Work Text:
The air in the Spring Court always carried the hum of life, vibrant and full of magic. It almost sounded like something was singing beneath the surface of everything. Birds chirped all around, crafting harmonies with melodies rising and falling. A gentle stream gurgled as the water splashed across stones, water glittering under the sun like starlight. The wind whispered through the trees overhead, like it was speaking its own language if you would only stop to listen.
And the sun sat above it all, the great maestro in the sky, conducting her symphony with a warm and watchful gaze.
Tamlin stood on the terrace of the manor, looking out across the splendour of eternal spring around him. He closed his eyes to listen, the ground warm beneath his bare feet. His violin rested in his hand, the instrument’s weight as familiar to him as the back of his hand. Without thought he ran his thumb across the wood. It was worn from many hours spent fiddling and composing and dreaming, getting lost in the music until nothing else existed but the bow in his hand and the strings beneath his fingers.
On some days he tentatively dared revisit his dreams of old, when he had been still young and not yet burdened with ruling. He thought about how he had secretly hoped to be a wandering minstrel making his way through the wide world with only the instrument in his hand and the melodies in his head.
But most days he shut those hopes away, not letting the bright sweetness of that other life linger. Because the fates had chosen differently. The mantle of the Spring Court had passed to him without considering his opinion on the matter. Spring had chosen and he had obeyed. Instead of a minstrel, he was the High Lord. Instead of only his violin he now carried the lives of all the inhabitants of the Spring Court, his subjects. He stood above them when he would rather mingle amongst them.
Like sunlight breaking through dark clouds, Lucien’s voice came from behind him. His brooding thoughts evaporated like fog chased away by the dawn. “Looking for inspiration out there? And here I thought I was your only muse.”
Tamlin did not turn around, but the corners of his mouth lifted, “Good morning, Lucien.” He could feel Lucien step beside him, the warmth of his body reaching him even when he wasn’t touching him yet. But he was hoping he would. “Morning, Tam.”
He felt Lucien lean into him, head resting against his shoulder, the motion familiar and instinctive. Although it was just the smallest of touches, it soothed something in him, settling into his bones.
Then, Lucien spoke again, tone light, “Are you going to play something for me or will I have to make do with Andras singing?”
Tamlin shrugged, “I could.” After a brief pause, “Are you launching an official complaint about Andras’ singing skills?”
“Skills,” Lucien grumbled, “Rather about the lack thereof.”
He lifted his head from Tamlin’s shoulder and turned to face him. There was that look on his face that Tamlin recognised. Curious, bright and with a little too much intent. He waited, already bracing.
Lucien released his arm and Tamlin felt the loss immediately, the warmth leaving with him. Instead, Lucien stepped in front of him, gesturing to himself, “If you won’t play for me, then teach me.”
Tamlin frowned, “No.”
Lucien’s mouth curved, “You could at least pretend to consider it.”
“I did. Briefly.” Tamlin cradled his violin closer, “It’s a bad idea.”
Lucien sighed dramatically, “You wound me.”
Tamlin did not respond, gaze instead drifting back to the gardens around them. He watched the birds hop across the ground, completely uninterested in the coercion going on here.
Lucien stepped right into his line of sight, drawing Tamlin’s focus back onto him. His emissary clasped his hands behind his back, leaning slightly towards Tamlin, that sly smile back in place, “Picture it. Me. Talented, dashing and playing the violin? I’d be a credit to your court.” He bowed, ever the flawless courtier.
“You’re already a credit to my court.” It shot out before Tamlin could stop it. Not that he would have wanted to stop it, but he liked to think he was a bit more in control of his words. Damn Lucien and his charm.
That stopped Lucien, just briefly. He paused, expression softening into something so tender, so open that Tamlin had to look away. Otherwise, he might keep talking, like a lovesick idiot.
Then Lucien’s grin returned, sharper this time, “Oh my. I can’t believe what I’m hearing. You, flattering me this early in the morning?” He winked at him, “Do keep talking.”
The wind whistled through the trees, shaking their branches more roughly. A deer raced across the lawn, startled. Tamlin cleared his throat. Again, he turned his gaze towards their surroundings, as if asking for help. He spoke quietly, without looking at Lucien, “I mean it.” It was all he could manage.
Lucien stepped closer, softer now. “Come on, then,” he murmured, just for Tamlin to hear, “Teach me. I promise to be on my best behaviour.”
Tamlin hesitated to share this dream of his that didn’t really belong to him anymore but to a different Tamlin. But if he trusted anyone with this, it would be Lucien, always Lucien.
“If you insist,” Tamlin relented at last, smiling despite himself.
Lucien straightened triumphantly. “Excellent. How should I stand?”
Tamlin exhaled slowly, already regretting this.
He carefully passed him his violin, feeling strangely vulnerable. The leaves stopped whispering, stopped falling while a rabbit lifted its head to watch them. The Spring Court was collectively holding its breath. Tamlin watched quietly as Lucien accepted it with exaggerated care, noting how his fingers closed securely around the violin. Part of his concerns settled.
The smell of fresh earth and wildflowers lingered on the breeze as he guided Lucien into position. Motioning for him to lift his arms just so, placing the instrument on his shoulder. “Here, hold it like this,” he instructed, movements instinctive and honed by centuries of practice.
Then Lucien immediately clamped his hand onto the strings with too much force.
Tamlin reached out before he could even think. “No, not like that,” he furrowed his brow in concentration, “Like this.” His fingers closed gently around Lucien’s wrist, correcting the angle.
Lucien stilled at the contact, expression softening. Very deliberately, he did not move away.
Tamlin didn’t notice. “Your grip is wrong,” he said, quieter now, “Relax your fingers.”
Lucien wiggled them as a demonstration, “They are relaxed.”
Tamlin shook his head and reached out again, shifting closer. He adjusted Lucien’s hand, directing him to place his thumb along the sun-warmed wood of the violin and curl his fingers just right. His touch was careful, precise. Too brief for Lucien’s taste.
Lucien kept his eyes on Tamlin, not the instrument. “Maybe if you showed me properly, I’d learn faster.”
Tamlin huffed out a laugh in fond exasperation, “Just play, Lucien.”
“Very well.” He straightened and lifted the bow with theatrical seriousness, then drew it across the strings.
The resulting sound could only be classified as music in its most technical definition. The bow screeched across the strings, producing a sound that made Tamlin wince. The rabbit that had been watching them scattered, a flock of birds took flight in an instant.
Lucien lowered his arms slowly and looked at Tamlin, grin still in place, “Well?”
Tamlin had nothing to say that wouldn’t hurt his feelings. “Surely you possess other talents,” he said flatly.
At the sight of his face, Lucien laughed and tapped Tamlin’s shoulder with the bow. “I think you should show me the correct posture again.”
“I already positioned you correctly. And it still sounded awful.”
Lucien leaned closer, hair falling over his shoulder. Smile lighting up his face, he whispered, “I’m more of a physical learner.”
Tamlin closed his eyes and felt the fresh breeze cool the warmth on his face. “Cauldron boil me,” he grumbled.
He stepped behind Lucien who visible brightened at his further victory. The insects buzzed in rhythm with Tamlin’s nerves. Reaching around him, he placed his own hands over Lucien’s. “Stand straight. Lift your arms,” he said quietly, his mouth right by Lucien’s ear.
Tamlin suspected that this had been Lucien’s plan all along. Then so be it, two could play this game.
The golden sunlight filtered through the canopy of the blooming trees around them, bathing them in light and warmth.
“Your stance should be wider,” Tamlin tapped the back of Lucien’s legs with his knee. “Open your legs,” he murmured, tone firm as he let his lips graze the side of Lucien’s face. With quiet satisfaction he noticed the shudder that went through Lucien as he obeyed, quiet for once. Tamlin smiled against Lucien’s skin.
Next, he moved his hand to Lucien’s long, beautiful hair flowing over his shoulder and brushed a strand behind his ear so it wouldn’t get tangled in the strings. Delighting in the feeling of Lucien beneath his hands, he let his fingers linger just a second longer. “Careful, Lucien,” he growled.
He let the moment stretch just to be cruel, then lowered his mouth to the now exposed skin at the side of his neck. A soft kiss beneath his ear. A slight scrape of teeth where neck met shoulder. Lucien melted against him and leaned into his touch, closing his eyes. “That’s unfair,” the words were no more than a breath, uneven and strained.
But Tamlin wasn’t done. He let his hand trail to the back of Lucien’s head, threading his fingers through the hair at his nape before gently pulling, guiding his head to the side and resting it on the smooth wood of the violin. “I’m only positioning your head correctly, as you asked me,” he said casually, “So I can teach you to play the violin, remember?”
He saw Lucien tighten his hands on the instrument, basically strangling the violin with his grip, noting how he pressed his lips together as he fought to keep his composure.
But Tamlin was not without mercy. Satisfied with tormenting Lucien, he brought his hand back to cover Lucien’s on the neck of the violin. He pressed down on his fingers, then lifted Lucien’s hand gripping the bow, coaxing his fingers to unclench. Lucien was quiet now, breathing uneven, as he let Tamlin maneuver him.
Holding Lucien in his arms, Tamlin drew the bow across the strings in one practiced fluid motion. This time, the notes rang out clear and bright. Tamlin brought the bow up, applied pressure to a different one of Lucien’s fingers, then let the bow glide down the strings one more time.
He felt Lucien’s breath on the side of his face where his head rested next to Tamlin’s, felt his heartbeat thunder in his chest.
Lucien cleared his throat, still partially collapsed against Tamlin, “Well, that was slightly better.”
Tamlin smiled and slowly untangled his hands from Lucien’s, reaching instead for the violin. Lucien offered no resistance.
He took a step back and the sunlight followed him. “Watch this, then,” he said. The warm wood of the instrument greeted him like an old friend, his fingers settling into place with familiar ease. His violin bore no claw marks, no scratches, it knew only gentle touches. Tamlin closed his eyes and exhaled, feeling instead of thinking. He felt the shift immediately. His posture changed, shoulders finally loosening and expression softening.
He didn’t open his eyes, he just played. One note, then another. The music built slowly, then picked up and became faster, livelier. The notes chased one another, melding together into a dance. The melody filled the air around them, threading itself around the marble of the terrace, between the trees, into the soil itself.
Everything stilled as Tamlin played. The birds quieted their own singing and listened instead, the winds fell silent, even the stream slowed. The fae at work in the manor put down their chores and turned their faces towards the music.
Lucien also stood mesmerised, feeling the melody like a caress on his skin. All teasing and deflection washed away as he watched Tamlin play. How his hands never faltered, their movements confident and precise. How he looked so young like this, face free of worry. Flower petals clung to his hair and shoulders in adornment. It was a melody he recognised from the Summer Solstice. Lucien remembered dancing all night, the light of the bonfire reflected in the laughing faces of the revellers as Tamlin had fiddled the night away.
If the sun was the conductor of the court’s symphony, then Tamlin was the rhythm at the heart of it all. The music lingered on the warm breeze even after Tamlin stopped playing. When he looked at Lucien this time, there was only gentleness in his gaze. And when he reached for him, Lucien was already there.