A/N: GOOD MORNING, AFTERNOON, OR NIGHT, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN! On this fine day, I present to you yet another fanfiction! I hate Tamlin's character more than anything, as you all should know, and so of course I had to write about his future children, and their lives. But I didn't want it to be mundane and boring, so you should know there is a very, very sinister thing at work here. Enjoy!
Full summary: Tamlin's beloved daughter, Briar Rose, has seen a lot of things, but never in her lifetime did she suspect she'd see her father vanish and the title of High Lady in acting passed to her at the age of 17. Briar must break the curse befallen on her family and work with the insufferable children of the other six courts - including the infamous son of the High Lord and Lady of the Night Court - if she ever hopes to save her father - and Prythian - from a witch with a vendetta.
Briar, running through the rows of her father's garden, felt a tug on her dress and stumbled. "Ugh!"
"You can run, but you can't hide!" her father called after her, laughter lacing his voice.
"Oh no," she muttered, pulling on her dress to get it free. "Time-out! My dress got stuck!"
"Ah, that's no fair," he replied, his voice close, yet distant enough that she wasn't worried about him catching up to her. "I could shape-shift and catch you even faster, you know."
"Talk about not fair," she retorted, pulling it free. "Okay, time-in, but I want a head start!"
"Three seconds."
"Seven."
"Five."
"Deal!" She began to sprint through the rows once more. "Catch me if you can!"
His laughter sounded from still not far behind her, he'd perhaps still prowled closer even when Briar had called time-out. Out of breath, she wasn't paying attention when she tripped over a rock and tumbled. "Agh!"
"Briar Rose?"
"I'm okay," she said, wincing. She wasn't quite sure if she really believed the words herself. "It's this dress, probably. I think it's cursed."
Her father appeared before her and knelt down, his green eyes lit up with worry. The High Lord of the Spring Court was many things, but he was above all a doting father. "Are you hurt?"
"I don't think so. Not badly." She lifted her dress to reveal a slightly bloody knee that was already beginning to heal. "It's okay, Father, I'm Fae, remember?" she said jokingly. "I heal easily."
Tamlin's face set into a frown. "Half-Fae," he corrected. "You can still get hurt, you are not invincible."
Briar scowled. "Half-Fae, and not yet mortal. I'm okay," she insisted. "They say Feyre Cursebreaker was mortal when she went Under the Mountain to save her lover." At her father's outstretched hand, she batted it away and stood on her own. "And I'm fifty percent stronger than that, probably."
Her father rubbed his temples. "That's not how that works," he muttered, then cleared his throat. "Feyre Cursebreaker is an exception, and don't forget that she died Under the Mountain for that lover."
"I wonder what happened to him," Briar mused, skipping off with Tamlin following close behind. "I would hate to be him. She died for him just to find her mate."
Tamlin winced, unbeknownst to his daughter. "Yes, Briar Rose, I am well aware of the story."
"And then she was Made High-Fae! Remarkable, really, I'd die too for that sort of power."
"You would not," Tamlin said, gripping her by the arm. "Don't you even say something like that."
Briar turned and stuck her tongue out at him. "You'd like it, too, wouldn't you? The power of all seven High Lords."
"Enough, Briar Rose."
She shrugged. "Suit yourself. What's the Night Court like, anyway?" She freed her arm when his grip slackened and continued on, stopping on occasion to pick wild roses.
"I'm not your tutor."
Briar rolled her eyes. "I won't see her again until tomorrow, and apparently she likes to keep me severely sheltered." She spun on her heel to face him, suspicion lacing her gaze. "I wonder whose fault that is. Likely the person who hired her."
He ignored the not-so-subtle accusation and pushed past. "The tithe falls on your thirteenth birthday. The people are expected to bring gifts."
"I'm not going this year." She began to braid the flowers into a crown, attempting to make it wide enough to fit her father's head.
"You have said that every year since you were six. You are going to come, you are going to smile, and you are going to accept their gifts as their beloved princess."
Briar stepped in front of him, her hands on her hips, the flower crown forgotten behind him. "And what happens when they are too poor to bear gifts for their beloved princess?"
Tamlin sighed. "You have always been much too outspoken. I'd hoped you would calm as you grew older, but it seems to only be getting worse."
"They don't much like me, anyways," Briar said, folding her arms. "I know what they whisper. I'm the heir to a broken throne. I wonder why? What makes them say that, Father?"
"You are not the heir," he gently said. "You will never have to be the heir. I'll have a son soon enough. Come, Briar Rose, let's go home."
She stomped after him, claws beginning to poke out. It infuriated her for her father to ignore her, refuse to accept what everyone else already knew - half-Fae or High Fae, brother or no, Briar Rose would be the first High Lady of the Spring Court, a title most faeries - her father included - still refused to acknowledge, even after fifteen years of Feyre Cursebreaker sitting on the throne of the Night Court.
At the insistence of his own court, Tamlin had traveled to the mortal world to bask in what life was like two years after the war against Hybern. There, he'd met a mortal woman - Charmaine Rellows, and it was said the mating bond snapped into place almost immediately. Not long after, they married and had a beautiful baby girl, Briar Rose. They were, indeed, very happy for a few years.
Until Briar turned six.
Briar spotted a mud puddle from where it had rained just the day before, turning a wicked gaze on her father.
"Briar Rose," he warned, "don't you-"
Running past him, she realized he could have reached out to grab her just in time, could have easily stopped her, but he didn't even as she jumped straight into the puddle, slipped on the mud, and fell down. Mud coated every inch of her, and she chuckled nervously. She'd done more damaged than she intended.
Tamlin at first looked as if he wanted scold her, but thought better of it, and instead shook his head in amusement. "You'll have to show Lorelai how to have that much fun."
She grinned, partially in relief. "My Lady would have to leave the nursery first."
When Briar's mother died, her father had - as he would call it - "no choice" but to remarry and have a son. The end result was the daughter of a revered member of the Day Court, Lorelai Gibson. She had human ancestors, and thus was deemed suitable to replace Charmaine as Briar's new mother. Briar found it to be utterly ridiculous.
"Speaking of, she's due any day now. Are you excited to meet your brother?" Tamlin inquired, taking his white gloves off to lift Briar from the mud. "I was thinking… I'd like you to name him."
Briar Rose blinked up at him. "But… he's not my brother."
Tamlin frowned. "Of course he is. You're both my children, aren't you?"
"He's not my brother," she repeated. "My brother died with my mother."
"Briar, please," he pleaded before she could run off. "Please, just… just this once. Lorelai is trying, she really is. I know you miss Charmaine, I miss her more than you can imagine. But she's gone. If I could bring her back, I would have done it a long, long time ago."
Briar lowered her gaze. She could feel the truth in his words - and the lie. "If she was your mate," she spoke quietly, "why did you not love her?"
Tamlin said nothing as she turned and went into the manor to wash up.
Lorelai gave birth a week later, but there was something wrong with the baby - it was aggravating and cruel to her body. She didn't make it through the night.
There were whispers that it was the High Lord's power, but Briar had been in the room with her. Seen what had happened. Known it had nothing to do with High Lord bullshit. It was a curse, through and through.
Lorelai's funeral was a week after that. The week after that week was the tithe, also known as Briar's birthday and the first time the public would be allowed to see the newborn baby. Tamlin, in his grief, kept true to his word, and let Briar name the child.
"Hello, Jaxon," she cooed when her father had kept his head low and largely ignored the both of them the morning of the tithe. "Father thinks horrible misfortune has befallen him, but I think it's a curse. I think there's something very, very wrong. What do you think, little one?"
Jaxon merely looked at her and began to cry. Briar sighed.
He looked just like her, and she looked just like Tamlin. The golden hair and green eyes were the dominant genes at least in their family, it seemed to her. She called for Jaxon's wet nurse, and when she did not come, Briar took it upon herself to haul the baby into her arms and go looking for her.
The nursery had been decorated, but not painted. It had not been painted in many, many years, despite Lorelai's insisting that somebody needed to fix it up. When Briar's mother was still alive, she had understood, had respected her husband's wishes, for the old paint to be left alone, for whatever odd reason Tamlin had. It was a deep green, like the color of his eyes, like the color of Jaxon's and Briar's eyes. She'd always wondered what kept him from going over it, but had never deigned to ask.
"Hello?" she called, stepping into the hall. "Lady Krisha?" The wet nurse still did not answer. Briar huffed and began to walk in the direction of the throne room, her skirts whishing against her legs. It was times like these she wished her father would let her wear pants, but alas, it was the most important day of the year for her, and so she was stuffed into what was likely to be the most ridiculous dress she'd ever worn. It wasn't that she hated dresses - she just really, really hated this one.
The sleeves were puffy. That was the first offense.
The corset was entirely too tight. The second. ("I'm thirteen!" she'd said, to which her servant said, "And it's the tithe. Suck it up, girl.")
It was much too long. And too white. It was like a godsforsaken wedding dress that her father could not bring himself to throw away. It was perhaps his mother's, or her own mother's. Either way, it was ridiculous and entirely inappropriate for the occasion, in her opinion at least.
She reached the throne room and the guards there took in the scowl on her face, the crying baby, and opened the doors. One said, "Our condolences for your loss, My Lady."
"Not my loss, I can assure you," she said under her breath. If their Fae hearing picked it up, they showed no sign of it. "Father!"
Tamlin, sitting on his throne, lifted his sullen gaze from the floor and his face turned into one of horror as he took in Briar's attire. "Who in the hell dressed you in that?"
"One of the servants, why does it matter? Jaxon is crying, he needs his wet nurse."
"Go get changed," Tamlin said, fingers digging into the arms of the throne. "Now."
"I will," Briar promised, "but he needs to be fed."
"Go."
"Father-"
"Go, Briar Rose, that is the last time I will ask." The horror had quickly shifted into anger.
Briar took a step back, then another, until she had completely exited the throne room. Jaxon continued to wail and she spun on her heel, and attempted to keep her chin held high as she made her way to the kitchens. "It's okay, it's okay," she told him. "I'm sure Lady Krisha keeps bottles for you."
She pushed the door to the kitchen open with her unoccupied shoulder and faced the chef, a lesser faerie with sparkling eyes. "Lady Krisha, the- the wet nurse. Does she keep bottles in here in case of emergencies?"
The chef frowned at her. "Who dressed you this morning?"
"I don't know, and I don't care! Where are the damn bottles?" Briar shoved past the chef and surveyed the room.
The chef shook her head and muttered something about playing a cruel joke on Tamlin, opening several cabinets and coolers. "I'm sorry, Lady," she said at last. "There are no bottles in here that I can see."
The doors swung open and in came another member of the Spring Court. She was tall and beautiful, and was also Tamlin's emissary and Charmaine's old best friend. "Briar Rose!" Ophelia said, swooping Jaxon into her arms. "You are just all over the place, aren't you? I will take care of your darling brother, you need to get changed before your father sees you."
"Oh, that is it!" Briar snapped. "I have had enough. What is going on? What's wrong with the dress, other than the fact that it's the most hideous thing I've ever laid my eyes on? Where is Lady Krisha? Why is my father losing his mind over all of this? It's the sleeves, isn't it? And why do we even do the tithe? I don't think anyone else has a tithe! This is… it's ridiculous!"
Briar's outburst had completely stilled the room. Even Jaxon's wails had ceased.
"The dress," Ophelia said gently, "is just a bad reminder of a love gone wrong. Please, Briar, you need to get changed. And send the servant who dressed you my way the next time you see her."
Briar's brows furrowed, but she finally relented, stepping outside of the room. "He- he doesn't like to be bounced. The baby, I mean. My…" But she couldn't bring herself to say the word brother.
Ophelia only smiled and nodded.
It was safe to say Briar's birthday had not gone as expected thus far. If Charmaine were there, she would have laughed at the big dress and told Tamlin to let Briar wear something better-fitting, at the least. If Charmaine were there, Tamlin's claws would have never seen the light of day. If Charmaine were there, Briar's brother - her real brother - would have been nearly seven years old.
Briar had two hours until the tithe began, and she sobbed for an hour of it. Ophelia, thankfully, had not sent any servants her way to help her change. She pulled the stuffy, now-sticky from sweat dress off of her, letting it slowly fall to the floor, and breathed a sigh of relief as the corset was loosened and thrown out of her window. The gardener below yelped.
The breathy, billowing green dress she put on was the same color as her red-rimmed eyes. She splashed water on her face in the bathing room and when she looked back into the mirror, she found that she almost looked like herself.
There were twenty minutes until the tithe began, and people had begun gathering outside of the manor.
The throne room was cold and quiet as the small pumps of her shoes echoed throughout. Tamlin's eyes did not meet her own. This wasn't the same kind of sunken sadness and emptiness that had been there when Charmaine had died. This was cold, brutal calculation. As if there were something more at play than anyone would let on. Next to her own throne was Jaxon's cradle, where he lay sleeping. She sat down and gave him a small smile.
"I'm sorry," Tamlin said, "for snapping at you. That was not your own fault."
"Thank you," Briar said quietly. And the tithe began.
Briar was hugged and kissed, gifted and blessed, but it was next to nothing compared to Jaxon.
Oh, how the faeries of the Spring Court loved their next High Lord. For that's what he would surely be, they said. Children were so very rare amongst the Fae, and the only reason Briar had been conceived so quickly was because her mother was human. A beautiful strong boy next in line for the throne.
But she could see their uneasy smiles, the way they looked from Briar to Jaxon. There was no shift of power from the sister to the brother. The scent still lingered on her, and from Tamlin's worried glances, she knew he could see it too.
But forgotten gods forbid that there be a High Lady, Feyre Cursebreaker or no.
It went on like that, the smiles and doting and gifts, until there was just one person left. She swaggered into the room, a haughty smile lighting up her face. She was dressed in the deepest black, and her dark hair flowed freely behind her. The guards immediately all drew their swords. "It's been a long time, Tamlin."
Her father went rigid. "Melanie."
She dipped her head. "A good day to you." Her gaze went to Briar, and then to Jaxon. Briar instinctually reached for him. "And what a lovely little family you have here. Hello, Briar Rose. It's been quite a while since I've gotten a good look at you. Thirteen years, to be exact."
Briar's breaths became shallow. This was the same servant who had dressed her that morning.
"You are not welcome here," Tamlin hissed. "You've taken enough from me."
Briar's head whipped to him, then back to Melanie. The innocent name sounded sinister in her head.
"Oh, I'm not here to take anything, Tamlin." She stalked closer, as if they were her prey. "I told you thirteen years ago - all I bring are gifts. Gifts, and reminders."
"Father," Briar whispered. Tamlin placed a cold hand on her arm.
Melanie kept walking until she stood right in front of Briar. She tilted her chin up to look at her. "Your wife - your beloved mate - or your firstborn. And who did you choose?" Her smile grew wider, more wicked. "Calm down," she snapped at him when he exposed his claws. "I don't want either Briar Rose, nor her… Well, I'd call him her brother, but that's not what she thinks he is." She took Briar's hand in hers, and Briar's reflexes kicked in. She kicked her in the stomach and snarled.
"Briar!" Tamlin yelped.
"Feisty," Melaine said, recoiling. "But not where my weak spot is." She turned back to Tamlin. "Eighteen years," she cooed. "Such little time for Fae. Your time is almost up, Tamlin."
And just like that, she was gone.
Jaxon began to cry again.
There were no tithes the year after that, or the year after that year.
The windows were sealed.
The manor closed off to the public.
Guards and sentries doubled. Tripled.
The day Briar Rose turned seventeen, she found her father in his study writing a frantic letter to the other six High Lords, demanding an emergency meeting taking place at the manor.
And then he vanished, and it was up to her to make sure the letters were delivered.