#tamlin defense squad

[praetorqueenreyna]

also are you a tamlin apologist bc same bestie same

akfjsjfjs YES I AM A TAMLIN APOLOGIST he is my babygirl ❤️

#asks #NOT SURPRISED neris stans always have good opinions #TAMLIN DEFENSE SQUAD

[oohnoniall]

A Court of Fire & Ice {Tamlin x OC} - Chapter 8

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5 

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Warnings: Tamlin is being portrayed as he is in ACOMAF and ACOWAR. Trigger warnings include fantasy violence, misogyny, swearing, and Tamlin being an uncontrollable rage beast (no domestic violence !!)

        It had been another sleepless night. He did not know how sleep could come easy to anyone after the events of the previous day. He was certain that Feyre would have been awake, fearing over whatever Rhysand wanted from her. He doubted that Lyriel had been able to sleep after he had kissed her, which he knew was the biggest mistake of his life. 

        Hell, he knew that Lucien and most of his guards had yet to sleep. He'd had them looking for any trace of Feyre all night. They had not come back yet. Not to his knowledge at the very least. They would know better than to come to him with bad news. Or no news at all.

        He sat at the dining table, staring blankly at the breakfast that had been laid out before him. He didn't care about it, about anything beyond the debates roaring in his head. He couldn't think about Lyriel, about how it felt when she was against him. He couldn't think of the way she had been on the verge of tears before they'd kissed.

        She wanted the best for him. That alone was enough to kill him.

        Feyre was the one who mattered to him. He would find a way to get her back. He would get her out of her deal. Then maybe he could explore whatever this was with Lyriel. Or maybe he and Feyre would work out whatever issues they had. He could be done with the Winter Court soldier and focus on who actually made him happy.

        She strode into the dining room. Her leather pants were back, hugging the curves that he had briefly thought about running his hands over. Briefly was perhaps the wrong word. It seemed as though the thought of her body pressed against his had been there from the moment she had slipped into his bed. 

        "Morning," Lyriel drawled as she took her seat across from him. 

        Tamlin tried to avoid her gaze. He didn't know how to act around her. What was he supposed to say in reference to their kiss?

        Lyriel didn't seem to notice his lack of attention. She slathered a piece of toast with butter and jam, acting as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened the day before. Why did she have to behave this way? Didn't she know that he was reeling? That he needed to be told how horrid he was, that he needed to be out hunting for Feyre or for answers. Not sitting at breakfast with the woman who was supposed to be his mate.

        A warm sensation began in his stomach, slowly moving to envelop him fully. He knew it was her. She was trying to help him in the ways only she could. 

        "Lyriel," he nearly snarled, knowing that he didn't deserve the gentle feeling of comfort. Not from her at least. Not when he was doing all he could to ruin her. 

        "Yes, Tam?" Her eyes sparkled with mischief. He hated that it made him think of the way she had looked at him yesterday. When her eyes had been concerned, when she had been on the verge of crying over him. His chest ached, the warm feeling being replaced by the pain.

        "Whatever you're trying to do ... Knock it off."

        "I'm not doing anything," Lyriel savagely bit into her toast, flecks of jam finding a home just above her upper lip. Tamlin hated that he wanted to lick it off. "If anything, I'm just making sure you don't decide the dining table would look better as splinters. I'd prefer to enjoy my breakfast."

        He didn't know if his temper flared or not. A sound erupted from his lips. A mix of a scoff and a laugh. Something that he had not heard in a very long time. Why did she have to be the one that brought him comfort? Why did he feel as though he needed her by his side? It was the damned bond. He knew that he could reject it. Just three simple words that would leave them severed. He'd never have to see her again. But he couldn't bring himself to do it.

        Life with Lyriel had been hell. She was brash, abrasive, and didn't know her place. She questioned him at every turn, pushing and shoving against everything he wanted. But Mother above he wouldn't have it any other way.

        He knew that he needed to get his priorities in order. She was not going to be the one he spent his life with. No matter how badly he wanted to.

        The fact that he even wanted to was enough to cause him to worry. He wasn't sure where that had come from. Perhaps he was losing it. Perhaps losing Feyre had meant losing everything he held dear. Including his sanity. He needed to talk to someone about this. But it wasn't like he could say anything to Lucien, he'd end up telling him to tell Feyre the truth. He didn't want to do that. He didn't want to break her heart and crush her spirit. Nor could he tell Ianthe. Not when she was already threatening him.

        "I take it you didn't sleep last night," Lyriel said as she looked at him. 

        "I won't be until Feyre is returned to us." 

        He could not tell if Lyriel's expression darkened or if it was a trick of the light. One second she looked nearly murderous and the next she was back to her usual, smug self. It was maddening trying to determine what she was or was not feeling. How was anyone supposed to do this? How was anyone supposed to understand her and what she wanted in her life? Tamlin certainly had no idea how she felt about any of this. Did she want him? Did she want to accept the bond and be with him until the end of time? Or did she wish to return to the home that she had known? He barely knew her. How was he supposed to read her?

        "Making yourself ill isn't going to help Feyre," she said softly. "All it's going to do is make you nearly impossible to be around. Besides, we all know there's no getting out of bargains. Otherwise, you would've found it by now."

        "I've barely scratched the surface."

        "You've been looking since you got back to the Spring Court," Lyriel pointed out. "Lucien told me as much. Honestly, you shouldn't beat yourself up so much. Rhysand might be a monster but he's not going to do anything to her. He's infatuated by her."

        Tamlin's fingers dug into his palm. What the hell did she mean by that? What did Rhysand have to be infatuated with? Feyre was his soon-to-be bride. There should have been nothing that made Rhysand think twice about her. Unless it was all some sort of horrid punishment for him. He wouldn't exactly put it past Rhysand to do anything of the sort. 

        "He might, just to spite me," he grunted as he glanced over at the white-haired woman.

        Lyriel gave him a gentle smile. "If he really wanted to spite you, I think he would figure out the truth about us first. If people were to find out the whole ... mate thing," he cringed as she said it, "they wouldn't exactly be happy about it."

        "And why is that?" 

        "Why would the High Lord of the Spring Court be mated to a Winter Court soldier? Truly, Tam, the whole thing is ridiculous. It's understandable why you'd go for the hero of Prythian instead. No one would fault you for that. But ... They might look at this whole thing like the Mother was playing some sort of cruel joke." Lyriel didn't look at him as she spoke. It was almost as though she didn't want to see the truth of her words. Tamlin knew it was ridiculous. But he had been thinking those same things from the moment they had met.

        He knew that he needed to get his head out of his ass. After all, Feyre should have been entitled to find her mate as well. It clearly wasn't going to be him. But that didn't mean anything.

        Mating bonds could be wrong. It had to be. He and Lyriel could barely be in the same room without her managing to get under his skin. The way she spoke made him want to rip a door off its hinges most of the time. 

        And yet, it felt as though she understood him. More than anyone he'd ever met. Had anyone ever tried to calm him before? Had anyone approached him when he was angry before? Had anyone ever seen him as anything other than a beast? Feyre had never calmed him, had never approached him when he looked like he was going to go mad with rage. Only Lyriel. He hated her for it.

        She should've run from him. She should have treated him like he was a monster. She shouldn't have shown him any sort of grace. There were thousands of things that Tamlin wished Lyriel had done. He wished that she had pushed him away instead of trying her damndest to do whatever it took to bring him joy. She had no right to do any of that. No right to think of his happiness.

        "I would rather keep talk of the Mother away from the breakfast table." He didn't need Ianthe overhearing the truth of the matter. It was bad enough that she thought something was going on between the pair.

        If Ianthe discovered that he was abandoning his mate ... He didn't know what she would do. Perhaps hang him from the highest tree by his balls.

        A shudder went through his spine at the mere thought.

        "We should do something today," Lyriel stated as she looked at him, a grin on her lips. She had yet to wipe off the jam. "Get your mind off of things."

        "What do you suggest?" One of his brows rose, despite the fact that he knew he could not give in. It wouldn't do to blow off any steam when Feyre could be being tortured.

        "Leave that to me. Just meet me in the gardens in half an hour." Lyriel wiped her mouth as she stood. He didn't like the wicked glint in her eyes, nor did he like how his heart seemed to speed up when she looked at him. 

        He watched as she strode out of the room. Lyriel acted as though she owned the Spring Court. It felt as though she was at home here, more than she had ever been in the Winter Court. He didn't know the story, he doubted that it was anything interesting. She was a soldier. Nothing more and nothing less. 

        And yet someone had thought they were each other's equal. Perfect for the other in every way. It was not the first time Tamlin questioned the validity of the bond, nor would it be the last. Why had a High Lord been paired with a soldier? It made no sense to him.

        He knew better than to deny her though. He could deal with a lot but he didn't want to deal with a pissed off Lyriel. Not when he already had to worry about everything else in the world. He had never thought that it would be quite so tiring to be a High Lord. Or at least dealing with his feelings for two different women.

        As much as he wanted to deny it, he knew that he had feelings for his mate. The kiss from the night before had remained in his thoughts until he had thought he was going to implode. How he was supposed to handle himself around her was beyond him. She probably knew what he was thinking which only made the whole damned thing worse. Tamlin wasn't sure what to do about the whole situation nor did he think he wanted to actually deal with it. Not for a very long time at least.

        He trudged back up to his room, ignoring the splinters of wood and the ruined portraits. He ignored how he had ruined his room, how he had turned his manor into a wreckage. It was worse in Feyre's room.

        He changed into clothes that had managed to escape the wrath of his claws the night before. The silk shirt fit him well, showcasing his muscular chest and the arms that seemed more beastly every day. What would happen if he just gave up? What if he just lived as the beast that resided underneath him? Would Lyriel still want to be there? Would she still sit with him and try to calm him? Or would she finally see what the rest of the courts did? A monster.

        Tamlin swallowed once, allowing the thoughts to linger in his mind as he pulled on breeches made of soft doeskin. He would not think of any of this once he was around Lyriel. She would more than likely stab him if she realized that he was thinking ill of himself. That or she would look at him with disappointment. He had no idea which was worse.

        He tried not to think of what her retaliation would look like as he headed down to the gardens. He didn't know what she planned for him. Nor was he certain he wanted to know. It was certainly going to be something that he didn't want to deal with. There was no telling with her.

        "I didn't think you'd show," she stepped out from behind a rosebush that looked as though it were about to grow wildly.

        She looked as though she was supposed to be there. The sunlight made her pale skin glow, her hair had been braided with a few roses tucked into the strands, and her eyes twinkled with the hope of adventure. 

        "I figured you would stab me," he admitted with a shrug. "What exactly are we doing out here?"

        "Despite how long I've been here, you've never given me a single tour," Lyriel stated as she looked at him. Her canines showed as she smiled. He wondered briefly what they would feel like against his skin. Mother above, he was a horrible person. His pleasure or his pain shouldn't have been at the forefront of his mind.

        No matter how Lyriel was trying to distract him.

        "I don't see how that's important," Tamlin sighed, fighting against the urge to roll his eyes. He didn't need a fight with her so early in the morning.

        "I've had plenty of time to explore on my own," Lyriel said, ignoring his interruption. "So, I've decided that I'm going to give you one. All the places that you've been too busy for. You're being reintroduced to your Court, My Lord." The bow she fell into was so mocking that he struggled to not look exasperated.

        "Lyriel, I don't have time for this." 

        "What else will you do? Mope around the manor for the next two weeks? Worry yourself into ill-health?" She cocked an eyebrow at him. He had never noticed the way they seemed to stand out in the sunlight, each small hair appearing almost silver in the blinding light.

        "I'll research how to end the bargain." 

        "And you won't find anything," she gave him a kind smile as she stepped closer to him. "Tam, you've got to let her save herself. I know that probably scares you, but she's stronger than you know." 

        He tensed at that. How could she possibly think bringing up Feyre and her captivity was a good idea? The worst part was the fact that he knew she was right. He'd watch Feyre save herself more than once. He knew exactly what kind of woman she was. She was capable, she didn't need to rely on anybody. She didn't need him to be her savior. But that was the only thing he was good at.

        "Lyriel," he began. She pressed her index finger to his lips, a grin on her lips that was more feral than was proper. He had to fight the urge to suck the finger into his lips. Mother above, she was killing him.

        "You're not fighting me on this," she removed her finger. Lyriel took his left hand, her fingers fit perfectly with his. He hated it. Hated how perfect she was for him and how he could not think of how Feyre's hand had felt in his. "Come now, my lord."

        Tamlin still was unsure if he liked the way she said that or not. Most of the time, it sounded taunting. But sometimes, he was certain that it was just his mind playing tricks on him, it sounded seductive. Lyriel Chaeren was going to be the death of him. She was going to make him more volatile than he had ever been. Or at least, he assumed as much. There was no telling when it came to her, which was perhaps the worst of it.

        She didn't wait for him to say yes or no. She just began to walk. He knew that he could just stand there. It didn't matter that she was a soldier, he was more muscle than man. He could hold her back if he wanted. But he didn't. He walked with her, almost nervous. He didn't know why. It wasn't like Lyriel despised him or anything of that nature. All she cared about was making him happy. All she wanted to do was make him feel loved. He couldn't even hate her for it.

        She walked him through the gardens he had played in as a child, making up stories about battles lost or won on the land. He didn't know why she was trying any of this. She hadn't grown up there, she had no idea what any of these places had actually meant to him as a child. Nor did he want to explain any of it.

        "Lyriel," it didn't seem to matter what he did or did not want. His tongue seemed to work before his mind did. "None of that has ever happened."

        "I know," she said with a shrug of her shoulders. "But what else was I supposed to think? You haven't told me anything, Tam."

        He didn't know if he felt guilty or not. Tamlin had been more focused on finding out about Lyriel than telling her anything about himself. It just so happened that neither of them were open people.

        "A truth for a truth then," he murmured softly, his hand squeezing hers. Her skin felt cold against his. She was ice and death and cold, he was warmth and strength and life. How the Mother had assumed they would be a perfect match ... He would never understand it.

        "Trust me, Tamlin, you don't want my truths," Lyriel flitted away from him, heading deeper into the gardens. His heart nearly stopped beating as she stepped into his mother's rose garden. They were overgrown, wild, more natural than they had been in years. Lyriel looked at home in the roses. 

        The sunlight seemed to bounce off her hair, the roses were more vibrant when paired with her pale skin, the smell of the frozen berries mixed with the roses made his knees unnaturally weak. Tamlin didn't know what in the hell was wrong was him. He didn't know why he had to be so conflicted about this whole damned mess. She was his mate. He should want her, he should choose her. He knew that.

        But no matter what, he knew that he would choose Feyre. She was the one who had broken his curse. She was the one who had taught him how to love and how to feel something.

        It wasn't his fault that Lyriel hadn't come first. It wasn't his fault that she had waited too long to find him. None of this was his fault. Was it? 

        "I want them," he murmured as he followed her. She disappeared into the maze of roses, her fingers gently caressing each petal. Tamlin wished her fingers would ghost across his skin like that. He hated that he wanted it. 

        "Do you?" Lyriel looked at him, a defiant gaze in her eyes. 

        "Yes," he didn't know when she had stopped walking. He didn't know when he had gotten so close to her. His heart was pounding against his ribcage, he worried that he'd lose control. Instead of kissing her, he would kill her. He didn't know why he had such an issue controlling himself.

        Lyriel looked up at him, so small and so fragile. But so damned strong, so damned ready to fight her way out of situations that didn't include him. She'd been fighting for so long, he could see it in her eyes. In the way she didn't trust him to see the real her. The sarcasm had to be the only thing keeping her safe. 

        "Tell me who you are, Lyriel," he leaned down, his forehead resting gently against hers. He could feel her breath against his skin, he could feel the chill of her running through him. Mother Above, she was the one he needed. The one he wanted. But she was the one that he could not have. He was a proud man. A man who would keep his word and his promises. That just meant finding a way to free Feyre from the bargain she had made and marrying her. It didn't matter that neither of them wanted it anymore. 

        To be fair, he had no idea how Feyre was feeling anymore. She could very well still want all of this. He'd never know because he was too afraid to ask. Tamlin had lived his life being afraid of the truth. He'd crafted lies to avoid being hurt, but he knew that it was time to change. To grow from this whole damned thing.

        "You won't like it." Lyriel stepped away from him, a sad smile on her face. "Who could ever love a bastard?"

#tamlin #tamlin x oc #tamlin defense squad #tamlin rosehall #lyriel is a badass #lyriel owns a lot of knives #lyriel is just here to give tamlin migraines #tamlin x lyriel #lyriel chaeren #lyelin #tamlin just wants his fiddle #a court of mist and fury #a court of silver flames #a court of war and ruin #acotar #acotar fanfiction #acotar fanfic #a court of wings and ruin #a court of thorns and roses

[houseofhurricane]

also I really liked your Tamlin and I'm on his defense squad so anything with him cause i think he's better then the shit the fandom gives him.

I've been thinking about this one, and I've decided that I don't feel comfortable writing short fics about Tamlin.

Here's why I say this despite writing a novel-length fic that features a Tamlin redemption arc: in Bloom & Bone, I specifically considered what it would take for an abuser to be redeemed. I did research on abuser recovery. I thought through the abusive relationships (both romantic and otherwise) that I've been lucky enough to escape.

I realized that this redemption would require three things: 1) the abuser's unconditional admission of wrongdoing, both to themselves and others, 2) an apology to all harmed parties, and 3) a clear demonstration that they would now behave differently.

I made sure that all of these things happened in Bloom & Bone. I also had many characters call Tamlin out on his behavior, both abusive and otherwise. And I made sure that the romance was a slow burn with a love interest who always had the power to call him out and leave him.

To be clear, Tamlin is abusive towards Feyre in the ACOTAR series, particularly in ACOMAF. While his behavior in the other books is complicated and can be interpreted in a number of ways (and I personally will always love the scene where he writes those dirty limericks for Feyre), this does not change the fact that Tamlin is an abuser.

It is canon that he was abused by his father and his brothers, and it is canon that he doesn't have all the information we have about the Night Court and seems to truly believe that Feyre was in danger in ACOMAF, both before and after she went to the Night Court. It is also likely that Rhys' belief that Tamlin voluntarily told his father how to kill Rhys' mother and sister is untrue, and that Tamlin could have been coerced to share this information.

That doesn't mean that he's not an abuser.

While I do think he can be redeemed, I also do not think that a short fic can adequately address that redemption arc with the complexity it requires. That's why I wrote over 100k words about it 😅

Knowing personally how damaging abuse can be, knowing how many people experience abuse in their lives, I personally have no interest in defending an abuser. I do believe that recovery and redemption is possible for abusers. However, that process is not quick, simple, or easy.

And before anyone says what about Rhys?, I also think that Rhys is abusive, both in ACOTAR and in ACOSF. I've actually written about this before.

#acotar theory #tamlin #tamlin redemption arc #turns out i have a lot of thoughts about tamlin #funny how that works

[shadowoftheraven15]

To all you Anti-Rowaelin peeps out there...

It’s time to settle something–specifically, how you call Rowaelin “abusive”. Let’s compare Tamlin from ACOTAR (an actual abuser) to Rowan, shall we?

Tamlin: -Locked Feyre in the mansion when he knew she wanted to be free and go outside -Wanted to have sex with her in ACOTAR instead of trying to help her get through Amarantha’s tasks -Blamed her for just about anything that went wrong -Didn’t want her to learn how to fight because it would “send the wrong message” -Never actually listened to Feyre and what she wanted -Only visited her during the night for sex, made her stay in her own quarters, and never checked on her when she had a nightmare

Meanwhile, Rowan: -Understands that Aelin is a free-spirited person who cannot stand to be held captive -Actually tries to help her when she’s in trouble instead of just having sex with her -Teaches her how to fight and encourages her to become more powerful -Gives her free reign and will leave her side to look after others that she cares about instead of demanding he stay by her side and watch her every move -Is not scared by the idea of her being more powerful than him -Checks in with her to make sure she is okay mentally -Never forces her to do anything she doesn’t want to do unless it is absolutely necessary

Yes, Tamlin and Rowan have bit their love interests and verbally berated them. They are not saints. Neither are Feyre or Aelin. But here’s the kicker (and it’s not that Rowan apologized or that they’re mates):

Rowan realized what he did was wrong. He realized he went too far. And he didn’t try to put the blame on her, didn’t try to claim that he was too broken. And then, he devoted himself to helping her. To protecting and empowering her without keeping her too sheltered. And no, that isn’t the same thing as an apology. Rowan and Tamlin both apologized, but only one of them showed true remorse and has worked tirelessly to make amends.

No, what Rowan told Aelin and did to her when they were first interacting was not okay. It never will be. It shouldn’t be condoned. And Aelin didn’t brush it aside. But Rowan didn’t either.

Now, any questions?

PS. I’m not saying you have to ship Rowaelin. It’s perfectly alright if you don’t! But please, please, do not bash a ship just because it caused yours to sink

#throne of glass #ToG #ACOTAR #acomaf #Aelin #Rowan #Tamlin #Feyre #rowaelin #rowaelin defense squad #Rowan defense squad

[missbrightsky]

On My Honor

Fics Masterlist

Previous Chapter

Chapter 10: Feyre

“Farther,” Captain Knight commanded. I struggled to obey, pulling my strained arm back even more, taking a slow, steadying breath to line up the target.

“Release.”

I let the arrow fly, straight and true. It thunked on the distant target, just a hair shy of a bullseye.

“Good,” he praised, clapping me on the shoulder. I gave Captain Knight a small nod before rolling my shoulder. The past week and a half of training had been hard on my body. Hard on everyone beneath Tamlin’s command. Every day we woke up at dawn for that dreaded five-mile run and every night I fell into my bedroll, too exhausted to worry about anyone discovering I was a woman.

But, every day that five-mile run was a little bit easier and every day I relaxed a little more as no one looked too closely at my woman’s face masquerading as a boyish one. Alex and I had continued to bond with each other in this first ring of hell along with the others. Morning, noon and night, we ate, trained and bitched with and about each other and Tamlin (or Lieutenant Tool as some of us had started calling him when he wasn’t around). We knew what waited for us at the front, but the thoughts were eased by comradery.

It has now been just over two weeks since I left home, two weeks since I cut my hair and changed my name and left my family. Left my sisters behind to save my father from a bloody death. To trade his life with my own.

I returned to the small group behind me. Cassian’s hand-picked archers from the recruits. For what purpose, he hasn’t told us yet, but every day after lunch we got excused from our lieutenants’ trainings to work with him.

How I got here? I’m not really sure.

After formation on that first day, Captain Knight asked the lieutenants to send all recruits that had a decent aim to him. Judging by the look Tamlin’s face, he didn’t like Cassian or his order very much but sent me and Adam along with about thirty others from the other lieutenants.

He had us shooting arrows for almost two hours, walking back and forth with a critical eye.

The sweating and trembling I did that afternoon had little to do with the heat or that morning’s exertion. A man like Cassian didn’t get to where he was by not noticing the tiniest of details. I should have been executed on the spot by the firing squad he had assembled.

Instead, I had been picked to be in the group of archers that he now trains every day.

Had I been a smarter woman, I would have failed the test and gone back to basic training, no more worries about Cassian figuring out that she didn’t belong here. But something in my chest tugged me forward, tugged me to pull back that string a little more, to aim a little more carefully before letting the arrow fly.

So here I was, getting instruction and praise from one of the most well-known captains in Prythian.

Adam finished his turn taking aim, returning to my side. He still didn’t say much, but we got along fine. Tamlin wasn’t too happy that every afternoon, he lost two soldiers to Cassian, but there was nothing he could do about it.

Cassian paced up and down in front of us, examining the targets that now bristled with arrows before facing us again. “Good job men,” I held back my wince at the m-word, “You have made steady progress in archery. I’m sure you all have been wondering why I assembled this group.” Murmurs broke out, confirming that we were indeed curious about why the captain had chosen us. Cassian waited for them to stop, “I can’t tell you much right now, but when we get to the front, I will be handing out special assignments when necessary.”

My heart picked up into a stuttering race. Not only had I managed to get myself personal instruction from a decorated captain, but now I would be going on special assignments. Certainly, the gods were looking down on me and laughing.

“That’s all for today, go find your lieutenants.”

We dispersed, Adam and I weaving a path back to where our group would be. We were nearing the entrance to the camp when thundering hooves filled the air. Two men and a woman rode in, barely checking their pace as they passed the front row of tents.

Adam and I edged out of the way, curious as to whom would ride in so recklessly but also not wanting to get trampled. I eyed the trio from the corner of my eye, trying not to look too interested. Both men were broad-shouldered and clothed in black. One in more formal clothing while the other looked like armor. The woman had golden hair tied back in a braid that had started to come apart. With a start, I realized that she was not wearing a dress, but instead had on a billowy pair of pants, highly uncommon for current styles. It appeared this woman didn’t care what others thought of her.

“Rhys! Az! Mor!” a familiar voice shouted behind me, Cassian’s. Holy gods… General Rhysand Knight. Captain Azriel Knight. The famed healer, Morrigan Solis.

“We weren’t expecting you for another two days!” Cassian continued while I had a minor aneurysm about who just came to our camp. Adam and I continued to slowly edge away, our curiosity piqued.

“We rode like hell just because we missed your face so much,” the black-haired one, Rhysand, if the stories were right, teased. So casual for those who lead the army.

“Awww, you flatter me,” the brothers clapped arms and Cas embraced Morrigan. “I believe you promised me a sparring match,” Rhysand said, looking around for someone. He spotted Adam and I, giving us a small nod of acknowledgment. Against my will, I blushed and ducked my head, hoping that the general took it as a sign of respect from a nervous recruit being recognized by a higher-up and not of a young lady getting attention from a handsome soldier. Because he was handsome. And dangerous. No one else in the camp seemed to have noticed that not everything was what it seemed but certainly the general, or his fucking spymaster, would take notice.

I fully turned away at this point, making haste back to our training area. Adam shot me a confused look but followed without question.

“Archeron! Haywood!” Shit shit shit shit. We turned, snapping to attention at the command in Cassian’s voice. As the group neared, I tried to keep my eyes from the general, but they were determined to betray me. The closer he got, I was able to pick out more of his features, each more attractive than the last. High cheekbones and full lips that were a gift from the Cauldron. Deep, blue eyes that bordered on violet assessed us, them lingering on me for longer. Fuuuuuck.

“General Knight is in the sparring mood, what are the chances that your lieutenant would oblige him?”

Fear made me a fool, causing me to blurt out, “Low, sir, if he hasn’t eaten recently.” I’m so fucked.

Cassian barked out a loud laugh, followed by Rhysand and cackling from Morrigan. Azriel only cracked a small smile, but rumor had it that very few could accomplish even that. Lucky me.

Rhysand was the one to respond to me, “Perfect, lead the way soldier.” He gestured to go on. Gods, even his voice is beautiful, smooth and deep.

GET YOUR SHIT TOGETHER, I mentally yelled at myself. I was here to fight in a war, not faun over handsome generals.

I turned on my heel, cursing my big mouth and small brain. I prayed to the gods that this would be the first, and last, interaction with them.

The walk to the training area was mercifully short, where Tamlin had paired off the recruits for hand-to-hand drills. And true to my prediction, he looked grumpier than ever, his frown turning to a downright scowl at the sights of our group.

“Soldiers, salute!” Tamlin called out, all of the men stopping to turn to the general.

“At ease,” Rhysand said, him zeroing in on Tamlin. Something like amusement flickered in his face, quickly wiped away the calm mask of a general. “Lieutenant Verdant, how goes training?”

Tamlin had schooled his face into a careful expression of neutrality, “Good, General Knight.” No extra words, no hint of deference. Had I known any better, I would say that Tamlin bordered on insubordination.

Rhysand scanned the crowd, nodding to himself. “I saw that you were working on hand-to-hand combat, how about we give your soldiers a little demonstration.”

Tamlin hesitated, something we had never seen from him. General Knight was the leader of this army, but Tamlin trained on a daily basis. The other soldiers tried not to look too interested in his reaction, most probably silently hoping to see their torturer suffer a little. “We’re almost done for the day…” he trailed off. An outright lie, I knew we had at least another two hours of training. When he saw the combined look of Cassian and Rhysand, he yielded.

Without instruction, me and the other recruits cleared out, allowing for a wide ring to take shape.  I ended up facing away from Rhysand where he turned to say a few words to the others, causing them to stifle laughs. A few moments later, he walked into the ring.

Without a shirt on.

I forced my eyes forward, demanding that this time they not wander over the curves and lines of muscles that were practically an artwork.

I was close enough to Tamlin to hear him mutter, “I’ll spar with you, pretty boy, and I’ll do it with my shirt on.”

I bit my lip to stop the laugh that threatened to bubble out of me. I didn’t feel up to the extra miles Tamlin would make me run if he heard me.

He strode into the ring, taking up a defensive stance.

“My money’s on the general,” Alex whispered in my ear. I had been so distracted by the general, that I hadn’t even noticed him standing beside me. I only shot a warning glace Alex’s way, but he had already turned back to the two men now circling each other.

For the past week, we had seen, and experienced, Tamlin’s moves. Despite being a swaggering prick, he clearly had the skills for the rank he earned.

The two men started to circle each other, each moving with their own fluidity. Rhysand angled his head, beckoning for Tamlin to make the first move. He obliged, exploding forward with a swiftness that we had yet to see.

Too fast for our untrained eyes to follow, a flurry of moves occurred before the men jumped back again.

Cassian let out a howl of laugher, “Are you a bit rusty, Tamlin? Don’t tell me the recruits have dulled down your edges.” Tamlin clenched his jaw, wincing with the movement. It seemed that Rhysand had managed to land some blows.

Rhysand’s back was to me, I was unable to see his response, but his body remained fluid and relaxed, almost as if he was teasing Tamlin.

This time, I knew what speed to expect the attacks and was able to follow along better this time. Rhysand took the offense this time, leaping forward with a sweep of the leg. Tamlin saw the move as it came for him, causing him to shift back to avoid the leg. Rhysand, however, expected this of him and used the momentum to punch his opposite arm forward to where Tamlin now exposed his shoulder. The impact of flesh on flesh was clear, followed by a solid oof from Tamlin. He didn’t let the blow stop him, instead, taking it in stride and countering with an elbow of his own.

Back and forth, the two traded blows. The soldiers on the sidelines slowly started reacting to the fight. Cheers and exclamations rang out in the clearing, garnering interest from other soldiers who were passing by. Soon, the ring was six rows deep of men shouting bets and suggestions. Loudest of all was Cassian, egging on the two.

Sweat poured off the fighters, throwing off refractions of lights from their twisting bodies. I was completely enamored with how they moved, trying, and failing, to focus more on the moves than the muscles.

Almost ten minutes later, the fight ended with Rhysand getting past Tamlin’s blocks to throw him to the ground and trap him with a knee to the back.

Cheers exploded through the crowd.

We knew that training would be even more hellish as Tamlin nursed his wounded ego for the next several days, but it was so, so worth it to see him with his face in the dirt.

Rhysand only pinned Tamlin for a second before removing his knee, offering him a hand up. The lieutenant looked more inclined to spit on it instead, but took it nonetheless, letting it go as soon as possible.

I stiffened as Rhys started to walk towards me, causing me to shift my face down and away from his violet gaze, now bright with adrenaline. Morrigan’s voice rang out behind me, revealing his cause to come in my direction. The crowd parted to let the victorious general through, some going as far to clap him on the back or shout their congratulations.

His body passed close enough to mine that the tang of sweat and his heat filled the air. A glance out of the corner of my eye was all that I allowed myself, only to find that his own gaze briefly settled on me before he moved on.

This time, I couldn’t even fool myself that the red on my face was from anything but flustered attraction. I knew that I would need to avoid the general like the plague while he was in the camp.

Alex had turned to me by this time, chattering and exclaiming at the moves Rhysand had used. I nodded along the best I could, barely offering my own words on the matter, my mind was still far too distracted by the victor.

Once the general and his group were far out of earshot, Tamlin barked, “Pair up, we’re running drills ‘til sunset.” With the ire radiating off out him, none of us dared groaned at his order, knowing that it would earn us a one-way ticket to the ground, courtesy of the lieutenant himself.

Next Chapter

#acotar #mulan #feyre #feyre x rhysand #rhysand #sarah j maas #SJM

[editoress]

OH OH JUST A FEW PLATONIC ONES IM SORRY: me/lance, me/kvothe, me/lucien. AND then romantic: you/lucien, mel/rhys, and me/eris

Brotp: Vode away from home

Adorable.  I think Lance is the only one who can really cheer you up, and the only one whose obvious sadness can guilt you into socializing with the paladins.  You can’t help it.  He’s so excited to meet you and thinks you’re so cool and is always checking in on you.  Frankly as much as I love you/Shiro I would totally read a fic of just you and Lance.

Brotp: CALL ME MOM ONE MORE TIME

I. LOVE THIS.  Not least because I’d already adopted Denna and that’s just perfect.  But I definitely love the idea of Kvothe having someone musical and reliable for him to come to.  He’ll still disappear, but you’ll miss him and look for him when he does so.  I’m very emotional.  Plus he’ll give you a hard time when I’m not there to do it.

Brotp: Tamlin Defense Squad Leaders

You and Lucien can communicate on the same joking-but-actually-exasperated level.  And you do so.  Constantly.  Thing is, Tam is great, but he doesn’t always talk about how he’s doing.  So that falls to you and Luce.  You’re a magnificent tag team.  But more than that, you’re a good team for the rest of life, too.  Practical and loyal with just the right sense of humor.

OTP: We’re the ones who remember to turn the stove off

[gestures to the above]

But really, I do like it.  Even if I’m too chipper for him.  Especially because of that.

OTP: I come with knives

Scheming!  Tension!  Teasing!  This one has it all.  Sometimes they do that night court dance, purring indecent or threatening remarks at each other.  Other times, Melody forgets to be dramatic and leaves Rhys, having just descended from the ceiling in a veil of mist with an otherworldly glint in his eyes, out in the cold.

OTP: Songbird in a cage

That’s your tag, right?  Either way, it’s so very fae.  Eris is a bored immortal with seventeen kinds of grudge and a new plaything, and that’s exactly how this ship goes.  You’re a pet, a tool.  Really I do love this, but just for its potential to drive Tamlin out of his mind.

#zacksfairest #inquiry

[oohnoniall]

A Court of Fire & Ice {Tamlin x OC} - Chapter 7

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5 

Chapter 6

Warnings: Tamlin is being portrayed as he is in ACOMAF and ACOWAR. Trigger warnings include fantasy violence, misogyny, swearing, and Tamlin being an uncontrollable rage beast (no domestic violence !!)

        The wedding seemed to come before he had a chance to process anything. He didn't know what he was doing with Lyriel. Ianthe still wanted him to banish her. Lucien told him how stupid it would be. But they didn't know. They couldn't know. Ianthe may have thought she knew something was up, but she could never be sure. Tamlin counted on her not being certain of anything. If she figured him out, everything would be chaos.

        Feyre had sunk into herself more and more. He wanted to fight it, wanted to bring her back to life. But he felt as though he couldn't. He didn't know the full truth of the horrors she went through. He just knew what he'd had to do. He couldn't compare either experience. It wouldn't be fair to either of them.

        Needless to say, the wedding felt as though it was the least important thing happening. He had briefly thought about postponing it. But Feyre had worked so hard on the plans. She deserved a perfect day. One where she did not have to think of anything, where she didn't have to worry about anything. Tamlin wouldn't allow his troubles to ruin anything for her. He wouldn't let any creatures come and interrupt the festivities either.

        If only he had known what she was hiding from him.

        His suit clung to him, making him feel claustrophobic. He had never felt so stifled before. The beast inside of him wanted to rip free of the clothing, wanted to react to the whole thing in a way that Tamlin would not allow. His emotions were all over the place. He felt as though he could barely breathe.

        It was a miracle he hadn't destroyed something yet.

        A gentle knock sounded on the door. "Enter," he called out as he stared at his reflection in the mirror. 

        Lyriel slipped silently into the room, her frozen berry scent giving her away. He glanced at her once through the mirror, his mouth going dry at the sight of her.

        She wore a dress of silk, as green as his eyes. A slight ran up her left leg, revealing a dagger sheathed at her thigh. The gown hugged the curves that her corsets and pants had never bothered to hide. But it seemed different. This was far more inviting. The beast inside of him wanted to touch her, to feel the soft skin of her thigh, of her arms. Her skin looked just a bit more tan than when she had first come, yet it still held the glow of the winter. Her hair fell in waves down her back, white as snow and so soft that he wanted to run his hands through it.

        The scars on her arms were still visible, as were the ones that ran up that delectable thigh. He wondered how many more were hidden underneath her gown. She had been a warrior for a long time. Longer than he ever would have expected.

        "You look beautiful," the words left his mouth before he could think about them. He swallowed once, trying to wet his dry throat. "But, uh, I doubt a dagger is an appropriate accessory."

        Her lips quirked into a smirk, a dimple appearing on the left side of her mouth. Had it always been there? Was he just noticing it now? "You'll have to take it from my dead body."

        Even when they were about to be parted for the rest of their lives, she still found it so easy to be Lyriel. Tamlin knew this wouldn't hurt her. She would get away from him without ever taking a backward glance at him. The thought killed him. Yet, at the same time, he knew he had no right to expect less of her. She deserved everything that he was getting. She deserved more.

        "Don't say that," he said as he turned to face her. He didn't miss the sparkle of amusement in her frozen eyes as she took in the sight of him in his finery.

        "You don't look like yourself," she stepped towards him slowly. Unsteadily. Tamlin glanced down once, noting the black heeled shoes she wore. She wasn't used to them, her steps small and uncertain. Or maybe she didn't want to be close to him. He couldn't blame her. She was losing a mate that she had never known. He was giving her up without ever actually rejecting her. They weren't supposed to be doing this. But he couldn't stop it. Neither could she.

        "What do you mean?" His voice was strained as she stopped just inches away from him. He kept his gaze at the wall behind her, trying not to think of the way her scent tickled his nose. He tried not to think of how her body had felt next to his. He tried not to think of how her hair had felt against his cheek.

        That night had been a mistake. One that he replayed over and over again in his mind. He would never have another night like that. Not with her.

        "You're not meant for finery," Lyriel stated, her hand slowly coming up. Her fingertips gently traced the shape of his cheekbone, going to his beard. She dropped her hand just before he had a chance to shudder. He hated what she was doing to him. Hated that she was playing with him. "You're meant to tear down kingdoms, to end tyranny. You're a warrior, Tam. Same as me."

        He stilled, hating the truth in her words. He had never wanted any of this. Had never wanted the responsibility. But he didn't want to be the monster everyone thought he was. He didn't think he was a warrior. He just didn't like to see injustice being done. Even if he knew, at this point, that there was very little he could do to stop it. 

        "Lyriel," he whispered her name, it felt like the beginnings of a secret song. "You should go. Home."

        A flash of something shone in her eyes as she stepped back from him. It was gone before he could figure out what it had been. "I understand. After the wedding, I'll depart with the rest of your guests. We wouldn't want to cause a scene, would we?" 

        Her voice had hardened. It wasn't the soft lilt she'd used when speaking to him of who he was. She sounded as though she had just spoken to her general. Maybe the respect should have made him happy, but it just chilled him.

        He went to open his mouth, to say something else. Anything to make this moment different. He didn't want to say goodbye to her, didn't want to let her go. But Tamlin knew that he would have to. It had donned on him when she had slipped into the room. When her dress had begged him to tear it from her, he had known that they could not do this. She needed to go her own way, find her own happiness. He had to allow her the opportunity. He couldn't be selfish.

        Not when it came to her.

        Lyriel slipped from the room before he could find the words to say. Her scent lingered, his body ached with the need to go after her. To comfort her. He didn't though. He just turned back to the mirror, wiping whatever emotion may have been lingering in his face. He wouldn't allow any of the guests to see what he was feeling. All anyone would see was a man who was about to marry the woman he loved. 

        The only woman he loved.

        "Tam," Lucien spoke from outside the room, his knuckles gently rapping on the wood. "It's time."

        Tamlin took a deep breath, looking himself over once more. He nodded at himself before he turned to leave. He stepped out of the room, clasping his best friend on the back. "How's Feyre?" It felt wrong not to ask, even if he knew it was probably inappropriate to ask about her.

        "About as nervous as you are," Lucien could read him too easily. It came from knowing each other as long as they had. He had never hated it before. "It's all going to be alright. As soon as you two are married, we can finally settle everything."

        He knew that Lucien was right. They had a long way to go to make damn well certain that the Spring Court would make it through the aftermath of everything. Not to mention preparing for a war that may or may not come. He had to hope that the wedding would at least give his people some faith that things were getting better. He had to hope they believed it. Even if he wasn't sure if he did.

        They made their way to the gardens, Tamlin painting a smile upon his face as they walked. He wanted everyone to see what they should. A man who was finally getting everything that he wanted. He greeted guests, laughing at jokes and making his own when it felt appropriate to do so. His gaze flickered around, not taking in the decor.

        The flowers were beautiful, wrapping around columns that had been erected for the wedding. He didn't care about them, didn't care about the way the breeze fluttered around them and wrapped them in warmth. His gaze searched for Lyriel.

        She was standing with a group of Spring Court lords, a glass of champagne in her hand and soft laughter falling from her lips. His stomach twisted. She looked so at ease. She didn't look like the woman who had just told him he wasn't meant for this life. She didn't look like the soldier that he knew she was.

        She looked like a lady of the court. Lyriel may have thought that she was not suited for anything but a blade and a shield, but he knew better. He could see it in the way she carried herself, in the way she had wrapped his lords around her finger. She belonged in court life. She would do well in it. Mother above, he wished he hadn't of thought about it.

        He knew that Lyriel would sooner take a sword to the throat than belong to this world.

        "Lyriel's leaving tonight," he murmured to Lucien. Needing to get the words out before they festered in his chest and became a disease.

        "What did you do, Tam?" Lucien's smile never faltered, the perfect portrait of a man at ease with his lot in life. Even if it had been particularly shitty. "Did you say something to her?"

        "No," he was somewhat affronted that Lucien had even thought that he could do something to Lyriel. "It's just time for her to go. We've got enough on our plates without worrying about the Winter Court and what information they could be gathering."

        "Why haven't you had Ari check her out?" Lucien questioned, taking a glass of champagne from a waiter. Feyre would not show for another half hour. Plenty of time to get drunk on faerie wine. Celebrations often turned into week-long events. That was one of the many reasons why Tamlin had not wanted to postpone the wedding.

        "Didn't think she would have the time," he said with a shrug of his shoulders. "She's been too busy dealing with Rhysand and his moods."

        He did feel bad for sending the girl to the Night Court. But the opportunity had never presented itself before. A mating bond had snapped into place, a bond that they could easily exploit. It was a wonder that he had yet to do the same thing with Lyriel. He had to get away from her before he did something he regretted.

        Lucien gave him a quick look before he slipped away to speak with others. More people came up to Tamlin, laughing and talking with him about things that did not matter. None of this mattered. At least, he didn't feel as though it did. He was stupid for thinking it. Stupid for thinking anything bitter on the supposedly happiest day of his life. Tamlin hated to think that he was in a foul mood. He hated to think that anything was going to ruin this day.

        Feyre deserved so much better than him. He hated himself for thinking that.

        "It's time," Lucien murmured to him. 

        Tamlin's throat felt dry as he watched Ianthe take her place at the head of the alter. He took his own place to the right of Lucien. The guests took their seats, Lyriel in the very back. He hadn't noticed the flowers that she had braided into her hair until then. The periwinkle petals were bright in her white hair. She spoke in soft tones to a man who sat by her. Good, she didn't need to be alone during this.

        He tore his eyes from her as the music began to fill the air. Feyre stepped out of the manor, her gown more taffeta and looking as though it was the most uncomfortable thing she had ever worn in her life. He painted a smile on his face for her. 

        Her own smile did not reach her eyes. She looked anxious, as though she was afraid of everything that was happening. He chalked it up to the last time she had been in front of a crowd of this magnitude. He could imagine how she would have to tell herself that they were okay. She wasn't being made to compete in trials that would possibly end in her death. She was walking towards him. Towards their future together.

        Until she stopped.

        His brow furrowed, his feet already beginning to move toward her. Something was wrong. Something was happening that he was unaware of. Had something happened? Had she decided to hide from him again? When would they get to the point where they could actually speak to each other?

        A gentle breeze that smelled of spiced wine and the depths of depravity was the only warning. Rhysand appeared in the blink of an eye, a cruel smile on his lips as he looked down at Feyre.

        "Feyre, darling," Tamlin wanted to rip him limb from limb. His claws felt as though they were ready to poke out. He heard the sound of steel being drawn from a sheath. "I've come to make good on our bargain."

        Before Tamlin could say a word, Rhysand had her in his arms. 

        "She'll be back in two weeks," Rhysand winked casually at Tamlin. A snarl tore free from Tamlin's lips as the scent of spiced wine and depravity filled the air once more.

        A dagger embedded itself in the pillar just beside Tamlin's head. If it had been thrown a second earlier, it would have caught Rhysand straight in the throat. The dagger was unadorned, a simple blade that had been used countless times if the smoothness of the handle was anything to judge by. If anger had not clouded his senses, he would have realized it carried Lyriel's scent with it. He would have seen the woman standing up, the flower petals falling from her hair and a look of rage painted on her face. 

        "Find her," Tamlin shouted, his voice carrying farther than usual with his rage. His entire body was shaking, his claws out and the fangs pushing at his gums. It hurt, it hurt so much. But he couldn't stop the beast from taking over.

        The guests fled, his guards and sentries quickly rushing off in order to figure out the impossible. Tamlin didn't know how to feel, how to react. He just went into the manor, his rage causing him to go through the home blindly. He ripped doors off of the hinges, tore down paintings, and crushed statues that were in his path. Anything to release some of the tension. Anything to release some of the rage that he felt.

        He wound up in his office, the desk becoming splinters as he pounded it over and over again with his fists. He had known Rhysand would take her. He'd done all he could to find out how to break their deal. Yet, nothing had ever come up. He'd never imagined that Rhysand hated him so much that he would go out of the way to ruin his wedding. Despite the hatred that he felt for the High Lord of the Night Court, he had respected him enough to think that Rhysand was better than this. Better than this dramatic bullshit.

        But he wasn't. No one was ever better. No one ever would be.

        He didn't hear her footsteps. He didn't smell her frozen berry scent. No, he didn't notice a damn thing until she gently touched his arm. His hand twitched, not knowing if he should shove her away or pull her closer. Nothing made sense anymore. Nothing would ever make sense again and he knew it.

        "Tamlin," Lyriel spoke softly, kneeling on the floor beside him. The splinters of the desk tore her dress, ceramic pieces from the lamp tanged in the silk. "Tamlin, look at me."

        She didn't look afraid of him. He picked up on that before anything else. Her eyes were wide, but with concern. She was willing to put herself in a vulnerable position in order to try and speak with him. Tamlin trembled slightly as he looked at her. He was afraid. 

        Afraid of himself. Afraid of her. Afraid of what Rhysand was doing to Feyre. What he would do just to fuck with Tamlin. It all left him feeling powerless, unable to change anything or protect anyone that he loved. It was like he was a child again. Watching as his father did things that he wasn't proud of. The things that still haunted him at night.

        "I'm right here," she spoke softly, as though she were trying to soothe a wounded animal. Perhaps that was all he was. "I'm not leaving. We'll get her back. I promise. Everything is going to be alright, Tamlin. You'll find a way to get her out of whatever deal she made. You'll get married and have multiple children."

        Despite the fact that she could have easily been sarcastic, Lyriel sounded sincere. She sounded as though she believed that he would get those things. That he deserved those things. No one had ever made him feel as though he deserved to be happy. No one had ever made him feel as though he were anything but a monster.

        Feyre did her best. She had done better as a human when he had saved her from a life where she would have died before age twenty. She loved him because he had protected her. She had needed a protector. Now, she needed something different. Tamlin just had trouble realizing it. He never would. 

        "I just need you to breathe, alright?" Lyriel's eyes were brighter than he thought they had any right to be. He didn't know how a frozen evergreen could look bright, wide, and ... Perfect. His stomach ached at the mere thought of it all. This was too much. All of it was too much.

        "Lyriel," he breathed out, his fists clenching in front of him. He looked away from her, his eyes shut tightly. "You should go."

        "No, I shouldn't," it was infuriating how she never did as he asked. How she followed her own desire. He'd never known a soldier who didn't listen to orders. "You might tear down the manor if I do."

        He knew that she was right. He knew that she was just trying to help. She was trying to be a better person than he deserved. Tamlin felt as though every single thing that Feyre had ever been through was his fault. Everything Rhysand, Lucien, and everyone in the Spring Court fell on his shoulders. He knew that it was nonsensical to think that way. But he did.

        He always did.

        "Please," his voice was so small. So much smaller than it had been since the day he had become the High Lord.

        Lyriel took his hand in hers. He tried not to note how small her hands were in his. Hers were just as calloused as his own, just as full of scars and of stories that she may never tell him. He shuddered slightly at the chill her skin brought but he did not pull away.

        "We're mates," she had to bring that up now? When the world felt as though it were coming to an end. "Even though you're choosing her, I'm here for you. I'll always be here for you."

        He opened his eyes then, looking at her. Really looking at her. The periwinkle petals had fallen from her hair, one had been left behind. Her eyes were filled with tears, perhaps due to knowing that he wouldn't pick her over Feyre. Yet, she clung to his hand with as much strength as she could muster. She held his hand as though he was her one lifeline. Tamlin had always wanted to be someone's protector, someone's lifeline. 

        He didn't dare believe he could protect Lyriel.

        He brought his right hand up, his claws shrinking back into his skin, and gently moved it to her hair. He plucked the periwinkle petal from her hair and let it fall slowly to the floor. His eyes didn't follow it. Neither did hers. Instead, he allowed his gaze to travel from her eyes to the other areas of her face.

        With her time in the sun, freckles had begun to bloom across the bridge of her nose. He wanted to trace them with his forefinger but he did not. The bridge was crooked, having been broken a few times. He wanted to know those stories, wanted to share his own with her. His gaze fell to the small scar above her upper lip. It cut into the cupid's bow and made her lips look much more kissable.

        He didn't think about it. Not for the first time in his life, Tamlin took action without thinking. He leaned forward, lightly brushing his lips against hers.

        She tasted of those damned frozen berries. The sweetness of them was addicting and he cursed the Winter Court for it. Her lips were soft, perfect against his own.

        He kissed her again, hungrier. Desperate. It felt right. Like some switch in his brain had been flipped. His right hand tangled in the white-blonde hair, pulling her as close as he could. She kissed him back, just as hungrily. They were teeth and tongue and fire and ice.

        They were berries and roses and pine and peony. Everything they shouldn't be and everything they should.

        Lyriel pulled away first, a shuddering breath leaving her. She stood, her gown showing more skin now that it had been ripped by splinters of wood and shards of ceramic. She looked at him for a few seconds, he could taste the tension in the air, before she turned on her heel and left.

        Leaving Tamlin alone in his broken kingdom.

#a court of thorns and roses #a court of mist and fury #a court of war and ruin #a court of silver flames #acotar fanfic #acotar #acotar fanfiction #tamlin #Tamiel #tamlin defense squad #tamlin x oc #tamlin rosehall #Lyriel #lyriel chaeren #tamlin x lyriel #lyriel is just here to give tamlin migraines #lyriel is a badass #tamlin just wants his fiddle

[oohnoniall]

tamlin, having trauma that he needs to process and work through;

everyone else; holy shit you're the absolute worst person ever

rhys, having trauma that he needs to process and work through;

everyone else; omg king you take all the time you need you can do no wrong we love you :(

and y'all gonna tell me tamlin deseRVES THIS SHIT

#a court of thorns and roses #acotar #tamlin #a court of mist and fury #rhysand #y’all really acting like tamlin is the devil #Tamlin defense squad #fuck Rhys #spring court best court

[oohnoniall]

A Court of Fire and Ice {Tamlin x OC} - Chapter 5

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Warnings: Tamlin is being portrayed as he is in ACOMAF and ACOWAR. Trigger warnings include fantasy violence, misogyny, swearing, and Tamlin being an uncontrollable rage beast (no domestic violence !!)

note; i’m so sorry this is late !! june is one of the worst months mentally for me and i didn’t even realize it was saturday lmao. but this is a fluff chapter so hope that makes up for it !!

Things were going about as well as they ever did in the Spring Court. Lyriel had not stopped training with his guards and sentries. She had been out there every single morning for the past two weeks. She was better than he had expected her to be. Perhaps her collection of blades was not just for show.

        Feyre was still suspicious of the woman but had said nothing more. It was in her eyes whenever Lyriel slipped silently into a room. Tamlin had told her again and again that it was nothing to be concerned about. Yet, Feyre seemed more withdrawn than usual.         

        He had assumed it was just nerves because of the wedding. He had tried to take away anything that would stress her. He had tried to do what he could to protect her. She had done so much for him. It was his turn to be the provider, the protector. He just hoped he was doing the right thing.

        "We're expecting a large turnout," Ianthe said excitedly over dinner that night. 

        He was the only one who noticed Lyriel's grip tightened on her fork. 

        "I should expect so. This will be the first thing we've had to truly celebrate in a very long time," he sipped his wine, his gaze falling to Feyre. She shifted in her seat once, her fork laid beside her plate.

        He knew that something was wrong with her. Something that he needed to figure out but ... He was afraid. Afraid that she would say she no longer wanted this. She no longer wanted him.

        What if she didn't love him anymore? What if she had only thought that she had loved him? Why hadn't she told him any of this? He felt as though he was trapped behind an iron door, its frame built in the ash wood that kept his magic from being of any use. Yet, he said nothing. He just kept building walls around the two of them. Around her. He would protect her against anything in this world.

        Even if it killed him, he would do anything in the world for Feyre.

        "The wedding is going to be the talk of the Spring Court for centuries. Feyre has made exceptional choices." The way she said it made Tamlin wonder if Feyre really had made any of the decisions. He liked to think that she had. That she'd been inspired by anything.

        He didn't like seeing her so at odds. He didn't like watching her lose herself to the demons that plagued her mind. But he didn't know how to help. He was trying to make things seem normal but he thought it was making things worse. It was too confusing. Too much and not enough.

        "I would expect nothing less," he could feel his claws trying to poke out. His excitement radiating through him and bringing the beast forward. He shoved it down. He would not be reminded of that side of him. Not now.

        Tamlin looked at Feyre, watching her as she stared down at her plate. Did she want this wedding? Did he?

        The thought almost made him choke. Of course, he wanted to marry Feyre. It was all that he had ever wanted. She meant more to him than anyone else ever would. There was nothing to suggest wanting anyone else. If one ignored the bond that was between himself and Lyriel. He needed to send her away. It was getting too challenging to separate the bond from his actual thoughts, his desires.

        But seeing her go was one of the few things he found himself dreading. They had met on accident. What if they never crossed paths again?

        She would be out there, somewhere. She'd fall in love with someone else. She'd be happy without him. But did he want that? Did he want Lyriel to be on her own? No. He didn't. He hated the fact that he didn't. Feyre was supposed to be the one he cared for. Lyriel was just supposed to be a means to an end. A stronger connection to the Winter Court. That was all she could ever be to him. 

        He just wondered if that was for the best. Or just selfish bargaining with fate. Surely the Mother wouldn't continue testing him this way.

        Fate seemed to hate Tamlin Rosehall. He'd nearly killed his mother during his birth, had been the third brother and yet somehow managed to become the High Lord, then he'd been cursed for not wanting to be a tyrant's plaything. He truly did not see how fate was kind to anyone. Maybe he had just drawn the short stick in life. Or the Mother had been testing him. Growth from adversity and all of that bullshit that the priestesses always talked about.

        "If My Lord will excuse me," Lyriel's smooth voice pulled him from his thoughts. He could see a tense look behind her eye, her body poised to strike. He wondered who her target would have been. "But I must finish a letter for my general. Thank you for dinner."

        She did not wait for him to excuse her, nor did she bow to him. Lyriel slipped from the room as silent as a wraith. Ianthe's eyes tracking her every movement.

        Feyre did not wait long to excuse herself. Tamlin wanted to ask her to stay, but knew that he would be pushing it. Let her have the time she needed. He was trying to do what he thought was best. But none of it seemed to actually help her.

        The dining room felt smaller when it was just himself, Ianthe, and Lucien. For some reason, there was a tension in the room. He knew that Ianthe had eyes for Lucien but he did not think it was that important. He should have. Just based on how Lucien seemed to be avoiding looking at her.

        "That Lie woman ... She's imprudent," Ianthe stated as she picked up her glass of wine. She took a sip, a droplet of red dripping from her lips, before speaking once more. "She doesn't show you or our court the necessary respect. Surely Kallias wouldn't approve of her behavior."

        "What are you suggesting?" Tamlin questioned, ignoring the pounding in his chest. He knew Ianthe was smart. He knew she could put together secrets, but he didn't think she'd ever figure this out. Cauldron help him if she did.

        He knew that Ianthe would never turn against him. But what would she do if she found out he wasn't following the path the Mother had set for him? Surely she would be livid.

        "Punishment of course," Ianthe smiled at him. "Nothing too severe of course, that isn't our decision. But at least banishment. A year or two at least. Maybe longer if you feel like it's wise."

        "We can't risk Kallias seeing it as an insult," Lucien spoke up, a scowl marring the handsome features of his face.

        "We'll send word explaining the situation," Ianthe seemed almost giddy. "We explain that we won't take this as an affront to the Spring Court or to the Cursebreaker. Kallias will know that we still want friendship."

        Tamlin said nothing, staring at the plate that sat in front of him. Was this what they needed to do? Would he sell out Lyriel just to keep Ianthe happy? He didn't know what to do. If he kept Lyriel around, it could mean being found out. But sending her away? It felt like he was ripping something out of himself.

        "Lucien," he said after a moment. "What do you think?"

        "Lyriel has gone against a majority of what you've said," he had always been truthful with Tamlin. It was one of the reasons why he had become a brother to the man. "But I don't think she does it to insult you. She's a soldier, she isn't one for court life. It's obvious in the way she holds herself. Punishing her for that might just show the other Courts that the suspicions they hold of us are accurate."

        "Yes," Ianthe sighed as she looked at Lucien, daggers in her eyes. "But even a soldier should know to respect her betters. She has shown Tamlin nothing but disrespect. Not to mention the other members of this court."

        What had Lyriel said to Ianthe? It had to have been something intense. Or it could have just been some simple snide remark. He did not know Lyriel well, but he knew that she had a tongue on her. One that he sometimes debated asking her to still. If he didn't know she would verbally attack him for it, he would have.

        Tamlin gently ran his fingertips up and down the wooden arms of his chair. Small designs being drawn by the forefingers, followed by straight lines with his pinkies. What was he to do about Lyriel Chaeren? The question had haunted him since the moment they met. She was rash, she didn't have any notion of respect. Although he was certain that was because they were mates. Not because she was actually disrespectful.

        An ocean of unease rolled in his gut as he thought over his options. Keep Lyriel there. Keep her trapped in a home that she didn't want, make her watch as he loved another woman without ever giving her a second thought. Or let her go. Banish her from the Spring Court and never see her again. Let her fade into the background, a distant heart-breaking memory. He could let her be the woman she wanted to be. He could let her find someone who would love that frozen fire that burned inside of her. 

        The thought of her loving anyone else killed him.

        The thought of her suffering in silence killed him.

        Tamlin knew that he could not make a decision that did not hurt either of them. He couldn't fathom letting Feyre go. He couldn't think about running his Court into the ground. Although it seemed that was all he was good at doing. How would the Spring Court handle any of this? He didn't know. He didn't possibly know how they could weather a broken High Lord.

        So far they had managed. But managing was not thriving. He wanted the Spring Court to thrive.

        Feyre was the only way they would ever thrive.

        "The wedding is in two weeks," he spoke slowly, the image of the in-control High Lord that they all wanted. "After the wedding, I'll take care of Lyriel. Banishment ... It'll send a message that the Spring Court is not to be ridiculed." It would also tell her that he couldn't pick her. No matter what they both felt.

        Thunder boomed, the sound reverberating around the manor. To Tamlin, it had always been a lullaby. One that he had grown up knowing all the words to. The thunderstorms in the Spring Court had always seemed to sing to him. The chaos that raged outside matched the chaos that raged inside of him. It felt as though the Mother was finally seeing him. Seeing him and giving him some sort of message.

        It had never been one he had worked out.

        Tamlin had not gone to Feyre's room that night. He had not wanted to after coming to the decision of what to do with Lyriel. He hadn't wanted to see anyone. Holing himself up in his personal bedroom with paperwork and correspondence was a good excuse. As good as any, really.

        It seemed that all he did anymore was listen to lord's bitch about his taxes and tell the other High Lords how the Spring Court was fairing. He didn't know if he could handle it for much longer. But he did. Because he had to. If he didn't, it would all fall on Lucien's shoulders. What use was he then? 

        He felt something through the bond. A strong sense of urgency, a sense of fear. The beast inside of him wanted to run to her, to wrap his arms around her and protect her. But he didn't. He just stayed as he was, gripping his pen so tightly it felt as though it would burst.

        He did not have to come to her.

        The door opened and she slipped inside. Trembling as though she had been soaked to the bone. She didn't appear wet. She appeared fine. Just ... Terrified.

        "What are you doing here?" He growled out, fighting with the urge to protect her and the want to protect his own space. He didn't know what the balance was. Didn't know who to be for her. For anyone really.

        "I'll leave as soon as it's over," she snapped at him.

        The bite in her voice made him recoil. Maybe she was disrespectful as Ianthe had said. Or maybe she was just a girl who was scared. Considering how he hadn't seen her anything other than collected and arrogant, he doubted she knew what fear was. 

        "Lyriel," he sounded tired as he looked at her. "That doesn't explain why you're here."

        She didn't answer, her back turned to him as she sat on the edge of his bed. It should have made him mad to see her sitting there. But it didn't. He was too tired to be mad. Too curious as to why she had shown up in his room. 

        "Lyriel," the way her name left his lips was softer than it had ever been. He couldn't hide his concern for her. Even if he wished to.

        "I ... I just," Lyriel's arms shook as she slid her boots off. "Don't repeat this ever." She turned to glare at him, but it was halfhearted. The fire was not blazing. She looked more like a girl than a soldier.

        "I won't." Tamlin knew at that moment that he would keep this conversation between them. "Just ... Tell me what's going on."

        Lyriel cleared her throat, moving to lay in his bed. He had not told her she could. Yet, he found that he was too concerned to care. "I feel safer when I'm around you."

        No one had ever told him that. He often felt as though he scared people away. He thought they ran from him. No one had ever run towards him. His stomach churned. He wished she would have said anything else. How could he stand to push her away when she was the first person who had ever needed him?

        This whole thing was becoming a complicated mess.

        He needed to tell her to leave. To tell her to get the hell out and never come back. 

        But how could he? She was curled into a ball, making herself so small that she may have disappeared. He didn't ignore how she buried her face in the pillow he used. Nor how she was shivering. 

        Something within him broke at the sight. 

        Tamlin slowly stood, making his way over to the bed. He sat down beside her, resisting the urge to rest his hand on her shoulder. He stared at the wall behind her. Keeping his thoughts on something other than the woman who he wanted to wrap in his embrace.

        "What's going on, Lye," he felt somewhat odd calling her by the nickname. However, it felt as though this was the moment to comfort her. To tell her things were going to be alright. Even if he could not make things better. "I've never seen you like this before."

        Lyriel kept her back to him, staring at the same wall he was. "We don't need to talk."

        Something within him felt as though it was falling from a great height. He didn't know why she was pushing him away while she ran to him. Was he that despicable? Was he someone that she wanted to just shove as far away as she possibly could? He didn't know. He didn't want to know either.

        "I think we do," he told her, still not daring to touch her. "Something's upset you."

        A loud clap of thunder shook the windows, Lyriel ducked her head under the blankets. He could hear her voice but he could not make out the words she spoke. 

        Tentatively, he reached out through the bond. He would not touch her physically but he would use the bond to his advantage. He sent feelings of comfort and peace, wrapping her in whatever protection that he possibly could. Yet, he knew this would not be enough. She could feel comforted but if she was anticipating every crash, every bang she would more than likely continue to feel anxious.

        "You know you shouldn't be here, right?" Tamlin regretted the words the second they left his mouth. No one had ever said that he knew how to speak with people. Lyriel would be no exception.

        "I said we didn't have to talk," he heard her voice from under the blanket. At least she was speaking to him.

        "You're in my room, Lyriel." Tamlin sighed. "I'll decide if we talk or not."

        "I already told you the truth. What more do you want from me?" She peeked out from under the blanket. He had to swallow down the lump that had formed in his throat.

        "I just want to know where your heads at." He admitted, fighting the urge to run his fingers through her hair. To pull her into his lap and hold her until the storm passed. She wasn't Feyre. She wasn't the one he was supposed to hold. Hell, he didn't even do that with Feyre. She didn't need him to.

        Lyriel didn't seem to need him at all most of the time. She was ice. Unmoving and unchallenged. More a glacier than a woman. But as the lightning illuminated her face, he saw her for what she was. A woman who had been forced to grow up too fast. There was a hint of childish fear deep within the depths of her frozen eyes. Her left eyebrow twitched slightly. He noticed there was a new cut in it, probably from training that morning.

        There were bags under her eyes, darker than anything he'd ever seen on a High Fae. Had she been sleeping? Had she taken care of herself? Or was she just that miserable in the Spring Court? He'd caused this. He knew that he had.

        "My head is perfectly fine," it did not sound like the truth. "I just have an issue with storms."

        "What's the issue?" Tamlin wanted to ask if she had been sleeping. If she'd been eating enough. All the same questions he knew he should ask Feyre. All the questions he had been avoiding answering when anyone asked him.

        "I don't like them." It was a guarded answer. There was something more there. But Tamlin did not want to press. Not when she was holding herself so tightly, not when his blankets were wrapped around her like a shield. Besides, soon enough he would not be the one worrying about Lyriel Chaeren.

        He knew that he needed to get her as far from the Spring Court as possible. He knew that she deserved to find someone who would love her as he loved Feyre. Yet, the idea of her being away from him made him want to vomit. The thought of another person wrapping their arms around her and protecting her when the winds raged and thunder rattled made him see red. He needed her. He needed her to need him. Yet, he couldn't have her. It was unfair to both of them to keep her around.

        Mother above he never wanted to let her go.

        "You'll find the Spring Court gets them quite often," it was true enough. Tamlin knew he would tear apart his own Court brick by brick if it meant keeping the storms away. If it meant keeping Lyriel safe. "But they don't last long."

        "If you're determined to have a discussion, can we please talk about something else?" Her twitching eyebrow rose just slightly. The sight nearly comical. 

        "What do you want to talk about?"

        "Anything," Lyriel's voice was strong despite the shaking of her body. "Why haven't you punished me for training?"

        "I'm more afraid of what you'll do if I keep you from it," Tamlin admitted with a slight nod of his head. "I saw that look in your eyes when you came into my office and I ... I didn't want to be the reason it was gone."

        When the morning came, he would regret the words. Until then, she needed him. Maybe he needed her. He could allow himself to speak the truth to her. For one night. While she was scared, defenseless, he would be honest. 

        "No one's going to break me," she sounded determined. "Not even you."

        It wasn't said out of hate. He knew she meant that he could choose Feyre. That he was free to choose who he loved, who he gave his heart to. She wouldn't let his decision be the end of her. He didn't know how much he needed that knowledge.

        Tamlin slowly took her hand. It was wrapped in the blanket and hard to grasp, but he still took it. Her hand was cold, even though the blankets. Ice ran in her veins while the first blooms of spring ran in his. The Mother had played a cruel joke.

        The two fell into an easy silence, Tamlin continuing to send comfort through the bond. Her hand slowly warming while he held it. His own roaring mind quieted as she held onto him. He felt as though he could finally breathe again. As if some heavy weight had left him.

        "Tam," her voice was soft, muffled with the early onset of sleep. "Will you stay with me?" 

        His heart seemed to slow as he heard her question. He knew what his answer should be. That he would go to Feyre and spend the rest of the night with her. That Lyriel would be leaving after the wedding so him staying did not matter. But he knew the truth. He had always known.

        "Always." 

        As Lyriel drifted into an easy sleep, Tamlin came to a realization. It didn't matter who wanted her gone. It didn't matter how he felt about her or Feyre. Lyriel Chaeren was there to stay. Even if he could not give her the life she deserved, he could not throw her to the side. 

        Tamlin Rosehall was a selfish bastard.

#tamlin #tamlin defense squad #Tamiel #tamlin x oc #tamlin rosehall #Lyriel #lyriel chaeren #tamlin x lyriel #lyriel is just here to give tamlin migraines #lyriel is a badass #tamlin is a bastard #spring court #winter court #enemies to lovers #soulmate #mate au #they're so cute i hate it #tamlin fluff

[oohnoniall]

A Court of Fire & Ice {Tamlin x OC} - Chapter 6

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4 

Chapter 5

Warnings: Tamlin is being portrayed as he is in ACOMAF and ACOWAR. Trigger warnings include fantasy violence, misogyny, swearing, and Tamlin being an uncontrollable rage beast (no domestic violence !!)

 She was in his arms when he woke the next morning. The storm had passed, leaving nothing more than a light condensation on the windows of his bedroom. The light was distorted as it came through the window, hitting Lyriel almost perfectly. She was asleep, perhaps for the first time since she had come to the Spring Court. Her brow was smoothed, her fingers clenching around the blankets as though they were a hilt of some sort.

        Tamlin's heart ached as he took in the gentle slope of her nose. He tried not to focus on her lips and the gentle way they were parted, her breath coming out in the softest snores. Mother above he did not need this.

        Slowly, he untangled himself from her. He did not know when he had begun holding her. Perhaps sometime after the storm had passed. He wished he knew. He wished he could remember how it had felt to first wrap his arms around her. At least then he would have that memory. He would have been able to think on it when she eventually found someone better.

        Even if he kept her in the Spring Court, he was certain she would find someone else. Someone who would spar with her, who would laugh with her, who would give up a mating bond for her. She deserved that. Even if he would want to kill whoever tried to get close to her.

        It wasn't fair. He knew it. He knew that he was holding her to a different standard. There was no excuse for it. Maybe if he was a better man there would be. Yet, he was anything but a better man. It seemed as though the whole world was right about one thing. Tamlin was a bastard. A brute. Someone who would trap their mate and marry another woman

        Wouldn't his father be proud?

        The thought made him sick. He had to shove it down, shove everything down as far as he could as he began to ready himself for the day ahead. He did it as quietly as he could. The last thing he wanted to do was wake Lyriel. She needed more sleep. He didn't know if she would take it well should he actually tell her that.

        From what he knew, Lyriel didn't take most things well. At least if they came from him. He had no idea how she reacted around other people. Maybe he just antagonized her. Or it was her way of fighting back against the bond that neither of them truly wanted.

        She shifted, a soft grunt escaping her. A shiver went through him at the sound. 

        Mother save him. He knew that he should just leave her there. That he should not think of what other sounds might come from her throat. How he could make them. 

        Tamlin quickly finished strapping on his bandolier before he slipped from the room. He willed himself to not return to that bed. To stay as far from her as he could. He worried that her scent would be all over him. Worried that Feyre would be able to scent it. It had been a mistake. But not one that he could find himself regretting.

        This whole thing was a mess. One that Tamlin had never foreseen. He had always assumed that he would never find his mate. He had thought the Mother would be cruel in letting him go his entire life without that bond. He had gotten over it. 

        It seemed that she was cruel in another way. 

        Tamlin huffed softly as he shoved open the door to his office. He hated to hide himself away, but it was the only thing he could do. After Amarantha had been dealt with, his lands had cleared of the beasts roaming them. Now, he was focusing more on rebuilding villages and his lords' lands. 

        Occasionally, he would find something prowling. It was easily dealt with most of the time. That or he would have to go and deal with one of his lords. They had been more of a nuisance than he had ever imagined. He had assumed they would be supportive, especially after the hell they'd been through for forty-nine years. Yet, it appeared as though all of them wished to see him fail.

        Tamlin did not have many supporters.

        "I was wondering when you'd show up," Ianthe stated as she looked over at him. She was sat in front of his desk, a languid smile on her face as she took in the room. "I hope you slept for once. The Spring Court needs you at your best."

        He hid his irritation as best he could. He hated to show Ianthe when he was displeased with her. He wouldn't risk losing his High Priestess. Not when the Spring Court needed her now more than ever. Yet, it did feel far too early in the morning to be dealing with her and her schemes.

        "Good morning, Ianthe," he said lamely. He sat down at his desk, not bothering to ask why she was there. She had a habit of telling him before he could say a word.

        "I've already written up the letter to Kallias," she seemed too eager. There was no reason for her to hate Lyriel. Not that he was aware of at least.

        She hadn't found out the truth, had she? 

        "It won't be necessary," Tamlin cursed himself for how quickly he'd said it. "Lyriel and I spent last night speaking about her actions. We'll be seeing a different side of her."

        They wouldn't. But the lie had slipped from his lips as easily as a breath. Perhaps he should ask her to keep up appearances, to keep from bringing too much attention to herself. However, he was almost certain that this would just make it worse. 

        "I suppose that's why her scent is all over you?" Ianthe's eyes darkened, the look making her look less beautiful and more like a vengeful spirit of some sort. He would not say it but it did scare him just a bit.

        His fingers curled around the arms of his chairs. His claws biting at the skin. "It was a long conversation."

        "Tamlin, if you've fucked the girl it's just another reason for us to be rid of her." 

        "I haven't laid a finger on her." It didn't matter that he wanted to. It didn't matter that she haunted his thoughts in the late hours of the night. He would never hurt Feyre in that way. Would never hurt anyone by betraying their trust like that. He was a monster but he was not cruel.

        "Of course you haven't," Ianthe sat forward, her eyes twinkling in a predatory way. "I won't judge you for having needs, Tamlin. But you might think of the Cursebreaker."

        His spine straightened as he realized just what she was doing. He knew that Ianthe had her ways. That she plotted and manipulated things. But he had never expected her to go after him. He had always assumed that she would use it for him. 

        "I think of Feyre constantly. Mind your tongue, Ianthe. I've done nothing wrong." Tamlin's claws slipped from the skin, causing him to nearly wince. Contrary to popular belief, he felt the pain that came with losing control. He did not do it for fun. Even if the world thought it was something he had fun with. The world was quite wrong about most things that had to do with Tamlin.

        The door burst open before she had a chance to respond. Lucien stood in the doorway, a letter clenched in his hands and an easy grin on his lips. 

        "Tam, you're going to want to hear this," he stopped once he noticed that Ianthe was there. His easy grin slipped from his face, a tension coming to him that Tamlin had not noticed before. He wondered if he could sense the tension in the room or if Ianthe just bothered him that much. He knew which he assumed it was. But that didn't often mean that he was right.

        "Ianthe, we'll discuss this later," he told the priestess without a glance. She was going to threaten him? He would show her exactly who she was dealing with. He had been known to be petty on occasion. 

        Ianthe bristled but she stood nonetheless. "Of course," was all she said before she slipped out of the room. She sent a glare his way before disappearing down the hallways. He just had to hope that she would not be going to find Feyre. Not now. Not ever.

        He would rather die than hurt her. Knowing he spent the night with Lyriel? It didn't matter the context, it would hurt her.

        "What is it Lucien?" He asked as his friend stepped into the room, shutting and latching the door behind him. Lucien sank into the chair that Ianthe had vacated, tossing the letter onto the desk.

        "We've received word from Cari," Lucien never used the woman's full name. If Tamlin hadn't of known better, he would've assumed that he was sweet on her. "Rhysand has shockingly not said a damned word about his plans. But she does know something about Azriel."

        Tamlin's brow rose as he picked up the letter. It was coded. The words were written in the small footprints of her green finch. She and Lucien had spent weeks with the creature devising the code. Tamlin had never really gotten his head around it. But his spymaster had been too proud of it for him to tell her to change it.

        "What exactly does she know?" 

        "Besides the fact that he doesn't want a mate unless it's Morrigan?" Lucien began to smirk slightly as he watched Tamlin. "Well, apparently the shadowsinger has been watching the human realms. According to Cari, he's spending more of his time there than at the Night Court. It makes you wonder what exactly they're doing over there."

        A soft sigh escaped Tamlin's lips. "That doesn't tell us anything! Just that the Night Court is interested in another Feyre," he wasn't completely certain that was the case. However, there was something that told him it wasn't.

        There was something else going on. Something that he was unsure if he wanted to know. He knew that Prythian was not safe. Hybern would surely send another monster to their shores. War would come sooner or later. They could not just sit around and wait for it. 

        Despite knowing this, Tamlin knew that he would try to ignore the signs as long as possible. They had already been through too much. He didn't think he could stand going through all of it again. He couldn't stand putting his people through hell after telling them that it was over.

        He had lied to so many people in his life. What was a lie to protect them? 

        "Or that something's coming and we need to prepare for it," Lucien pointed out with a soft sigh. "Besides, we all know that there's no one that could replace Feyre. She's unique."

        That was one word for it. Tamlin knew she was better than unique. She was ... Perfection. Everything that he had ever wanted. Someone who was actually worthy of him and of being the wife of a High Lord. Feyre was everything to him. She was the one person that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with.

        Still, the news about the Night Court was distressing. He began to pace the room, his fingers twitching towards the knives on his bandolier. He didn't think about how he had seen Lyriel do the same thing. Her fingers constantly itching for a blade when she was concentrating. He didn't think about it because he had not truly realized they did the same thing. Why would he when his mind was constantly elsewhere?

        "Should we send scouts to the human realms?" He questioned, speaking more to himself than Lucien. "They might think we have another curse if we do. Fuck."

        His head tilted back, golden hair falling just to the middle of his back. He wondered how in the hell he was going to get anyone to understand the stresses. How was he going to deal with managing the blunderings of the Night Court as well as his feelings for a certain Winter Court soldier and his upcoming nuptials? It was all too much for any man. He didn't think anyone would have dealt with this nearly as well as he had.

        But considering he spent most of his nights sleeping as a beast at the foot of Feyre's bed, that wasn't saying much.

        Something had to give. It had to be soon. Otherwise, he was destined to run the Spring Court into ruin. The thought alone made him want to be sick.

        "I need to think," he announced. Lucien nodded his head, understanding clear on his face. That was the one good thing about Lucien. He always seemed to understand Tamlin. He knew that sometimes it was just better to let the beast wander off on his own. It was better to keep away from him. To give him space and time.

        He slipped out of his office, his fingers gripping the hilt of one of the knives strapped to his chest. He missed the days when he didn't have to keep his knives close. He missed when he could travel his court with nothing more than his fiddle. He missed writing about the beauty of his lands, of witnessing a child's smile when they heard his music. He doubted he would ever get a chance to experience that again. 

        Soft words escaped his lips as he walked out of Rosehall. He had never been a mumbler until becoming the High Lord. When problems became too much, he was either prone to letting the beast out or talking to himself. One was definitely a bit healthier than the other. Even if he wasn't sure which it was at times.

        Tamlin hardly paid attention to his surroundings as he walked. His feet taking him in the direction that he needed to go. His mind too distracted by whatever it was the Night Court was planning. None of it made sense. Why were they so focused on the human realms? Why was his spymaster so worried about the whole thing? Why did he want to question everything and not leave this whole mess up to Lucien and Cariaru? That should've been his go-to. He should've been focused on the wedding and getting rid of these feelings he had for Lyriel.

        The Night Court really did have to ruin everything. Didn't they?

        He strolled into the maze of roses. It was not the ones his father had given his mother but something she had done herself. She had taken him to the maze at the northeast corner of the grounds often as a child. They'd played for hours while his father trained his brothers.

        He missed her most of all. He knew that it was shitty and that he shouldn't have missed one of his family members more than the others. But he did. His mother had been the only one who had ever seen him and cared. The only one who had wanted the best for him. Maybe that was why it hurt the most that she was gone.

        The scent of roses had once been overwhelming to him. He had thought that it would one day drown him. That he would die by an overwhelming amount of roses. They had wound up in his nightmares. But now ... Now they calmed him. Now he realized they were more of a birthright than anything to ever be afraid of.

        He sank down on a stone bench that was still slightly damp from the storm that had ravaged them last night. He didn't mind it. The chill bit into him and kept him thinking critically about what was happening.

        He rested his elbows on his knees, his forefingers resting on his top lip to keep himself from speaking anymore. The wind blew through his hair, his eyes fluttering to a close. He would figure this out. Somehow, he would figure this out.

        The human queens had to have something to do with this. Maybe Azriel hadn't told Cariaru yet. They had only known her for a few months. It wasn't long enough for her to gain their trust. Soon though, she would be able to give them the information they required. Soon Tamlin would know exactly what was happening beyond his borders. At least, he hoped so. 

        Soft footsteps sounded behind him. The restless energy that had been building in him suddenly ceased. Whoever was approaching him would find that sneaking up on the High Lord of Spring was one of the stupidest decisions that one could ever make. 

        "Tamlin," her voice was soft, soothing his soul more than anything else ever had. What he wouldn't give to hear her say her name a thousand times. His name had never sounded like a song before. But Feyre made it sound so beautiful that he wanted to cry.

        "Feyre," he turned his head towards her. He tried to smile, tried to make her feel as though everything was fine. That he was at ease. Yet, would he ever be at ease? He had no hopes of understanding the Night Court. Nor did he know how he was supposed to marry Feyre when it felt as though everything was quickly beginning to change. It was a mess that he did not quite know what to do about. "What are you doing out here?"

        "I needed some fresh air," she admitted as she sat down beside him on the bench. He wrapped his arm around her, holding her close. He wanted nothing more than to keep her close for the rest of his life.

        At least then he would be able to protect her. He needed to protect her.

        "You didn't come to bed last night." He stiffened at that. Ianthe had been able to smell Lyriel on him. Would Feyre? Had she been able to figure out different scents yet? He didn't know but he hoped that she hadn't. Hoped that she was still so confused about that and everything else that came with being a High Fae.

        He felt like the world's shittiest person just for thinking it.

        "I had work to attend to. Nothing serious," he added quickly. "Just precautions. I don't want anything ruining our wedding."

        He tried to ignore the grimace that flashed across her expression. He had been trying to ignore the fact that whatever bond that had once been between them was quickly evaporating. He no longer felt that strong pull towards her. He knew that she avoided him as much as he avoided her. But he was fighting every single day to get that spark back. Maybe this whole thing was Lyriel's fault. Maybe they both just needed some time apart. Time to just process all that they had been through. All that they continued to go through.

        But if she was away from him he would be unable to protect her. Who knew what the other High Lords would do if they found out anything about Feyre. He was keeping her as safe as he possibly could by keeping her contained.

        He just didn't know that it was slowly killing her. He didn't want to know.

        "Are you alright? You look like you haven't slept in days," he said, his green eyes almost glowing with the concern that he felt for her.

        Feyre nodded her head, sheets of golden brown hair falling around her. "I'm fine, Tam. Just ... Just concerned with how fast everything's been happening."

        He could understand that. Could understand how frustrating the whole thing must have been. She had died, been brought back, and was now about to marry him. It had been a long few months. A long time that had somehow not been long enough. He wished he could have done more to help ease her into the whole thing. Wished that they could put off the wedding longer. However, he thought it would be the best way to put all the horrible shit behind him.

        Behind them.

        Feyre deserved to not worry about any of this. Not to worry about Amarantha or Hybern or any of it. She had done enough. She deserved to rest. 

        "We'll get through it," he promised her as he gently took her by the hand. "We always do."

        Her hand felt stiff and cold in his. It felt more like the hand of a corpse than of the woman that he loved. What had changed between them? Had they been through too much? Could they ever go back to what they had been? They deserved a happily ever after. He had been her fairytale prince. She had been his knight in shining armor. They were done now. They could sit back and rest without worrying about any of it.

        Yet they were broken. Perhaps they always had been. Two broken people who had tried to make each other whole. It just wasn't working this time.

        They had been broken down beyond repair. Tamlin just could not see it. He could not begin to let her go.

#tamlin #acotar #Tamiel #acotar fluff #acotar fanfic #tamlin defense squad #tamlin x oc #tamlin fluff #Lyriel #lyriel chaeren #tamlin x lyriel #lyriel is just here to give tamlin migraines #lyriel is a badass #tamlin rosehall

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On My Honor

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Chapter 11: Rhysand

I had forgotten out good it was to spar with Tamlin. By nature, I was not normally a petty man, but Tamlin practically begged to be put in his place with his horrible attitude. We had joined the army at about the same age and were even friends once. But once we started to rise through the ranks and win glory on the battlefield, he had changed for the worst. He became a man that took and took and took, causing his military career to stall at lieutenant while I continued to rise.

Therefore, anytime I was in his vicinity, I always took the time to remind him why we were where we were today.

Cas had no qualms watching me pummel him. Mor was only against it because if he needed healing afterward, that meant that he would have to spend time in her tent. Az had yet to say anything on the matter. Amren, well… Amren never said no to a little bit of bloodletting.

Even with three days of hard riding, I flew into camp with energy to spare, it practically whining to be used and let out.

It was good to see Cassian’s face again, even though I told him with a teasing tone. It had been a few weeks since I had seen him, but that was at the front, where it was purely for battle planning. Seeing him far from the front, where there wouldn’t be a bloody interruption to our conversations, was a minor blessing.

He looked well, and happy. Or as happy as anyone could be training recruits for the slaughter of the battlefield. It was always a harsh, but necessary, reminder of the weeks ahead. I had told Mor and Az of my suspicion that the end of the war was coming, one way or another. They both absorbed my prediction with quiet, not even thinking to question me. We had all been together so long that they knew how accurate I could be. In lighter times, Mor joked that I should run away from the army and join up with a traveling circus as their oracle.

I would tell Cas later of my suspicion, but first, it was time to kick Tamlin’s ass to the dirt.

I scanned the camp, nodding to two soldiers that lingered on the edge of the main road through it, no doubt wanting to see the general of the army. One was taller with fair skin and hair, the other was on the shorter side, brown hair with streaks of gold was escaping from the bun at the nape of his neck. Both looked to not even be 20 yet, explaining their round features. The shorter one averted his gaze at my nod, causing the corner of my mouth to quirk up. They were probably not used to being acknowledged, more used to being yelled at.

Cassian had called out to two of the recruits, pausing their retreat. As we neared, I could pick out their features more. The shorter one drew my interest. He had blue eyes that looked almost gray in the light with full lips.

Pretty, for a boy.

“General Knight is in the sparring mood, what are the chances that your lieutenant would oblige him?”

“Low, sir, if he hasn’t eaten recently,” the shorter one replied. Pretty with a sense of humor, it seemed. I burst out laughing, something I could rarely do these days. Mor outright cackled at the comment and a glance at Az revealed he had a small smile on his face. I wondered if the soldier knew how rare that smile was and what they had accomplished.

“Perfect, lead the way soldier,” I cursed myself for not knowing their name, but Cas hadn’t specified which was Archeron and which was Haywood. Later, I would have to find out their name later. Instead, I spent the walk quickly catching up with Cas on any updates in training.

A minute or so later, we arrived at where Tamlin was running drills with his recruits. Hand-to-hand, a perfect excuse for me to ask for a sparring match. After convincing him, I turned to Mor. “Hold my jacket and shirt for me, will you? Don’t want to get it dirty.” She rolled her eyes while stifling a laugh.

“Try not to show off too much, we don’t need any lovesick recruits stalking you around the camp. Again.”

“No promises, cousin.” Sure, it was true that I didn’t want to get my general’s jacket and shirt dirty, but I would be lying if I said I didn’t want to show off a bit. I had to take my chances while I could to feed my ego.

It took all my willpower to not glance at the soldier from before as I walked into the ring, making sure I wanted them to have a good view of the fight. Tamlin entered a second later and we both dropped into defensive stances.

Same ‘ol Tamlin, I noted he moved the exact same way as always, leaving a tiny window open on his right side. He just never learns.

A cock of my head had Tamlin leaping forward, his classic left punch coming for my face. Ah ah ah, I easily blocked and twisted under his blow, countering with my own right hook to his ribs.

Tamlin took the blow and stepped forward with a kick, but as always, his kicks left his face unguarded. Usually on the battlefield, he was too quick for anyone to notice, but years of training let me see each and every weakness. Catching his leg, I used it to spin myself inwards, slamming my elbow into his stomach before snapping it up into his jaw. That move alone would have downed a lesser man. Tamlin just staggered back, ending the swift first round.

Cas called out his jeer, causing Tamlin’s eyes to only unfocus more, becoming almost feral.

This time, I sprung forward first, moving through punches and kicks and blocks like it was easy as breathing. I could have ended the round sooner but where would be the fun in that? Ten minutes seemed a fair amount of time to thoroughly humiliate Tamlin and put on a show for the soldiers. Knowing his teaching tactics, they probably needed the break and morale boost from seeing me kick his ass.

By the end of the fight, a crowd had gathered, shouts nearly drowning out our pants as I finally put Tamlin to the ground and pinned him with a knee.

Because I still needed to play the part of general, I offered him a hand up, which he took and released as soon as he was up.

I turned to where Mor was, spotting the soldier from before. I briefly pinned him with my gaze, holding his stare until he shifted away, his blush deepening. Interesting.

I moved past the soldier, allowing myself one more glance before retrieving my jacket and shirt from Mor.

“Thank you for not pummeling him too much, now I don’t have to watch him sulk in the healers’ tent,” she said as we started to walk away.

“I live to serve, cousin,” giving her a mocking bow that earned another eye roll. Cassian came up behind me, “Good fight! Although I could have done with a little more blood, it’s a good thing Amren wasn’t here or she’d be chewing you out for Tamlin being able to walk away.”

I shook my head at Cas. He was right about Amren not being here, for a lady of Velaris, she was surprisingly bloodthirsty.

Steeling myself for my question, I tried to force a casual tone. “Who were those soldiers from before?” Keeping my face carefully light and my gaze steady ahead.

Thankfully, Cassian was still too focused on the fight to ascertain my motive. “Flynn Archeron was the shorter one and Adam Haywood was the other. They’re both on my archery squad.”

Perfect opportunity, “How’s that going? Are they all getting into shape?” Cas loved to talk about his special projects, and this was an easy way to learn more about Flynn.

After all, I was a general of the army and I needed to keep an eye on all important future plans.

#acotar #mulan #feysand #feyre #rhysand #feyre x rhysand #sjm #sarah j maas