Summary: A shortened version of ACoTaR from Tamlin's perspective. The one in which we get to see the darker side of Tamlin and his ilk. After all, Fae aren't cute and cuddly creatures; there's a wall between them and the mortals for a reason. (Honestly, there's a reason Tamlin was Amarantha's mate, in my opinion.)
Word Count: 1,139
Rating: T

If there was one lesson he remembered from his father, it was that desperate times call for desperate measures.

Or, in the case of a certain human: starvation will inhibit a person's decisions.

Especially if they're watching loved ones starve with them.

So when Tamlin neared Feyre's home – more like a hovel, really – he knew his plan would work.

The fact she killed Andras so easily and skinned him so plainly, with such little remorse, hinted that she had been living in poverty for a long, long time. So he thundered into her home, played his part as an avenging lord, and stole her away to where he would make her love him.

He was prepared for when she refused and tried to flee. Through sweet promises, he convinced her to stay. Your family is safe. They are cared for and happy. How was she to know that his words were false? He had no use for her squalling sisters and useless father. His words, like sweets falling from the sky, were gathered and devoured by her; and, like the candies, they were empty and wasteful. What were words to a mortal, other than a means to an end?

True, Lucien, his faithful and stupid emissary, believed him as well. He was so eager to see the good in Tamlin that after the cruelty of his old court, he denied the possibility of its existence elsewhere. Therefore, Lucien similarly believed Tamlin's visit to the mortal side of the wall as a way for Tamlin to deliver riches, grandeur, and a glamor. The fools.

Tamlin had indeed gone across the wall, but his purpose hadn't been for Feyre's benefit. After a confession where Feyre explained her fear of being forgotten, Tamlin had the perfect glamour to place upon her family. He stitched away the loss of a third daughter and sister; the family would never remember Feyre's existence.

They would deteriorate to the point of nonexistence.

Then, if Feyre ever did attempt and manage to escape, she would be treated as a stranger and realize her only home was with him.

So the mortal stayed and painted.

As a result, through his carefully constructed inability to woo and Lucien's help (clueless as he was to the change of plans), he saw her begin to fall for him. Piece by piece he pulled from her, and she followed like a dog on a leash, panting for more.

There was not much time left to break Amarantha's curse and, loathe as he was to admit, the fact was that he needed her to love him. Consequently, he kept her near and showered her with a mockery of infatuation, even stooped so low as to make love with her. Still she refused. Then after Rhysand of the Night Court's "visit," where he forced Tamlin and Lucien to their knees, all for the sake of the wretched Feyre, Tamlin thought for sure she would profess her love to him. He pushed and prompted and told her over and over how he felt. Distasteful.

Yet she remained silent to the very last day, whereon he sent her blasted mortal being to below the wall, playing up distraction and fear, when all he felt was an all-consuming rage at her idiocy. Had he not given her ample opportunities to figure out the need his court, and all of Prythian, had for her? Had he not left enough doors open, spoken louder than normal, and more often about Amarantha? Tamlin had thought that perhaps she could surprise him.

He was wrong.

Thus, he sent her back to her forgetful and dying family.

The blasted human was gone, his plan had failed, and Amarantha's forces marched upon his lands and swept his court to beneath the mountain with the rest of the high lords. He cursed the pathetic Feyre that gave his people hope, yet never love. He vowed, then, that should he ever come to see her again, that he would destroy that wilful, repellent spirit of hers. The fate of Clare Beddor, whose remains dangled from the stalactites, was too good for Feyre Archeron. He would have his retribution.

Shortly after his promise, she arrived with words of passion and tenderness on her lips. She bargained with Amarantha and begged for Tamlin's freedom. Intent as he was to fulfil his vows, he ignored her appearance. What could a mere wisp of a mortal hope to accomplish where hundreds of Fae could not? No. Feyre would be gone before the end of the challenge. Tamlin's only regret was that he would not cause her downfall.

Whipping Lucien was an unfortunate circumstance, but an outlet for his burning anger. Why the fool had bothered warning the girl was a mystery; he deserved the beating. Lucien, of course, believed in Tamlin's sanity, believed that he resented the punishment as much as the emissary did. He forgave Tamlin with every lash. Simpleton.

When Feyre was paraded around, by Rhysand the whore, Tamlin snarled in distaste. To think he had ever declared love, however fake, to the child. She was as much a whore as the snake who warmed Amarantha's bed. Her death would be sweet.

Then Amarantha used Tamlin in the last challenge. She knew of his heart of stone; hadn't he denied the self-declared High Queen's confessions of love even as the bond thrummed to life between them? Love was unnatural, useless, and destructive. She knew a mere dagger could not pierce his chest. Could the girl figure the truth out? Did she want to?

Clearly she could.

Tamlin was not, abhorred as he was to admit, entirely aware enough to understand what went on. Except when his power thrummed full force back into him, the wound healing and the poison dissipating. He lunged upwards and forwards, instincts and claws on display, onto Amarantha. He shredded her to pieces. He savagely tore into her neck with his teeth, drinking her blood, ripping her limb from limb. Warmth trickled down his face; his arms and torso were sticky.

Once he came back to himself, he rushed to the girl's side, checking for signs of life.

Oh. He missed her death. How unfortunate.

Surprisingly, each High Lord stepped forward and dropped a seed of life into the human's heart. Giving a part of themselves to raise her from death. Shockingly, even Rhysand joined in. Tamlin added his own aspect to her and waited.

She breathed.

He laughed. Very unkindly.

Feyre Archeron, Cursebreaker, would live another day. Not as the strong-willed mortal who fought for survival. No, he would not let her live as she once had. She had not done as he wanted when he played nice. He would break her spirit if he needed all that time had to offer.

After all, she was Fae now.

He had all eternity.

Sarah J Maas is the rightful owner.

Credit to Spellcleaver for beta-ing for me. All other errors are my own.

I saw one tumblr post, somewhere, a user said they asked Maas about Tamlin and Amarantha being mates and Maas confirmed it. So if mates are typically two people/fey of equal power, I suppose it would make sense that they have similar personalities as well. Tamlin is a complete and utter tool. Amarantha's a bit- female dog, ahem. They're the perfect couple.

Let me know what you thought! Thank you for reading!