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thrumbolt · 16 days

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Summary: A month after the tragedy that made both him and Tamlin High Lords, Rhysand returns to the Spring Court to finish the job.

Happy Tamlin Week! This is for Day 1, Heir of Spring. Click here to read on AO3, or continue reading below!

@tamlinweek

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Rhysand was immediately suspicious when he flew across the Spring border and wasn’t accosted. With the regime change, the sentries should have been on high alert for intruders. The further he went without being challenged, the more wary he became. Something was very, very wrong. Tamlin was planning something, trying to lull him into a false sense of security. It didn’t matter. The new Spring Lord would die.

He landed on the front steps of Tamlin’s manor. The front doors were closed, but opened easily with a slight push. Still no sentries. Unwanted memories of the last time he had been here washed over him. It had been a night just like this one. He had been on high alert, wings folded tight against his back to keep from making a sound. Then, he had been flanked by his father, still grieving the loss of his wife and daughter. There was no one left to grieve them except Rhysand now.

Ascending the spiral staircase to the living quarters, Rhysand fought back other, happier memories. Tamlin leading him by the hand, eager to show off a new set of hunting knives. Passing the Lady of Spring on those stairs, bobbing his head respectfully only to have her pull him into a hug. Instinct led him to Tamlin’s old bedroom, rather than the High Lord’s quarters. Rhysand couldn’t even look at the room his parents had lain in, and he suspected Tamlin felt the same. The door was ajar. Rhysand reached out to push it open, when the attack he had been expecting came from behind.

Jagged claws tore through his clothing, raking across the sensitive membrane of his wings. Rhysand dropped to the ground and kicked out, intending to trip up the feet of his assailant. The attacker had to step back to avoid this, giving Rhysand a chance to get a good look at them.

It was a beast, huge and gangly, with antlers that stretched across the length of the hallway. Long drips of saliva hung from its jaws as it snarled. Only the familiar green eyes betrayed who this creature was. Clearly, the mantle of High Lord had granted Tamlin access to stronger, wilder magic than he had before.

A pair of razor-sharp amethyst daggers appeared in Rhysand’s hands. He attacked, graceful and deadly, grinning a satisfied smirk when red blood splashed across the walls. Tamlin didn’t even stagger from the wounds that opened up on his flanks. He lunged forward, slashing out with claws and a desperate ferocity Rhysand had never seen before. Rhysand struck again and again, growing frustrated that he could never get more than a glancing blow. The floor under his boots grew slick with Tamlin’s blood and threatened his balance. Tamlin’s strikes had grown wilder and out of control, and Rhysand saw his chance. With a decisive thrust, he slammed one of the daggers to the hilt into the beast’s paw, pinning it to the ground. Tamlin howled in fury and in pain, fruitlessly trying to tug his paw free.

“I’m going to kill you,” Rhysand growled as he pressed the blade of his other dagger against the creature’s throat. “You do not deserve to live when they are gone.”

The beast’s shape shimmered and melted and reformed back into Tamlin, the male that Rhysand knew every inch of. He was kneeling on the marble, his hand still trapped, splayed out against the ground in a puddle of blood. He looked up, and Rhysand was struck by how hollow his gaze was.

“Do it.” Tamlin rasped. “Kill me. You’re right. I deserve it.”

For a long, long minute, Rhysand didn’t move. The dagger in his hand was still against Tamlin’s throat, drawing a thin line of blood. Here it was, the opportunity he had been waiting for. Just a little bit of pressure, and Tamlin would be dead. His mother and sister would be avenged. And quite frankly, it would be in Tamlin’s best interest to be put out of his misery. The new Spring High Lord was a fucking mess. His clothes were in tatters, and clearly hadn’t been washed in weeks. Where before there had been strong muscle and healthy tan skin, now was a gaunt, gray figure. Add in the fact that there didn’t seem to be anybody else in the Spring Court to stop him or enact vengeance, the most logical choice was to kill Tamlin.

The seconds ticked by. Tamlin waited patiently for his death. Finally, Rhysand sighed.

“I can’t.”

Tamlin’s brow furrowed in a way that Rhysand had once found cute. “Why not?”

Rhysand changed the subject. “What happened here? What’s happened to you?” A black speck jumped from Tamlin’s hair onto Rhysand’s hand, causing him to drop the dagger in alarm. “By the Cauldron, Tam, do you have fleas?”

“Probably,” Tamlin answered, carelessly scratching at his scalp with a filthy hand. “Everyone left. The ones that didn’t leave on their own, I drove out. I’ve been maintaining my borders myself for the past month.”

“Why would you do that?”

“I’m a monster, aren’t I? It’s what I do.” He picked up the dagger that Rhysand had dropped and handed it back, hilt first. “Finish it.”

Rhysand had been furious for weeks on end. The rage had filled him with fire, threatening to burn his entire Court to the ground. All of that anger drained away at once. He had thought that Tamlin had tricked him, been lying to him the whole time they had been together, always intending to sell him out. Looking at him now, bedraggled and miserable and begging for death, that was obviously not the case. Even in the worst of his grief, Rhysand had had a support group around him, keeping him away from the edge. Tamlin had been here alone. He had nobody left.

“Not until I get you cleaned up.” Decision made, Rhysand vanished the daggers, both the one that Tamlin offered him and the one embedded in his hand. “There’s no honor in killing you like this. It would be like killing a blind elderly human.”

“Hilarious,” Tamlin intoned sarcastically. He ripped a section of his tunic off and wrapped it around his bleeding hand. Based on the smattering of wounds that criss crossed his body, he hadn’t been magically healing his own injuries for a while now. “Either kill me or go away.”

“No.” Rhysand pulled Tamlin to his feet and guided him to the nearest washroom. Tamlin struggled against him, but in this current state he was no match for Rhysand’s strength. With a wave of his hand, Rhysand began filling the marble bathtub with hot, fragrant water. He stripped Tamlin down and burned his grimy clothes right then and there, ignoring Tamlin’s protestations. It was harder to ignore the state of Tamlin’s body, now fully on display. Though he was still large and muscular, Rhysand could now see his ribs, and his skin had an unhealthy grayish tinge. More injuries revealed themselves, including a large burn on his thigh that he had hastily slapped a bandage on.

With some not-so-gentle prodding, Tamlin stepped into the bath. “Happy now?” he groused, standing waist-deep in the water with his arms crossed.

“Not really. That’s disgusting,” Rhysand pointed to the bloom of dirt and dried blood that surrounded Tamlin. Under Rhysand’s judgemental gaze, Tamlin began half-heartedly rubbing at his skin with his palms. “Do it right, or I’m coming in there and doing it for you.”

With a stubbornness that Rhysand had once admired, Tamlin looked up at him. It was a relief to see something other than apathy in his eyes. “Make me.”

“You are such an asshole,” Rhysand grumbled. He magicked away his own clothing and joined Tamlin in the bath, making sure to send away the dirty water before it could touch him. A tray laden with bottles and fluffy washcloths appeared next to him, floating a few inches above the water. The first thing Rhysand did was put a palm on the top of Tamlin’s head and shove his entire body underwater. Tamlin resurfaced, sputtering and flailing like an angry cat. “We have to drown the fleas and lice and whatever other vermin are hiding in your hair,” Rhysand explained. “Go under again, or I’m holding you down.”

Seeing that Rhysand was not making idle threats today, Tamlin complied. He laid on his back in the water, leaving just his face above the surface. Rhysand poured soap onto a washcloth and pulled Tamlin’s floating body against him, bracing and keeping him in place. With meticulous attention, Rhysand began to clean Tamlin. Starting at his neck and moving down, he scrubbed at Tamlin’s skin until it was soft and clean. Whenever he encountered a cut or bruise that Tamlin was too weak or stubborn to heal, he magicked it away. The tension that Tamlin was holding drained away. He closed his eyes and hummed appreciatively when Rhysand massaged a sore muscle.

“It was my fault.”

“Hmm?” Rhysand could barely hear him, and was distracted by the burn. He held his hand over the charred flesh and pushed, sending healing magic deep into the tissue so it could start healing from the inside out.

“My father found the last letter you had written to me.”

Rhysand froze. “We were supposed to burn those.” They had communicated by letter frequently, with the understanding that they would immediately dispose of the incriminating evidence. The knowledge that his words were temporary often gave Rhysand the courage to be bolder than he otherwise might have been.

“I know. I always did. But I held onto that one.” Tamlin smiled sadly. Rhysand couldn’t even remember what he had written that would have been worthy of saving. “I was stupid. You said you’d be traveling in it, and they took advantage. They went to kill you.”

Rhysand could see it, clear as day, playing out in his head. High Lord Theon and his two eldest sons, jeering and joking as they armed themselves and prepared to take out the heir to the Night Court. Even when he had thought Tamlin had intentionally betrayed him, he had had a hard time envisioning him cavorting with his family. He was too gentle, and they hated him for it.

“I actually hoped that you would be there,” Tamlin continued. Tears were falling from his eyes, dripping down his face and mixing with the bath water. “I hoped that you would kill them. And instead…”

Instead, the two people that Rhysand cared about most in the world were ripped to pieces, defenseless and afraid. They had repaid that violence with more violence, and now they were the last remaining members of their respective families.

“Sit up,” Rhysand ordered. It was easy to maneuver Tamlin’s loose-limbed body to a bench by the side of the bath. He poured the liquid from another vial over his hands and began massaging it into Tamlin’s dirty hair. Silence fell over them as Rhysand focused on his self-appointed task.

“Why are you doing this?” Tamlin asked. “You came here to kill me.”

“I don’t know,” Rhysand answered. A flea jumped out from under his hands and tried to escape. Rhysand squished it flat against the tile with his fingernail.

“You should just do it. I deserve it.”

“Maybe so. But your Court doesn’t.”

Tamlin’s brow furrowed in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“You can’t fall apart like this anymore. You’re the High Lord. When you break down, your Court does as well. You owe it to your people to get your shit together.”

Tamlin sighed. He leaned back, pressing more of his bare skin against Rhysand’s. “I don’t know if I can.”

Despite everything, despite the rage that filled his heart and the sorrow that clung to his bones, Rhysand pressed a soft kiss to the top of Tamlin’s head. “You can. You have to.”

With Tamlin healed, cleaned, rinsed, and dried, he almost looked normal again. Relaxed for the first time in weeks, he was pliant in Rhysand’s arms, allowing himself to be dressed in soft pants and laid down in bed. As Rhysand had suspected, Tamlin was still living in his old room. It was a disaster; clothes and weapons were strewn everywhere, and there were multiple fist-shaped holes in the walls. The bed was oddly clean and well-made, as if Tamlin hadn’t slept in it since the servants had left.

“Why are you doing this?” Tamlin asked again as Rhysand fussed with the sheets, tucking them around his prone form.

“I don’t know,” Rhysand answered again, but this time it was a lie. He knew. He had always known.

Because I love you. Because killing you would kill me. Because you’ve been alone your entire life, and no matter what you’ve done, you don’t deserve that.

“Go to sleep,” he said instead. “Tomorrow, you fix this.”

Tamlin smiled at him, his eyes more lively than they had been all evening. “Thank you.”

Rhysand took his hand and kissed the back of his knuckles, sending one last wave of magic to Tamlin. The Spring Lord’s eyes closed, the magic knocking him out into a healing sleep.

Tomorrow, Tamlin would wake up and begin to get his life together. Tomorrow, Rhysand would go back to hating him. Tonight, he sat by Tamlin’s bedside for hours, holding his hand.

#NOOO HE HAS FLEAS #how dare you #you made me tear up #UGH this is what I wished Acofas was like #this is so emotional #and also gay #UGH #amazing #acotar #tamsand

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