The Adventures Of Kip And Koda - Tumblr Posts
@prythiansfavoritefox
You’d look better with darker hair, Tam
Is this Lucien? Very funny. Thanks for the warning. I’ll be certain to start double checking all of my shampoo bottles from now on — if you touch the blonde; your precious ginger locks are next. How’s green sound?
Perfect. Misery loves company.
“But just because you’re strong and resilient doesn’t mean you never need someone to be there for you, to take care of you.”
— Tammara Webber
Tamlin: This is Lucien, he's... well not my assistant, some other word.
Lucien: I'm his carer.
Tamlin: Yeah, my carer. He cares so I don't have to.
🚪
Patrolling the border was safer than it used to be. This was the only reason that Tamlin felt comfortable occasionally staying behind and burying himself in library research — still trying to find a magical solution to the blight. On those instances, he always left Lucien in charge. His second in command had proven himself a capable leader more than once.
He kept a cool head, and used his wits both in battle and out. The advantages were tenfold. The disadvantages were minimal, but…obvious. Of all his men, Lucien had the most difficult time forming a relationship with his horse. It was ironic. He was silver tongued with people, but his steed knew snakes weren’t to be trusted. Tamlin had the opposite problem. He had a much easier time talking to animals than people. He understood animals.
Taming Lucien’s horse had not been simple, but after nearly a year of waking up before dawn and working together — Tamlin had structured a treaty between the two of them. Even if it was tenuous.
His morning was spent in books written in the language of the old fae. Translating it was no easy task. By mid afternoon he had a headache. That headache transformed into a cat nap.
Only the loud commotion in the hallway woke him. Clamor, clash, and clang — Tamlin jolted awake from his feline slumber. He accidentally morphed back into his own body, and began falling down a very high shelf — which was no proper resting place for a fae of six foot two.
More crashing.
Tamlin frowned, grumbling to himself about cats and their tendency for misadventure.
The commotion in the other room had not ceased. He rubbed his head, exiting the library, and walking towards the source of the noise. Indeed, his company had returned; but unexpectedly they were all circled around two chairs in the middle, which held Lucien with his leg propped up.
Alis was tending to it.
“By the cauldron!” Tamlin rubbed his eyes, hoping that he was dreaming. “What happened to you?”
Lucien scowled and pointed out the open door to the dappled gray, grinning horse. “Why not you ask her? It’s her fault!”
“Really —“ Tamlin started. Blame the horse? Was Lucien serious?
“It’s broken.” Alis confirmed.
Tamlin’s mouth fell open. Fae rarely broke bones.
“Shut your mouth or you’ll catch flies.” Lucien grumbled.
“You’re serious?” Tamlin tilted his head, looking from Lucien to the horse. “Explain.”
“Bucked me off the saddle.” Lucien said plainly.
“Stupid horse.” Tamlin mumbled, glaring out the door at the beast.
He’d have a serious conversation with him later. Equine to equine. No one hurt his best friend and got away with it.
tamlin: *has a sad thought*
lucien: *immediately waking from a deep slumber* something is wrong.
“you okay?” from Lucien
Tamlin finally turned his head the third time that Lucien spoke. He had a gift for zoning out and tonight was no different. He stood on the balcony, watching the sun drift into the darkening sky, and faced the general direction of Night Court. It had been six days, twelve hours, fifty-nine minutes, and twelve seconds. By morning, Feyre was supposed to be home. If she was not, there was little his people could do to stop him from winnowing to Rhysand’s gate and demanding her return.
“Huh?” His glazed, green eyes drifted towards the faithful Autumn Fae who’d long kept him company. “Sorry —”
Was he okay? Tamlin’s memory prompted him to answer, but he quickly found that he did not know what to say. Was he okay? No. It had been a long time since things were okay for Tamlin. Yet, Lucien knew that. His question held more beneath the surface.
How was he, really? How was his heart? Did he still wish it were solid stone?
“I’m…fine.” Tamlin whispered, avoiding eye contact, and swallowed his shame. “This is my fault, Lucien. Perhaps if I had not told her how I felt, she never would have come after me.”
He knit his fingers together and hoisted himself up to sit on the stone railing of the third floor balcony. That short a fall wouldn’t injure him, but the allure of danger was just enough that it helped quiet the ache in his chest. “Are you…okay?”
broken ties & bloody bonds
the origin story of Tamlin and Lucian | a Kip and Koda adventure for @inabcck
The wind rushed through Tamlin’s hair as his horse galloped through the NorthWest woods. The sound of clopping hooves and Andras’ wild laughter echoed through the trees. Tamlin rolled his eyes and bent further down, urging his steed into further speed, and ducking underneath a low branch ahead of him. He wasn’t about to let his sentry win a race that easily. His pride could take the loss, but he still had a reputation to uphold. Despite everything he’d done to change the Spring Court, some things required stitching and not sledgehammers.
Andras raced ahead. Tamlin circled the woods until he ended up in a wide-open glade. Tall Maples rose into the sky above him and fresh dirt silenced the gallop into a slow canter. It was quiet — too quiet. He gently tugged Elodin’s mane, reining him in, and training his ear on the horizon.
A loud crash tumbled through the underbrush, followed by a brutal scream. Tamlin’s shoulders straightened and his eyes darkened as he watched the path that led towards Autumn. His borders were always under threat and the one with Autumn was more contentious than the one with Summer which was famously neutral to conflict. Amid the forest, bursts of vivid red and orange pierced through the greenery, taking the form of deep red tunics and fiery ginger locks.
Tamlim withdrew an arrow from his quiver and notched it in his bow, training his eye on the horizon. Familiar faces emerged from the dark leaves. The sons of Autumn, Beron’s children, raced through the trees. Their rapid footsteps and aggressive shouts did nothing to suggest a friendly visit. Yet, they had not spotted him among the trees. His gifts allowed him to blend within them as seamlessly as the breeze.
They are chasing each other, Tamlin realized. His heart thumped quickly in his chest as adrenaline prepared him to intervene. He searched for familiar faces amidst the triad of brawling brothers. Eris, Autumn’s heir, and Lucien, its black sheep, were the only two that he knew.
The hair rose on the back of his neck as he saw Lucien’s slender form leaping through the trees, as nimble as a fox. The two others crashed behind him like hulking hippos.
They were catching up. The border was six miles past them, now. It was likely they'd been running since dawn.
When Lucien rushed past Tamlin, the High Lord urged his muscular horse onto the path between him and his brothers.
“Halt!” He commanded, letting his voice deepen into the one gifted by the cauldron. As strong as Beron’s sons were, they could not disobey his orders after venturing onto his lands. Tamlin dismounted and sent his mount back towards the ailing Lucien.
He held his arrow strong and pointed it directly at the brother in front, whose snarl was so feral that it reminded him of a wolf possessed by Rabies. “Take one more step and I will put an arrow in your spine.”
His glimmering ash arrow was one of few that he carried. Using it violated Prythian law. It was a death sentence to any fae. Even now, it burned through his gloves, blistering his fingers.
“You wouldn't dare.” The first spat. “Stepping between brothers and their business is bad luck, Lord of Spring. I would have thought you'd learned that lesson.”
Tomlin flinched. His brothers were a tragedy that he would like to forget. His relationship with them was not much better than what Lucien faced now.
“That’s High Lord to you.” He hissed. “Do not test me.”
Lucien’s brother could not hold back. His father’s rage propelled him. He raised his sword and swung it towards Tamlin’s chest.
As quickly as he moved, Tamlin released the arrow.
It pierced the thin leather armor on his shoulders and punctured the left side of his chest. The brawny fae fell forwards. His face flushed before it fell to a pale, ash white. His body stiffened and he fell to the forest floor.
Just as he fell, Tamlin strung the second of his arrows, pointing it at the second brother.
“Get out. Take your corpse with you.” He growled. “Tell your father that if his family tries to solve their disputes in my land again — I will not be so gracious the next time.”
Silent and serious, the other Autumn faerie strung his brother over his shoulders and left as quickly as he’d come.
Lucien.
Tamlin whirled around, finding the younger fae curled in a ball on the moss behind him. It was red and soaked with blood. The skin on his back was a mess of blood and dirt, marred by the imprints of a seven-tailed whip.
Whatever he’d done — this punishment was pure cruelty. It made Tamlin’s blood boil.
He winced and carefully hoisted the unconscious fae onto the waiting horse, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder as they walked back toward the manor. “You’re safe now. I won’t let them near you again.”
“I’d much rather have one great person to talk to every night than have several pointless conversations with temporary people.”
— Unknown
Lucien’s simple actions and suggestions were as they always had been—calming. Tamlin laid his head on Lucien’s shoulder and closed his eyes. The darkness was soothing. His eyes were dry, tired. He didn’t know how long it had been since he’d last slept properly. A few days? A week? Nights were miserable. He couldn’t find solace in the room they shared, so he often spent the dark hours pacing the castle halls until he passed out and dawn crept over him. Lucien’s presence was familiar and comforting. Comfort was something which he didn’t readily get from Feyre. Their bond ran deep, but so did their fears. It often left them floating as two separate islands in one bed. This was different. Tamlin felt some of his fear begin melting away as his best friend held him up.
“People are talking anyway.” Tamlin whispered bitterly. There were whispers of his ability to lead ever since the failed wedding. Leaders did not fall to their knees in front of their subjects — not of a broken heart. He wished Feyre had stabbed him in the gut. At least then, people wouldn’t be looking at him the way the did. “I can’t go out on the street without someone staring at me like they’ve seen a ghost.”
The High Lord gripped the edge of the stone railing so firmly that his arms began to shake. He looked up, meeting Lucien’s golden eyes, and faltered under their compassion. Moonlight glowed on his pale face and wavered along his watery lashes. Tamlin didn’t cry—not for anyone; anyone except Lucien Vanserra. “What’s the point, Lu? I feel like one. Even when she’s here, she doesn’t see me. No one does…no one but you.”
Tamlin wasn’t fine. He hasn’t been fine for years. He wasn’t certain that he ever had been and didn’t believe that he could be again. Going under the mountain had been hell itself. The only thing that made it survivable for the weeks before Feyre appeared was praying for his own death. He’d waited and wondered — completely silenced, under Amarantha’s bonds.
Then, there had been Feyre. Something in him broke when he saw her being manhandled by the Attor.
“I SET YOU FREE!” He wanted to scream. “All I wanted was for you to live.”
He remembered banging his head against the hard throne carved from the rocks to which he’d been chained. No, no, no.
The room went fuzzy. Blood poured down his temples until Amarantha’s hand rose from her lap and forced him to be still.
She could control his body, but she could not control his tears. Those were all his own.
Tamlin focused on the distant lights of the village, losing track of where he was until his chest began to ache again.
What had the physician called it? Stress cardiomyopathy. Broken heart syndrome.
When Feyre backed down the aisle, he remembered a dull ache start in his diaphragm. It exploded as she ran away. He would have followed her, but all he could do was fall to his knees…in front of his people. His entire court saw his heart break in two.
He did not remember much after that — only the distant call of Lucien’s voice, pretty lights, and more pain than he remembered in a hundred years.
“Be honest,” Tamlin’s throat was raw as he briefly met Lucien’s eyes. They glowed in the dark like golden stars. “Neither of us are fine. No one is — not after what happened; but we joke and we laugh because otherwise we would start screaming.”
He fiddled with the edge of his tunic, running his claw down the center of his opposite hand. He did not wound himself, but the idea…it was soothing.
He knew Lucien would take the blow before letting him be hurt. Where did he go?
“Anywhere, everywhere.” Tamlin pulled his knee up to his chest and rested his chin there. “My memory has gone dim and my heart aches, but my soul remembers. As much as I may try to make all of this to poetry, some days it turns out that the blood was never beautiful. It’s just very red.”
Red like the roses he’d planted with his mother.
Red like the petals which Feyre so feared.
Red like the line on his palm as he lost focus and his claw broke the skin.
“Anywhere away from here.” He said, leaning forwards, and lying on Lucien’s waiting shoulder with a low groan. “I can’t take one more sunrise without her, Lu. It’s killing me.”
