Me: I'm just gonna read for fun.
Also me, after reading @thornsinwinter 's fic: suddenly I’m SJM, writing Tamlain convos that live rent-free in my mind.
Canon? No. Should it be? Yes.
The fiction that inspired me link
@elainweekofficial
Spring Court. Late Aftenoon
The garden is too quiet. The birds are singing, the roses are blooming, the sun is shining... and Elain knews Tamlin is about to do something weird.
She’s trimming a vine when she hears him behind her.
Tamlin: “You know, if someone buried a body under the daisy patch, no one would ever suspect.”
Elain: (not turning around) “I’m begging you to start a conversation like a normal person for once.”
Tamlin: “This is a normal conversation. In my head.”
Elain: “Have you considered therapy?”
Tamlin: “Briefly. Then I considered just raising a few ghosts and talking to them instead.”
She sighs and finally turns to face him. He’s leaning against a tree, arms crossed, expression unreadable—except for the faintest twitch of a smirk that makes her deeply suspicious.
Elain: “I swear, you are getting weirder day by day since I moved in.”
Tamlin: “That’s bold coming from the girl who sings lullabies to her bread dough.”
Elain: “That dough has feelings, Tamlin.”
Tamlin: “And I have intrusive thoughts.”
Tamlin: “Like whether I could fake my own death and haunt my enemies just to scare the hell out of them and make them think of me all the time.”
She drops the vine she was holding.
Elain: “That’s not funny.”
Tamlin: “I wasn’t joking.”
Elain: (quietly) “Are you okay?”
Tamlin: (blinks, caught off guard) “I’m fine.”
Elain: “‘Fine’ like High Lord fine or ‘fine’ like ‘I talk to the crows and they answer’ fine?”
Tamlin: “They don’t answer me. They just listen very politely.”
Elain: “Okay. That’s it. I’m making tea. You’re going to sit down and not mention death, ghosts, or hypothetical murders.”
Tamlin: “Even if the tea tastes like betrayal?”
Elain: “If it does, I’ll know you made it.”
Tamlin: “I’m sensing a lot of hostility.”
Elain: “I’m sensing a lot of unprocessed trauma.”
She sighs again but grabs his arm and pulls him toward the manor like she’s done this a thousand times. Maybe she has. It’s exhausting—but he follows, obedient in his own odd way.
And as they walk, she mutters:
Elain: “You ever say something normal, I’ll faint on the spot.”
Tamlin: “Then I’m saving lives by being deeply unwell.”
