Landing at the border of Dawn, Lucien and Nuan run towards the palace. Nuan can't help the tears that are spilling for the male she was falling for. Eris had grown on her since the coronation ball, and he has visited Dawn on 'business' quite a few times since. They have had some lovely conversations and flirted, but she hadn't gotten the chance to tell him how she was truly feeling, and now worries that she may never be able to.

Nuan grabs Lucien's arm and can see the tears on his face as well, as much as he tries to shield his expression from her. "Lucien. Winnow us. We're past the border now. I'm with you so it's okay."

He nods and sniffs, linking her arm in his and winnowing into the heart of the Dawn Court city, where all the healers reside.

"Who...where...um...", he looks around wildly.

"Most likely Dahlia. She's the best and tends to the most wounded of soldiers in battle. This way, I'll take you to her infirmary."

Nuan grabs his hand and weaves through the streets, bustling with people. Reaching the building where Dahlia resides, she pulls him inside. The long hall is eerily quiet except for low voices coming from the end of it.

"They're in the critical room", she, glancing over at her friend. Nuan has seen many injured soldiers when she once trained with Dahlia, a friend of the Night Court's favorite healer Madja, so she is calm and collected in the face of near-death, even if her insides are twisted at the notion of it being her crush. A male who had a good heart under all his metaphorical armor.

Lucien, however, is quiet and stony, but storms rage in his russet eye, full of pain and fear for his brother—even if he claims they have more bad blood than good blood between them. She notices a slight tremor to his hands that he keeps slackened at his sides as they make their way down the hallway that seems to never end.

She reaches and gives his hand a squeeze as he glances over at her, his face paled with either sadness or fear, it's hard to decipher. Possibly both.

"We have the best healers here. You know that. And we are making groundbreaking revelations at least once a week. He has to be alright. He—he has to", her voice lowers into a shaky whisper.

Lucien's brow furrows and he takes a steadying breath. "You like him."

"What?"

"My broth—Eris. Were you two...?"

Nuan blushes and wring her hands in front of her. "Just flirting. We formally met at the Coronation Ball. I wasn't expecting to grow feelings for him, but I think he may have felt the same way. He would come here for business slightly more often, always making some silly excuse to have to speak to me."

Something moved within Lucien's eyes and he chews his lip. "How was he? I mean...all I ever get from him is either being attacked physically or verbally. I know I'm not much better but honestly, he's more of a shifty fox than I am. It's really hard to know if I can actually trust him. I know he hates our father, and I know that he's been tainted by being stuck there. But I never know just how tainted."

As they reach the room, Lucien's fire magic seems to spark along his skin, sensing its kin; just as it had at the Ball. Like prickles of power and unease.

She looks at him and clasps his arms. "I can tell you with certainty that he wasn't using me. It wasn't business talk. It was deeper than that. He has to act how your father expects him to act. For his life." She glances at the door. "Maybe letting it slip just a tiny bit was too much of a risk that he took for me."

Lucien shakes his head. "Whatever happened, the fault doesn't lie on you. It lies on Beron only. We all should have been allowed to live our lives as we saw fit. But that didn't happen. I may hate my brother with a burning passion sometimes, but you can't hate someone unless there's a bit of love for them for that flame to feed off of."

Nuan tears up and nods, going into the room first. No matter how many mangled bodies she had the horrors of seeing in the past, including ones Under the Mountain, nothing could have prepared her for seeing the usually so regal and put-together Eris Vanserra the way he is on this slab. Bones twisted, blood caked on nearly every inch of his skin, hair sticky and unmanageable with blood soaked into it, and eyes open and the palest brown she has ever seen compared to his usually rich reddish russet.

She can't help but let out a pained noise, covering her mouth in terror. Mor looks up, her face stained lightly with where tears had trailed her mascara, her red lipstick faded. Her eyes land over Nuan's shoulder at Lucien and tears well up in her amber eyes again.

Lucien is gripping a small trash basin, vomiting. Nuan turns and holds his hair back carefully.

"Lucien", Mor chokes out, once he is done wretching.

Lucien stands straight, eyes boring metaphorical holes into Eris's body. He remains frozen solid like a statue, staring at the mangled mess; the body he can't identify—won't identify. Not once has he seen his brother in disarray as adults. Not once was he allowed to. His metal eye clicks and whirrs more than usual, and Nuan can sense the thick level of stress rolling off of him in waves.

She moves out of the way and runs to Dahlia's side as she works on something at the counter, trying to stop herself from looking as tears sting her eyes.

Mor moves to Lucien and tentatively reaches out to touch him but draws her hand away, electing not to.

"Lucien...I felt—I felt his pain through the bond. I know you weren't at the River House after the Ball. You and Elain went to your apartment but—I was his rejected mate. Um...maybe it's shocking but we had made amends recently. He wasn't my favorite person, obviously but...he wasn't the evil male that I used to think he was. Not by a long shot. Anyway, when I got there one of Beron's guards was dragging him out. Probably to bury him somewhere, and I killed him. Then I winnowed Eris here hoping maybe they can do something", she chokes out. "For all the times in the past that I had wished him dead...I never truly knew him and I wish I did, and that I could take it back."

"Stop. Talking", Lucien growls.

Mor is startled by the rumble of power in his tone; power she knows must be as untapped as hers had been. She takes a step back and rubs her arms, looking down.

He begins to breathe heavily and fire flickers in his irises as his fists erupt in flames. Mor gapes a bit and Nuan turns around, her eyes widening.

"Luc."

His breaths come in fast, ragged drags as he continues to stare at his big brother's lash-ravaged body. His bones were most likely broken from the guards' treatment afterward.

Nuan rushes over and he clenches his jaw. "Don't. Come. Near. Me."

She swallows but keeps a safe distance. "Luc...you should go. I'll help Dahlia. We will figure this out."

Lucien's fists get snuffed out and tears fill his eyes, spilling out, his mechanical one humming as a tear guard encases the front of it. He scoffs through a sob. "I was going to suggest we do what they all did for Feyre. But then I quickly remembered that Beron is the one who killed him. And he'd never bring him back. Not for anything. Just to get at me if I even showed that I cared."

Mor and Nuan look at their hands, unsure of what to say.

"Is he gone?"

An uncomfortable silence follows.

"IS. HE. GONE?", Lucien bellows harshly, glaring at the healer, who startles and glances at Nuan, worried.

"Y-Yes, his heart stopped beating a moment before you got here."

Lucien turns around and storms out of the room, rushing to the nearest restroom as he sags to his knees and vomits again into another basin. His sobs rip out of him heavily, as he struggles to breathe, flashbacks of all the good times he and Eris had when he was just a young boy.

He leans back against the wall, shoulders sagged, and puts his head in his hands, his cries silent but painful within his chest.

.

.

.

Elain winnows Briar to the border of Spring, both of them landing a bit too harshly. Elain gasps, tripping over her dress into the dirt.

Briar grabs a tree branch so she doesn't fall but can't help but giggle softly. "Oh, Elain. I'm sure it takes some getting used to." She extends her hand and Elain takes it shyly, hauling herself back up and brushing herself off.

"Thanks. Look, I don't think I'm going to be received very well, so this could go badly. Are you sure you want to stay here? I mean, I'm all for not judging someone I don't personally know but...the stories my family tells can be—

"Can be what?", a growling voice interrupts as the High Lord of Spring appears in front of them, a tower of slender muscle.

Elain swallows hard. "Apologies, High Lord", she curtsies.

Tamlin rebuffs her and then narrows his eyes. "Where is Lucien? Still upset at me?", he rolls his eyes.

"No. Maybe. I don't know", she says quietly. "He had a family emergency, so, I offered to drop Briar off."

"A family emergency?", he spits. "What family?"

Elain crosses her arms and takes a breath, raising his chin to him. "His actual family, I'm not talking about mine. You don't have to be so...so brutish. You don't even know me."

"I know you're an Archeron and you live among the Night Court's hoard of entitled pissants. That's all I need to know."

"Really? Well, I think that's ridiculous and rude. I could have very well judged you by the horrid stories my sister tells. But I came here on an errand and I had decided I was going to make my own judgments. But it seems you're making it quite easy to believe them."

Tamlin snorts. "Aren't you supposed to be the one who's a timid little mouse?"

Elain makes an annoyed face. "Maybe I was. But Lucien has taught me that I don't have to be voiceless or fragile. That I don't have to be afraid to speak my thoughts. I've tried very hard to overcome that and I've done a damn good job at it. So sure, maybe I was a mouse. Or a broken, scared, timid, wallflower. But everyone overcomes personal obstacles and finding my voice was mine. So I won't let you now shame me for having one, High Lord."

He raises an eyebrow and seems to consider his words carefully for the first time. "Elain, is it?"

"Yes."

"I can see why you're his mate now."

"Can you?"

"Your fire is inwards, similar to Lucien."

"But I'd be willing to bet I'm still not allowed into your Court."

He clenches his jaw. "I don't mean true disrespect, but I would not be able to allow you entry unless your mate was here with you, where he could keep an eye on you. You must understand, the damage Feyre caused to my Court was more than just its picturesque shine. It was livelihoods, structures, and the rotting of my land, both magically and deterioratingly, that affected not only me and my power, but my people as well—who are still suffering and trying to come back from it. You come from the Night Court. Therefore you are a part of them and represent them here. So you'd be correct. It's a no."

Briar watches their exchange shyly, staying quiet, wringing her hands.

Elain huffs and shakes her head. "I am my own person, and I am not a part of any Night Court delegation. We may be blood, but we do not all share one mind. I hope if I ever visit again with Lucien, you will find that I am not personally your enemy the way my sister and her husband are. Whatever is between you all, that's your business. Not mine. I do not wish to be perceived by my last name alone. As I mentioned, I came here with an open mind about you; something nobody else in my family has done. I've seen the different ways trauma can rip into a person. Much like razor-sharp claws, grasping at their brain, refusing to free them of its clutches night after night. My older sister for one. And Lucien still has nightmares on occasion.

But if you feel that I only represent them, I will say this. I apologize that my sister's actions hurt your innocent people. I can't imagine how devastating that must have been for everyone here. Again, your personal issues are yours and hers, they were not your citizen's issues to bear the brunt of the fallout."

Tamlin looks at her curiously and lets out a breath through his nose. "Thank you."

"You're welcome. I will go, but Briar has become somewhat of a...friend", she says softly, looking over at her as she smiles. "Please, treat her with respect and kindness. She is here for a tour, not a ten-page essay of all the times you've been wronged."

Tamlin curls his lip and crosses his arms. "I know how to treat my guests, thank you very much", he scoffs.

"So I've heard. Just not the good parts, of which there must have been some."

He glances over at Briar and swallows hard, the tugging of their bond potent enough for him to feel when he's this close to her. She flushes pink and glances up at him before curtsying.

"Thank you for having me, High Lord."

Elain squeezes her shoulder. "Send word if you need anything. If not, one of us will be by in a week to pick you up."

That's when Tamlin pipes up, quite urgently. "Uh, the Spring Court re-opening festival is in thirteen days. I was thinking she might want to experience that. Spring festivals are lively and fun. Something we haven't had for a while. She could experience true Spring. Back to its glory."

She looks at Briar. "That's up to Briar."

Briar glances between them a bit sheepishly and nods. "That sounds amazing. I'll stay for the festival."

"Alright then. I'll let him know that we can pick you up in two weeks." Elain passes a look to Tamlin and then back to her, noting the awe on his face as he looks at the dark-haired female, and she scrunches her nose a bit, knowing why from her vision at the Coronation Ball, but not wanting to tell Tamlin that. "Have a good time, then."

"Thanks, Elain."

Elain nods and stretcher arms and neck, shimmying her body, and taking a deep breath. Tamlin almost lets out a laugh, but simply looks amused.

"What is she doing?", he asks Briar.

"Oh, she's new at winnowing. She has to relax her muscles and concentrate. She'll get it."

Just as she says that, Elain winks out of sight.

He can't help his mind from wondering if Feyre had looked that innocent trying to get control of her powers, but shakes it out of his mind.

"Come, I will escort you to the Manor", he murmurs gruffly, avoiding what they both feel. Briar let sit be, knowing he had suffered much in the past years and before that, most likely wanting nothing less than that tug.

"Thank you", she says softly.

"For what?"

"Allowing me to visit. I know you are weary of newcomers."

Tamlin huffs. "Well, I wasn't going to be like Beron. Despite what everyone thinks of me, I am not evil like he is."

Briar walks faster so she can keep up with him, coming to his side. "I can tell."

"You don't know me."

"No, I don't. But you did have a large hand in saving me. An evil person would have let me rot on that wall in chains and shackles. Yet you and your friend helped me to escape when there was a chance. You didn't have to think of me. I was probably just some lowly human to you; you hadn't known what he had done to us. Also...", she says gently, "even when I was trapped there, I noticed that you made a point to check on me. Even if you didn't expressly make it known that that was the reason you'd come to that chamber. When you looked at me, it gave me a reason to fight, because I knew that there was at least one person who saw me, who cared even the tiniest fraction. Many days, I had prayed to die like all of my friends because that wasn't what we imagined coming to Prythian would be like. We all just wanted better lives, not worse ones."

Tamlin stays silent, swallowing hard, continuing on through the lush, vivid fields filled with blooms, then down the cobblestones street toward the towering Manor, now on the same level as the villager's houses. "I—", he starts, then stops.

"Go on."

He sighs, clenching his jaw. "I let someone down before. Even if I knew that physically I couldn't help her and that being stoic was my way of helping her...I felt like a coward. But I was spelled, and I could not go check on her when I wanted to do so more than anything in this gods-damned world. So when I went under yet another mountain, playing Hybern like a damn fiddle, I saw you, and it reminded me of her, and that I could do now for you, what I had wanted to do then for her."

Briar nods slowly. "Feyre", she whispers.

Tamlin's lip curls and for a moment, he was going to confirm, to say her name. But he promised himself he would never say her name unless strictly necessary.

"Yes."

"Elain's sister..."

"Exactly."

"So she...she was the one that ravaged your Court?"

A low growl reverberated through him but he takes a deep, shaking breath. Briar notices claws peeking from his knuckles, wavering before they retract.

"Yes", he replies coldly.

"I understand that interaction now. And I don't blame you for not trusting her family, and I know I hardly have any say or input at all. But Elain is a good person, and she has been a good friend to me the times I've spoken with her. She hates violence unless there is no other choice. I heard some stories about the war and how she stabbed Hybern to save her sister. That's who Elain is, who I've seen. She will stick up for her sisters and those she loves, but she is her own person. She told me as much. That they are the warriors, and she is content with being content. In fact, she loves gardening. Lucien said that he had to buy her gloves because her hands kept getting pricked by thorns."

Tamlin grumbles. "I don't quite care about my friend's mate right now. If he chooses to bring her here, that is his decision, but there will be strict protocols for her to follow if she wants to gain the trust of myself and my Court."

"I'm sure they understand that."

He remains quiet as they approach the large house, and two new sentries open the doors for them. They bow their heads to their High Lord, but Tamlin dips his in return. He watches Briar step foot in his home, his true home, not his father's, and he can't help the lump that forms in his throat as he can't help comparing her to Feyre. Oh so human, timid, eyes wide with wonder and nerves. Yet also not human, the small, delicate point of her ears between her flowing raven hair the only indication that she had been turned faerie.

Briar blushes as she catches him staring at her, but it seems his mind is far away, possibly in that deep, dark place he is famously known for retreating to before things go bad. Somehow, she isn't afraid and does not flinch away even when his claws reappear in their full glory, long and razor-sharp.

He looks around the room at how large and empty it is, even for a foyer. Maybe too big, too grand for only him. His staff has dwindled to hardly anything, a few good sentries and kitchen staff are all he has at the moment. No Alis, not that anyone could replace her. And no Lucien, making him feel like any of this is worth living for. Certainly no priestesses, not that he could find it in him to ever trust one of them again. Though who is he to trust one single soul? Ianthe, his childhood friend that he had placed his trust in, had performed the ultimate betrayal and harmed his best friend, who is like his brother. Feyre, who he had loved more than anything, left him like he wasn't also struggling at the time, and even his own mother, who'd refused to look at the harm her husband had wrought to their sons, mostly him, as well as these lands; these lands that were his home and that had been denied it's natural beauty and magical strength for so long because of the poisons that snuck in and twisted everything. How can he trust anyone else, ever? They could also be poison, evil, spies, or insurrectionists like the one he was to wed.

"High Lord", she whispers.

He blinks a few times and focuses, his eyes finally taking in the sight of her. She could have sworn the makings of tears were in his eyes before they are replaced again by pale green steel.

"Apologies. I have much on my mind."

Glancing down at his hands, he quickly hides them behind his back and relaxes his muscles so they retract. He can feel the faint bloom of pink on his cheeks and inwardly groans. Not once has he ever hidden his claws or reacted so ashamed. So why now? Just because she's his Cauldron-cursed mate? What if she was another poison, and he is still just a naïve child trapped in a High Lord's skin, pining for any sort of kindness, falling prey to it again? After all, I'm sure it's been said or assumed that it's too easy to trick someone who is desperate for any morsel of kindness. Even if he feels in his soul that he deserves none of it.

"Why don't you head upstairs, choose a room, and get your things settled in? There's plenty."

Briar nods and looks into his eyes for a moment, noting the deep pools of anguish within them. When he turns from her gaze she does what he suggested and makes her way upstairs.

His father's baritone growl resounds in his mind.

"Kindness is not the mark of a High Lord. Unless you want to be struck down by someone more powerful. Kindness is weakness and emotions are a mark of cowardice."

Tamlin used to believe that being kind and being the opposite of his father would right everything, but it didn't. Instead, he was broken down, day by day, all of the playful child within him getting beaten out of him with the passing of time, growing up around all the violence and having to pretend it was normal or even okay. He had vowed to never become that way, as he experienced how Serlan treated both him and his siblings, and his human slaves, not to mention threatening his mate if she ever crossed a line to betray him.

His father was not only a part of the Triad; Serlan, Amarantha, and Hybern, but also a close friend of Beron himself. Tamlin always wondered why Beron never took his place in their triangle and pledged his allegiance to Hybern in his father's wake, but if there is anything Beron covets above all, it's power. He'd never let himself be shackled to one thing or another, always on the hunt for anyone or anything who can grant him the most power, and he'd never risk being stuck in a group.

Throughout all of that and the old war, he survived. He had lived through the worst moments of his life; the murders of Mother, Nova, and Darcy; deaths he still hung on his head and heart. Tamlin had tried to put it past him and heal, however painstakingly difficult it was to even breathe with the heaviness of it. But then he was cursed by the evil bitch who had assaulted him as a child, and lived through many more of the worst moments of his life because of her.

Leon, Allistor, Percy, Juliyan, Iris, Roald, Amelia, Wylo, Matteus, Konar, Xandar, Wisteria, Violet, Nartek, Zanwen, Breelan, Poppy, Jacx, Cortlan, and of course, young Andras; Andras, the little brother he never had and promised to protect, and the one that led to Feyre breaking their curse. The one person whose death hit him so hard that it's near impossible to grieve, for it just might very well turn him into the worst monster that his beast has to offer if he thinks about it for too long.

All of their deaths ripped holes in his chest through his High Lord's bond with them, knowing the moment their life was snuffed out. For him. For their Court and their people. Of whose safety was and is his responsibility. Something she had known would tear him down bit by bit in a more subtle way than his father had, aiming for his heart, which was cursed to turn to stone bit by bit with every failed death.

Even all the other deaths that Amarantha and Rhysand perpetuated weighed heavily on his weary conscience, as they were carried out only because he refused to submit to her. If he had, so many people would be alive right now. People who deserved to be much more than he does. Some days, more often than not, the guilt suffocates him until he can barely function. No reprieve, no safety, no contentment, always on edge waiting for the next threat, just like the beast that lurks beneath his skin. Sometimes he wonders if that's his true fate. A beast only living to be threatened, thriving of fatal challenges and risk. He still hopes for the sweet release of death in the dead of night, wishing that it would take him. When it fails to succeed, he turns inwards, hiding in his beast form, a suit of protection from all the hurt. Quiet death would be a sweet blessing compared to those who had died fighting. Heroes. Not a coward like him.

Kindness did not save the people he loved. Kindness did not make him worthy of Feyre. Kindness did not set him apart from the monster everyone sees when they think or look at him. That's all they'll ever see. Maybe his father was right in that regard.

Though he can't find it in himself to be unkind to those who have only been kind to him, who are lucky they do not truly know him and most likely never will. Like Briar. He refuses to allow her to be stuck to him the way his mother was stuck with his father. Mate bonds do not equal love. Do not equal contentment. Do not equal an unending adoration and gentleness to the other. They are toxic in and of themselves, tainting the souls of which it binds, tricking them into wanting lives and people that have the potential to harm them.

His gaze trails Briar up the stairs and a shudder wracks through him. He needs to find a way to break this bond. If she is truly as sweet as she appears, the last thing he'd ever want to do is taint her with all that he is just because the Cauldron chose wrong for her. She shouldn't be punished for what she endured and that's what being his mate would be for her. A punishment. Whether she knows it or not yet.

.

.

.

Elain winnows to the porch of the River House, heaving with exertion, both from the excessive use of magic which is new to her, and from the agony traveling down the mate bond from Lucien, making her tear up. Everything is going wrong again, just when they were happy.

Eris, as difficult as he was, had been intent on changing Autumn for the better—maybe even reconciling with Lucien and freeing his mother from Beron. Lucien is in utter shambles. Tamlin has just rebuilt his court, and though she had never conversed with him, he looked at her as if she was evil incarnate. All the visions she sees are horrors that would have made the human version of her weep and vomit, there are secrets her mate should know and she feels like she is lying to him which sickens her, and she has not seen her family face to face since before Lucien had showed her those vile memories of Under the Mountain. That isn't all she saw either, though Lucien wasn't aware. That afternoon when they had dozed, he had shifted in his sleep, his dream flowing through the bond and pulling her into it. She saw everything. Her sister cowered behind the drapes, her mate and Lucien, forehead to the floor as she writhed in pain from his daemati powers, and the words he spoke—threatening her mother-in-law whom he knows is already battered and broken. Much of this distress could have been avoided. And it all started with his treatment of Feyre.

Her sadness turns to rage, burning bright like an inferno within her. Anger that could match Lucien's physical power of flame.

Storming into the River House, she quickly notes that the baby isn't in the room. However, Feyre, Nesta, Cassian, Azriel, and Gwyn are. That's when Rhys comes sauntering out of the kitchen, that perpetually amused smirk on his face and it riles her up even more. Without one hesitant step, she goes right up to him and tosses back her arm, bringing it across hard on his cheek, a loud resounding slap stunning the room into silence.

Elain seethes, her eyes wild and breaths ragged. "You. FUCKING. Bastard!"