

It dawned on Danielle that in that one explanation of his reasons for going outside in the deadly snowstorm, he had probably said more words to her than he had since they met in the studio. In a sense, this was the first real, mutual conversation they had had since she arrived.

Danielle stood up, turning to face him and kicked back the blankets with a heel and a huff. 

"But.. with all due respect.." She looked him over, now that she was better able to do so. Her brow furrowed with alarmed confusion. ".. You went out like that!? You might have frozen to death in a matter of hours!" She gestured up and down his almost naked body. Steam was rising from his skin and soaked hair in the heat of the nearby hearth. 

Tamlin adjusted the heavy animal on his shoulder, entirely unconcerned by her argument. "That is one of the many perks of having the ability turn into a beast covered in fur with a thick winter coat, if need be." He explained, matter-of-fact. 

There went that argument, it seemed. And it explained another matter, too.

Danielle's eyes lingered on the dangling neck of the stag. It's throat had been ripped out, the frayed edges of it's bloody skin dangling from the open, dripping wound. So that was how he had done it... Teeth and claws. Looking closer at his face once more, she saw it; the red smeared on his lips, and his teeth. A crystal clear reminder that he was anything but human. A strange, alien tingle rushed through her limbs at the notion. He was a person - but still, not human. A fact that was easy to forget sometimes. 

A small voice in her head cut into her unease with a sharp remark; In what world did that even matter? Especially right now, while they were stuck in this mansion together?

Sure, the animal carcass was a very direct, very bloody reminder of his fae nature - but she hadn't actually been afraid to share this mansion with him, at any point. Not even when she went to sleep in the guest room, just down the hall from his. She hadn't given him any reason to. 

On the contrary - he had been a gracious host. And it would be best to remain allies, for the time being. Obviously, none of them were going anywhere for a while. 

Danielle's lips curled up into a small, resigned smile - giving him the win in this discussion.  "I'll give you that it might have saved our hides. This snowstorm shows no sign of slowing down." She noted, glancing towards the windows with a concerned frown, and then back at Tamlin. "But I wish you'd put on something. I'm getting frostbite just looking at you." She made it a point to visibly shiver. 

Tamlin's mouth, which had so far been constantly held in a straight, tight line, actually twitched upward at one corner. "There would be no point to it now, since I'll be skinning this one next, and slicing it up into manageable pieces." He inclined his head towards the dead animal. "The blood would ruin whatever shirt or tunic I put on. Better to get this done first." And with that, he made to turn and head towards the kitchen - wherever he planned to do his grisly duty. 

Glancing back towards the windowseat and abandoned locket - which, she was thankful to find mysteriously gone - she found herself unwilling to return to her idle reading. 

What had she done recently, to better their chances of survival? Or her own chances, when this storm was over and she would be moving on to somewhere else? Sure, she had learned quite a bit about Prythian and the Spring Court, during her late-night reading sessions. She had explored more of the mansion with it's ruined rooms, found trinkets and clothes and even new shoes that fit her. But how did any of that really benefit them, or herself, on the basest level of remaining alive, during or in the aftermath of the raging snowstorn?

Not to mention, that she would feel like a useless freeloader if she just went back to reading while he cut up an entire deer carcass all by himself. 

So, she set into motion, skipping a few steps to catch up behind him. "Tamlin?" She called out.

He glanced back over his shoulder, an eyebrow raised in reserved, reluctant puzzlement. 

"Can you.. teach me how do that?" Danielle asked, nodding in the direction of the animal. "To skin and cure the meat?" She asked. "It would be useful to learn, going forward. And I'd like to be able to help out, if need be." 

It would truly be an incredibly useful skill to know when she would eventually leave to continue her journey. And, given that he had been so close with a human girl in the past, to the point of marrying her and involving her in his court business, it couldn't be that far fetched to ask - could it? 

Tamlin stopped, looking her over, as if assessing whether she had the strength or build to even be worth tutoring. She held her breath, standing tall and deliberately squaring her shoulders just a little, under his gaze. There was no way she was going to be deemed unworthy for something as foolish as slouching. 

But, meeting him head on in almost defiant determination, she saw something else there. A twinge at the corner of his eye, a wrinkle between his pale brows. As if something pinched him, punishing him for considering her question at all. 

And yet, he relented, just as he averted his eyes, turning back the way he was heading.

"Come with me. I will show you how it's done." He told her, patiently, and gestured with his head down the hallway to the kitchen.  

Puzzled, and with an uneasy tug in her middle, Danielle trailed his long, silent strides. Inside her own mind, she debated what that reaction of his had been about - and whether she had been right to ask this of him at all.

The light in the kitchen was dim, but at least the glow of the fae lights remained warm and inviting. If it had been anything else, it would have felt eerily similar to a macabre scene from a crime show. The stag seemed huge, laid out before them on the table in the middle of the kitchen, it's large eyes dark and unblinking as it stared up at the ceiling. It's soft tan and white coat was spattered with blood. 

Tamlin was a patient and practically minded tutor. He explained each step while he worked, showing her how he slid the knife between the layers of tissue to remove the skin cleanly from the carcass. Then, he let her try for each step, correcting her and gently turning and guiding her hand whenever needed. It didn't escape her notice, however, that he seemed to avoid looking directly at her when he spoke to her, and when he touched her hand to guide her, it was with the same reluctant care as if she carried an infectious skin disease. She didn't comment on it.

Instead, she threw herself into learning as much as she could, asking questions and absorbing every bit of information and tip he offered up for her. After all, this might easily become knowledge that could mean the difference between starving or making it through the next winter. Part of her wished she'd had the good sense to take notes - but this impromptu tutoring session wasn't exactly a scheduled thing. 

"You make it look so easy!" Danielle sighed, as Tamlin slid his knife in, and sliced free the last bit of skin of the animal. Then, he removed the entire coat in one fell swoop. "How do you make the knife glide so smoothly, when mine keeps getting stuck?" She slid a hand over the soft fur of the animal, marveling at how it was still all in one piece. Cleaned up, it wouldn't be out of place before one of the hearths in the mansion - though it would be more useful as a new coat or a pair of leather boots. 

Tamlin folded the skin and laid it aside on the kitchen table. "Experience. I have skinned and gutted more animals than I would care to count. Hundreds - thousands, perhaps." He told her calmly, as he got ready to cut open the abdominal cavity. His arms glistened with the grease of the creature's hide, from his hands up to above his elbows. Danielle had to admit that he had a point in forgoing a tunic - she was no less greasy, and even though she had rolled up her sleeves to her elbows, the blouse she was wearing had already become filthy. In fact, she had managed to get some of the mess onto her face and hair when she made the rookie mistake of running an arm across her forehead. 

It was too early to dream of a hot bath - but that didn't stop Danielle from sending a silent prayer out that she could somehow get one. 

Watching Tamlin work, it seemed to be so far beyond the realm of possibility that he was supposed to be the High Lord of the Spring Court. Not that he didn't possess the otherworldly beauty and grace that one might expect, even in this depressed, thin and filthy state he was in - but because of how pragmatic and down to earth he was. A far cry from the glitz and glam, parties and grandiosiy that Danielle had read about in her books. 

"You did all of that yourself?" Danielle asked, and leaned in a little to watch the next step unfold. 

And it did - a lot less cleanly than the prior one. The offal spilled out into a waiting container. Tamlin really had no reservations about any of it. He dug into the beast to clean it out thoroughly, as they talked. "I wasn't trained or raised to be a High lord. That title would have belonged to my brother, had he lived so long. I was raised to be a general - and I made sure to acquire whatever skills would be necessary to survive war time." He explained, keeping his tale conscise and impersonal. 

Danielle nodded slowly. That explained a lot about him, to be honest. Including why she felt this implicit understanding towards his pragmatic way of being. She took no offense to it - because it was so similar to what she was used to, herself. 

"I was trained as a soldier, myself. My father was a war veteran." She told him, standing back to give him space to work. "I wouldn't have gone the way of a general, though - I specialized in field medicine. I felt a calling towards making sure my comrades in arms had a chance at making it back from service alive." She didn't know how much of it would make sense to him - if any of what she said even applied to the way military service was set up in Prythian. But, for some reason, she hoped that some of it might reflect his experiences. Perhaps, she longed for some of what she was - what she had been - to be mirrored in someone else. To no longer be a ghost, with no meaningful past or future. 

Tamlin was silent for a moment - long enough that she wasn't sure whether he would reply at all - when he said; "I had a feeling that you were a warrior of some kind. That tends to show, in various ways. The way you talk, move.." He confirmed, turning his head so that he was halfway facing her, still bent before the animal's open abdomen. His look was pensieve and discerning. "But you speak of your calling a past tense. Is it no longer the case? It doesn't seem that way, given what you decided to do for me." He asked. And she noted that he didn't seem bitter about it anymore. He no longer blamed her for his survival. 

Danielle felt like she owed him an honest answer. But she wasn't sure what to tell him. If she told him the entire unadulterated truth, he wouldn't believe her. Or, if he did, he might see her as a threat or an ill omen of some kind. She felt the weight of his gaze upon her, as she picked out her words with care. "It wasn't my choice to leave. I was captured, by enemy forces. I.. got out. And now, I am here." She explained. As soon as the words left her lips, she knew that it sounded like she was hiding something - and that he realized it too.

Never the less, after a moment of contemplation, he gave her a nod of acceptance. That would do for now, it seemed. To her express relief, he didn't seem intent on prying further.

Instead, he stood up, drying his bloody hands and arms in a rag and turned to her, to continue their lesson. 

"Now, we need to -"

He cut himself off, his attention snapping to the open door to the darkened hallway. He stood perfectly still, his entire body tense and poised to set into motion, like a tiger sensing the movement of nearby prey. 

A cold sense of dread ran down Danielle's spine. What did he sense that she did not? 

"Tamlin? What..?" She asked, taking a step in the direction of the hallway, eyes shifting from the High Lord to the door.

A SLAM sounded out in the hallway, followed by the sound of shattering wood and howling winds. As if on que, Tamlin set into motion, leaping with preternatural speed past Danielle, shoving her back with one strong arm as he passed. She fell straight onto her ass, and could only watch, mouth agape like an idiot, as he, half beast and half fae male, turned outside the doorway and pounced in the direction of the main entrancehall.

Someone had, somehow, entered their sanctuary. And Tamlin was about to make them regret that decision. 

Seconds later, an unknown male voice rung out in shock and alarm, echoing between the walls. 

"Tamlin!?"

Danielle scrambled to her feet. She hadn't heard that voice before, but a fae beast wouldn't sound like that - would they? She stumbled towards the door, slipping in a rogue splotch of fresh deer blood, and caught herself on the wooden doorframe. 

Then, she peered around the edge of the door opening. Silence had fallen. Flurries of snow spiralled down the hallway from the the entranceway. One of the double doors hung half off it's hinges, creaking in the fresh wind. Somehow, the intruder seemed to have carved himself a pathway straight through the mountain of snow that had barred the door from entry, and had then blown the door open.

The red of his hair was even more striking in contrast to the fresh, white snow behind him. It was, unmistakenly, the firehaired male from Feyre's portrait. 

And as he stood before the half fersl Tamlin, he looked at once awestruck and if he had seen a man rising from his own grave in real time. 

"You're.. you're alive.." The male stammered, his lips trembling as he stumbled over every syllable. "Thank the Mother!" His sigh, halfway a sob of pure relief, was heart wrenching as he fell a stunned Tamlin around the neck, and wept. 

 

---

End of chapter 7.

Chapter 8: Diplomatic Sensibility

Danielle's POV:

The firehaired male's name was Lucien. And if she was surprised to see him, it seemed that it was doubly true for him, the other way around. The formal introductions did little to assuage his wariness of her. Why exactly that was the case, Danielle had no idea. 

His strange, golden eye kept whirring in her direction, even as Tamlin bad them both to follow him back into the dimly lit kitchen so that they could all get caught up. 

Now, seated on chairs on opposite sides of the table at which Tamlin worked on cutting up the stag, Lucien seemed wary to even begin explaining himself at all with her present. 

Tamlin decided to act as facilitator of this meeting, breaking the long moment of silence. 

"Why are you here, Lucien?" He asked. Short and to the point, without lifting his gaze from the stag.

Both of Lucien's eyes snapped to Tamlin in disbelief. "Why am I here!? I thought Rhysand had killed you! I came here as quickly as I could as soon as I was made aware of what he had done!" He exclaimed, downright offended at the question.

Tamlin's hands paused for a moment, and he lifted his eyes - only his eyes - to look at Lucien. "How were you made aware? How many know?" He asked, voice authoritative and tone even. For all intent and purpose a general, rather than a High Lord. 

Lucien, his expression still one of alarm and uproar at the situation, responded with no hesitation. "Feyre told me! Rhysand couldn't make himself keep it from her at length, and as soon as she knew, she came to me! She figured I'd want to go to you, immediately." He stood up, moving to stand directly next to Tamlin, trying to meet his eyes and place a hand on his shoulder. "Tamlin, no matter wha.. -"

"Feyre? The same Feyre, who made those paintings?" Danielle broke in, eyes wide with confusion as she turned her attention to Tamlin, the very picture of urgent questioning. Tamlin glanced at her, and then to Lucien, his jaw clenched, as he held up a hand to stop the golden eyed courtier before he could put his hand on him in friendship. 

"How many know?" Tamlin patiently repeated his question, eyes downright icy as he stared down Lucien. The other male seemed to shrink back under the High lord's domineering gaze. "Only the inner circle of the Night Court, and myself. We want to keep it between us. There is no need for anyone else to become involved." He explained, shoulders lifted and tense. It was strange to Danielle, seeing a person with such eyecatching features be so very meek. 

Danielle herself, on the other hand, was straining to rein herself in. Shifting one leg over the other, and back again, fidgeting with her greasy, rolled up sleeves. "Would anyone mind explaining who this Rhysand is? I take it that he's the one that attacked you?" She looked up at Tamlin, pointed in her insistence to know. She had patched him up, after all. She had foiled whatever this Rhysand had attempted to accomplish, and for that very reason, she felt intricately webbed into this conflict. There was no way she could just forget about it and let it be. 

Lucien sent an agitated look in her direction, his anxiety rising in response to her butting into their discussion. Instead of responding, he looked back at Tamlin. "Tamlin, we shouldn't discuss this before the human woman. How much do you know about her? She might spill whatever we discuss to the wrong person.." he laid out his cautious advice, and Tamlin's gaze slid from him to Danielle for the first time since they reentered the kitchen. She could tell that he weighed the arguments Lucien laid bare, and whatever counter arguments he had available.

Danielle clenched her jaw and sat tall, meeting those forest green eyes head on. "I have had your back since I found you in this house." She told him, knowing that he would understand what she meant. This silent symbiosis they had built between them, these past few weeks. It was a bond that held a measure of trust and loyalty, at least to her. She felt no inclination to break that unspoken pact between them. 

Tamlin responded to her words with an almost imperceptible nod of approval, and turned his gaze back to Lucien. He had made his decision. "Danielle's presence in this house is the only reason I am still alive to have this discussion with you, at all." He told him, with a tone that held no room for argument. "She may remain present until I decide otherwise." 

Lucien's mechanical eye whirred, as his eyes for a few brief moments found the scars that still remained on Tamlin's bare, bloodspattered torso. The eternal reminder of how close he had been to death, and how lethal the intent of Rhysand had been. And so, with a submissive bow of his head, he relented. His expression softened to one of remorseful acceptance. 

Tamlin continued his questioning, hands working a little faster and more jerky with the knife, now cutting up the animal into large pieces. His shoulders were rigid with tension. "What does the so-called Inner Circle intent to do to handle their High Lord's attempt at assassinating me?" He asked. 

Danielle all but sputtered, eyes widening in shock as she shot to her feet. "High Lord? Rhysand is a High Lord of the Night Court?" She asked, mouth agape like a gasping fish. "And he attempted to kill another High Lord in his bed!? Is he out of his fucking mind!?" She stared at Tamlin, then at Lucien. How could they be so calm!? 

Lucien glared at her in response, though shamefully so. "Watch your mouth, miss Danielle. He is still a High Lord, despite his reckless act. The most powerful in history. He may be listening, even now." He warned her. "And yes, Rhysand made a mistake -"

The quiet thumps of the knife against bone and the wood of the table was the only sound apart from their voices. It was as if even the winter winds had paused to listen to this scandalous discussion. 

Danielle glared back at Lucien, unwilling to back down from his warning or his argument on behald of Rhysand. "A mistake!? It was not like he mistook salt for sugar while baking a pie! This is premeditated murder we're talking about!" She gestured with an open palm in Tamlin's direction. "Had I been here just a few minutes later, Tamlin would have been dead, from multiple stab wounds! That isn't something that just happens on accident!" 

Lucien rubbed his forehead with something akin to a snarl in frustration. "Nobody would expect you to understand - this is fae politics, and as you might be aware, we have just gotten through one war. Peace is fragile right now - alliances are only superficially cemented. Nothing is written in stone." He explained, his gestures tense, as if trying to keep his own panic in check. "We cannot risk this getting out. It could very well mean risking every sense of unity we have built over this past year." He glanced to Tamlin, as if seeking his confirmation. 

Danielle crossed her arms over her chest. A venomous beast was writhing in her chest, driven to the surface by what Lucien was explaining. Disgust curled her lips. "For you." She responded. 

Lucien looked back to her with puzzlement. "What? For us?"

Danielle took a step forward. "Yes. For you. Your court - the Night Court, or whatever - could risk getting booted from polite society because of this. Why would any other court turn their backs on unity, just because you have ended up in bad standing?" She asked, rhetorically, gesturing towards Tamlin. "And, for that matter, what are you going to do the next time your renegade High Lord jumps someone the way he did Tamlin? Are you just going to keep covering it up for as long as possible, leaving everyone a possible target?" She was positively seething with righteous indignation. 

Tamlin took a step forward, placing a hand on Danielle's arm to get her attention. "It is not.. that simple." He told her, his voice soothing and low. "Rhysand and I.." the way his expression twisted, she could tell that even the name tasted bitter on his tongue, provoking the beast in him. ".. We have history. He has his reasons for wanting me dead. And I, him." He replied. "There's no reason to believe that he might attack anyone else."

"So, only you, then?" Danielle asked, with just a hint of sarcasm. "Does that somehow make it any more right?! He attacked you in your bed! I saw the crime scene! I found the gods damned knife!" She exclaimed, turning her burning eyes back to Lucien. "Are you just going to cover that up, and do nothing? That your High Lord attacked another sovereign in his own bed, in broad daylight? What guarantee can anyone give that he won't make another attempt, when he finds out that Tamlin survived?" She demanded of Lucien. Wanted him to speak up, to justify the actions of the High Lord he pledged his allegiance to. 

Lucien gritted his teeth, taking a step forward as if getting ready to pounce on her. "It is not like Tamlin is blameless either. Rhysand had his reasons..!" He hissed. And Danielle could see the pain in his eyes - it was there. Defending Rhysand's actions was hurting him, but for some reason, he couldn't not do it. 

Danielle didn't back down. Neither did she go on the offensive. "Is that the best you can come up with? Deflecting, to justify murder?" She asked, and looked to Tamlin then, expecting him to defend himself. To give some sort of counter point to the accusation. 

But to her surprise, nothing in Tamlin budged. He made no attempt to defend himself, instead, just seeming to shrivel up inside. He was no longer looking at her, but seemingly lost as he stared at nothing. 

Guilt. That was the very guilt that had been killing him, bit by bit, before she arrived here. The guilt that made him want to accept death. It was eating away at him again. 

"Tamlin.." Danielle turned to him, brows knitting in concern and protest. "Whatever you did, I doubt it justifies attempted murder." She insisted, grabbing a hold of his arm to snap him out of the pain he seemed to be reliving. "Whatever punishment you may feel like you deserve, you have inflicted more than enough of on yourself!" 

Lucien's eye whirred tirelessly as his gaze darted from Danielle to Tamlin and back again, seemingly reading something only he could detect. "For what it's worth, I agree." He told them both, with a soft tenor, as his attention lingered on Tamlin especially. "I.. have not seen eye to eye with you on many things, lately, but for what it's worth, I hate seeing you like this." He told him. "You deserve better than the hell you have been putting yourself through."

Tamlin, who had until now been almost catatonic, awoke with a snarl to turn his fury on Lucien. His eyes were thunder, and the wind seemed to awaken alongside him, with a vindictive howl that shook the windows and rattled the roof. "You know very well that this hell is not entirely of my own making, Lucien." He snarled at him, ripping his hand out of Danielle's grasp to turn to him. Lucien took a step back, submitting under Tamlin's glare, pressing into the wall next to the worn kitchen cupboards.

Danielle took a small step back, confusion flaring in her eyes. Though she had no time to ask, as Tamlin turned as if on a whirlwind, and stormed out of the kitchen, slamming the door behind him. 

She could hear his footsteps retreating all the way up the stairs to the upper floor.

The slamming of a door sounded, followed by a a loud CRASH, causing both Lucien and Danielle to start in the silence of their own company.  

"There he goes again.." Lucien sighed, sliding down into one of the rickety chairs. He seemed entirely exhausted. Whether from the journey through the storm or this argument with herself and Tamlin, Danielle could not say. 

"What the fuck is going on?!" Danielle snapped, turning to Lucien, all of that confusion and anger resurfacing in response to Tamlin's painfueled rage. "I don't get any of it! You come here, all frazzled and worried, as if you're best friends, but then it turns out you work for the person who tried to kill him!? And you're willing to cover it up!? And, how is Feyre alive!? Tamlin told me she died!" She threw all of those questions into his lap. Perhaps it was unfair, but with what just happened, she needed those answers. Needed them like she needed sleep, or sun light - or else, she might go insane. 

Lucien opened his non-metallic eye, peering up at her. "She is alive because she was brought back from the dead by the combined will and power of every single High Lord in Prythian." He told her, voice dry with what little patience remained within his snarky self. 

Danielle waited for him to tell her that he was joking. But, that never came. Instead, he lifted his eyebrows in the realization that; "Tamlin hasn't told you anything at all, has he?"

Danielle's brow furrowed, and she shifted her weight to one leg. "Not much. I mean, we don't really talk. That's new. These past two weeks we have just been .. peacefully cohabitating." That was the best way she could put it. Yet, it didn't feel like it quite covered the strange connection she felt with the High Lord. There was this awareness of him, and she felt like he was more keenly aware of her than he let on, too. He had hunted for the both of them, after all, though she was always the one who made sure he ate. And he had come to check on her when she had fallen on her face - which was still painfully embarassing. 

So, no. They hadn't talked. But had they even needed to, until now?

Lucien leaned forward, closing his eyes for a moment as his elbows came to rest on his knees. "I suppose, if you intend to stay here with Tamlin for the time being, you deserve to know what you're dealing with. And you did save him, unbelievable as that seems.." he conceded, rubbing the back of his neck as if to relieve some of the tension that had over time built up inside of him. 

And so, he laid it out for her. From beginning to end, he shared the tale of the Curse, of Amarantha, of Feyre and Tamlin. Of Andras, the friend of Lucien who had given his life to become Feyre's sacrifice. How they had been forced to lie, to make Feyre fall in love with Tamlin - and how he had, despite himself, come to love her in return. He told her of the happy times, and the difficult ones. Of Rhysand's visit, and how Tamlin had sent Feyre away to protect her from Amarantha's wrath. He told her of how she had come back to claim him under the mountain, and the trials and horrors they all faced there. He told her of the death of Feyre, and her miraculous rebirth. The difficult time after, when they were to readjust to life after these horrors. The bargain Feyre had made with Rhysand, and how hard Tamlin fought to free her from it. Of his misguided attempts to protect her from the dangers lurking beyond the estate. How he had lashed out at her that one time. How she had felt trapped, and had found her mate in Rhysand. And then, how she had left. How broken Tamlin had been. How he had turned to Hybern, attempting to become a double agent and use them to save Feyre from Rhysand, believing her to be in grave danger.  

Of how she had betrayed them, torn down the court from within, and left once more - and how Lucien had decided to go too, to be with his mate.  

And, of course, then there was the war - but as for Tamlin, there was little to tell. He had rallied some of his troops, and in the end, they had emerged victorius. He had saved Feyre, and finally Rhysand. Given them back to each other. 

That was all. And here, they were. 

 

---

 

Tamlin's POV:

 

He had done it again. He had lost control. 

That storm that roared inside of him, waiting for every chance to lash out. To shred everything in it's path. He had lost control of it with Feyre, and drawn blood. And he had torn up every room in this wing of the house just the same. 

What was he, but a ship lost at sea, at the mercy of the roiling winds and crashing waves? That very wind that he carried inside of him was draining every drop of his belief in his own innate goodness, his self-control and the ideals that used to guide him. 

Who was he, if he couldn't master himself, and his own power? If he couldn't lead, as a High Lord or as a general? If he couldn't even protect his own estate, and his own lands?

Laying in the middle of the floor, curled up on his side into a ball of self hatred and trembling with anxiety, he had heard everything that Lucien had told Danielle. With his sharp fae hearing, there was no way he couldn't hear every word being said as they travelled through the wooden floor right under his ear. 

He had wrecked the dresser even worse than before. It lay splintered before his feet, drawers and clothes torn apart. The curtains around his bed were tattered, and the door had come fully off it's hinges. 

His bedroom was as much of a broken mess as he perceived himself to be. 

A few minutes after Lucien had gone silent downstairs, he heard Danielle's approaching footsteps. He knew she was heading his way, up the stairs and down the hall towards him. She had none of the fae grace Lucien had, so he knew with no doubt that it was her. 

When she halted in the doorway, he spoke before she had a chance to. 

"Don't come any closer." He warned her, his voice a low rumbling. He didn't mean to threaten her - but he honestly did not know what his magic might do. He did not want to inadverdently harm her, if he somehow lashed out. If his emotions overtook him again. 

"I already died once. Whatever might happen, it can hardly be worse than that." She replied, voice soft with sympathy. He growled. He did not want pity. He did not want sympathy. He did not deserve it, and it made him feel even weaker than he was. Too caught up in these thoughts, he made no note of the strange figure of speech she wielded. 

She ignored his warning - of course. He should have seen it coming. Her footsteps moved closer, slowly, but decisively. He didn't protest again. He could smell her, as she sat down beside him. Smoke, fire, and her natural musk, mixed with the blood and grease from the deer they had been preparing together. 

He heard her shuffling, and the rustling of her clothes. As he opened his eyes to see what she was doing, he was perplexed to find her lying on the floor beside him, about a foot away. She was lying on her back, hands folded on her abdomen, and watching him with those kind, dark eyes of hers, and just the barest hint of a gentle smile. 

"Lucien told me everything." She said, her voice soft and quiet. 

"I know." He replied, his voice heavy with resignation. "I understand if you want to leave with him. There is nothing for you here." 

He had said something similar the first day he met her - actually met her, and hadn't been in a state of delirium. 

"I don't." She told him, turning her gaze back up to the ceiling above, with it's scenes of painted meadows and dancing fae. 

He didn't reply. He didn't know what to say. Her wanting to remain was beyond him. He was no company worth keeping, in his morose and unstable state. 

"The world really screwed you over." She commented, breaking the silence. "You were put in the most impossible situations, and when you tried to fight back, fate just kicked you back down over and over again." She turned her gaze back to his, meeting his eyes - and what he saw there, had him taken aback. It was anger. Anger for him, towards circumstance and those who had wronged him. It made her eyes burn, like logs in a fire, mixed with molten, ancient gold. He hadn't noticed before - because he hadn't looked. But that fire stirred something inside of him, too. Stoked a flame that he hadn't felt in more than a year - not since Amarantha had claimed him. 

"I failed her." He protested, despite himself. Despite the anger, that made the words taste sour on his tongue. Because, part of him agreed with her. That what had been done to him wasn't right. "I failed Feyre, when she needed me. She was withering here, with me. Dying, and I suffocated her." He hissed. Not at her, but at himself. Tears stung in his eyes, like liquid flame. 

Danielle rolled over to her side, holding his gaze with defiance. "You did what you thought was right at the time. You tried your best to help her. You have to stop blaming yourself." She reached out, placing a firm hand on his arm. "You were suffering too. Hell, you are still suffering! You are punishing yourself, to the point that you are slowly killing yourself. How could anyone expect you to help someone else heal when you have been through so much loss and pain yourself, with no one to see you through it to the other side?" She asked, her tone hot, pleading with him to listen - to let her get through to him. 

"You don't understand." Tamlin growled, squeezing his eyes shot. His upbringing, his ideals, everything that he was rebelled against the thought of allowing himself to be weak. Allowing himself to be seen as someone needing to lean on others. "As High Lord, I need to be the pillar that hold my court together. The foundation that cannot crack. That is what I had to be under the mountain, and what I tried to be since." He yanked himself up into a sitting position, body trembling with anger at himself. With anxiety, and grief. "I failed. I cracked, and fell apart, and everything else around me has gone into ruin since." He gestured with an arm toward their surroundings. The evidence of his failure. 

Danielle pushed herself up into a sitting position, supported by her arms behind her. "Even the strongest pillars can be torn down with enough force. Even mountains crumble under the magnitude of a violent enough earthquake." She argued. "You hold yourself to an impossible standard! Nobody is perfect, Tamlin! Not you, not I, not fucking Rhysand!" Her voice grew louder with her anger, and he watched her reign herself back in, her jaw tensing with the effort. 

With a sigh, she spoke again, eyes fluttering shut under dark lashes. "The point is.." she continued, voice measured as she rode out her temper. ".. You are not a bad person. Nor even necessarily a bad High Lord. I didn't know you before, but from what I have heard from Lucien and what I've seen these past weeks.." she opened her eyes again, meeting his gaze - and where there was hot, burning anger before, only a warm embrace remained. 

".. you have shown me generosity, and fairness, and patience. And I think those are perfectly admirable qualities in a High Lord." 

Tamlin closed his eyes with a groan, rubbing his face in his palms. It was almost too much - but he did feel a pulse stirring within his veins. It was like waking from a long slumber, to a world that was too bright, too noisy. "If you have not noticed, Danielle - then I am no longer High Lord of anything. Nothing but a ruined estate, a court buried in snow and the rubble that remained after war tore through everything I held sway over." He explained, voice tired and heavy with exhaustion. Whatever she was suggesting hardly mattered. What was the point of being lord of the ashes? 

"You still have a claim, don't you?" Danielle asked, turning her gaze to the snow covering the nearby window. The shadows were long in the darkened room. No candles burned, and the room was cold enough for her breath to be seen. "The fae in your court need you. As you said, you are their pillar - their foundation. Cracked or not, you are still stronger than they are. They are fighting the cold and the snow out there right now. Helping them would be a start. We could go out there, with blankets, clothes and some of the deer you hunted down. We have plenty for the two of us - or, three, if Lucien decides to stick around for a while."

Tamlin growled, trying to come up with some excuse. Some valid protests, that could feed into the misery he had caught trapped himself within. But, the cage was broken - light was streaming into his soul, whether he had invited it or not. A burning desire to fight, to rise up against what had been done to him. What he had been reduced to. 

He wanted to reclaim not just his court, but his dignity. Himself. 

Slowly, he rose to his feet. "I will go. You can't walk in the snow out there. It is too high, too dense for a human." He told her. Danielle's eyes widened with excitement, as she got to her feet next to him. A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth - and he wanted to preemptively roll his eyes, before she even spoke. Though he could hardly fight down the urge to smile, himself. 

"No way, mister. I have seen you. And when you transform, you are plenty big and fluffy enough to carry me and keep me warm, along with all the supplies we need for the first run." She grinned, her finger pointed at his chest with insistence. 

He knew that she was right. And he had learned, the hard way, that keeping a free spirit locked up in this estate was more of a death sentence to all of them, than whatever danger might lurk beyond. 

---

End of chapter 8.

Chapter 9: Frost and Daggers

Danielle's POV:

It was like jumping into a giant bubblebath. The layer of snow was so thick that it completely obscured any sense of where the ground would be, and Danielle had no idea whether she would end up going straight through, breaking her tailbone in the process - or, perhaps, just bruising her pride. 

She shouldn't, if the ease with which Tamlin paced in the snow was any indication. 

"I didn't take you for someone afraid of heights, combat healer!" Tamlin called out from below, his voice somewhere between a rumbling growl that could shake the earth, and the mocking laugh of some foreign bird. Danielle's ears grew hot despite the icy winds. 

"Give me a moment, will ya!? I just need to... find the right spot." She replied, feet shuffling in place as she tried to retain her body heat. 

The morning air was crisp like the flaking ice still covering the spring flowers, poking up through a thick layer of snow on the overgrown flowerbeds. 

Everywhere one looked, the ground was a blinding white, ice crystals gleaming in the light of the rising sun. 

The storm had broken, but every remaining gust of air was so mercilessly cold that it hurt the eyes and felt like a blade of steel against her cheeks.

Even from the balcony, Danielle couldn't spy past the dense forest surrounding the grounds. The branches of the trees seemed heavily ladden with snow - a strange contrast to the otherwise lush, green leaves under the white veil. 

Truly peculiar, this sudden onset of winter in a land of eternal spring.

"Are you coming or not? Even in this cold, the meat might turn stale if you keep stalling." Tamlin spoke up again, his beastly form pacing restlessly, before coming to a halt directly below where she was standing, holding onto the railing. 

Tamlin stood up on his hind legs, resting on his haunches. "Now. We'll put an end to this silly waiting-game." He told her, placing down the heavy sacks of supplies he had been holding over one shoulder. And he held out his mighty, furry arms. "Jump. I'll catch you." He said, as if it was simply a matter of saying the words and she would obey. 

"You will what!?" Danielle exclaimed, before she had a chance to think the proposal through. 

Sure, she was hardly 12 or so feet off the ground. And his size in the horned, beastly shape she had gotten quite used to, dwarfed her own - but having him *catch* her? That was another matter entirely. 

"I'll. Catch. You. It's hardly a complicated concept, Danielle. I've caught birds midflight and stopped runaway horses before. I think I can muster stopping a human female from falling face first into the snow." He responded, patiently - if a little patronizing, which made Danielle roll her eyes, jaw set at the provocation. 

What he didn't realize was, that it wasn't that easy. She *was* afraid of heights. She had been so, since she was a child and almost fell from the ferris wheel at Six Flags. Her dad had been *furious*, not just at her but at the park for the breach of safety. 

But, how was she supposed to tell him that? He wouldn't know what a ferris wheel or an amusement park was. All he knew was that she was standing there, grown woman and combat trained professional - and she was afraid to make a tiny leap of faith into the safety of his monstrous fore legs. 

It was enough to make her want to stick her head into the snow like some kind of polar-ostrich to hide from her own embarassment. 

"Sure. I'll... jump." Danielle told him, swallowing the fearful lump in her throat. She glared at the giant beast. "But if you don't catch me, I swear, I'll give you hell for it all the way to the village and back." 

"I am shaking in my furlined breeches." He replied, tone measured and proper - and she would swear that she heard a hint of amusement in his tone, despite the growling edge of every syllable. 

And so, she closed her eyes - trying to ignore the vertigo that overtook her - and she let go of the railing, letting herself fall forward over the edge of the balcony - and she immediately regretted her decision. Her eyes shot open, and she halfway turned, scrambling to take hold of the iron once more. But, she was already over the edge. Her knee slammed into the edge of the balcony due to the awkward angle of her pivot, and she yelped with pain. She tumbled backwards towards Tamlin and the snow below. 

 

Tamlin's POV:

Change was in the air. Perhaps that was the strange scent that clung to Danielle - because it seemed to follow her, like an enchantment that called to it every possible upheaval.

Lucien hadn't visited him in months, but here he was, dining at his table and sleeping in the room that used to be his, before everything went belly up. 

Snow fell over the spring court in a way it hadn't in millenia - if ever. And here he stood, paws buried in it's icy softness, getting ready to bring supplies to the nearby villages of lesser fae. 

He, who had so readily welcomed death's embrace, little more than a week or two prior. 

How she did it, he did not know - but looking up at her, silhouetted against the clear blue sky, he knew that she was as mortal and fragile as Feyre had been when he had carried her across the threshold to Prythian more than a year ago. He sensed her rhythmic breathing, smelled her fear, and saw the clumsiness with which she moved, despite her combat training. 

She couldn't help it. She was human, not high fae. And it was a wonder to him, how someone so fragile and so brief in lifespan, could carry such strength and depth of character within. It was tragic, in a poetic sense. 

Finally, she leapt from her perch on the outside of the balcony railing - and she tumbled towards the ground. His preternatural senses caught on to everything, from her momentary regret, to her knee colliding with the stone. 

He jumped, arms outstretched, and caught her mid fall. Bundled up in layers of clothes, she was soft and solid all at once - and, as he had said, she weighed next to nothing to someone with his beastly musclemass. 

"As I said - much more simple than picking a bird out of the sky." Tamlin replied, with all the arrogance of someone who savored getting to be proven right for once. "And, hardly any heavier." He might as well throw in a bit of flattery for good measure. To his satisfaction, Danielle's lips pursed and her skin reddened in response, despite his gruesome visage. And it wasn't just from being annoyed at her own embarassment. 

How amusing to think that even battlehardened females were still, at the end of the day, females.

"What a line.. You must use that with all the females." Danielle replied, as she began struggling in his grasp to get her feet down on the ground. Tamlin lowered her gently. 

The snow crunched when she sank into the thick layer of still loose snow. She grimaced with discomfort when it spilled over the tops of her laced leather boots. Even though he was so much bigger and heavier than her, his weight was distributed on large, fluffy paws made for surefooted travelling through even the most poreous terrain. In the snow, they made for brilliant snowshoes, whereas Danielle may as well have been wearing rocks strapped to her feet. 

He saw how a shiver ran through her limbs, and he immediately regretted allowing her to tag along. 

"You should stay here, Danielle. It's freezing, and you don't even posses a durable fae body. I'll be back in mere hours..-" he started, his voice rumbling through his chest. 

"I am fine, Tamlin." Danielle replied, the familiar nature of her using his given name catching him off guard. He stood up taller with a snort of disapproval. 

"I mean it. I have dealt with a lot worse than a chilly wind and wet feet. I travelled alone before I got to your estate, remember?" Danielle continued, evidently mistaking the source of his disapproval as being her arguing back at him. She folded her hands inside the long cloak she had on over her layers. Then, she began walking. 

"Perhaps." Tamlin replied, as he turned and snatched her by the arm. "But as long as you are with me, out here in the ruins of my Court, you will stay close and do as I say." He demanded, as he pulled her back, picked her up, and lifted her over his own shoulders and onto his broad, furry back. He didn't let go fully until she held on to the manelike fur around his neck and shoulders. 

"Alright. Got it. You call the shots - but I have your back, as you have mine." She replied, and adjusted her seat. For a moment, Tamlin felt uncommonly selfconscious. He realized that he wasn't exactly a comfortable sort of mount these days. Sure, he was warm and strong - but his spine was hard and bony. It would be a while still before he would fill out in any significant way, despite the increasing fullness of the meals that he had been eating these past few weeks since Danielle had saved him. 

Saved him.. 

He mused, as a moment of clarity cut through the haze of his depressed mind. Like the first star on a moonless night sky, it was small, but bright. 

Until this moment, he had thought about her actions as a nuisance. As a foil to his personal quest to find peace in death, and escape the constant torment of his lonely, faulty existence. 

But not anymore. Something had changed - something fundamental and profound. 

He was grateful that she had stopped death from claiming him. That he had been given another chance. Another chance to feel the sun on his face and the wind in his hair. And now, that all meant something - because he had a purpose, and a goal. 

It made something inside of him stir. Something he hadn't felt since before he was taken below the mountain by Amarantha. 

The smallest hint of a mischievous smile tugged at the corners of his thin animal lips as he reached back and took a hold of her ankles, which were tugged close along the lines of his ribcage. 

"So, Danielle - you are afraid of heights.. but do you fear speed?" He asked, his words a purring, nonchalant drawl. 

He felt her leaning forward, slim but strong fingers clutching tighter on his hide. 

"Never." Came her reply. And like the bell to a racehorse, it was the signal he needed.

His front legs hit the ground, and he ran, for no other reason than that he wanted to run - and, perhaps, a little bit to share the thrill of it with her. 

 

Danielle's POV:

As soon as he had asked her, she had known what he meant to do. She would have been dim if she hadn't. But she could never, in a million years, have anticipated how fast he was able to go. Nor how much strength it took for her to just stay seated. 

One second she was standing in front of the ruined estate of the spring court, and now, they were bounding through the woods, each leap of Tamlin's powerful legs carrying them forward at such rapid speed that all she could see was a curtain of blinding white and pale green.

Her ears were deafened by the roaring of the wind - or was it Tamlin, declaring his return as Lord of these woods in a way that no fae around for miles could miss? The thought had her tense facial muscles melting into a grin of mirth, even as tears stung her eyes due to the cold wind and snowflakes pelting her face. 

And as that tenseness melted away, as surely as the snowflakes on her skin, so the adrenaline flooded her system. Maybe it was the extraordinary excitement of it all, maybe it was the excess oxygen from finally being outside - whatever it was, it didn't matter. She felt alive, and she couldn't stop herself from laughing. It felt like butterflies were coing crazy in her stomach, being thrown around with every leap of the beast beneath her.

She whooped, and she heard Tamlin joining in on her laughter, the rumbling rippling across his powerful torso so she could feel it in her hands and her forearms resting against his moving shoulder blades. 

They were a spectacle, drunk on freedom. 

That was, until a shadow blocked out the sky, dimming the blinding light of the moving landscape around them. The rhythmic whoosh for every powerful wingbeat announced the arrival of something from above. 

With a sharp turn that had Danielle clinging to his neck, Tamlin skidded to a halt, his hackles raising. Danielle, hanging awkwardly as both of her legs had been thrown to his left side by the sudden spin, slid silently down into the snow behind Tamlin. She sidestepped around him, slowly, coming to a stop next to his massive, hulking form.

The only sounds filling the small clearing amongst the thick growth of ancient trees, were a viscious, warning snarl from Tamlin, and a soft, melodic chuckle - from who may just have been the most beautiful, yet rugged male Danielle had ever beheld. He was dressed in leather armor, allowing for flexibility, though it was beset with glowing jewels (A lot less practical, Danielle noted, if he didn't want to draw hostile attention to himself). His powerful black wings, leathery like those of a giant bat, lowered him effortlessly to the ground. Him, and the stately fae female whom he was carrying as if she weighed less than a kitten.

She seemed, in almost every sense of the word, to be his polar opposite. Where he was rugged and muscular, she seemed thin and refined. Where he seemed arrogant and brazen, she seemed icy and uncaring. However, she was armored too. And they were both armed with blades strapped to their bodies. 

The male lowered the female to the ground, though he didn't stray an inch from her side. 

No pointed ears were visible through the silky tresses of black hair framing his scarred, but cleanshaven face. The almost unearthly glow of his sharp, hazel eyes left no question as to his fae nature, if the wings hadn't given him away. 

And right now, those eyes were locked on Danielle with curious, almost mocking amusement, taking her in from head to toe. It was clear that the massive, snarling beast was little more than an afterthought to the male stranger at the present moment. 

The female, however, chained her steely grey eyes to Tamlin with a devastating glare. "Down, beasty. Before you cause another diplomatic incident." She said, her tone sharp like a drawn blade - and not unlike a mother reprimanding an insolent child. Danielle would hardly have blamed Tamlin if she'd made his resolve waver - but it didn't. On the contrary, he stepped forward, his massive paws whispering across the snow with the ease of a prowling mountain lion. 

"You are no longer welcome here, Nesta Archeron. You and your illyrian bastard will find another territory to defile for your illicit rendezvous with the son of autumn." He growled, canines relentlessly bared. 

The winged one laughed. None of them backed down, despite the warning of the approaching High Lord. "Woah, Tamlin! Did anyone ever tell you that you've got a lot of bite for a dead guy?" He said, and casually rested a hand on the lower back of the intimidating Nesta Archeron. 

"Honestly, we're glad to find you alive. That means a lot less clean up for the inner circle, you know." He said, with a shrug of his broad shoulders. "None of us actually really wanted you dead-dead.." 

"Speak for yourself, Cassian." Nesta interjected. Her eyes narrowed, and for a second, Danielle could have sworn that they went black as bottomless wells. And then, they locked on her. "Who are you? No - What are you, girl? Tamlin's new doll, to dress up and play house with?" She asked, every word a well-aimed dagger to her and Tamlin alike. 

Tamlin's snarl deeped into a roar, and he opened his maw to object. Danielle tapped his chest with the back of her hand and stepped forward. 

This woman - terrifying as she was - was not about to make her a pitiful pawn in whatever story she was cooking up. "Don't girl me. I'm a grown woman." Danielle shot back. Nesta lifted an eyebrow at the retort, but didn't protest. Danielle continued, steeling herself. She knew she was a lamb in a den of lions - but that only amplified every reason she had to not let them push her around. "I'm a warrior, and a healer." She told them, her own very human eyes unflinchingly levelled with Nesta's. "And I'm here because I want to be here, by the grace and hospitality of the High Lord of Spring." 

"Hospitality? Is that what we call it now? Where I'm from, we call it a prison sentence." Cassian chuckled, as he pretended to study his rough and dirty nails. It didn't escape Danielle's notice that he was intentionally working to seem unimpressed and in control of the situation - which had to mean that he was anything but.

What was he hiding? 

Her lips tightened in suspicion, as she turned her attention back to Nesta. The female was watching her intently, as if trying to read her. 

"You'll only get this offer now. If you want us to take you back to the human lands, we will." Nesta offered. "We can hide you somewhere he'll never find you again." 

The implied accusations had Tamlin roaring. He pounced forward, but had to halt midstep - because there was Cassian, quick as a viper, standing between Nesta and Tamlin with a sword pointed directly at Tamlin's throat. Mere inches separated the tip of the blade from the thin coat of fur below his adam's apple. 

"Not another step - or you'll be experiencing a much slower, and much colder, rerun of Rhys' last visit." He warned Tamlin, his teeth gritted. All playful mockery was gone in favor of burning, protective anger. 

Danielle drew her own knife from beneath her layers of cloaks and shirts. It had nothing on the weapons the three others posessed, including Tamlin's wicked fangs and claws, but it was better than nothing. The atmosphere was downright crackling with magic unlike anything Danielle had ever felt before - and she wasn't sure where it was emanating from. Was it the female? The male, or Tamlin? Or all three of them at once, as they got ready to tear each other to shreds?

She had to get involved. She might not have the power they had, but what she did have, was a voice, and a promise.

"Lower your blade. Now." Danielle stepped up next to Tamlin, blade drawn but not lifted. No fiber in her body subjugated itself before the fae. Not a single cell. 

"And allow him to have us on a nice plate of vengeance, best served cold? Not a chance." Cassian replied, locked in a staring contest with the still snarling Tamlin. 

"I told you to leave." Tamlin replied, his tone laced with barely contained rage. She could sense his claws twitching, out of the corner of her vision. He was itching to flay the fae - but could she blame him? Even now, she kind of wanted to punch Cassian in his perfect teeth, too. 

"You will do as he says." Danielle told Cassian, and then, her eyes turned to Nesta. Her golden brown hair, those eyes.. where had she seen that before?

No, she had to focus. She continued; "and you will tell your court that Tamlin of the Spring Court is alive. And that the attempt on his life will not be swept under the rug." Despite herself, she could feel her temper rising with every word. Tamlin didn't speak up - he didn't correct her. What he did, however, was take a small step towards her, to stand by her side. She could feel the heat radiating off his body, warming her own.

The implicit acceptance felt like a shield at her back. It only bolstered her resolve. 

Nesta took a step towards her, fists clenched at her sides. "Listen; I don't give a fuck what the beast told you. But he kidnapped and imprisoned my sister, and intimidated her into submission. He almost attacked her." She told Danielle, her voice a hiss of contempt, though it was, in the strangest way, mixed with concern. 

"I know." Danielle replied. And she stood her ground. "And yet, I'm going to stay. I have my reasons, and they are none of your concern." She told her. She was not going to make excuses for Tamlin's behavior. And neither was she going to argue that Feyre had her revenge, and therefore they were now even. 

No - the situation was far more complicated than that. And far more political. 

Nesta gave a curt nod in reply, her full lips pressed together in a tight line. "Don't come crying when he makes you his next princess-bride." She said, dryly. Slowly, Cassian backed away, wrapping an arm protectively around Nesta's waist without even looking - it was like he instinctively knew exactly where she was, at all times. Her every breath. 

"I don't plan to." Danielle told her, feeling the tension and pressure on her chest slowly leave the air around them for every bit of distance bought with Cassian's retreat. 

"Let the High Lord and Lady of the Night Court know that they needn't worry about their pet fox." When Tamlin spoke up now, it was uncanny; the rumbling and growling was gone, in exchange for an eloquent male voice. The beast had gone, leaving the tall, blonde male she had come to know; though the primal, furious glow in his eyes was much the same. "He is well cared for, and contrary to popular belief, may leave whenever he chooses. Even if it is customary of your court to claim captivity whenever it suits them." His thin lips curled bitterly. 

"You fucking dare..-" Nesta began, her voice a hiss, and there was a hot second in which Danielle thought she'd have to jump between them to prevent the female from clawing out Tamlin's eyes like a feral cat. However, Cassian held her back, arms around her waist, as he unfolded his wings, ready to take flight. "We'll hold you to that, Tamlin!" He told him, staying impressively neutral in his demeanor. His face betrayed little hint of Tamlin's words having struck a chord. With a powerful beat of his taloned wings, he lifted them both off the ground. 

Within seconds, they had shot through the canopy, and vanished out of sight through the cloudcover above. An eerie quiet fell upon the clearing, as if even the trees were waiting to see what would happen next, before deciding whether to dance with the wind once more. 

"I never liked them." Tamlin broke the silence, his gaze dropping from the grey, cloudy sky to Danielle. 

"The feeling seemed to be mutual." Danielle replied, though a smile lifted the corner of her mouth as her dark eyes met his green ones. 

Tamlin watched her for a moment, his brows creasing with concern for a second - before smoothing out once more. And then, to Danielle's abject surprise and bewilderment, he laughed. 

A true, honest to god, belly laugh. 

Danielle couldn't keep herself from chuckling, despite her confusion, as she turned to him. 

"What?! What is so funny!?" 

Tamlin shook his head, as he tried to breathe through the giggles. Pearly tears shone in his eyes, like raindrops on spring leaves. 

"Nothing. It's.. well, perhaps someday I might tell you." He stood up, straightening the bandolier full of knives around his shoulder. "When you tell me your secret." 

"My secret?" Danielle asked, blinking, as a drop of cold water fell upon her nose. 

Was it raining? She held out a hand, and looked up. And, then, another drop fell into her palm, followed by another. 

Thousands of drops were rolling off the branches above and falling into the snow. 

"Yes. Your reasons - those you refused to share." Tamlin told her, his eyes wandering across the canopy above, where white was giving way to green. 

It was thawing. 

Chapter 10: Shadows of Doubts and Death

Tamlin's POV: 

The Spring lands were worse off than he would have expected.

Even before the snowstorm hit, most of the lesser fae population had been killed off, chased off their land, or had willingly packed their most essential belongings and left for other, safer courts. 

He had been made aware of those base facts before the last of his staff had left to seek their fortunes elsewhere. His rage hadn't helped - it had only served to drive them away faster and further, until he was left behind in solitude, with nothing but ruins and the ghosts of his regrets to keep him company. 

Had he ever actually bothered to go to the villages since then? No. What would have been the point, then? All anyone would have gained from him seeing the abandoned houses and overgrown fields would have been more pain, and more shame. 

On the day, however, when he and Danielle had made their way to the villages, he had carried her on his back through the melting snow, between vacant cabins, buildings long-since burned, and ruined sheds with roofs caved in under the weight of the snowfall. On that day, he had felt a familiar mix of feelings rushing through his system - shame and rage. 

Shame, because he had failed to protect his court from the poisonous hand of the female who should have been his bride. 

Rage, because this was her work. Her, and her traitorous mate. They had planned his downfall, and the people under his care had suffered for it. 

"It seems.. completely abandoned." Danielle had remarked, from her seat on his back, as she craned her neck to take in every shadowy nook and darkened window, looking for survivors. 

Tamlin had growled in reply, once again in the shape of the beast - since it was the quicker and easier way to travel, and it was still somewhat chilly - especially when the wind picked up. 

".. Lord? The High Lord?" A raspy, cautious voice sounded from a nearby doorway. The small, grey figure huddled there shivered, one clawed hand holding onto the wood. The clay-made house was cracked, the roof leaky. It hadn't been entirely livable for a while. 

"Yes. I am here." Tamlin replied. His beastly form did not seem to deter the creature, which hobbled out from it's shelter. It fell onto it's dirty, raggedy knees, and buried it's bulbous, turnip-like head face first in the thawing snow and mud. It knelt before the Lord in pleading. 

"Help us. Please, Lord. Have mercy.." It pleaded. "I stayed - Spring has always been my home. I was born here, and I intend to die here. But please, my Lord. Let not today be the day.." The raspy lesser fae cried. Tamlin slowly lowered Danielle to the ground beside him, and knelt before the lesser fae. 

"Tell me of your plight. Have you been attacked?" Tamlin asked, unperturbed by the mud or the mildew-y smell of the lesser fae's leathery skin. 

"Only once. Not recently. It's.. we are so hungry, my Lord." The fae croaked, even as it lifted it's dark eyes and sniffed the air in Danielle's direction. 

"Human.. a human female." The fae stammered, alert, it's long and leaf-like ears twitching with curiosity. "The cursebreaker?" It asked. 

Like a lightning strike, a large paw pushed the small fae to the ground. Tamlin was upon him, snarling, fangs bared in primal warning. 

"Do not speak those words. Never again, within the borders of my court. Do you understand?" The high fae asked, eyes wide with pinprick pupils. "The Cursebreaker is dead. What she became was a fraud - a scourge upon these lands." He withdrew his claws, sensing myriad other fae around him. Their scent flowed on the howling winds from every direction. 

"Tamlin..? Look.." Danielle had noticed the same thing. She drew closer, refraining from drawing her blade despite the myriad of turnip heads now peeking out from collapsing doorways and over drifts of melting snow. 

Tamlin stood up tall, his sharp eyes taking note of every villager. Their whispers of excitement and fear were like the buzz of cicadas. 

This was his moment. Tamlin sensed it in his bones, like the grip of fate around his spine. 

"Fae of Spring." He adressed them, his voice booming, despite the growl of his beastly form. 

"Your High Lord abandoned you. I abandoned you. But I have done so for the first and the last time." He continued. A gasp went through the crowd. He felt it too, like the bottom went out in his stomach. And yet, he continued, and he stood tall. 

"As your High Lord, it is my duty to protect this court. I invited an enemy into our home. Let her warm my bed, and wear a crown. And in return, she brought ruin to our lands." 

The words were claws, tearing him apart from the inside out, ripping open wounds that had only just started to heal. But it had to be said. It had to be recognized. He had made grave mistakes - not by loving Feyre, but by trusting her. And by taking for granted that she loved him, too. 

"I cannot take back what has been done. But I can rebuild this court - with all of you. This is our home. And we will not let any outsider take that from us." 

He could hear the forest coming alive all around them. The rustling of the branches, the songs of distant faeries and the flowers on the fields. The winds picked up, running their soft fingers through his fur, curling through his antlers. The lesser fae, even the hidden ones between the trees and in the nearby brooks, responded to his call, listening to his declaration. 

He was Spring - born of the lifegiving forces of the ground, the sun and the air. 

"We will rebuild! Spring will return to these lands. Banish the snows and the darkness." His roar grew louder. Tears stung his eyes, overflowing with hope. He could see it mirrored in everyone around him - even Danielle, who stayed silent by his side. She watched him with awe, even pride. And he wanted to be worth that pride. He wanted to show her - show all of them, what he was capable of. Why he was the High Lord of these lands. 

And so, he let out a bellowing roar, that shook the ground and echoed through the woods and valleys. And the lesser fae let out their relief, their grief and hope, in whooping cries and sobs, clapping their hands and embracing one another. 

The unexpected winter was over. They were saved. 

 

Danielle's POV:

The brief celebration settled into cruel, practical reality soon after. 

The truth was, that the village was severely damaged. And this was just one of many. 

For now, Danielle and Tamlin could distribute food amongst the starving villagers, clothe them, and help them hold proper vigils for those that had succumbed to the harsh conditions of the sudden onset winter. 

Darkness slowly fell upon the ruined village, the cloudy sky turning from a misty grey to the color of smoldering charcoal. Danielle watched as the villagers stood around a large bonfire, the fire crackling and smoking as it consumed the remains of their family members and friends. The lesser faerie that they had first met when they arrived at the village had explained to Danielle that the essence of dead faeries returned to the Cauldron with the smoke. 

It was a sweet thought - and with all that she had experienced thus far, Danielle couldn't exactly deny the belief. Perhaps that was what had happened to her, in a way, when that fatal shot rang out and everything went dark. 

Dark. Shock. Pain. 

She had died. Everytime the thought had tried to claw it's way to the forefront, she had pushed it back down into that little box in which she compartmentalized it. The thought didn't help her, anyway - she had so much else to worry about now, ever since she spilled from that tub on the ship.

But now, standing here alone, underneath the rustling curtain of willow branches, watching the inferno consume the bodies of the dead, there was little to occupy her but her thoughts and memories. 

It wasn't the pain that had been the worst, when they pulled the trigger. It wasn't even the fear, or the shame that her last moments she had been a quivering mess, barely holding herself together in the face of her own demise.

It was the sensation, the sound. 

She recalled it vividly, in this moment, as she stood beneath the willow tree, watching the fire. The wood cracked and popped as the flames tore into it. 

The light of the fire across the muddy plain became the blinding flash of the rifle next to her face. The smell of the bonfire becomes the scent of gunpowder and iron, and the cold, wet breeze and melting snowflakes become the cold hand of death. 

It came back in an unprecedented flash - the sensation of her skull cracking and splintering at the impact of the bullet. She knew that it was less than a splitsecond, but in her memories, it felt like it dragged on for much longer.

And just like back then, the ground fell out from under her. Her knees hit the cold, wet ground. There was little she could do to make the dark forest or the shadowy ruins stop spinning around her. The bonfire, a mass of dizzying bright light, rotating like a meteor.

Why wouldn't it just stop spinning? Bile rose in her throat and something pounded in her ears. 

It pounded and pounded, deafening, like a wardrum. 

"It's just my heart. My heart.. I'm alive." She tried to remind herself. Her voice didn't sound like it was her own. Her hands were cold and clammy, and they wouldn't stop shaking. Not even as she clutched them to the galopping heart in her chest, burying them in the layers upon layers of wet and raggedy clothes. 

"Danielle..? Danielle!" The voice calling to her sounded like it was echoing through water. A towering figure, broadshouldered and shrouded in darkness, ran to her and knelt before her. A gentle, calloused hand rested on her forehead, then her cheek, and she was scooped up. She recognized the earthy scent before she was finally able to focus on his face.

"Tamlin.." She croaked, and swallowed the lump in her throat. "I'll be alright. I just need to lie down somewhere.." her body was shaking still, all over, from her shoulders to her toes - which she could hardly feel at this point, due to the cold. 

"It must be exhaustion.. You don't have a fever.." His voice was soft and warm, like a blanket. "We need to get you back to the house and in front of a fire." He wrapped his arms around her, cradling her to keep her warm and safe. She leaned her head against his chest and closed her eyes, hoping that she could make the world stop spinning by relying on his solid frame. His heart beat a steady rhythm against her ear. 

"But, Tamlin.. we can't." Danielle spoke up, her limbs flailing a little as she at once tried to sit up in his arms and stay comfortable. She opened her eyes as Tamlin began walking. Her gaze was drawn towards the bonfire once more. It was still crowded by small, dark figures, their large heads bowed in grief.

She still felt it. The cold hand of death around her middle, it's hollow eyes over her shoulder. It made her uneasy in a way that was difficult to explain. Perhaps, it was because she wanted to chase the shadow of death away from herself - or perhaps, she truly wanted to help and do good. That was why she had become a healer in the first place.

At the most base level, she did sympathise with their grief. She had been there. As she body on the pyre, and as the grieving family next to it. 

There should be no more death. No more loss. 

No more.

"You.. don't want to go? Why not?" Tamlin asked. Though his voice was gentle and soft, she could actually hear how his eyebrow rose in puzzlement. 

"I do." Danielle protested then, and when she looked up, she saw him rolling his eyes in confusion and frustration. So, she clarified. 

"We should go - but we can't leave these villagers behind." Danielle stretched out her arm in the direction of the bonfire, without taking her eyes off of the vibrantly mossgreen ones above her. She implored him to understand. She could see the thoughts churning and the expression shifting in real time as what she was saying registered in his brain. 

"What? That's.. not possible. It's inappropriate." He stopped walking, looking at her with something that, to her surprise, looked like alarm. "That estate is the seat of the High Lord. The heart and the sun of the Spring Court - not a homeless shelter." He growled, his eyes flashing with anger at the very idea. 

"If your estate is the heart, then these people are the life's blood!" Danielle didn't disagree with the core of his sentiment - but it didn't have to mean what he thought it meant. She sat up, hand clutching at the shoulder of his green tunic. "And you need them - your people - to rebuild the court, as they need you to weather this storm." She wasn't talking about the snowstorm. Or the rain, which was falling now like cold dust. 

Tamlin reared his head like a nervous stallion - then let it fall back, feeling the rain on his face. Evidently reclaiming his patience, and the reins of  "You are human, Danielle. From a foreign land - you are not accustomed to our traditions.." he sighed, patiently, giving her grace - which she would have none of. 

"Yes, I'm human, but..!!" Like a ferret, Danielle struggled and twisted in his arms. Unfortunately for her, however, his arms hardly budged, only adjusting patiently so that she wouldn't fall or hurt herself.

He bent down close, his mouth curling in amusement; "like I said - I have wrangled wild horses, before. Sit still, Danielle - before you hurt yourself on me." His voice was like warm, smooth butter. Even if what he said was infuriatingly arrogant, she felt the little hairs on her skin rise with goosebumps in response. 

"Don't make me punch you." She warned, eyes flaring with annoyance. "And don't patronize me! I've seen war, same as you; I've seen violence and cruelty ruin people's lives, just like this. You and I have the means to help these people survive, and we should."

She could tell that he wanted to object. He lowered her to the ground, slowly, though he didn't let go - likely because he could tell that she was still trembling, and he didn't want to risk her collapsing on the spot. 

Good thing he couldn't know that she had already lost all feeling in her toes and that her vision was still swimming. 

Frustrated by her silence, she groaned. 

"What do you gain from leaving them here, in the ruins of their homes, while we go back to an empty estate with countless rooms to spare!? Is it a matter of pride!?" She asked, confronting him with her voice rising in anger and frustration for every word. 

 

Tamlin's POV: 

He could have struck her. Perhaps he should have, to put her in her place. He knew his father would have. She was causing a scene..

But he didn't want to. That was not the sort of male he was. 

So even if he clenched his fists, even if he bared his fangs and his teeth grew long and sharp, and he leaned down close to intimidate her, that was all. 

"You forget your place." His voice was laced with the edge of a snarl. 

"Do I?" Danielle responded, her tone cool. She didn't back down. Not an inch. Even if he could smell the adrenaline rising in her blood. She continued;

"Do you want to rebuild Spring alone? Or do you want to earn back the loyalty of your people?" To his horror, she pointed to the lesser fae villagers, blatantly disregarding the decorum of a private disagreement. She got on her toes, looking him in the eye with what every primal sense in him read as a challenge. "because now is your chance to show them that you are on their side. That you are their High Lord - and you are in this together." 

A growl reverberated through his chest. 

How dare this insolent female tell him how to rule? He had lived hundreds of her lifespans, seen countless battles, fought thousands of fae creatures and humans alike and lived to see this day. 

He was a warrior. A High Lord. The very essence of this Court, of an ancient bloodline. 

She was nothing in comparison to him. A speck of dust in a vast solar system, spinning through the Cauldron for eons upon eons. 

"You. Will Leave. With Me." He told her. It was a warning. A storm was brewing inside of him. One made of claws and teeth and howling winds. 

The rain fell heavy upon them now, picking up in a rhythm that seemed tied to his wrath. It whipped across his hair and skin with the threat of a coming storm, and in this moment, he didn't care. 

He watched her, his pupils shrinking with his intense focus. Would she scream? Punch him? Yell at him?

He didn't get the response he expected.

Danielle's nose scrunched in clear, bitter disappointment. She was silent for a moment - and then she turned, and walked towards the ruined village and the fearfully gawking lesser fae.

"Leave me here with them." 

Her voice was soft, and cold. But his ears picked it up over the rain and wind none the less. 

Tamlin was stunned into silence - not because he didn't know what to say. Every habit in his arsenal told him to just pick her up and carry her back, for her own good. To just deal with her protests later, and make her understand why what she was suggesting was so far outside the norms and traditions of the country she was in. 

But - he also knew that it would be anything but fruitful.

Not to mention, it would ruin both of them. It had ruined Feyre, and his life with her. 

".... Okay." He accepted it. Even if every fiber in his body protested the notion of leaving her here. She was in danger here. She might be eaten before dawn by the first predatory fae to set foot in these parts. 

He needed to figure out another solution.

And so, he turned, his form shifting as he did, and he vanished into the dark woods. 

 

Danielle's POV:

How could everything have changed so fundamentally in an instant?

One moment, he was carrying her, comforting her through a moment of boneshattering, mortal panic. The next, he had left her behind in the rain, and had taken off to return to his life of loneliness. 

Had he truly given up on himself, and the Spring Court? Just like that?

How could she have been so wrong about him?

Those questions plagued her for what felt like hours. Fortunately for her, the lesser fae of this village were grateful and hospitable souls. They let her share in the food and blankets that she and Tamlin had brought to the village. One of them even invited her to stay in their little, crumbling hut - though she took up about a third of the space, just by being so much bigger than these tiny creatures. She huddled up in a corner, under a roof that was almost not leaky, and warmed her hands on a small clay bowl filled with jerky stew. There, she stared out into the rain, while the rest of the light faded into complete and utter blackness. 

It was strange how alone one could feel, after having spent just a few meager weeks in the company of another. Not that Tamlin had been much in the way of company, really, since they had hardly talked. Even so, the knowledge of his constant presence somewhere around had been comforting. She had found a sort of home with him, and a purpose in supporting his claim and search for justice. Where would she go now? Who would she be?

She took a sip of her broth, closing her eyes with a heavy sigh. She could always take Miriam up on her offer. Go to their isle and do.. whatever they did over there. Fish, or become a merchant of some kind. Or she could make leather goods - put the skill Tamlin showed her to use.. 

Her head began bopping. She was becoming so drowsy. Perhaps it was the cold and the exhaustion finally claiming her, now that she was finally sitting still. 

The sound of the wind was oddly soothing, too, as it whistled through the cracks in the ceiling.

If only that cat would stop howling..

Wait. A cat? Here? Or was it a wailing baby? 

No. That wasn't it, either. But she had to know. 

She set aside the steaming bowl of stew and crawled towards the open doorframe on her knees. 

She blinked, straining for her eyes to adjust to the pitch black surroundings. The rain was pouring down in a deafening curtain of water. And yet, she could still hear it - that distant screeching.

She stepped out into the rain, pulling the blanket up over her head, and peered towards where the top of the treeline met the night sky. 

And there it was - moving against the backdrop of the sky. A pair of familiar antlers, bopping from side to side. 

Danielle hardly dared to move, for fear that she might break the potential illusion and be proven wrong.

She watched with bated breath as the large, imposing shape lumbered closer. His eyes shone with the last embers of the dying bonfire. And behind him, was the source of the constant, rhythmic screeching sound. 

A wagon - a large, empty wagon, wheels rattling and complaining as it was dragged through the muddy terrain on uneven wheels. It was strapped crudely to his frame with leather straps that looked to be repurposed from equipment meant for oxen to plow fields. 

She could tell even from here that his body was working overtime under the strain. 

"Tamlin.." The name escaped her lips with a laugh of pure relief and joy. "Tamlin!! You're soaking wet!" She stepped out into the mud, slipping and sliding in the slickness before she regained her balance and pushed forward on surer feet. 

He was here. He was back. 

Perhaps, she hadn't been wrong about him after all. 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 11: Colors in Bloom

Tamlin's POV: 

"I should have trusted you. I'm sorry." 

Her raspy, tired voice could have been a figment of his imagination - so alike were they to the hiss of the wind through his fur and across the soft shell of his ear. 

Tamlin hadn't expected her to apologize. He wasn't even sure when she was referring to. So, for now, his reply was a rumble of acknowledgement, which he hoped she understood as forgiveness and reassurance. He wasn't angry with her, despite her defiance. 

He was slightly miffed at himself, however, for deciding to relent to her - despite how right she may be. It stung his pride, and made him more than a little uneasy, that this entire operation meant another upheaval of the traditions he was raised with. But, he was consoled by the fact that this was a first step towards rebuilding the Spring court. A new, stronger version of it, which would be able to withstand whatever hardships were to come, and reclaim its seat within Prythian's council of High Lords. 

As he lumbered along, with Danielle resting under a woolen cloak on his back, the rhythmic 'Flump, Flump' and hum of mumbling voices followed him like a veil of sound across the glittering nighttime fields. The rain, which still fell in a cool blanket of droplets, had banished the snow and left a marshy terrain behind. 

The slippery mud and darkness made the long walk back to the estate a slow and exhausting affair. Sure, Tamlin could go a lot faster than this - but he needed to lead their entourage of lesser fae, and make sure they weren't attacked and devoured by what still lurked in the dark. 

"Tamlin?" Her voice came again, more hesitant this time. He felt her grip flex in his fur. He could tell that she was exhausted - her voice was laced with a suppressed yawn. 

"Yes?" His ears rotated back towards her.

"You're angry with me. Aren't you?" 

The question was another surprise that left him momentarily tongue tied. The memory of her eyes, burning with zealous conviction, before she turned and walked away, flashed before his mind's eye. She had seemed so sure of what she had chosen, so set in her belief - and now, she was concerned that he was mad at her? She, who had gotten her way in the end. 

The nature of her question had his mind scrambling to recollect himself, so much so that the actual question itself came to him as an afterthought. When push came to shove, he wasn't exactly sure how he felt about everything.

"I am... not angry." He finally replied, his voice more a rumble, like distant thunder, than the growl of a beast. "Neither am I pleased, mind you." He added, to not allow her to believe herself in the clear. 

"Oh." He felt her rest her chin against the curve of his hunched shoulders. She was quiet for long enough after that, that he was certain she had fallen asleep. He was resigned to carry her back to the estate in silence. 

When she answered, his ears twitched, craning backward to listen. "I guess we are kind of even now." She said. 

"Even? In what?" Tamlin asked. The idea of being, in any significant way, even with a human female was absurd. Even if Danielle wasn't just any human female. 

"You don't see?" She asked. When he didn't reply, she continued. "You saved me. If you hadn't I would probably have died from exposure, sooner or later. Victim of my own need to prove a point." She snorted derisively at herself. Tamlin huffed through his snout, partly in agreement, partly in annoyance. Something about her self-deprication rubbed him the wrong way - like a punch to his pride. 

"Hardly." He said. "You survived on your own before you made it to the Spring Court. Somehow. Before long you would have found a way to stay warm and dry. And then, you would have helped all those lesser fae remake their homes - better than they were, before our disgrace. With real floors and solid doors to keep out the shadows." He laid it out like an annoying quirk that was impossible to get rid off. But, truth be told; he had come to like her resourcefulness. It made him believe that any problem could be solved, any challenge overcome. Even, at times, that his inner beast could be conquered.

Danielle chuckled into the depths of his fluffy mane, her breath warm and soft in a way that send a shiver through his shoulders. He wasn't used to having anyone close. Not anymore. 

"Woe to the Lord of Spring - to have a renegade human female running rampant through his Court, pitching home improvements and fixing leaks." She teased, and adjusted her seat with a small bounce, pushing herself higher up on his spine. Her knees pressed lightly around his ribcage. 

"Indeed. Whatever shall become of us when you are done?" Tamlin asked, rhetorically, with a weary sigh that expanded his thin midsection. Even so, he felt his lipless mouth curve, exposing the canines of his feline face. His heart - no, his whole chest- felt lighter. As if a burden that he hadn't even noticed he carried, had been lifted. 

"Who knows? I haven't decided yet." Danielle's voice was mischievous, and he felt her nuzzle into the back of his neck, burying her face fully in his fur. Perhaps he should scold her for the audacity. He wasn't a pet dog, or a woolen blanket. After a moment's consideration, however, he decided that he didn't want to scold her. She was cold and damp. He could lend her some comfort. 

"For a mouse among hawks, you are mighty sure of yourself." He noted, tone wry, but fond, despite himself. 

"Maybe. Perhaps because this particular hawk hasn't devoured me yet." She yawned. "I'm spoiled, for a rodent."

When he chuckled, it made his shoulders bounce. "Yes. Yes you are."

 

---

 

Danielle's POV:

 

She could have sworn she had only closed her eyes for a moment. The musky scent of warm fur and moss still lingered at the edge of her dreams when her eyes fluttered open, fighting the sting of dawnlight spilling through the half-drawn curtains.

Had it all been a dream? 

Her eyes crossed at the strain at first, but she managed to keep them open as she sat up. 

The bed was crooked and wobbly. 

That explained itself, when she noticed that it wasn't her bed at all. It was Tamlin's. 

The soft, thick comforter had been drawn up over her, and embers still smoldered in the hearth at the other side of the bedroom. 

The soft hum of voices reached her through the door. Not just Tamlin and Lucien- there had to be more people, from the sound of it. 

Perhaps it hadn't been a dream, after all.

Danielle slid out of bed, woolen socks whispering across the scuffed wooden floor. Claw marks still mared every surface of the room, but a lamp winked on of its own accord, as if greeting her with a 'good morning'. Danielle smiled in return. 

"Good morning to you too." She whispered softly, patting the doorframe before she opened the door and stepped through. 

"There isn't really much that could go wrong, Tamlin." Lucien said, voice reaching Danielle's ears from somewhere downstairs. "It might not be the standard you were used to, but look around! It could hardly get any worse, even if she did spill or burn something."

"While the estate may be in need of repairs and polishing, I refuse to create more problems to fix by making reckless decisions." Tamlin replied, voice solemn and - she noted with a pang of sympathy - sounding tired. 

Stepping down the stairs, she could see the vibrant red hair and elegant line of Lucien's back through the door to the dining room. He was sitting on an artfully carved chair that Danielle could have sworn she had seen lying broken across that same room a few days prior. 

"You might as well allow them to make themselves useful. They are staying within your walls." Lucien replied, swirling a wine glass of something that looked suspiciously like rum or another strong liquor. 

At the bottom of the stairs, Danielle could hear the distant buzz of other voices further down the hallway. Multiple someones were discussing eagerly amongst themselves in another part of the estate. 

It was strange. She had gotten so used to the total silence of the overly large ruin of a house that so much life felt like an utterly alien change. 

"I am, Lucien. I am simply setting boundaries as to which sorts of positions I will allow this particular brand of lesser fae to fulfill inside my own house." Tamlin firmly stated. Then, he cleared his throat. "Danielle? Do feel free to join us." He said. 

Lucien glanced over his shoulder, meeting her eyes. He still seemed apprehensive, looking her over from loose tunic and trousers to woolen socks. But then, he greeted her with a nod. 

She nodded back, and combed her fingers through her messy dark hair while she made her way into the dining room. 

Tamlin looked about as tired as he sounded. Dark circles shaded the space between his lower lids and sharp cheekbones, and the line of his mouth was stern - though it seemed to soften slightly when Danielle smiled at him, and he gave her a deliberate bow of his head in greeting. 

"I trust you slept well?" He asked, and nudged a plate of still warm, deliciously smelling scrambled eggs and bacon her way. Danielle's brows lifted in delight - and confusion. 

"I did. Better than I have in ages, honestly." She replied, and poked at the eggs with a fork. "Since when do we have chickens?" She asked. 

"Since this morning." Tamlin replied, lacing his fingers and resting his elbows on the edge of the diningroom table. 

Lucien lowered his wine glass from his lips. "You slept through a small migration of lesser fae and their livestock, pillow princess." He said, and ignored the snort of protest from Danielle at the inappropriate nickname. 

Tamlin sent him a stern look, but continued. "It seems that word spread rather quickly about how we moved the inhabitants of an impoverished village into the heart of the Spring Court last night. Someone likely saw it and decided it was some sort of public invitation." He let out a sound of disapproval, looking towards the window to the world outside. Through the semi transparent curtains, the sky seemed incredibly, brilliantly blue. 

Danielle's eyes widened at the realization. "How many people are here?" She asked, fork halfway to her mouth. 

Lucien huffed in amusement and swung out a hand towards the window. "Take a look!"

She couldn't wait. Danielle stood up, circled around the table in short, quick strides, and pushed aside the curtain. 

She gasped, clasping a hand to her mouth.

Outside, the grounds were alive with fae od all kinds. Carts and beasts of burden lined the walkways of the overgrown labyrinth, ratty tents stood strewn in a patchwork formation across lawns and former flowerbeds - and in between those, were fae of all kinds, talking animatedly, lying and resting on blankets, playing games and telling stories to pass the time. 

And as the backdrop of all of that, was the color green. A fresh, healthy green, blanketing the forest on every branch, and cushioning the tired bodies of the hopeful fae outside, waiting to see their High Lord. 

"You should go to them!" Danielle turned to Tamlin, grin wide with eagerness. Her heart was thundering in her chest. 

Tamlin lifted a brow in bemusement. "And do what?" He asked. "We don't even know what to do with them. We cannot house every single one, let alone feed them."

Danielle went to him, standing by his side without a shadow of intimidation. Her hand rested next to his on the table top. The excitement was practically radiating off of her. "No. But you can direct them." 

 

---

 

Tamlin's POV:

Riling up the crowd of fae was the easy part. Herding them and making sure that every group knew what to do and how, was difficult - even for a male like Tamlin, who had training and experience in delegating tasks in a life or death situation. 

Now, getting different kinds of lesser fae to work together against a common goal? That was next to impossible. Old grudges and prejudice flared up like dry kindling at the smallest provocation. Tamlin had to separate more than one pair of fae who escalated into physical combat. 

"Children.." Tamlin rubbed the bridge of his nose, having separated an owl-like lesser fae from another bat-like male. Scratches stung on his arms, but they were already healing fast. 

"I saw it from over there. I was sure for a minute that the feathered one would claw the eyes out on the other one." Danielle said, and nudged his arm with a large glass containing something cold. 

Tamlin took the glass, and held it against one of the stinging scratches on his arm. "One should think that survival was more important than an old dispute about hunting grounds." He remarked. 

"Old grievances die hard." Danielle said, and tugged at his elbow. "Sit down. Let me help you with the wounds." 

Tamlin's mind returned to the present, and he followed her lead slowly. "I thought you were treating their wounded?" He nodded towards a band of lesser fae - strangely lizard-like as they were. "I saw you with an old female a moment ago."

"It was a little more than a moment ago. But yes." Danielle said, and she directed his arm to lie across his knee. "She was just dehydrated." She said, and poured a bit of some pungent smelling liquid from a flash into a cloth. "Which you are too, by the way. I can tell from your veins. You need to drink that." She nodded towards the glass in his hand. 

Tamlin glanced down at the cold glass full of clean water - and downed it. It wasn't until the water hit the back of his throat that he noticed how parched he was. The entire outside grounds had been rounded up and separated into squads, each with their own assignments. Hunting, gathering lumber and sizeable rocks for building, fetching clean water.. there was much to be done, and the grounds were still alive with activity. But now it was productive activity. And it.. felt more like home again. 

"A penny for your thoughts?" Danielle smiled up at him, and he was pulled back to the now. He swallowed a hiss as she dabbed the alcohol over a long cut on his forearm. Blood still glinted along the slim wound. 

"I still do not know what a penny is." He remarked. And for the first time, he noticed something. His eyes narrowed, and he gave himself a moment to appreciate the notes of deep burgundy that the rays of sunlight brought out in her hair. 

"If I had one, I'd give it to you. As a unique keepsake." Danielle smiled, her voice laced with humor. "Why are you smiling?" She asked then.

"I am?" Tamlin replied, his smile falling, as if he had been caught in something improper. He didn't know why her seeing him smile was a problem. It had to be, since instinct had told him to hide it. 

"You were." Danielle laughed, and the sound was remarkably bright - like an instrument played at a lively party. "Not anymore, though." She teased, and turned the cloth, folding it up to continue on the other arm. She sat down next to him on the bench and pulled his other arm into her lap. Her hands were so small. Small and delicate, with long, thin fingers, the skin on the tips and palm roughened by steady work. 

"I think I know why you were smiling." Danielle remarked, filling the heartbeat of silence that Tamlin hadn't even noticed had passed until she spoke. His eyes found her face again, and the smile spread on his lips once more. He couldn't help it. Because in that moment, he noticed something different about her that he hadn't seen before. 

"Do guess." Tamlin said, his green eyes glinting with a light, airy amusement that he hadn't as much as entertained in ages. "If you get it right, I will owe you a favor." He stated.  "Something of your choosing, as long as it is within my power to give." He said, sitting perfectly still under her dextrous hands. 

He hoped that she would get it right. But he doubted that she would. 

"Close your eyes." Danielle whispered, leaning towards him slightly, her voice lowered conspiratorially, with a hint of mischief in her eyes. And Tamlin noted hints of gold in their depths where sunrays hit them just right. 

Tamlin hesitated - but he did as she said. Sitting perfectly still, keenly aware of the warmth of her hands resting on his lower arm. It sent a strange, though not unwelcome tingle through every nerve of his arm, up through his shoulder and the back of his neck. 

Then, he felt a gust of warm breath against his cheek and his pointed ear. It made him shudder pleasantly - though he breathed against it, to slow the stutter of his pulse.

"Listen." Danielle whispered.

And Tamlin's heart almost halted at what his sensitive ears caught. 

For the first time since before Feyre had left his court for good, he heard it. 

The unmistakable trills of Spring's first songbirds had come home. 

 

Chapter 12: A Glimpse of Summer

Danielle's POV:

It was Bonfire Night. 

That was what she had named it in her mind, since Tamlin had agreed to the public request for a celebration. He wanted to name it something more formal and make it a proper holiday - but they were still workshopping that. 

The point was that it was happening, and even more so, how much everyone looked forward to it. 

There was a static in the air - as if you could feel the excitement, crisp and firing between every inhabitant of Spring, who were joyfully working even while the rain drizzled. 

It still rained often, and the temperature demanded a jacket  or light cloak - but everyone met the rain with appreciation, simply because it wasn't snow or hail. 

"What do you think, miss?" An eager female asked, lifting the wreath of flowers and twigs she was weaving. She was sitting next to Danielle on one of the newly oiled benches by the row of trimmed hedges surrounding the garden labyrinth. 

Danielle tore her gaze from Tamlin and Lucien to take a look. Her eyes widened in wonder. "Another!? How do you make these so fast!" She grasped the humongous, colorful wreathe with both hands and stood up. Even holding it at eye level, it easily reached her hips. More mindboggling, however, was that it was easily the height of the one who made it.

The small fae lit up, leathery skin wrinkling around her eyes and mouth with her smile. "Talent." She replied, wryly. 

"You don't say!" Danielle looked it over. Colorful blooms filled its every nook and braid. Yellow, pastel pink, lilac and powder blue, all in an artfully mixed symphony. 

 "Now we've got one for every side of the manor house!" Danielle grinned at the fae with excited gratitude. "It will be the very image of spring for tonight!" She glanced towards the still cracked, worn walls. But her gaze was one of fondness. The house, with all its dust and grime, had come to feel like an old friend. "Especially when we've gotten the roof and windows scrubbed clean."

She found her eyes drawn back to Tamlin and Lucien, and at first, she wasn't sure why. Since she got back with the wagon of dry wood and kindling for the bonfire, she had resolved to taking a break, having lunch (bread and honey - positively decadent) and watching Lucien and Tamlin moving out some tables, chairs and setting up a makeshift stage. Apparently, there would be music, this evening. 

Now, however, she couldn't tear her eyes away. 

And she knew why. 

Tamlin, oblivious to anyone but the work at hand, slipped off the rough doublet he had been wearing and rolled up his sleeves. 

Danielle's mouth went dry. Since when had Tamlin become so.. shapely? Was that the word? His arms were strong, but elegant. His shoulders wide and yet refined. And when he drew the back of his hand across his brow and..

Wow! Wow? Hold up. 

She had been staying here for about a month and a half, seeing him every day for weeks now, and yet she hadn't ever felt this way before.

And here she was, going feral over him all of a sudden?

Shit. He's looking. 

Danielle swallowed a gasp when his eyes locked with hers. Long, golden strands had come loose from his ponytail and fell messily across his face. 

And then, he smiled. A sort of knowing smile that sent butterflies straight to her stomach. She replied with a teasing grimace, and his smile widened in answer. Then, Lucien nudged his shoulder to grab his attention back, and the moment was over. 

"Don't." 

The voice of the fae next to her spoke up. The smile was gone, and replacing it, was only cautious dread. 

Danielle blinked, the wheels churning in her head, trying to figure out what the female was responding to. 

"Don't.. what?" She asked. 

The female's none-existing brows furrowed. 

"Don't fancy yourself in love with him, miss." She told her. Her little knobby hands clenched around the long twigs in her hands. "A human female and a High Lord? No. We can't go through that ruin again." She pleaded. 

The way she spoke sent a pang of pain, like a gun shot, straight to Danielle's heart. 

"I'm not.. we're not.." She stammered, looking from Tamlin and back to the female, trying to find the words to defend herself from the unspoken accusation.

But, was there anything to defend? 

"I won't turn my back on you. I won't betray this court the way she did." Danielle promised, standing up from the bench and kneeling before the fae female to be at eye level with her. 

The fae female looked at her, eyes full of lingering heartache and pain. "We all believed in her too. The curse breaker. And look what that got us."

 

---

 

Tamlin's POV: 

"Focus, Tam. Please."

Lucien's eyes - yes, even the one made of gilded metal - were undeniably disapproving as he nudged Tamlin's arm and waved him back to their task. 

It wasn't that it was particularly heavy work. The tables were simply impractical to maneuver around for one person alone. 

"To the left - steady - watch out for the stage. Halt." Tamlin directed Lucien. 

By the end of their work, lesser fae flocked to the tables with what had been gathered and made for the festivities.  A meager selection, compared to what a festival in Spring would be like before the court had fallen to ruin - but still, it was leagues better than what anyone had been used to for more than a year. Jam, freshly picked berries, fish, mushrooms and nuts, warm bread and honey sat side by side along the buffet tables. Baskets were still being carried forth by the fae of the more distant woods who were just now arriving. One by one they curtsied and bowed their heads at a distance from Tamlin, greeting him with subservient silence or whispers of honor and service. He only waved them forward with his curt bow of greeting. 

He still felt like only a shadow of what he used to be. More of a general than a king - more a musician than either, deep down. But hadn't that always been the case? And yet, it was like that notion had always been amplified by the ruin that had befallen his court. 

The court might recover. Its soul was here, in the tenacity of the fae who had stayed despite everything. But he would never be the High Lord his father had been. 

"Excuse us, High Lord." A meek male voice spoke up behind Tamlin.

Tamlin looked back over his shoulder, finding a small, elderly owl-like fae, holding a flute. He lifted his brows in question. "How may I help you?" He asked. 

The elderly fae bowed his head, clearing his voice into the crook of his wing. "May we.. may we set up, your highness? To play?" He gestured back towards the low, makeshift stage, fashioned out of old wooden crates and planks. Next to the stage, a mixed band of lesser fae stood waiting, all elderly, all with each their own instrument. A lute, a harp, a set of hand drums. 

It was endearing. Warmth tugged at the corners of his lips. "I don't see why not." He gestured towards the stage, palm up. "Go ahead. Breathe life into this celebration." 

The feathers on the meek owl puffed out in excitement. "Yes, my Lord. Very well, my Lord." He bowed. And then he bowed again, before he turned back to his comrades. "Let us get this sleepy dinner party swinging their legs, friends!" 

Tamlin chuckled to himself and watched in amusement as the band ascended the stage. His fingers, tapping his opposite elbow with his arms crossed, were itching to play, too. But he shouldn't. 

"The house will love that." Danielle stepped up next to him, her eyes already on the elderly fae on stage. Patches of dirt lined her cheeks, which were already reddened from being in the sun all day. The rosy sunburn accentuated the freckles sprinkled across her nose and cheekbones. Her dark hair - thick and unruly as it was - was topped with a crown of bright wildflowers. The crown was kind of at odds with the loosefitting trousers and the dirty blouse she had tied up at her waist - and yet, it completed the picture just as it should. 

All in all, Tamlin thought, she was the essence of what the wild was supposed to be. Bright eyed, stubbornly indomitable and full of wonder. Breathtaking. 

"You... have something.." Tamlin noticed, and reached up to rub a spot of dirt off her nose with his thumb. 

Danielle stood still, following his hand with her eyes.. And, then, she laughed, noting what he was doing. "I must look like a street rat. And smell even worse." She grimaced, apologetically. "I would take a bath, but I'd actually hoped that you'd let me help you skin the boar." She glanced back towards the house. 

Tamlin had hunted the boar down earlier that same morning, along with Lucien. It had felt like old times in a way that had almost made him forget how much had happened the past year. 

"Are you sure?" Tamlin asked, setting into step next to her up the grassy slope. "If you want to take some time to bathe, freshen up and pick out a gown for the occasion.." he gave her the chance to back out. He couldn't imagine that being elbow deep in guts and fat would be the way any young female would prepare for a feast. 

Danielle lifted a brow, the silence before she responded its own sort of answer. "Pick out a gown?" She asked, rhetorically. "I don't have any of those. And even if I did;" She cut in, pointer finger aimed at his mouth - a sign for him to be quiet, he knew.

"I am much more comfortable in clothes like these." She held out the loose pants ballooning around her thighs. "If they were my size, that would be perfect. But, you get my point." She smiled up at him, reassuring at his vaguely alarmed expression. "I like being comfortable. And I like being helpful." She explained, shrugging her shoulders. "Sure, looking good is.. nice and all. But I'm not here to impress anyone. And if I could practice what you showed me and be helpful in the process? That's doubly great to me." 

Tamlin was astounded. Speechless, even. Sure, he had heard of Courts in which some females preferred more masculine cuts of attire. But for someone to forego the chance at luxury and finery all together, even when there was no practical reason to? He looked at her, trying to figure her out as if she was some strange, foreign puzzle.

"I won't.. think any less of you if you do not assist me in this." He asked, tentatively. Was that the reason? He held the servants' door open for her. It was the shortest way to the larder. 

"I know. That's not why I suggested it." Danielle reaffirmed, stepping in and waiting for him in the damp, cool dimness. "Take me on my word, Tamlin. Beautifying myself is not important to me." 

Shortly after, Danielle was watching Tamlin sharpen the elegantly curving, elven knife that he used for this work. 

"You are.. very unusual for the females around here." Tamlin told her, holding up the knife and inspecting the blade against the light. "Even the human females I have encountered." 

"I am? Because I don't care for gowns and jewels?" She asked, sliding her hand curiously through the coarse bristles along the boar's spine. 

"Yes. And because you.. do not seem eager to impress anyone." He wanted to say 'impress me', or 'impress males', but decided against it. He didn't want her to see him as selfcentered in that way. But he was curious. His sharp fae eyes slid to her over the edge of the blade. 

Danielle didn't look up. She pursed her lips thoughtfully, still stroking the boar slowly, appraising the fur along its flank. "I.. suppose I don't see the value in that sort of thing. I would rather spend this life being myself and have the right people like me for that, than having anyone choose me under false pretenses because they liked what was on the outside." She looked up now as he turned towards the work table. "Does that make sense?"

"It does. In a way." Tamlin replied, curtly. "Stand over here, please. Let me see what you have learned." He stood back and guided Danielle in before him. There, he gave her the knife, and leaned in over her shoulder. "There. Just above the navel. That's where you cut first." He whispered.

 

---

 

Danielle's POV: 

The warmth of his breath stroked her skin like a loving hand. She took a long, shaky breath, and placed the opposite hand against the abdomen of the creature as support. 

His hand curled around the one of hers holding the knife. Strong and steady, and a little rough from work. 

"Make sure to have the tip hook into the lower layers of skinn too. Or else we risk contamination." His voice was husky, and Danielle would - sweet Jesus - she would swear that she could feel his lips brushing the outline of her ear. 

"A ...A-ok?" She swallowed her nerves, and cut into the boar. The hooked end gripped the edge of the skin, and while he guided her hand up the midling line of the torso, it split open, peeling back across glistening meat, muscle and tendons. 

"You said something about how the house would.. be glad about today? What did you mean?" Tamlin asked, breaking the silence. 

"I meant what I said. The house.. showed me." Danielle looked back at him over her shoulder - and the tip of her nose brushed against smooth, pale skin.

She couldn't help but notice the scent of his skin up close. How familiar it was, and yet.. how it drew her in. A mix of rain, fresh spring leaves and fur. The very fur she had buried her face in, on the way home from the decrepit fae village a few nights ago. 

Home.. She had thought it and felt it without question. 

"It speaks to you?" Tamlin asked, drawing his face back just enough to meet her eyes, his pale brow furrowed in question. His sharp eyes were searching hers, as if she was a tome he was deciphering. 

"Kind of?" Danielle responded, a small smile growing on her face at his incredulousness. "It shows me what it means to tell me. Signs, like blinking lights, sounds or scents - and gets me things I need. A few days after I got here, I found the ballroom, and it played music for me." She explained, eager at the memory. Even now, it made her giddy, because of how magical it had been. "I got the feeling that it wanted to show me a cherished memory, of people being happy within its walls."

Tamlin looked pensieve as he listened. As if the conversation had taken him to a far gone memory of his own. "So, it misses the music, too." He concluded, voice and tone measured. 

He tapped her on the opposite shoulder as his gaze returned to the boar, and his hand proceeded to guide her own. His other hand came to rest on her opposite shoulder. An intimate but reassuring weight. It made her feel grounded, in a good way.

"Continue to listen to the estate, if you’re really sure it speaks to you. It has never.. communicated with me in such a way. And I want it to thrive." Tamlin admitted. And Danielle noted that he sounded saddened by the fact that it didn't communicate with him, though he tried to hide it behind a practical facade. Ever the commander and strategist. 

"I will. And I'll make sure you are in on it too, from now on." Danielle reassured him, her eyes on her work with the boar, following the careful guidance of his hand around her own. His torso was pressed against her back, and she found herself leaning into it somewhat, instinctively. 

Silence reigned for a long moment, except for the soft directions of Tamlin, showing her where to cut and be extra careful not to lose control of the knife and ruin the meat or the skin. He reached around her, helping her maneuver the limbs of the carcass. There was an easy comfort to this work. A natural rhythm between them, flowing unseen and unspoken, only felt and expressed through touch and lingering looks. Tamlin's shoulders lowered too, which Danielle noticed with personal satisfaction.

When he was at ease, there was an otherworldly grace to the precision of his movements - despite the grizzly work, when they had to empty the beast. She could watch him for hours, if it wasn't because he eventually let her do the work herself. Under his careful oversight. 

"Lucien is leaving soon." Tamlin told her, when they were just about done. 

"He is?" Danielle asked, lifting her gaze to him from the wash basin. "Did his Master call him back?" She asked - immediately regretting the snark when Tamlin sent her a pointed look of reprimand. 

"No. Its his Mate." Tamlin explained. "He longs for her. Being apart from so long is difficult for the best of fae pairs, but mated pairs are even more sensitive to separation." He waited for her by the door, but didn't open it yet. For the sake of Lucien's privacy. 

Danielle hung the rag back up, chewing on a lip in thought. "The whole idea of being someone's mate. It's... I don't know how I feel about it." She looked back to him over her shoulder. She'd tied up her hair to keep it out of the way. "I know it's part of your nature. But it just seems.. almost tragic?"

Tamlin lifted his brows. "How so?" He asked, with curiosity. Danielle was relieved at that. She chose her words with care, but she was aware that she could offend him. Especially given his history. 

She joined him near the door, arms crossed over her dirty blouse. "What's the point of love if you don't get to choose? If what decides who your person is, isn't whether they feel right to you, and you admire who they are? If something beyond your control has already pointed out the person you should be with." 

She noticed the way part of his mouth quirked up, almost patronisingly. It made her toes curl in annoyance. 

"But - Mate or not - you do not choose who you fall in love with, Danielle." Tamlin replied. He reached out and brushed a lock of hair out of her eyes. 

Danielle pulled back, looking into his eyes with more earnestness. She remembered what the lesser fae had said - her warning, not to fancy herself in love with him, of all people. Something squeezed her heart, painfully. 

"No. But we do have to choose to stay with that person. Choose that they are worth it, over and over again, every day and for every mistake." Danielle replied, standing firm. "That is a true act of love - to fight for it, to work to be better for the one we love." Her jaw tensed. 

She had promised that lesser fae that she wouldn't turn her back on this court. 

And she certainly wouldn't turn her back on its High Lord. 

Tamlin's eyes darkened somewhat. It was an otherworldly sight - how the greens turned almost black, like the deep, untamed wilds during a night time storm. 

"I have had enough of fighting." He told her, voice lowered to an octave that she could feel in the marrow of her very bones. "I am.. tired of it. If I find my mate, I will be glad of it. Because it will make it.. easy. Comfortable. And right." He whispered. "No more guessing, no more pretend." 

It felt like Danielle's heart turned to stone, and dropped into the icy lake of her belly. "I.. am sorry. I did not mean to bring up something that would..-"

"Go." Tamlin opened the door for her, pushing it open, and he turned back to the meat. "Get bathed and dressed. I will spear it and get it set up over the fire." 

Danielle hesitated at the door. Her hand was itching to grab his arm. To make him listen and know that she didn't mean to bring up dark memories, or make him doubt himself. 

But she couldn't. His shoulders were a firm line of tension once more, his back straight and turned decisively towards her. 

He wouldn't listen. She knew him well enough to see that. 

"I'll.. see you outside." Danielle told him, finally, before she stepped through the door and closed it behind her. 

 

---

 

Danielle's POV, continued: 

When Danielle stepped onto the terrace an hour or so later, feeling clean and comfortable in a fresh set of clothes - but no less heavy inside - the estate grounds were as if transformed. 

Music played, lesser fae of all shapes and sizes were dancing in quadrille, laughing and singing along to folk tunes in a language that Danielle had no chance of understanding. 

The boar was slowly rotating on a spit over a firepit, and the scent of flowers and baked goods wafted through the air. 

Every decoration was rustic, weaved or carved by the lesser fae. The same fae who were enjoying the festivities now, as the sun hang low in the sky, painting the clouds in hues of peach and purple. This was their party. Their new beginning.

The fire was already blazing, flames reaching towards the sky like hands in worship. Symbolically, it was made up of old planks and furniture. Remnants of the life that had ended in tragedy and pain, symbolically being burned away to make room for a new one. 

Danielle took a deep breath, and let it out in a long, slow sigh. Perhaps she should leave her worries behind too, for this one night. Enjoy the festivities, and speak with Tamlin later, or in the morning. There was no reason for either of them wasting their night ruminating on past mistakes.

Yes - that sounded like a plan. 

With a few quick steps she decended the terrace and made her way down the slope towards the celebration. 

And a celebration it was. Not two minutes went by before she - and the bread and jam she had procured - were swept up into a dance. She spun and spun, was led back and forth and around, trying her best to keep up. It was intoxicating. The joy was infectious, the music electrifying in her veins. She could absolutely see how a human could dance themselves to an early grave when swept up by the fae. She would go happily. 

When the second dance ended, and everyone were applauding, she turned her gaze to the stage - and the tall male at the forefront, fiddle in hand, stepped up and took off his broadbrimmed hat.

She hadn't paid him any mind until this moment. She had been so caught up in the dance that it had been impossible to think of anything else. 

But there he was. Golden hair spilled over his shoulders, and he bowed. Tamlin, beautifully carved fiddle in hand, was bowing to the lesser fae, and smiling as he did so. When he straightened back up, his eyes met hers - and they glittered with life in a way that made him seem younger than his usual self. 

He was about to speak, when Lucien stepped onto the stage next to him. The flame haired male held the posture of a statesman, but his fingers were restless at his sides. He grabbed Tamlin's arm with startling urgency, and leaned up to whisper something in his ear. 

Tamlin's entire body stiffened, his eyes widening with something between alarm and offense. He quickly bowed again. 

"Enjoy the festivities." He told the crowd. It sounded like an order. 

Not one she was going to follow, however. She backed out of the crowd, excusing herself to a dryad whose heel she stepped on, and squeezed herself through the crowd, getting on her toes at regular intervals to keep Tamlin and Lucien in sight. 

They were heading towards the side of the estate. 

"Shit.." at this rate she might lose them when they rounded the corner. 

She sped up, practically vaulting across the serving table next to the roasting boar before setting into a sprint. 

"And this is why I don't wear a dress." She gasped to herself, straining her legs to go faster, to take longer steps as she leapt up the grassy slope. 

Lucien and Tamlin were out of sight by now. She prayed that she hadn't lost them completely. She knew how fast Tamlin could run if he wanted. She wouldn't even be able to catch up on a horse at full speed!

She gritted her teeth in frustration. If he had just filled her in before they had.. -!

As soon as she rounded the corner, she was swept up easily by a strong arm around her waist, spinning once to absorb the speed of her approach.

"Slow down, please. Before you hurt yourself." Lucien looked down at her, almost smug, if it wasn't for the way his eye didn't follow the lean of his fox-like smile. 

He put her back down on her feet, panting and frazzled as she was. And when she turned, the scene gave her pause. 

Everyone were looking at her. 

Tamlin, his entire posture on guard - and before him, stood a breathtaking stranger, flanked by a small band of guards in foreign armor.

His dark skin practically glowed with health. He was robed like a roman statue in smooth silk in hues that reminded Danielle of a summertime sea. His eyes were so blue that she might drown in them, and his hair as white and soft as seafoam, cascaded around his sculpted shoulders. 

A wide, welcoming smile of mirth rested on his youthful, handsome face. 

"This must be the human female I heard so much about." He said. His voice was husky and melodic, like the crashing of waves upon a shore. "Greetings. I am Tarquin, High Lord of Summer. But, there's no need for such formality." 

He stepped forward, with a gracious bow - or tried, though Tamlin blocked him with an arm. A tense second passed, before Tarquin softened. He looked to Danielle. 

"Call me Tarquin. I hope that we might become good friends, in time." 

Chapter 13: A Hand's Reach

Tamlin's POV:

"We have uninvited company." Lucien's tense, whispered declaration instantly had Tamlin's every protective instinct flaring. 

"What kind?" He asked, practically flashing fangs. Was it one of the pathetic, predatory fae who had been lurking under the Mountain? They must have been lured by the fire and the sound of music.

So many of them had seen the Spring Court as weak prey, ripe for picking. Still, they had no active guard. No army. 

But they had him. And he would tear them limb for limb if they thought this gathering, at the heart of his very estate, would be their hunting ground. 

"Believe it or not, Tam. But it's Tarquin." Lucien whispered, hesitant, but his eyes on Tamlin's had practicality begged him not to fly into a rage. 

Tamlin stiffened. Had he been in his beastly form, his hackles would be raised. His jaw tensed to keep from grinding his teeth in anger. 

He turned to the crowd who had been watching the scene unfold with silent anxiousness. Like deer at the flash of a torch. 

"Enjoy yourselves." He said, and stepped down from the stage, his stride long and fast enough that Lucien had to jog to catch up. 

"He says he's here in friendship and support, Tamlin. Not as an enemy." Lucien implored him to listen. 

"And still, he arrives unannounced, challenging my sovereignity and disrespecting the borders of my court." Tamlin growled. He could feel his nails extending, transforming into claws even as he tried to rein himself in. Behind him, despite how the wind picked up, he could hear rapid, messy footsteps. 

Danielle. She was following them. 

That only gave him another reason to make Tarquin second guess his decision to threaten what was his to protect. 

"Lord Tarquin." Tamlin approached him with powerful strides, shoulders squared, fists clenched. 

Tarquin, standing almost serene under the light of the sundown, turned to him with elegant precision. He quickly held up his hands to show that he was unarmed. 

"Tamlin!" He replied, swiftly bowing and taking a step back behind the line of his guards. 

Tamlin wasn't deterred by Tarquin's show of submission. He advanced on the other male, fury painted across his features in a prominent snarl. 

Tarquin's guards - fully armed and armored - stepped in front of their lord, crossing their tridents to block Tamlin's path. That, at least, caused him to halt. For now. 

"Tamlin - honored High Lord of Spring. Please, do hear me out before you decide whether to punish me for my rudeness." Tarquin pleaded, standing behind his guards still, hands still lifted - though now it might be in ready defense, as much as to show that he had no ill intent. 

Lucien lingered near the corner of the building, arms crossed and eyes watchful, though one was turned backward where they came from. Tamlin had no doubt he was listening for Danielle's approaching footsteps, ready to stop her from doing anything that would get her killed. 

Tamlin - for the first time since Lucien abandoned him - trusted him to have his back. In this matter, at least. 

"I give you thirty seconds to convince me why I shouldn’t carve a lasting memory of this meeting into your skin and personally throw you and your guards off the cliffs at the edge of my court." Tamlin growled, his eyes narrowed, pupils slit-like and beastly as his fangs extended. 

Lucien pulled a pocket watch from his left hip pocket and clicked it open. 

Tarquin, meanwhile, let out a soft sigh of relief. Why, Tamlin couldn’t fathom. 

"I came here personally because I thought it cowardly to send an envoy, in case you would greet them with hostility." Tarquin began. 

"25." Tamlin rumbled. 

Tarquin, briefly startled that Tamlin had meant it, gathered his wits and proceeded. "Varian told me that you had started to rebuild. That you had called the lesser fae of your Court to your estate. I want to lend my support." He quickly told him. 

Tamlin's eyes narrowed with suspicion and discontent. "Prince Varian?" He asked, lips curling. "How would he know of the goings on at my court?" He asked. 

Lucien added; "17 seconds."

Tarquin's eyes flitted to Lucien and then back to Tamlin. "He's got personal sources that he trusts, outside our court. Some of those have spies." He told him. 

Tamlin's growl took on a more beastly twang. "Spies? Your prince Varian uses sources who holds spies within my court? Some friendship you offer."

Tarquin's eyes widened. "I understand your suspicion. And I would share the details if I didn't think it would compromise Varian's safety. But trust me when I say, in no uncertain terms, that the Summer Court is not spying on you or your court."

"10 seconds." Tamlin continued. "Make them count."

Tarquin sent him what he must have believed to be his most genuine and most winning smile. "I am simply here, personally, to discuss the ways in which my court might help you rebuild. From a personal standpoint, I believe that Prythian owes you a great deal for the risks and sacrifices you made as a spy during the war against Hybern." He said. "And from a political and strategic standpoint, the security of your borders are important to those of my own Court. Hybern only made it as far as they did because your court had been compromised by the Night Court's ill advised sabotage." 

He held his empty hands forward towards Tamlin. "So there. That is the reason I stand here now." 

A moment of quiet stretched between them. A tense one, where Tamlin scrutinized Tarquin, and the former stood at trial under his gaze. 

And just then, a whirlwind of motion appeared around the edge of the building. One that didn't surprise either of them, as they had her rushing towards them from the very start. 

Lucien stepped back and scooped her up, redirecting the force of her approach with a twirl. 

"Slow down, please. Before you hurt yourself." He said, with the sly arrogance that Tamlin had become used to throughout the decades. Even so, he could hear that the male was tense. Still prepared for conflict to escalate, Tamlin supposed.

Danielle, thankfully, didn't immediately jump on the offensive. Truth be told, she looked too stunned to do much of anything, when her eyes settled on the young Lord of Summer. 

In turn, Tarquin looked amused by her reaction. 

"This must be the human female I heard so much about." He said, as approachable as ever. "Greetings. I am Tarquin, High Lord of Summer. But, there's no need for such formality." 

Tamlin watched him like a hawk. That was easiest, since the way Danielle watched Tarquin made something inside the Spring Lord's gut twist unpleasantly. 

As soon as Tarquin stepped between his guards, looking to get more closely acquainted with Danielle, Tamlin tensed and flashed his teeth in warning. He stepped halfway in front of the younger male, arm outstretched to bar him from getting any closer. 

Their eyes locked for a moment, Tarquin measuring the severity of the warning while Tamlin stood his ground. A test of dominance - with Tarquin relenting, and taking half a step back. He bowed, smiling pleasantly at the human female. 

"Call me Tarquin. I hope that we might become good friends, in time." He cemented his intent.

Tamlin wasted no time. "I suppose Varian was the one to inform you of Danielle as well." He remarked, the disdainful snark evident in his tone. 

Danielle looked between them, seemingly awakened from the momentary trance the appearance of the young fae male had put her in. 

"I would say that I hope the same, High Lord of Summer.. Tarquin." She corrected herself, and took a few steps closer to Tamlin. "But that really depends. The last pair to visit wasn't very cordial."

He could sense her unease, and something else he did not care to name. None the less, when she placed her hand on his back, it soothed him enough that his claws receded. 

"You didn't tell me about that." Lucien noted, stepping closer and seeking Tamlin's gaze. 

"From the Night court. I take it you already knew that they used this court as a secret meeting point with the heir to Autumn." Tamlin responded. "Hence, there was no need to speak further of it." 

Lucien's guilty silence spoke volumes. Yes, he knew. 

Tarquin however, furrowed his brow. "They do? Without your knowledge or consent?" He asked, looking to Tamlin with unease at the very idea.

Tamlin could have laughed at the young male's naivité, if the issue wasn't so aggravating. Not to mention that out of the other High Lords, Tarquin was one of the few that he didn't have any particular reason to dislike. He didn't want to embarass him. 

"They do." Tamlin confirmed. He gave a huff of annoyance. "It seems that since I have lost the host of guards I used to have, the Spring Court has become a no-mans' land in the eyes of.. certain Lords." 

Tarquin's lips became a tight line, the look in his bright blue eyes piercing in its gravity. "I implore you to accept my offer, Tamlin. I really do want to assist you in rebuilding, and reinforcing your borders. Whatever I can spare, it will be at your disposal." 

Tamlin felt the way Danielle's hand tightened in the back of his tunic, and he turned his attention back towards her.

Her eyes had brightened in that excitable way he had come to know as her 'Female of Action' mood. It seemed to come just before she would make some radical suggestion that wasn't easily deterred. 

"Is that why you are here? To help reinforce our troops, and help rebuild the Spring Court?" Danielle stepped up next to Tamlin fully, her hand coming to rest around his elbow instead. A gesture that wasn't lost on Tarquin, who lifted a brow and glanced at Tamlin. Tamlin didn't offer a reply to the unspoken question, remaining stoic. 

"Yes. It is." Tarquin replied, with a smooth, gentle smile. One that only seemed to stoke Danielle's resolve. His eyes returned to Tamlin again. "Might we discuss this further inside? Or perhaps at the edge of this celebration of yours?" He smiled. "I would like to enjoy the music while we discuss this further." He said, in a way that was so unusually casual for a High Lord that Tamlin almost felt like he was speaking a foreign language. 

But then, he only gave a short, obliging nod. "I will have a table and chairs moved to the terrace. And have food and refreshments brought up." He gestured for Tarquin to follow, leading the group back around the house, where the glow of the bonfire had become the bright backdrop to a dance of shadowed and drunk lesser fae. 

 

---

 

Danielle's POV: 

The discussion was as sharp as it was spirited. Danielle gave her input where she could, but she learned even more by just nursing her cup of cherry wine during the long stretches of uninterrupted discussion between the High Lords themselves. 

The rhythm of drums, harps and flutes filled the atmosphere with merriment, and though Lucien looked like he had been caught stealing from the candy drawer, Danielle couldn't bring herself to be any less than positively hopeful. 

Tarquin cut a piece of succulent roast boar from its bone and dipped it in a dollop of honey from his plate. 

"If I establish the encampment of my guards on the northern side of the border, it will send the signal to everyone, including your own soldiers-in-training, that we respect your sovereignty. For the sake of morale." Tarquin noted. 

Tamlin, leaning back on his highbacked chair - still scuffed along the edges, but unmistakably the seat of the High Lord - drummed his fingertips on his goblet. "I can accept that. But I am wondering how many of the former citizens of the Sprint Court still reside within your domain. And what it will take to persuade them to return." 

Lucien glanced his way. "I wonder how many are aware that what she said was a lie. I could make a detour to the Summer Court and speak your case, as soon as I've made sure Elain is doing alright." He offered. 

Danielle winced on his behalf at the angry tick in Tamlin's jaw. She tried to send Lucien a silent sign to stop trying, but he ignored her pointedly. 

"I think it's about time you join the festivities in earnest, Lucien. Or perhaps retire for the night." Tamlin said, cooly, without looking at his firehaired friend.

Lucien's eyes widened in disbelief. He stood up, knocking over his chair with a clatter in the process, his entire body tense with fury and hurt. "You can't be serious?" 

Tarquin looked between the two, clearly unsure how to feel - except uncomfortable. 

Tamlin glared at Lucien in warning. The first time he had looked at him since before they sat down. "You are fortunate that I even allow you to stay, for old times' sake, and to dine with us at this table. I should have cast you out for not sharing with me what you knew about the liberties Rhysand and his pack have taken within my court." His voice was biting as ice. It sent a shiver down Danielle's spine. 

"You don't get it, do you!? How could you!?" Lucien's remaining eye welled with tears. "Elaine is part of his court! What do you think he could do if I angered him enough!?" He locked his jaw to keep from trembling. 

Tamlin stood up, slowly. "He took away my fiancee. I thought her dead, or worse, for months." He hissed. "And you claim I don't know what it feels like?" 

Lucien turned to him, eyes venomous with disdain. "But she isn't your mate." He spat back. "You locked her up. You drove her away with your pride and your constant need for control!"

Danielle stood up. "Enough, Lucien!" She called out in horror. 

Silence fell. Cold and thick as the blanket of snow that had melted away only a couple weeks ago. It even seemed to muffle the party still going strong at the foot of the slope. 

Tamlin was as if frozen. Darkness filled his gaze. 

Lucien averted his gaze to the floor, but he didn't apologize. He refused to take back his words. 

"I want you gone by morning." Tamlin stated. It was an order. "Go home to your High Lord. To your mate. It's all too clear where your loyalties lie." There was an underlying rumble to his tone. 

The wind picked up, whipping through Danielle's hair and rippling through Tarquin's robe.

Lucien gritted his teeth, but answered in a curt nod. Then, he turned on his heel, and stormed towards the door to the terrace. 

The wind slammed the door behind him. Hard enough to crack the glass. 

Danielle remained standing. So did Tamlin, for a long moment. She didn't sit down until he returned to the table, sitting down with slow, measured composure. 

She wanted to ask if he was alright. But she already knew the answer. And she especially wouldn't ask in front of Tarquin. 

Instead, she turned her eyes back to the Summer Lord, with a small smile. "Tamlin mentioned that citizens of Spring still reside in your court. Do you think you could spread the word about the rebuilding efforts, and perhaps persuade them to move back?" She asked. "We need all the hands and fae magic we can get." 

Tarquin, evidently relieved to change the topic and rekindle a more positive atmosphere, thought it over with a light smile. "I will do what I can. Of course they are welcome in the Summer Court, but I will encourage them to move back, and let them know that they can make their mark on the future of the Spring Court." He seemed almost invigorated by the notion. 

The more time she spent in his presence, Danielle decided that she liked Tarquin. It was almost impossible not to. He was so spirited, so warm and so pleasant. 

"Thank you. As for the textiles.. -" Danielle began, focused and eager once more - but she was cut off when a rough, firm weight covered her hand. 

Tamlin's hand. It was on top of her hand. 

Danielle's mind went blank. What had she been about to say? Her eyes were still trying to process the sight of that large, elegant hand covering her own, fingers wrapping gently around hers, scooping them into its embrace. Protective. Gentle. 

"The textiles." Tamlin picked up the sentence where she had left it. "When do you believe you can have them delivered? And I would like to talk about future compensation, for all you are offering." He said, his green eyes firmly planted on Tarquin's. The darkness that had grown inside of them before had dulled, and now, he just looked spent. Drained. 

A pang of protective sympathy squeezed her heart. She couldn't do much now - but she adjusted her hand, just enough to wrap her thumb around his. She noticed a small tightening at the corner of his mouth in response - one she couldn't read. But it disappeared as quickly as it appeared. 

Tarquin, though he clearly noticed their linked hands, chose not to comment on it.

"I respect that you do not want this to be a matter of charity." Tarquin said. "So I believe I have another proposal that would be mutually beneficial in the long run." He sent him a smile.

He was, apparently, pretty confident about this. Tamlin leaned forward, lower arm resting on the table next to his empty plate. "I am listening."

Tarquin turned halfway towards him, eagerness shining in his eyes. He seemed so young, compared to Tamlin. Not in looks, because in that way, Tamlin didn't look older than his mid 20's. It was in the way they moved. The experience that weighed heavy in Tamlin's gaze, and the dreams still so alive in Tarquin's.

"I propose a trade agreement, and an alliance of mutual defense." Tarquin stated. "That makes the support you receive from the Summer Court an investment in our mutual prosperity. Down the line, we will benefit from your harvests and your luxury crafts, and in trade you will have access to ours in kind."

A breeze passed over the table - one that carried the scent of sun and salty sea. Even Tarquin's bright turqoise irises seemed to reflect the light like a summer's day sea reflected the sun. It was magnetic. 

Tamlin considered it, tilting his head on his palm. The other tightened imperceptibly around Danielle's hand.

"That sounds very sensible." Danielle remarked, looking from Tarquin to Tamlin, and back to the former. "But.." she hesitated. 

"Yes?" Tarquin asked, openly. 

"Why the mutual defense?" Danielle asked. "Do you suspect that someone might launch an attack of you any time soon?" 

Tarquin let out a sad chuckle. "I hope not. And, I don't expect it. But neither did we truly appreciate the assault from Hybern when it arrived, and I.." he swallowed, turning his gaze out towards the bonfire and the moon risen above. "I do not care to have to face anything like that again. It was.. humiliating." He admitted, looking back to Tamlin once more.

If he had looked young before, in Danielle's eyes, now that effect was even more prominent. He almost seemed lost, and hurt. Like he was carrying more than he had been prepared for, and he didn't know how to lighten that load. 

Tamlin met his gaze. "I remember you mentioning that only the Night Court came to your aid." He said, tone deep and measured. 

Tarquin nodded, his jaw set. "Only the Night Court. The very court that had left my borders vulnerable by dismantling your defenses. Who had stolen from me, while I was housing and feeding them. Who had pretended to be friends and supporters of mine." He said, his melodic voice slowly growing deadly. 

Danielle's lips parted in disbelief at what he said. She looked to Tamlin, who seemed to have turned to stone before her, if it wasn't for the inferno in the depths of his emerald gaze. He didn't interrupt Tarquin. 

Restlessly, Tarquin was picking apart a napkin as he spoke. He continued. "I repaid their help with calling off the blood rubies I had given them. But at the end of the day, citizens of my court are dead because of the Night Court's misguided judgment. They abused and betrayed my friendship and hospitality." 

That had struck deep. Danielle could only imagine so, going by how intensely likable Tarquin was. He seemed the type who wanted to believe in a more friendly and generous world - and in return, the world would kick him, over and over again. 

Tamlin stood up, his hand slowly leaving Danielle's. And he placed his hand on Tarquin's shoulder, offering him the other to stand. Tarquin, surprised, took the hand - and Tamlin pulled him to his feet. 

"Draft the terms of our agreement, Tarquin. I will sign my name as soon as I have had a chance to look through the details." He told him, his lips curving into a soft, downright benevolent smile. 

 

---

 

Tamlin's POV:

The last of the flames licked across the charred wood, picking at the carcass of what remained to devour before they would be reduced to embers. 

The Bonfire Night was over. Silence had fallen over the grounds, broken only by soft snoring,  and crackling from the fire pits. 

Tamlin watched the flames die from his balcony, the night vision gifted to him by his Spring Court ancestry coming to him as easily as breathing. 

He hadn't expected the night to end like this. Tarquin and his guards were sleeping in the guest wing, and Lucien had most likely already packed his luggage up and left. 

This morning he had hoped that Lucien and he could return to something resembling what they once were. It had felt so easy, during their hunt. They had chatted like old friends. Even laughed. 

But that was before he said what he said. And that went for both of them. Had he been too harsh? What he had said had been true, after all. 

But could he forgive him for rubbing it in his face so publicly? And his silence. His lack of loyalty. He had known of the spies, after all. 

The floorboards creaked inside the house. The staircase. Then the hallway. Feet shifting, muffled by the carpet running along the hallway. 

"Enter. I am awake." He said out loud, into the dark bedroom behind him. He turned, resting his hand along the wrought iron railing. 

The door creaked open, and in poked Danielle's head. 

"You can't sleep either, I guess?" She said. He wondered how she knew. Then again, she often seemed able to guess the strangest thing about him. She was perceptive, for a human female. 

"No. I have too much to ponder." He responded, rubbing his calloused hand across his own pale face. 

Danielle stepped in fully, closing the door behind her. The scent of chamomille and honey followed the steaming mugs she carried. Her feet were bare, as he had expected. What he had not expected was the nightgown she was wearing. A white, shortsleeved thing. A bit long for her, since it reached the lower half of her calves. The bare arms and decolletage made her look strangely.. unarmored. Vulnerable. Especially with how her hair was tied up, away from her neck. 

"Tea?" Danielle asked, holding out the one cup for him as she joined him on the balcony. 

"Thank you." He nodded, and received the cup from her. 

Then, there was silence. He watched her sip her tea, her tongue tracing her rosy lips for the sweetness of the honey. The moon reflected in her eyes and highlighted the little freckles on her skin. She looked.. peaceful. Serene and ethereal, and heartbreakingly mortal. It set a dull ache in motion deep inside of him. 

When her eyes turned to the sky, and she smiled, he could see the wonder and thoughtfulness in her eyes. For once he wished that he was able to read her mind, the way some other fae could. All he knew was that it reminded him of how she had looked at Tarquin when he had spoken so animatedly about the agreement he had thought up. How it would help them prosper. 

The thought gnawed at his soul, and made him want to draw her close. To keep her with him, and far from the younger male who had captured her attention so. But he couldn't. And he wouldn't do that to her. 

"Tamlin?" The name tore him from his spiralling thoughts. He hadn't noticed how he was all but grinding his teeth until then. He released the tension in his jaw. 

"Yes?" He asked, hoarsely. He cleared his throat. 

"What made you agree to Tarquin's proposal?" She asked. "I have my own thoughts. But I would like yours." Her curiosity was genuine. Even pensieve. She took another long sip of her tea while she attentively awaited his answer. 

Tamlin hadn't expected the question. Gathering his thoughts back on the right track, he turned back towards the rail, and crossed his arms to rest against it. "I believe him." He said. "I believe that his intentions are as he say they are. That what he wants for both of our Courts is prosperity and safety - and that we can achieve it together." 

Danielle stepped up close next to him. He could feel her gaze warming the side of his face. "I suppose. But, what made you decide to believe him?" She pressed. 

Tamlin let out a thoughtful noise. "Because I.." he chewed on the right way to phrase it. It wasn't a side he was used to sharing with others - that poetic side of him, that knew how to put words to feeling. ".. I recognized my own experience in what he described. And when he spoke of it, it resonated with the pain I carry, too. That feeling of having been used by someone we trusted. Feeling like the fool for having let someone else in." His throat threatened to tighten up, and he had to take a shaky breath and clear it again. 

Then, he felt a small, careful hand on his upper arm. And when he looked down next to him, there she was, looking up at him with something far different from wonder. Care. 

And he couldn't stop himself this time. But neither did she. He left the cup of tea resting on the edge, wound his arms around her waist and lifted her, to hold her close. He buried his face in the crook between her neck and her shoulder. And she didn't just allow it. She wrapped her arms around his neck, buried her hand in his golden hair, and held him there. 

 

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