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Rhys woke in the early hours of twilight, unsure of what roused him in the absence of any noise or light. Vaguely, in the back of his sleepy mind he realised that was abnormal, there was no noise in the room save his own. Rolling over he reached out his arm for the comforting touch of skin – only to be met with quickly cooling sheets and no sign of the body which should be atop them. Sitting upright with a rush, his eyes deftly panned the room while his deamati magic spread its tendrils, looking for the familiar brush of his lover’s mind.
Nothing.
He let is spread to the entire house as he stood, quickly donning his breeches.
Nothing.
Tossing the first shirt he found over his head he started down the hall, following the tendrils of his power as it hunted. Further they stretched, into the cool air of the night, brushing dewy grass and slick cobbles, sweet air and delicate clouds.
Nothing.
Unlikely he would find anything in the sky, flying was usually reserved for the two of them together, but he was quickly allowing tendrils of panic to override his logic. Throwing open the front doors he took a single breath of the aromatic air, allowing the familiar sight and scent of the pre-dawn tranquillity to calm him for just a moment. Focus him. His powers unfurled at a faster pace, following his whims with ease until, finally, he felt it.
The familiar sense, not touch or sight, smell or sound. No, it was a sense of all that and more. Of a mind he knew, a soul he knew, a soul he loved, and a soul in a flurry of overwhelming emotion Rhysand knew all too well.
Taking one more breath to steady himself he winnowed directly there, allowing his power to guide him to its match. He stepped forward with the calm of the High Lord of Night, the Darkness Eternal, the Lord of Nightmares and Dreams alike, ready to provide the collected, calm, irreverent attitude and charm that his partner adored, easy smirk firmly in place.
But the sight before him had him pausing, feet frozen on the dewy grass as he watched the man before him as he, in turn, stared unmoving at the silvery pool of starlight. Tamlin was vision of flowing golden hair gilded with silvery reflection, bare torso of thickly corded muscle tense but unmoving, dark brown breeches low on his hips, feet bare, hands clenched at his sides, but no claws to be seen.
No, there were no claws, no fur, no tail - nothing but the antlers he had come to wear near permanently, at Rhys’ behest. More alarming was Tamlin's lack of movement of any kind. Tamlin was always in motion, fidgeting, pacing, clenching, something. There was something unsettling about his stillness, coupled with the fact there was no destruction evident on the earth around him, the trees nearby. Nothing at all like the prowling, angry beast Rhys had expected to see fighting his usual demons.
He knew Tamlin could feel his presence, he knew Rhys’ movements all throughout the Spring Court thanks to their training together, honing that immense raw power, putting it to use strengthening it’s High Lord’s needs rather than eating him from the inside out. But, still, Tamlin had never been able to control his beast form to full effect when emotionally charged, and despite his mental shields holding firm Rhys could sense his emotions without magic, knew they were roiling inside his lover like a tumult of fear, hurt and pain.
He took a step forward without thinking, realising too late as Tamlin’s eyes alighted on his face, that he had not schooled his features from the surprise and confusion he'd felt. Green eyes met violet as they both took the other in. Forgetting about his own expression, Rhys swept his eyes across Tamlin, quickly returning to the expression cast on that gorgeous face. It was a mix of terror, panic and, worst of all, agony.
“Tamlin, what-” before he could finish Tamlin whispered quietly -
“Help.”
Then he was gone.
He ran away. Tamlin never ran away from him, from anyone! The shock of it wore off quickly and Rhys sent his power out again in a web, not bothering with the sky or water, snaking it instead along the ground where he knew Tamlin would be.
When he sensed the male he winnowed immediately to him, unsure of what to expect. He stepped through to a visage that tore at his heart. Tamlin was now huddled in a clearing Rhys didn’t recognise, the long grasses and plant life flattened in a wide arc as though he were a star fallen from the sky. Another magical outburst, Rhys’ realised with a pang of sadness. Tamlin had been desperately trying to avoid these for years, had been successful even with his other concerns, and he knew he would be severely disappointed with himself for allowing it to happen again.
“Tamlin, what's wrong? Talk to me,” he said, his tone pleading and gentle, as he slowly walked closer to the huddled form.
“I… I can’t. It’s everywhere, Rhys, but I can’t,” he whispered, his voice ragged and hoarse as though he had been screaming.
“You can’t what, love?” Rhys walked closer and knelt down in front of Tamlin, though the male didn’t lift his head to look at him.
“Shift. It… I can’t… It won’t…”
“Shh,” he coaxed, “it’s okay Spring, let me in, please?”
With a shaky nod Tamlin clenched his fists tighter, Rhys feeling his mental shields relaxing. He stroked a gentle finger down the shield, coaxing him to create a gap for Rhys to slip in as Rhys mimicked the touch with his hand on Tamlin’s downturned cheek. Just as he sensed the barrier thin to a wisp he gently pushed through and–
He was on his back.
He was on his back and sore from head to toe, his body tingling all over as his mind reeled with a similar feeling. It was like the tingle of Tamlin’s magic when it intertwined with his, but painful. Hot prickles rather than delicate touches. Had he entered Tamlin’s mind? All he could remember was a blinding, painful, wild explosion. He sat up gingerly, lifting a hand to his temple where liquid seeped down his skin.
Blood. His own magic coiled in response, ready for a blow this time, yet none came. Rhys glanced around and found the clearing worse for wear, his body having created a track mark where he evidently slid across the ground, and the earth where Tamlin had been charred. Shit. He sent out his magic yet again, his mind reeling from what just happened. There you are, he thought, standing and brushing himself off before winnowing again.
He found himself back at the pool of starlight, but this time facing the sight he first imagined; Tamlin prowling in his beast form, golden fur gleaming in the last of the moonlight and the shine off the silvery water, the rack of antlers grown larger and sharper in this form.
No sooner had he stepped through his magic than the hulking form turned, eyes wild and devoid of Tamlin’s normal warmth, gentleness or love. He had no time to consider this before he was forced to winnow across the clearing to avoid the deathly sharp claws and teeth aiming directly for his throat. Startled, he watched as Tamlin swung his head around, digging claws deep into the earth and pushing powerful muscles in an agile move that had him careening for Rhys once again in a blink. Rhys instantly pushed a band of restraining magic towards Tamlin in an effort to stall his momentum, but found the male pushed right through, seemingly unaffected. Unlike Rhys, who felt his magic dissipate on contact with another sting of that prickling heat.
Without a moment left to think of another strategy, Rhys allowed his own beast form to escape, meeting Tamlin in a tangle of limbs, teeth, claws, fur and scale. They scrabbled for control, Tamlin’s teeth aiming for neck and tender inner thigh while his claws went for Rhys’ vulnerable wings. Rhys, on the other hand, was trying to subdue rather than hurt, keeping his wings tucked tightly for protection and trying his best to not allow his claws to puncture deep.
“Tamlin! Stop!” He roared, voice distorted through his narrow muzzle of teeth, scrabbling to throw the beast off him.
No response but deep, vicious snarls.
He used his mental voice, trying to project to Tamlin or at least brush up against his familiar shields, but in their place was that bright, hot, otherworldly magic surrounding Tamlin entirely. He couldn’t reach him at all, and felt no recognition from his mind. The realisation sent a bolt of panic through him, the momentary distraction all it took for Tamlin to land a blow.
His teeth closed around Rhys’ snout, biting into the thick scales and flesh there, their horns locking. Rhys grunted in pain but used the locked position to force his head further into Tamlin’s grip, before flicking them both sideways and twisting his body to get on top of his hulking mass. They splashed into the shallows of the pool as Tamlin let his locked jaw go, aiming another bite for Rhys’ neck and coiling his legs up to eviscerate his stomach if he had half a chance.
Rhys used his position to risk opening his wings, aware the delicate membranes were more vulnerable to those sharp teeth and claws but needing the quick escape. He forced a powerful stroke to propel himself backwards just as Tamlin’s teeth snapped where his neck had been. Before he had a moment to survey the situation, Tamlin was coiled again and springing, launching himself at Rhys’ hovering form above the water.
Then they were crashing down into the deeper section of the water, Tamlin’s claws digging into the delicate flesh at the base of Rhys’ wings and teeth sinking into his shoulder.
They were under the surface now, Tamlin’s back legs kicking at Rhys’ flank and thighs, the flesh parting and blood tinging the water around them a sickly pink shade. Rhys used his advantage in the water, stretching his wings through the burning of the claws at their base, and using them to propel the two of them through the water – aiming deeper still.
Tamlin let go then, his beast form ill-equipped for the deeper water, giving Rhys a much-needed reprieve. Rhys forced his heart to calm its frantic beating, though the lack of air was not helping his efforts. He couldn’t reach Tamlin with his daemati powers, and he wouldn’t risk truly hurting him so his deadly magic was also off the table. Though he was, for the first time in his life, afraid that magic would be no match for his foe regardless.
He was quickly running out of options and was struggling to think of more that wouldn’t be thwarted instantly. He could winnow away, but Tamlin was just as capable of following him instantly, a dangerous game to play. He could call out for backup, but more threats did not seem like a good option right now and he was just as worried as Tamlin was about keeping the extent of the issue under wraps with the other Courts – lest his home be destabilised again, the other High Lords call for his imprisonment, or worst of all, call for his death. He could try his powers again but considering the ease with which his physical manifestation had been obliterated, and the reaction his mental touch had already caused, he dared not attempt again. He could take the fight to the air, but Tamlin could shift himself wings and there was no real advantage to be had there.
Out of ideas and out of air, Rhys forced his damaged wings to propel him up and through the surface of the water, gliding up towards the dawning sky. It was only as he hovered in the air, eyes seeking and landing on the mass of fur and deadly weapons prowling in the shallows, that he ran over his last two options again and came to a startling realisation. He watched the beast, and that’s what it was, the beast, pace and watch him, snarling in warning. Tamlin did not manifest wings to meet him in the air, and at not point had he used his own magic, despite his physical attacks aiming for deadly blows.
No, if that were truly Tamlin, and Tamlin truly wanted him dead, he would have been using his magic. Rhys pondered for the briefest of moments that, had he done so, Rhys would be dead already. But Tamlin could not dissipate Rhys’ magic, Tamlin could not force his mental power out so hard to daze a daemati. The strongest daemati in history, no less.
He watched the beast still, as it started to twitch and curl on itself, before suddenly shifting back into a golden haired fae. Rhys dove for the ground without second thought, shifting as he did to land in his fae form and falling to his knees in front of Tamlin again.
“Tamlin! Tamlin what was that? How can I help you, tell me what to do,” he was desperate, clasping Tamlin’s face in his hands and forcing those emerald eyes to meet his.
His eyes were wild, crazed, but unmistakably Tamlin’s. “I can’t hold it back, Rhys, I can’t.”
“Shh,” he soothed as he stroked his thumbs across blood stained cheeks. His blood.
“Rhys, it’s fighting for control, you don’t understand. It hurts,” he sobbed, “it’s threatened by you, you have to leave.” His eyes were pleading now. “It will kill you, Rhys!”
Considering this for a moment, Rhys came up with a, likely exceedingly stupid, idea.
