A Court of Pixies and Music
A post for the last day of @tamlinweek!
Tamlin walked through the western gardens of his manor, running his hands along the lush rose bushes that lined his path. He plucked a particularly vibrant pink bloom, twirling it in his fingers as he made his way towards its intended owner. As expected, he found her laying in the strawberry fields, blonde hair surrounding her head in a crown of curls. She sat up as he approached— her brown eyes locking onto his green ones.
“Tamlin,” she breathed happily, as he plopped down beside her, tucking the flower behind her ear. “The plants miss your music, as do I.” She smiled up at him. “Play for us tonight?”
“It’d be my pleasure,” he replied. She caressed his face in appreciation. But as he reached to touch her, his hands passed right through, her skin turning dark and translucent, until black mist was all that remained of her.
“No!” He croaked, voice breaking as he grasped onto her essence, only for it to slip from his fingers into the ether.
“Janet!” He bellowed, opening his eyes to the mural of Spring painted across his ceiling by some ancestor long ago. It was hard to destroy a ceiling, and so it remained, unlike the various landscape paintings that used to adorn his walls, now laying in tatters on the floor. He pulled himself out of bed, the mattress creaking beneath his weight, as the broken bed frame struggled to support them both.
Tamlin sighed. He’d been dreaming about Janet more often these days. He’d had many lovers, but she’d been the last before the curse, before everything fell apart. Janet filled the last truly happy memories he had.
She also filled his first memories of true horror under the mountain. Tamlin flexed his hands, remembering the feel of her slipping away as Amarantha turned her into mist. She’d been experimenting with the various powers she’d stolen from Prythian’s High Lords, starting with his shapeshifting abilities.
Tamlin’s nostrils flared as he recalled the masquerade ball. He’d tried to be careful— to ignore Janet and keep Amarantha’s attention elsewhere— but he couldn’t help but watch her dance, couldn’t help but smile as she jumped into a turn, surprising her partner. That had been the beginning of the end. Two songs later, Janet was writhing on the floor, screaming as her bones cracked. Tamlin had run to her in horror, holding her tightly as she turned into a snake, slithering in his arms. He didn’t let her go as she changed again into a lion, then a fish, then a lump of burning coal. His skin sizzled beneath her, but still he did not let go. Unsatisfied, Amarantha switched strategies, pulling from Rhysand’s magic as she turned Janet to mist, removing her from the world, but never from Tamlin’s heart. For fifty years he’d mourned her, and for fifty years he’d tried to fulfil her dying wish.
“Save them,” she’d breathed, gripping his arms with all of her strength. “Please, Tamlin. You must.” She’d looked past him then, to a young boy wailing at the edge of the crowd. It had taken two adult fae to hold him back as he reached for her, screaming. Janet’s younger brother. Tamlin wondered what had happened to the child, as he strode out of his decrepit manor and past the hedges, now both bare and overgrown.
Tamlin attempted to shake the thoughts away as he transformed into a beast of pure muscle and fur. He had monsters to hunt.
Tamlin returned as the sun began to set over the hills behind his manor, winnowing to the edge of his wards before stopping in his tracks. Gone was the decay that previously lined the front path. Fallen petals and overgrown branches had been replaced with lush green bushes, cut into the most whimsical of shapes. Tamlin blinked in surprise as he surveyed the green butterflies and rabbits that now marked the border to the Spring estate. But it was the two bushes flanking the entrance that held Tamlin’s attention. Facing each other stood two depictions of Tamlin’s beast form, one lupine head faced him, a warning perhaps for intruders, and the other looked into the grounds.
What in the cauldron was happening?
He made his way into the garden slowly, taking in the rush of scents that greeted him. He inhaled flowers in bloom, leaves uncurling, fresh cut grass and honey. His shoulders loosened as a familiar feeling bloomed within him. Home. Spring was starting to feel like home again. But Tamlin’s chest remained tight, not willing to trust that something good could be happening.
It did not take him long to notice the small figures darting through the air in the distance. They seemed to notice him as well— a small pixie flitting into the path before him. She was no larger than his hand, and wore a blue flower over her head like a sun hat.
“Oh, High Lord! Hello!” She chirped, bowing before flying back into the now budding flowerbeds.
“The High Lord is here,” she called as the pixies in the distance began buzzing into a chaotic frenzy.
“High Lord!” Another pixie chittered. “Welcome home!”
Tamlin nodded at the tiny fae before he flew ahead to announce their arrival. The gardens were filled with high pitched greetings. A particularly excited pixie asked if Tamlin liked the hedges before putting his tiny hand on Tamlin’s shoulder and screaming in excitement as the high lord tilted his head in acknowledgment.
Gathering the courage, Tamlin asked a particularly friendly one. “Why are you all here?” The flower pixies had never left Spring, but they’d also avoided Tamlin and the manor since the beginning of Amarantha’s curse.
“We’re helping!” The pixie replied triumphantly.
Tamlin raised an eyebrow, more perplexed than before. “Why today?”
The pixie smiled, twisting her blue dress between her tiny fingers. “The lady baked us tiny cakes.”
“So yummy!” Another pixie added as she spun around Tamlin’s head before flying off.
“What lady?” Tamlin asked. He’d only known one female to befriend the Spring pixies, and she was long gone.
“I—,” the pixie paused. “She did not give her name.” She floated towards Tamlin then, touching the golden flowers embroidered on his tunic. “But, she looks like Spring.”
“Where is she?” He asked, curious to meet the Spring female brave enough to return.
Tamlin followed an ever growing procession of pixies towards the western gardens, heart pounding in anticipation. He’d barely had visitors since he’d evacuated his people for the war, and those who came brought nothing but complaints and requests, until realizing Tamlin was but a shell of the High Lord they had known, and they too left him. But this female was different. She’d brought an entourage of lesser fae and catering to bribe them. Who would bother?
A lover of trees? She was hugging the thick trunk of one as Tamlin rounded a corner into the apple orchard.
“Lady! Lady!” A pixie ahead of him called. Tamlin stopped breathing entirely as she pulled away from the tree, and turned to look at them. Her smile was different, sadder than it once was, but her eyes, her eyes were the same.
She took a step towards him as Tamlin stopped a few paces away. “Is it— really you?” He asked, hesitant to believe the vision in front of him was anything more than a mirage, a trick of the light— or of the Gods.
“Yes, Tamlin.” A shiver ran down his spine at the sound of his name on her lips. “The only ghost here is our past.”
He blinked. She was still here, stood before him like an angel resurrected as flesh and blood. He’d dreamed of this— of her, in so many different ways. Janet.
“How?” He forced the word out, unable to find more.
“Amarantha prefers to play with her victims,” she replied with a shrug. “Killing me would have been too easy.”
“And since then?” He croaked out, mind reeling at the thought that she’d been alive all this time. Amarantha had died almost two years ago now.
She pressed her lips together, biting the bottom one before replying. “You were engaged.” She paused, “and then there was a war.” She took a step towards him. “I heard many stories about you, Tamlin, of how hard things have been, and figured you needed me.” She gestured at the orchard, fruit rotting beneath mostly bare branches. “Clearly, I was right.”
“This isn’t your responsibility,” Tamlin grumbled as he squeezed his hands into fists hard enough to draw blood. He’d failed his people over and over again, and he alone carried the weight of fixing his mistakes.
She tilted her head quizzically. “Is Spring not mine as much as it is yours?” She paused, considering him. “These lands were never meant to be maintained by one fairy alone. Even the High Lord.”
Janet smiled, extending her hand towards him. “Let me prove myself to you twice over.” A pair of rounded leaves sprouted in her palm, growing to four, then eight— then, a flower bloomed, pink and lovely. The petals fell through her fingers as the center of the flower grew bulbous before turning red. She picked a perfectly ripe strawberry and extended it towards him.
“Eat it, and you’ll know this is no dream.” She smiled. “You will know that I am who I claim to be, and you will remember that the magic of Spring renewal was woven into my soul by the mother herself.” She waved her hand, sending the plant into the earth beside his feet. It rooted itself, leaves spreading outwards as more flowers bloomed into sweet fruits.
He regarded her carefully. She looked real— smelled real. But how many times had he thought that, only to wake moments later. He reached for the berry, breath catching in his throat as his finger brushed hers, a jolt of electricity passing between them. Now that had never happened in any of his dreams.
Janet watched Tamlin carefully as he took a bite, a smile curling onto her lips as a drop of red juice fell onto his chin. He closed his eyes as he chewed. His heart almost ached at the freshness, the vibrancy, the life that met his tongue. The taste of a Spring strawberry was unmatched.
“Janet,” he murmured, stepping forward as he reached to cup her cheek. His hand froze inches from her freckled skin. Blood. He was still covered in the blood of today’s enemies. Tamlin’s hand fell as a memory of Janet covered in blood flashed through his mind. She’d been unharmed, but he’d come so close to losing her on that wretched day.
Before the curse, Amarantha had sent naga hounds to terrorize Spring. He’d ripped one in half before it could tear into Janet, showering her in its blood before he’d slaughtered the rest. She’d looked at him with such fear after the bloodshed had ended— flinched away from his touch, and scrambled back into the nook of a tree trunk to escape him. Things had never been the same between them after that.
“I— I’m sorry,” Tamlin said gruffly. He waved a hand to freshen himself up, the dirt and blood disappearing in a flash.
“I am not as weak as you remember, Tamlin.” She chuckled. “In fact, under the mountain, my favorite dreams were when you’d rip apart our enemies.”
His brows knitted together as he wondered what all she had suffered to stand before him today.
Janet met his eyes. “It looks like you had a long day. Are you hungry?”
They ate dinner in Janet’s favorite gazebo, overlooking the herb gardens that she’d somehow found time to revitalize. She’d made a rabbit pie and turnip greens, and Tamlin savored every bite. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d had a real meal, so he ate slowly, as if this could be his last. She filled the silence with stories of Summer, where her family had moved before the war.
“Tarquin tells me the Spring families have settled in well,” Tamlin said quietly. It was no surprise his people had stayed away, content to enjoy the comforts of a court that had not been so ravaged by war.
“It helps that we work for him,” Janet replied. “Many from Spring have volunteered for the Adriata re-building efforts. Others have joined the Summer guard, or moved into the farmlands.” She took a sip of the strawberry wine Tamlin had managed to find for her. “I worked in a seed nursery in the Riverlands for a few months, but each day I raised a seedling I’d wish it was the Spring lands whose soil marked my hands. I’m sure many others feel the same.” She met his eyes. “You never asked us to return after the war. I believe many wait for their high lord’s call, but I— I’ve never been one for patience.”
“No, ” Tamlin said with a smile. “Patience has never been your strength.”
Janet chuckled, but before she could reply, they were interrupted by a frantic pixie.
“Fire! Fire!” The tiny fae screeched, gasping for breath as he reached their table.
Tamlin rose quickly to his feet, surveying the grounds for any signs of smoke. “Where?” He asked with a growl, claws ripping out of his hands.
The pixie collapsed in a huff as a second one joined them. “Fire Prince,” she clarified, patting her companion on the back with a tiny hand.
“You’re popular today.” Janet replied, as red hair crested the hill below them.
Tamlin exhaled, claws retracting as he made out the face of the male walking towards them.
“Lucien!” Janet called his name in excitement before glancing at Tamlin and shrinking back into her seat. She’d forgotten the autumn price had found his mate and betrayed them.
Amusement danced in Lucien’s eye as he reached the gazebo. “Tamlin.” He dipped his head in greeting. “Janet,” he said with a second nod, taking her in. “You survived.”
“It seems we all did,” she replied, raising her chin to appear taller.
“I should have known when I saw Tamlin’s little helpers.”
Janet did not smile back. “Rhysand lets you come and go as you please Lulu? How lucky.”
Lucien’s eyes went wide for a second, clearly thrown off by the nickname and insult packaged as one. “I have always done as I please. Today is no different.”
Tamlin growled. “Why are you here, Lucien?”
“I came to see you.” Lucien paused, glancing at Janet. “The same as every other week.”
The two males stared at each other, silence falling over the table.
After a moment too long, Janet cleared her throat. “Wine?”
Tamlin glanced at her in surprise.
“What?” She asked, topping off Tamlin’s glass before pouring Lucien a cup. “If you’re going to stare longingly at one another, we might as well be good hosts about it.” She pushed the glass towards Lucien and gestured for him to sit.
“It’s impressive what you’ve done since my last visit.” Lucien said, gesturing to the grounds behind him as he joined the table. “I’ve forgotten how skilled pixies are at landscaping.”
“Cute and quick, much like me.” Janet replied.
Lucien’s chuckle made way for more silence.
“I hear you are mated,” Janet said, in effort to make conversation.
Tamlin looked up from his plate, interest peaked.
Lucien coughed in discomfort. “No, in fact, she hates the very air I breathe.”
Janet’s eyes widened. “Oh— well, immortality is long. You will have time to win her heart.”
“Or she will break the bond tomorrow and leave me devastated and alone,” he replied. “It wouldn’t be much different than I am now though.”
After a bit more back and forth with Lucien, Tamlin was still silent and glowering, and Janet had had enough. “Tamlin,” she said softly. “Your dinner parties used to require poetry. Three lines, no overthinking. Will you play with me tonight? I miss your wit.”
“Ah, emotional warfare disguised as art,” Lucien said dryly. “Should be fun.”
Tamlin huffed, as if that was a sufficient response. Thankfully, Janet understood.
“I can go first?” She offered, looking at Tamlin. He nodded, and so she began. “Prythian is pregnant with mating bonds.” Lucien chuckled. “One took a fox to hell.” He stilled. “But what is fire to three centuries of brotherhood?” She looked between them, waiting to see who would take the bait.
Tamlin swallowed his reply. He’d trusted Lucien with his life, with his lands, with Feyre— and the male had endangered all three. Tamlin knew better than most how a male would burn the world for a female he loved, but understanding Lucien’s motives did not make him any less dangerous.
“I’ll go next.” Lucien offered. “Two brothers play double agent. No one trusts either. At least there is wine.” He finished his glass, poured another, then topped off the other two.
Janet turned to Tamlin then, expectant. He sighed and began. “Poison apples and stories laced with lies. The doe remembers Spring, but forgets the fox is a predator.”
“Aren’t we all?” Lucien asked, baring his teeth.
“We used to be better at this,” Janet mused, swishing her wine in circles. “One more round?” She asked. “But this time, no brooding.”
“As you wish,” Tamlin replied, as the corners of his mouth curved into a smile. He could admit that he had missed this. Words with friends.
Janet cleared her throat. “Barefoot dancing to Tamlin’s fiddle in the meadow. Lucien lit a bonfire. Twenty foot rabbits fucking in the field aflame.”
Lucien choked on his wine, and Tamlin finally smiled. Almost two hundred years ago, they’d escaped a Spring ball and gone to the hills beyond the manor for a more intimate gathering, and Lucien had lit one of Tamlin’s more creatively shaped bonfires. Even before he’d become High Lord, Tamlin had created a safe space for them all to be.
Lucien sighed, smiled, and began, “Brothers singing on a boat. Janet bribed us with raspberry custard. Tamlin tried to drown me for the last slice.”
They looked at each other, the ice in Tamlin’s eyes starting to melt. “You jumped first,” he murmured.
“I had someone to impress,” Lucien replied, flashing a sad smile.
Tamlin nodded, exhaling slowly before taking his turn. “Spring promises and rented boats. Brothers who swore blood oaths. Some promises drown.”
Tamlin clenched his fist, looking up at Janet, then Lucien. The last time they’d sat like this had been far less awkward. Instead of tension, they’d grown full off of laughs, poetry, and music. A heavy sadness settled into Tamlin’s chest. He’d taken those moments for granted, taken their loyalty and their love for granted. How he wished he held the power to turn back time.
Janet sighed, sipping her wine as she looked out over the hills. When she put down her glass, Tamlin refilled it, then turned to Lucien and poured him a glass as well. Janet’s eyelids fluttered in surprise— a High Lord serving anyone was a gift, a sign you are welcome and honored as a guest.
Lucien seemed to feel the weight of the moment as well, squeezing the arm rest of his chair before raising his glass in the air for a toast. “To Spring,” he said, as Janet raised her glass to join him. “Still standing.” Tamlin sat stiffly in his chair but turned to look at Lucien. “And to its High Lord who finally remembered how to host a good dinner party.”
Tamlin huffed and raised his glass as well. “And to Janet, for bringing civilization back to these lands.”
Janet blushed, chuckling along with Lucien as their glasses all clinked together. After a long drink, Tamlin set his glass down, the others following shortly after. Lucien leaned back in his chair with an expression that hovered somewhere between exhaustion and relief, as Janet turned the stem of her glass slowly between her fingers.
For a moment, none of them spoke. Then a small voice drifted from the dark. “Music?” A pixie no larger than Tamlin’s palm hovered at the edge of the table, her blue dress fluttering in the wind— hopeful eyes fixed on him. Another appeared beside her. Then another.
Janet smiled into her glass. “The plants miss your music,” she said softly.
The words struck him like a hand against an old bruise. Tamlin looked at her. In his dreams, she had said the same thing. In his dreams, he had promised her he would play— only for her to vanish before he could.
In every dream, she’d left him in silence. But Janet was here. The wine was real. The pixies were real. Spring, impossibly, was beginning to feel real again. Tamlin waved a hand, pulling his neglected fiddle from the in-between space.
The pixies erupted into delighted squeals.
Lucien huffed a laugh. “Cauldron save us.”
Tamlin stood, stepping to the edge of the gazebo where the garden opened before him. He waited there a moment, bow hanging loose at his side, looking out over the orchard, the herbs, the hedges shaped into beasts and butterflies— over the lands he had let go, the lands that had, somehow, not let go of him.
Then he lifted the fiddle to his shoulder. The first note came out rough, rusty, and yet, Janet leaned in closer. He tried again, this time, smoother, his fingers finding a familiar rhythm with ease.
Tamlin closed his eyes as the notes began to spill out around him. It was not the bright, careless music of long-ago meadow parties. No. This melody carried his grief, and beneath it all, his hope.
The pixies began to dance first, tiny bodies spinning above beds of rosemary and mint, filling the night air with the shimmer of wings and light laughter.
Janet rose slowly from her chair and moved to the edge of the gazebo, watching Tamlin as he played. She listened, smiling, as the land responded to their High Lord. Leaves unfurled, branches trembled, and ripe fruits fell as the breeze carried Tamlin’s song through the orchard.
Tamlin opened his eyes as Janet moved past him into the grass below. She began to sway in unison with his chords, her bare feet compressing the grass beneath her. Her movements were more controlled than they once had been, slower, as if she wasn’t sure she was allowed to dance.
From the corner of his eye, Tamlin watched Lucien stand and join Janet on the grass. He bowed low. “My lady,” he said, extending a hand. “Would you do me the honor?”
Tamlin’s lips curled into a smile as Janet laughed and took Lucien’s hand. He couldn’t remember the last time real laughter rang through his lands. He quickened the pace of his bow, moving to lighter notes now, light like her feet. Lucien spun her, blonde curls flying around her like a halo.
Tamlin felt a pang in his chest. This was real. This is real, and maybe it could be the beginning of something wonderful. He continued to play— his bow following his heart.
Where are the Spring fae after the curse was lifted? Tamlin had many lovers, and many friends, and yet we never meet any of them. Enter Janet, a female inspired by the original Tam Lin ballad.
Here’s a one chapter condensed version of a Tamlin fan fiction I’ve been thinking about since the Call Her Daddy interview when I realized Tamlin might never get the redemption arch he deserves. Figured it’d be a fun post for @tamlinweek !
