#gigglefest

“Well, uh, dear. I thought you couldn’t read.” There was a roar from down the hallway and Tamlin stormed out, phantom claws flexing.  

“Of course Feyre can read, Ianthe.  That bastard did one thing useful when he took her.”  The midnight laughter curled a smirk and Feyre fought her smirk. This had also become a new routine. Instead of giving her a look of pity, Tamlin came snarling to defend her from Ianthe’s seemingly innocent insults. Feyre had yet to come up with a suitable punishment for her, but she’d find something soon enough.  As soon as she shook her guards.  

“Ianthe, how dare you-”

Feyre put her hand on his arm.  "It’s alright, Tamlin.  Ianthe simply forgets herself.  Things have changed so much.“  She smiled brightly up at him.  She could feel Ianthe’s anger.  

"I’m sorry, High Lord, Lady,” she bowed deeply.  "If you’ll excuse me, I’ll just head to the library.“  Feyre turned away, dismissing her.  

"Tam, what are we having for breakfast?” Feyre placed her hand gently on his arm, leading him away.  The guards followed them to the dining room.  Tamlin waved them away as he pulled out Feyre’s chair.  When they didn’t move fast enough he snarled.  

Food appeared on the table, pastries of some kind and tea sat steaming, with fresh fruit in piles on plates.  Feyre dug in as Tamlin sat, scooping as much as she could fit on her plate.  Her appetite had thankfully not diminished.  

Lucien eyed her, his golden eye whirring and settling on her right forearm.  "Good morning, Feyre.“  His voice was casual but there was a tone to it.  

"Hello, Lucien,” she smiled brightly.  "How did you sleep?“  His eyes widened a fraction.  She’d heard his screaming as he woke.  Feyre hadn’t asked him about the source of his nightmares, she was still trying to decide how far to trust him.  Darkness brushed against her mind again.  

He looked away after a moment.  "Just fine,” he mumbled around the food he shoved into his mouth.  "What’s on the agenda for today?“  The question was directed at Tamlin, but it gave Feyre an idea.  She brushed against his shield gently, I am spring and greens and all that grows.  She pictured herself as sunlight and baby birds and the babbling brooks she missed in the court.  Let’s spar, Lucien, let Feyre watch.  

Tamlin’s utensil’s scraped against the plate for a moment.  "Why don’t we spar?”  He cut a rogue smile at his startled emissary.  That golden eye settled on Feyre, who was openmouthed with shock.  

“Can I watch?” The question was more eager than she would have liked, but Feyre was tired of gaining nothing new to tell her court.

Lucien’s hesitation was an openmouthed frown that had his brow drawn low.  "Tam, I don’t know if that’s such a great idea.“  

Tamlin’s eyes were practically sparkling, the green shone in the morning light.  "I can’t see why not.  If Feyre comes with us then no guards have to watch her, and they can go with Ianthe instead.”  

“I doubt my father would like that very much.”  

“Oh, Tam, if you’re supposed to be going to the Autumn Court then don’t worry about it.” Her hand slid across to rest on his, “I’m sure I can occupy myself for the day.  I was thinking of going for a ride anyway.”   She squeezed his hand gently, “If you have things to do don’t let me stop you.”

Tamlin grasped her hand. “Nonsense.  We’ll go spar and you’ll come watch.”  He looked to Lucien.  "Your father will keep, and if he doesn’t, then we’ll remind him who it was who freed us all from under the mountain, and whom she resides with.“ His gaze grew sharp for a moment before Lucien looked away and pushed his plate back.  

"Fine, then. I’ll go get changed.”  His footsteps barely made any noise as he left and Feyre could just barely hear him walk down the hallway.  

Feyre gave Tamlin a shy smile.  "So what do you wear to spar?“  

"Fighting leathers, of course,” stated like it was the most obvious thing in the world.  He snapped his fingers and Feyre gasped. She’d known about the baldric, but he had his own Illyrian leathers.  Rhys was a gentle caress on her mind, but she could feel his irritation tinged by amusement.  She’d have to ask him about that later.  

She smiled and laughed lightly, “How silly of me.”  

He stood and held out a hand for her.  "Come on, I want to get a head start on Lucien.“  Feyre committed the route they took through the mansion to memory, marking every new doorway and window on the mental map she’d created for this place so long ago.  The place they arrived at was more a terrace than a room.  It had a stone awning that stretched up and away for a few hundred yards and was held up at the edges by thick columns.  On the walls there were swords and knives, axes and maces, as well as a few other things Feyre recognized but did not know a name for.  

She was drawn to the rack of knives, startlingly similar to the ones Rhys strapped to her thighs before going to the Weaver.  His midnight darkness chuckled and Feyre blushed when phantom hands caressed the backs of those thighs.  "Where did you get these from?”  Upon closer inspection she realized they were hers.  And there was the Illyrian blade she’d had strapped to her spine at Hybern.  Feyre turned to Tamlin.  "Why are these not in my rooms?“  

His lips thinned but before he could say anything Lucien was stalking towards them, feet slapping on the stone.  "What will it be today?”  But his russet and gold eyes slid to the Illyrian blades.  "I think these will do quite nicely,“ his smile was vicious, meant to carve at her.  

Feyre shrugged. "I’m not particularly deft with them anyway,” midnight chuckled along her shields, “if you like them consider it a gift.”  Lucien’s eyes narrowed and she gave him a wary innocent smile.  "Peace, Lucien.  I miss you, my friend,“ she let her voice crack and Feyre wrapped her arms around herself.  "I want to bring my sisters home too.”  It wasn’t a lie and the ache she’d felt, her worry for them, crashed through her and spilled out.  Tamlin growled, green eyes wild, and she flinched.  Lucien’s eyes darted between the two.  

“We’ll find them, Feyre,” he softened just a moment before grabbing the knives and sword and began strapping them to himself.  Tamlin was between them suddenly, winnowing close enough that his body shoved Lucien’s back from her.  Lucien halted his movements.  

“Lucien, I changed my mind.  Leave us.”  It was a command to be obeyed.  Lucien frowned at his High Lord and undid the buckles, placing the blades gently on the small table before winnowing out.  "Feyre,“ he strained, his façade crumbling and he crashed into her. His kiss was an invasion, a conquering and Feyre could do nothing but let him, embrace him back and yield to him. She’d been able to rebuff him just enough, but his desperate need grew each time they were alone.   "I’m so sorry I let him take you,” he mumbled into her ear, her throat, the skin above her breasts.  

She held him too tightly, trying to stuff her panic down.  Until Rhys was there, the soft night wind soothing her.  I have an idea, he whispered and showed her the lacy underthings store and Feyre’s stumble into the wall.  She looked up at Tamlin, his green eyes wild and desperate.  "Let me in, Tam, I want to help you feel better,“ Feyre pressed gentle kisses to his face while her hands delicately danced along him. Feather light touches along his chest, chin, ears, brow, to stop and tangle in his hair.  Tamlin’s mind quested to hers and she lowered her shield a fraction, into a small room she’d been creating for him these two weeks.  His shields dropped for her, and she spoke again. "I don’t want to do this here,” she let herself sound weak.  Tamlin winnowed them to her rooms.  

His shields were still down and they held each other, kissing desperately.  Her tunic was torn by his claws and she shuddered from them. Tamlin’s face was pained as he touched her skin with shadowless fingers.  "I don’t want to hurt you anymore, Feyre.“  She placed her hands on his bare chest, his leathers were gone and he was naked.  A corner of her mind compared him to Rhys.  

"I need gentle, Tamlin.”  He dove for her again, reining himself in and asking permission for each touch and kiss. She guided him, a slow descent into the room in her mind she’d been building for him, creating it by instinct. He strived to possess and protect her, so she showed him the woman she’d been, who needed protection.  They kissed slowly, building to more as his hands skimmed her body.  Feyre broke away, pulling her tunic over her head and sliding her trousers down, so they stood naked before each other.  

He was more demanding as he devoured her again, and once he was fully open to her, she stroked a mental hand along his shields, making him think it was his body she touched.  His body jerked in response and she did it again, showing his mind what he wanted.  He still held her physically, they still stood naked against one another, but as she lightly laid them both into her bed, only her mental hands touched him.  

She showed him her yielding, slowly, cautiously, and he was so tender with her she wanted to cry.  So she showed him the tears she was shedding, something real among the lie, until she was smiling and urging him on, showing him how she wanted to be touched.  Feyre in turn touched Tamlin the way she’d wished she’d been able to before everything, been bold and not timid.  The midnight hand flecked with starlight tapped her shoulder gently, as if in question.  She shrugged down their bond.  It is what might have been, but you are my salvation, Rhysand.  The midnight caress along her mind purred, satisfied with her use of his words. Tamlin was sprawled across her bed now, his arms and body twitching as he loved her in his mind.  

“I love you,” the fae male breathed out, a broken strangled whisper of the words that made Feyre pity him.  Until the snarling possession he’d claimed at Hybern flashed before her.  

“Me too,” she whispered into his ear, showing him her completion and his, his body rolling over to sprawl as he was now.  He slipped his shields up slowly and Feyre did the same.  Rhysand sent her images of them covered in paint, her hands on his wings as she rode him and she flushed pink, her body missing her mate.  If you’re not glowing he’ll wonder why, and then he grumbled with a touch of pride at how clever his High Lady was.  She smiled like she was tired after Tamlin’s eyes cracked open and he looked at her.  His hand gently cupped her cheek.  

“I’d like to stay, but I have a meeting this afternoon with the guards.”  His mouth pressed on itself, like he wanted to ask her something, but he withdrew and became cold again.  Feyre pulled her sheets up to cover herself.  "I’ll come back soon.  Wait here for me,“ it wasn’t quite a question and it made Feyre want to lash out at him.  She was not some pretty doll to wait for him to dote on her.  She would do no such thing, but she’d been inside of his shields, and now she had Lucien right where she needed him.  

The lie was easy, "Of course.  I’ll see you later.”  He smiled at her and some of the ice melted, his shield lowered a fraction and she left a finger just barely pressed upon it.  He opened the door, still gazing at her, and then his whole body slammed into the other door.  Amusement howled and cackled from her mate down their bond and she covered her mouth and gasped.  "Are you alright?!“ she rushed to his side, her sheet tightly wound about her still.