Chapter Text
My exquisite Navita,
You must know that “Maureen” is a figment. There has never been a lover for me who has neared comparison to my sugarlips. You are one of one, and I would never impart one scintilla of our love story to these buffoons for a laugh.
Enclosed are a few detailed depictions of some of my favorite moments with my sugarlips. Please do not open that in front of your mother! Or my mother, for that matter!! I can't wait to come home and make more memories.
Love,
Andy
Addition: I know it wasn’t Bally who told you. I promise that I will put Tamlin to his eternal rest as peacefully as I can manage. Take heart.
Nyx was still searching his oatmeal for apples, using his face instead of his hands (or, Mother forbid, a spoon) when his parents began preparing for the final events of this excursion. The majority of their trunks left after lunch the day before, and now they traded out their last additions to the dirty laundry pile for clothing fit for a final spring morning.
Neither felt they could claim true success after four days at Spring House, but inroads had been made. The Inner Circle was gaining friends at each activity, Elain and Varian being the standouts in that regard. Even Amren had managed to leave some people with a positive impression. But one didn’t need to be a daemati to read the other guests’ minds: Night Court was still no one’s favorite. It seemed like it would be a long while before that might change.
Nyx was cleaned, dressed, and ready in time to join his family as all his loved ones met and descended the staircase. They reached the great hall and were swiftly guided to the area of the garden with vibrant dark blue and rich purple flowers. Some hues were so deep, the blossoms were near black.
Upon arrival, the Inner Circle was arranged on and around the lounge chair to be seen clearly and in their best light. Once the artist was satisfied with their arrangement, he began to sketch a portrait of Night Court’s leadership. Once the team’s image was satisfactorily drafted, the artist moved on to different group members in the subsets they desired. The sisters, then the brothers, then parents and child posed together. They continued mixing and matching until they could think of no other necessary combinations, then joined the retinues of Dawn and Summer for some final souvenir shopping, while the other courts moved into place for their portraits.
Tamlin’s retinue was among the first groups to have their portraits sketched. He hoped the artist didn’t choose to erase their smiles and eye rolls from the final product. Once they’d finished posing, they had more than an hour to fill while the retinues swapped activities. Spring’s team didn’t need to trounce through the shops. Before they could find ways to occupy themselves until lunch, the High Lord took a moment to address them.
“I wanted to take this moment to thank you, again, for the incredible work you've all done to help realize this idea of mine. This has been no easy task, but you've made it look simple. This accomplishment is truly yours as much as it is mine.
“While I can't imagine you'll want even more Spring House trinkets, you are welcome to select whatever you'd like from the shops. But, beyond that, I would like to offer you something a bit more official.
“I had these made for each of you in recognition of your service to the crown. The people who held your positions long ago have the heirlooms and didn't see fit to return them to be passed down. In any event, I felt it was time for something new. I hope you like them.”
Each member of Tamlin’s retinue opened their gift to find their chains of office. The originals, which left Spring with Guntur's “team,” were large, clunky things that displayed the court’s wealth and power. These were, instead, designed with some subtlety in mind.
Each was ornate, and told a story about the wearer's role in the court. But none were so heavy-handed as to appear garish. These were symbols of service rather than his team's ability to move heavy weights using their necks and shoulders.
“We should have worn them for our portraits,” Forrest lamented.
“No,” Tamlin scoffed. “We can get serious portraits done any time. Today, my hope was to capture joy. That's how I want to memorialize this team.”
*
When seven groups sat down for a final lunch together, they were less distinct than they'd been five days prior. Though most couldn't say they had forged true friendships, they weren't exactly strangers anymore.
“Good afternoon, everyone,” Tamlin called for their attention. “I would like to begin by saying what a pleasure it has been to host you all. You've been delightful guests and we've so enjoyed your company.
“With this last meal together, I hope we can solidify our camaraderie before we see each other off.”
Cheers rang out amongst the diners. Lady Orla, seated at Tamlin's right hand for this meal, touched his hand gently. He smiled at the contact, at a small sign that she was still in there.
Plates came from the kitchens to be set before the diners. A most unusual sandwich caught their attention.
“I hope you'll indulge me,” Tamlin said, enjoying the way his guests surveyed the food. “Today is my mother's birthday, and I normally celebrate it quietly with a slice of her favorite cake. But, with you all here, I thought we might make a meal of her favorites.
“This is a sandwich that was very popular in her homeland. It's just ground meat topped with cheese and salad, but I always loved it. I hope you'll enjoy it as well.”
Tamlin picked up his food and took a big bite. He would have to compliment the chef on his interpretation of Tamlin's instructions. This was a well-executed attempt at a food he'd never heard of.
As others around the table followed suit, the sounds of awe and delight - and the lack of chatter - made it clear they were enjoying themselves.
Lady Orla tapped at Tamlin’s forearm before whispering, “I would have loved those potato sticks to go alongside it.”
“We can't give away the whole game now, can we?” Tamlin whispered back, spearing a roasted vegetable on his plate with his fork.
“This is incredible,” Varian finally stated for the record, after a sip of wine. “Where was your mother from?” He asked before taking another bite.
“Nowhere close,” Tamlin answered with finality.
While the lunch plates were cleared, making room for dessert, conversation resumed.
“We shouldn’t let this be the only time we convene without business to address,” Tarquin said, dabbing at his mouth with his napkin. “This time next year, I would like to host everyone in Adriata. That way Tamlin can actually stop working behind the scenes and enjoy himself, too!”
The idea alone was enough to set the table alight with conversation about what everyone might get up to in Summer Court.
When the dessert was laid in front of everyone, they stared at Tamlin waiting for any insight like he had for the sandwich. After a touch too long, Tamlin spoke.
“Every year on her birthday, my mother would take over the kitchens from the staff to make her own cake. She loved to bake, but was rarely afforded the opportunity.
“I don't remember the first time I joined her, but we spent centuries baking her cake together. In her memory, I have spent centuries making her cake alone. Today, I hope you'll enjoy a slice of Lady Eleanora’s favorite cake.”
“To Lady Eleanora,” Cresseida toasted, her wine glass aloft.
The table joined her in her toast.
In all honesty, this was not quite what the Lady would have done herself. It was a deconstructed version of her layered berry cake. A slice of cake with a whipped cream topping and fresh berries, while still lovely, didn't exactly mimic her recipe. Still, people enjoyed the flavors and textures on their plates, savoring the combination of ingredients.
Lady Orla clearly would have liked a taste of the original, but let it lie.
“Clearly, your mother developed your sweet tooth,” Cresseida commented. Those who knew Tamlin well enough smiled at that assertion.
“Yes, of course! So much so that I intend to name the café after her.”
“Lady Eleanora’s Café,” Cress tried it on.
“I think she'd hate to have it be so formal, but Ellie’s Bake Shop and Nora's Sweets don't sound good to me, either. I've been annoying my team with indecision over it.”
Lady Orla again reached to Tamlin for his attention.
“Sweet Nora's,” she declared.
It knocked the breath from him. Sweet Nora's sounded like his mother baking in the kitchen. It sounded like making a stop on every trip to find dessert. It sounded like the kind of female who would be memorialized with a café.
“That's about as perfect a name as I've ever heard. The painters will be so relieved,” Tamlin smiled through the tears that raced to escape him. “Thank you, Lady Orla.”
She smiled meekly, then returned to her plate.
“We noticed some construction going on this morning,” Kallias said. “Are you adding to the obstacle course?”
Groans and chuckles rang out around the room.
“No,” Tamlin smiled, wiping at the last of his tears. “We are hosting an event here in two days’ time, and folks have been anxious to get started. I hope it wasn't too much of a disturbance.”
“It was none whatsoever,” Viviane assured him.
“What’s the event taking place?” Thesan asked.
“We are hosting the inaugural Andras Day celebration,” Tamlin explained. “We are using his birthday to honor those we lost in the cursed years.”
“I wish I'd known,” Helion spoke when the silence became too uncomfortable. “I would have made arrangements to attend.”
“Oh, please don't feel any obligation to be here for it! Andras would have been embarrassed to have all of Spring Court celebrate him, much less all of Prythian.”
“Well, could we celebrate him now?” Viviane asked. “Might you say a few words while we're all here?”
Being put on the spot to speak extemporaneously was a nightmare scenario. But, if the task was speaking about Andras, Tamlin could make light work of it. He thought for a bit about how he would impress upon them the scope of his sacrifice, then stood to address his guests and team.
“In the 49 years of Amarantha's curse," Tamlin began, "I sent 16,743 fae over the wall to meet the Mother." He looked down at the table after saying it, wanting anything but to continue. Still, he looked up and went on.
"First came the brave ones. They weren't as eager as they would be if it were a proper war but, despite that, they were willing to serve Prythian's need. Andras, my oldest friend, asked to be first. But after a century, the Mother had blessed him and his mate with a son who was only ten at the time," Tamlin smiled at Milian. Milian couldn't smile back. "And they were expecting a second babe who arrived not two months later, so I said 'no.' I allowed another eager beaver, my dear friend Xiomara, to go first instead. She, and then the other courageous Springiards, would each go over the wall. Any who survived their initial deployment would go back as soon as I allowed it. They were all dead within a month of their departure.
"About 15 years into the curse, there was a clear shift from brave volunteers to clever ones. Instead of overconfident promises, they made strategic requests. 'Make me a spider, boss. She'll squish me under her boot and we'll be done with this.' 'Make me a kitten, boss. I'll cuddle with her for a month and then I'll foam at the mouth. She'll put me out to pasture and you'll have your chance.'" Tamlin smiled faintly, if derisively, at the memories. "Most of the clever ones didn't survive two weeks." He looked around the table then. Everyone's eyes were fixed on him, everyone's ears listening intently.
"For a time after that, there were some fae who seemed to have looked up one day and realized everyone they knew was gone. So they chose to go, too. Then it became the children of previous volunteers, their mates, their spouses, their parents. Entire lineages were lost to Amarantha's curse. Sometimes that last relative would choose to cross the wall because their grief was going to take them anyway, and they thought it might as well be in service to the cause.
"As it turns out, I have an upper limit for senseless death, and that number is 16,742. I know this because I reached a point at which I simply could not oblige another soul. Even with a stone heart, I couldn't look another person in the eye and thank them for dying. I couldn't collect another one of them from the mortal lands to be buried at home. In those last three years, I couldn't bring myself to sentence another soul to death. But in year 49, Andras told me to send him." Tears had already begun to spill from Tamlin's eyes, and he rushed to wipe them, but they kept coming. He tried, and mostly succeeded, to keep his voice steady as he went on.
"He and Navita had raised their beautiful babes into three fantastic adults," again, Tamlin smiled at his nephew, "and he knew his family would survive his passing. I wasn't sure I would survive it, but I honored his wish. There was no fuss. He made no grandiose claims, he made no requests. He said what every other volunteer had said for 40 years and then, he just...went. He must have been conversing with the Mother directly because he went over the wall at the exact right time to happen upon the kind of woman the curse required. His sacrifice brought Feyre to Prythian," Tamlin tipped his head to her in a gentle salute. Feyre's eyes were brimming with unshed tears and she bit her lip. Rhysand's arm around her tightened, and The Morrigan squeezed her hand proudly.
"I'm ashamed to say there was a time, long ago, when I thought less of those who went last into battle. When most of the blood has already been shed, when the side is nearly won or lost, their stamina appears a taunt. What I failed to consider was how very daunting it is to follow in the steps of so many others already felled. To know what lies ahead of you and continue toward it anyway requires a special kind of valor. To be the 16,743rd sacrifice requires such extraordinary valor.
"Andras wasn't much for birthdays. Just his mother's famous citrus cake and time with his family made him happy. I'd like to think it would please him that we're using his birthday to honor all those valiant souls who left this world to save our piece of it. We will spend Andras Day honoring the families that cannot be restored, the pain and grief we're carrying, and what we'll make of Spring now.
"Perhaps a decade into the curse, volunteers began reciting a simple phrase to me before crossing the wall. It's one I won't soon enjoy hearing for the memories it brings, but it is something I'd like to offer you now. Please join me in a toast to my brother Andras: For Spring. For Prythian."
Those in Tamlin's company stood. Some were enthusiastic, others subdued. But all held their drinks aloft and repeated the phrase. Cresseida, whose own eyes were puffy, signaled for Tamlin to turn around. When he did, he saw how many staff had stopped their work to listen to him. He lifted his goblet to them as well and invited them to share in the moment, however quietly. He wasn't sure whether his invitation had been accepted, but he hoped it had been appreciated at least. His attention returned to his guests when he heard someone speak.
"I will make arrangements to be here for Andras Day," Tarquin said first. Cresseida smiled broadly.
"We will be here as well," Kallias spoke for himself and Viviane.
Most followed suit. Even Night Court vowed to attend. Though not exactly a personal victory, it was a win for his diplomatic efforts at least.
"Don't count on my attendance," Eris offered blandly. Tamlin knew that truly was the best thing Eris could say in his circumstance.
"Well, I thank you all whether or not you are able to attend," Tamlin sat down and took a deep breath, letting the nerves leave him on their own time.
Conversations were resumed slowly as drinks were refreshed.
*
Lunch concluded and guests went to their rooms to finish packing and prepare to return to their homes. The Springiards were able to stay behind and wait to see off their guests. Milian took the opening he was offered.
Milian stood and left the table. He was back in seconds with a large rectangle wrapped in orange linen. Tamlin knew what it must be, but he didn't want to acknowledge it. Milian waited to see the green of Tamlin's eyes before he spoke. "Uncle Tam, I was waiting to give this to you, but I'd rather do it now."
"I prefer the original, but thank you."
"You haven't even seen it yet!" Milian was a grown male, and yet he sounded absolutely petulant when he said it.
Sighing deeply, Tamlin rose from his seat and took the loose knot of the linen in hand. After a moment, he untied it to reveal a vibrantly colored, thoroughly shaded, and vividly drawn picture of his first team.
Cosset was perched on the arm of the couch with an adoring smile on her face. Xiomara sat beside her on the nearest cushion wearing an expression Tamlin knew very well. She was trying to remain stoic, but desperately wanted to smile at the small portrait artist. Sparrow and Otto sat on the floor in front of the girls, the smiles in their eyes weren't matched by their lips. Sparrow was biting his cheeks to keep from smiling. Otto's lips were pressed together like they'd been glued into position.
Rabbit - Maelstrom to those who didn't know him - stood behind Xi, resting an elbow on the seat back and his cheek on his knuckles. It was the most relaxed he'd ever looked in Tamlin’s recollection. Lily, for her part, stood tall beside Rabbit, exuding cool confidence. Dandelion sat in front of her, next to Xi. Dandy's hair was tucked behind both ears and her hand was stayed for the illustrator's work, but she clearly had a thought she was itching to scribble into her journal. Sat beside Dandy, Talise was looking squarely at Milian as though he were an adult at the time; there was no scintilla of coddling despite the love she possessed for him. Tamlin could feel her peacefulness bursting from the frame. Alvis sat before Tally, eyes closed and head tipped halfway to the ceiling in laughter. Behind Alvis and Tally, standing behind the fully occupied chair, were Andras, Lucien, and Tamlin.
Their cheeks were flushed, eyes bright with the joy evident in their smiles. Andras' hands held his chest and stomach, as though he were trying to keep from falling apart with his laughter. Lucien's unmarred face was bright as a sunbeam, russet eyes dancing with light, as though he were a cat who had found the only unshaded resting spot. Lucy's hair was mussed, as one of them had probably tousled it in jest. Tamlin stood on the end with the kind of smile on his face that made one's cheeks hurt. His green eyes were beaming and his hair, tied into a bun atop his head, had flopped out of place in all his movement. Surveying it now, Tamlin hadn't seen himself look so young in a portrait since his adolescence. He wasn't sure what he would trade to the Mother to remember what had been so funny.
Tamlin tried to hold them in, but the tears rushed to escape their ducts. His lips trembled as he tried to speak. "I will retire the original to my private offices," was all he could manage.
"I'm glad we could finally come to an agreement," Milian joked calmly, though tears were welling in his own eyes.
Tamlin grabbed Milian's shoulders and brought him into a tight hug. Mil managed to gently bring the frame to the floor and return the affection. A moment later, they released each other, wiping tears and sitting back down.
*
THE SPRING OBSERVER
The High Lords and Lady’s visit to Spring House concluded early this afternoon. Sources inside the resort have shared a moment from the end of the visit. Their goal in sharing this recounting is to ensure all Springiards are able to learn what they bore witness to.
The following is a transcript of a speech His Earthliness gave in honor of Andras Pearwood as explanation for the coming holiday. If you were on the fence about attending Andras Day, the following will likely change that.