The fire was warm. He felt it on his side as he slowly rose from a slumber deeper than any he'd had in a long while. The sky was dark, small stars winked at him through the treetops. He felt a hand stroking his hair, almost absently. Then, he felt the pain.
His shoulder burned, a deep pulsating pain that made his whole body tense. She leaned over him. His head was resting on her lap. Her white dress was streaked in his blood. A necklace slung down, resting just above his head. The stone shaped symbol that hung upon it seemed as aflame as the fire that reflected from it.
"You are a strong male. The effects of the poison will likely pass through your blood by morning," she said quietly.
"What… what did you poison me with?" he spoke shakily, attempting to sit up. She put a hand on his chest, willing him to stay down.
"Wolfsbane," she answered plainly, "I keep a small vial on me, I always tip a single arrow in it. It ends any of my more difficult encounters quickly, I've found."
If he had been a weaker man, a lesser Fae, he was sure this would have killed him. The pain was immense, debilitating. To have knowledge of poisons… she must be more than just a hunter.
"What is your name?" she asked.
"You… don't know who I am?" he answered, looking at her incredulously.
"I don't."
And she wasn't lying. The way her gentle hands touched his head, stroked his hair. She was attempting to comfort him through his pain.
"My name is Tamlin. I am the High Lord of the Spring Court," he answered. Her hand stopped midway through his hair.
"I poisoned the High Lord," she said quietly. He couldn't help but chuckle.
"I know you. I met you," she continued suddenly, reaching across him for a satchel on his other side. Her body was so close to him at that moment, her chest hovering above his head as she fumbled for something across from them. She smelled like the smoke of the fire, mixed with his blood. He felt something in his chest tighten.
She returned with a leatherbound journal in hand, opening it and turning to a page.
"Calanmai, May 1st. The Spring Court celebrates Fire Night, their High Lord is amongst them. He is a beautiful man, even with the mask cursed upon his features. He commands presence among his people, they fear him. I plan to attend this evening, to better understand how important this celebration is to the people of the Spring Court," she read to him, her cheeks heating slightly at the mention of his beauty.
"You have been on these lands for a while. I was not a part of the last Calanmai."
"No, you were not. I've been in the Spring Court for…" she checked the next page, "... 53 years and sixteen days."
She'd been here since Amarantha had cursed him, cursed his court.
"Do you… have a name?"
She looked at him for a moment, and flipped the pages of her journal to the very first page.
"My name is Solikha. It means the flower that grows atop the mountain of corpses. I hail from a place called The Two Sided Mountain."
Tamlin watched her for a moment. Something about reading that passage had made her face turn incredibly sad.
"I have lost a portion of my memory, from what I can tell by this book. I am glad I kept a journal," she added the last part quietly.
She had lost her memory?
She closed the journal, setting it down beside him. She looked down at him.
"I am sorry I harmed you. The poison will not kill you. But you will be weak for a time. In the morning, I can assist in your return to your estate. For the night, you may rest here with me."
She lifted his head from her lap and slowly helped him into a seated position. He looked down to survey his injury. She'd undone his shirt down to his trousers, and had patched the wound with some thick leaves. He could see a white powder across his shoulder and arm underneath the leaves.
"Jewelweed and witch hazel. It will draw the toxins from your skin and allow your High Fae healing to progress," she answered before he could ask.
"You know quite a deal about herbal medicine," he commented, doing his best not to react to the pain he felt as she helped him rise. She was quite strong for such a small looking woman.
She glanced at the book.
"It tells me things about myself, but it also contains a wealth of information, notations about plant varieties native to several courts. I am very educated."
She led him a few feet away from the fire to her tent. She walked slowly with him, every movement made his muscles fire with pain.
"This is… a very strong poison," he managed through grit teeth as they walked, "you're sure it's not going to kill me?"
She helped him into the tent, where only one large bedroll and blanket was illuminated by a small faelight.
"I suppose you'll wish it had at some point this evening. But you'll have greater immunity to wolfsbane in the future."
"Where will you sleep?" he asked as she settled him in, taking care to gently check her leaf wrappings before buttoning his shirt back.
"Here, where I can monitor your breathing. You will likely experience severe fever, chills, you may dream vividly or hallucinate throughout the night as your body processes the poison. I will watch you. I will keep you safe."
That tightness in his chest again. When has it ever been someone else's job to keep Tamlin safe? When had he been helpless, and needed help?
Her eyes were illuminated by the faelight, they danced with any light that touched them.
He hesitated a moment before laying his head down on the soft bedroll. It had to be made from some type of exotic down-filling. It felt softer than anything he'd laid on in his life. He inhaled the scent of lavender on it. She smiled a little for a brief moment, then exited the tent to gather and organize her camp. She had brought him here in such a hurry that she had left things askew all over, she'd said.
He tried to think a bit about all she'd shared with him, but things felt foggy and his body was exhausted. He'd never heard of the Two Sided Mountain. She'd referred to him as High Fae, as though she were not one. She didn't smell like one, didn't have pointed ears or any other physical markers. She'd been living in his court for 53 years. How had he ever noticed her before? A woman so beautiful, almost ethereal in grace and grammar. But, he'd been… busy the last 53 years. So many things had slipped through the cracks while he had tried desperately to break the curse Amarantha had put on his court. He wished he could ask Lucien. Lucien knew all the goings on that Tamlin could not have possibly kept track of. Perhaps she had been an emissary of this Two Sided Mountain, a traveler, an herbalist on a journey and she'd hit her head somehow.
She returned quietly, wearing a new dress and her hands clean of his blood. She sat beside him as he tried to stay awake, trying to watch her. She was braiding her hair down across her shoulder, looking down as she did. A simple action, but watching her do it was fascinating to his sleepy mind. The way her hands weaved her hair together, strand over strand over strand. Her fingers were nimble, thin. She wore a series of rings with different stones and symbols along each of her fingers, set at different knuckles on each hand. He remembered that gentle caress of those nimble fingers through his own hair. She glanced his way, pausing her braid to reach out and touch his head. His eyes were getting incredibly heavy, the lavender scent seemed to be wafting him into a slumber he still tried to fight, if only just to watch her a moment longer. She returned to her braiding until it was done completely. She slipped a leather tie onto the end, tightening and sealing the braid.
"Goodnight, High Lord," she whispered, his eyes becoming too heavy to fight against.