A Court of Love and Healing {ACOTAR}

In The Jaws of the Beast

Panic had set within the remaining community of the Spring Court. Its leader had fallen. Not physically but mentally, emotionally. Degrading day by day leaving them to fend for themselves in his time of despair.

There was no Tithe and no more worry or war, but with those small reliefs came other struggles; desolation and poverty. The Spring Court was hit with the most ruin as Hybern finished them off, trampling through, sparing nothing once High Lord Tamlin was deemed a traitor to them. Not that there was much left to spare after Feyre was done enacting whatever form of "revenge" she thought was appropriate. The insurrection and riots she took glee in sparking caused nearly half the citizens to perish and most of the remaining to flee to Summer for safety with Tarquin's help.

A mother clutches her child on one hip as she picks through the heavily thorned berry bushes, the sharpness pricking her already bloodied hand as her eyes catch on the High Lord exiting his degrading Manor.

Taking on his beast form and huffing, he takes off like his own stampede into the woods near the mortal lands, with no Wall to stop him. Most likely hunting for his next meal, as starved as most of them these days.

The High Lord may be out of commission for a while, but had kept their lands safe, going forward, by being a part of destroying Hybern. He had used the majority of his own funds to help the rebuilding and to import much-needed supplies to the completely crumpled half of the large village. His family funds had also paid for the collection of the dead who were not able to evacuate in time to the Summer Court, or those who had refused.

If there was one good thing about loss and destruction in Prythian, it would always be the way the Spring Court could come together and garden. To renew the land and make it fruitful again with not only their powers but their talents; their green thumbs and baker's hands. The surviving families who had chosen to remain and fight or hide have been doing their large part in beginning restoration.

.

.

Later that night the beast returns to its empty cavern, once a busy, bustling, and lively manor. Growling, he tosses the doe he caught onto the creaky table, the blood dripping onto the floor from the large punctures where his jaw had been.

He stalks around it, making sure it is in fact dead before plopping down in a heap under the table, the blood beginning to pool just inches away. The beast shudders and curls in on itself, being careful of its tusks and horns. Claw marks and ripped plaster are scattered across the whole first floor of the once-lovely Spring Manor. A place that Tamlin had always secretly hated in his Fae form, and even more in his beast form. His father's pride and joy, up on the small hill and large. Domineering and overseeing everything; making the entire community knows who was in charge, who held the reins of both the overpouring fortune and the horrific demise of the entire Court. Keeping them close in a reign of bittersweetness or terror to comply.

A loud roar of frustration and pain rocks the foundation as he transforms back into his Fae form. Tamlin finds his body throbbing in pain from using up his magic. Staying in beast form for days on end diminishes it quickly.

Bloodied gold hair falls in front of his face and his palms press against splintered wood. He grunts as he lifts himself up from the ground, moving out from under the large table. Blood from the freshly killed doe paints his hands and knees red as he crawls through it without a care.

He lets out a shuddering sigh as he stands weakly and wobbles, cracking his spine, and aligning it straighter for his male form. Shuffling into the main living area, he passes by a shattered mirror and turns his head, getting a glimpse of death beneath his hollow husk.

His once sharp, yet rosy cheekbones are now grayed and hollow; jagged. His hair is in strings, tainted with blood and dirt, his lips are cracked and muted, and his skin is sickly pale.

Glancing between the shards, all of them reflecting the same horrific portrait, his usually emerald green and gold eyes now a muted pea color.

The floorboards creak with every shuffle of his feet toward his large settee, the only sound between the drops of blood, on beat like a clock, and the deafening silence that thrills the reaper inside his soul.

Tamlin nearly collapses onto it, his hands leaving bloodstains on the green velvet as he lowers himself down into the cushion, his body screaming with pain and malnourishment.

Moments later, he has slipped blissfully into the world of the subconscious where there is only darkness and peace, everything he wanted and needed long ago and still now.

.

.

"TAM!"

Tamlin's eyes force themselves wide open as the loud shout rouses his weary form, forcefully dragging him from sleep.

He growls in annoyance as he sees Lucien's both worried and relieved face peering down at him, his fiery red-orange hair loose among his shoulders.

Baring his teeth, he sits up with more ease than he had earlier—suddenly seeing the sun, it was most likely the night before when he had lost consciousness.

"Mother help us...you scared the shit out of me!", he growls back. "I thought you were dead."

Tamlin weighs whether it is worth the effort to physically fight him for waking him up, but all odds say he would lose in this state despite the beast in him still wanting to try, however, his grogginess ultimately won the internal argument.

"What a relief that would've been. To...oh, everyone", he grovels nonchalantly and simply.

Lucien swallows hard. "Not to me. I won't say you haven't been a shit male and a shit friend, and overall just...shit. But you forget that I am still your friend. A friend, by the way, that could see it inside himself to forgive you when absolutely nobody else thinks you're worth that at this point. Honestly, I'm not sure you are either, but I'm not...I'm not one to see a downed friend regardless of his bad acts and sit back and do nothing."

"Do nothing, Lucien. It's what you're good at", he grumbles, looking up at him, a mask of utter disinterest on his corpse-like face.

Lucien's lip twitches with annoyance, but he reminds himself that Tamlin's state of mind is anything but stable. Nearly the farthest from it.

"I'm not going to let you die here. You can attack me, and cut me, and batter me, and bloody me. But I'm not letting you die here", he says firmly. "I don't have any sarcasm left in my body to taunt you out of this with, not that it would work. I've let you push me out too many times. I've let you wrongly convince me that you can handle yourself even though I knew it wouldn't end well. And now...Tam, you're a fucking corpse. I know that things went very wrong, and I know that you are broken. You have been since birth, like me. That's why I come back over and over again, despite your gross treatment of me. I know you're simply lashing out and not because of me, I'm just the only one here to take it out on. But, that's why I'm here.

If circumstances were different, it could've been me in your position. Cauldron knows I was close enough to it when Jesminda was ripped from me. Maybe you don't believe me but I've felt death grab me by the throat and try to pull me down to this level. It nearly won. You're one of the fiercest High Lords, and you shouldn't let it win. I won't let it win by driving me away. I'm the only one who comes here to actually check on you."