Tamlin week — Day 5: Shapeshifter
This oneshot is inspired by this bit in book one that I was particularly drawn to and always wished would’ve happened on page.
@tamlinweek
Divider by @olenvasynyt
“Is this really necessary?”
The human girl across from Tamlin arched an eyebrow. “Is what necessary? This is my chance to verify the Suriel’s words. After all, I only recently learned that your kind can, in fact, lie.”
Lucien entered the glade behind Feyre hefting a bucket full of a variety of combs. “Don’t bother arguing, Tam.”
He huffed a sort of growl and sat upright. “I've never been brushed. I don't see why today is the day to change that."
Feyre wrinkled her nose. “All the more reason. You might learn something about yourself. Here.” She offered up a sausage link that she must've snuck from the breakfast spread that morning. “Keep still.”
Behind her, Lucien snorted.
Ah. So she was trying to train him with treats too. Despite everything, despite the circumstances, he chewed his sausage, feeling lighter, even as the hilarity of the situation dawned on him further.
Feyre and Lucien stood side by side, identical smirks on their faces and bushes in hand.
“I'm thinking I'll take the front,” Feyre mused. “After all, I need to be able to see if he truly enjoys it or not.”
Lucien sighed. “So the back end falls to me? Truly my deserved punishment. As you wish, milady.”
With a mock salute to Feyre and a final grin aimed at Tamlin, he strolled around to his back end. “Up you get, Tam. I can't brush your furry hindquarters with you sitting down.”
“This is why I've never been brushed before,” he droned as he pulled himself to a standing position. “Any dignity I have is gone.”
“You didn't have much in front of us to begin with,” Feyre snipped as she took a small step back. “But no worries. We won't tell anyone, will we Lucien?”
Lucien’s silence, no doubt struggling to keep from laughing, told Tamlin everything he needed to know. “Everyone already knows, don't they.”
She bit her lip, shoulders shaking ever so slightly. “Perhaps,” she finally managed, the response mostly air as her eyes watered with restrained laughter.
He huffed his sausage beast breath in her direction, cutting off her laughter as she choked and turned away.
Waving arms in front of her to swat away the odor, she shot him a dirty look. “Bad boy. No more sausages for you.”
“Just get on with it,” Tamlin shook out his coat. “The sooner we finish, the sooner you can make up your mind about the Suriel’s words.”
“If you insist.” Feyre's grin was mischievous as she finally began running the brush down his legs, clumps of golden fur fluttering into the wind with every stroke.
Two hours passed and Tamlin was certain that he had never felt so relaxed in all of his life.
Several piles of golden beast fur lay about, taller than should've been possible, as if his coat had been regrowing itself as they brushed.
Lucien had long since backed away from his hindquarters, insisting that the beast form be washed before he delved into the more personal parts.
Feyre wiped her sweat with her sleeve and tossed her tools into the bucket. “Mission accomplished, I'd say.”
From his spot in the shade, Lucien brought his hands together in three slow claps. “Better groomed than I've ever seen him. Fluffier too.”
Feyre allowed herself a small smile, but glanced up at him, a tiny crease between her brows. “Your verdict?”
A sort of warmth that Tamlin was sure didn't come from the afternoon sun filled him from the inside out. “It was new,” he admitted, “but relaxing. I'll concede this point to you.”
She blinked. “The Suriel, you mean.”
A laugh rumbled in his chest. “Of course.”
Feyre's mouth twitched before a wide smile stretched across her face and a giggle bubbled up. Making his way across the Glen, Lucien snorted. “I told you he didn't buy it.”
“It doesn't matter. We still convinced him to do it.” She jogged over to the edge of the pond. “Come have a look, O mighty High Lord.”
Shaking out his coat, Tamlin ambled over, muttering various regrets under his breath. As he peered at himself in the rippling reflection, he paused. The fangs were the same, as were the claws. But the contentment in the green eyes that stared up at him was so foreign that he nearly leapt backward.
Did he look ridiculous? Yes. Never had his fur been this fluffy, sticking out from his frame with near military precision.
But Feyre's reflection next to him was beaming still. Lucien was standing idle, with a lazy sort of amusement that hearkened back to when he still had both eyes.
It was worth it.
