Tam Lin: A Modern, Queer Retelling (Faerie Tales)

by T. J. Deschamps

  Tom turned slowly. After a deep breath, he crossed the forest/throne room as if he was supposed to be there. Despite being the only human in the space, no one paid him any mind. He was certain now that Niamh placed some sort of protection over him.

  He reached a set of giant stone stairs, leading to a dais with a waterfall cascading behind it. There was an opening in the leaf canopy just above the throne and waterfall. Light poured down on two chairs made of twisted branches and living flowers, which he assumed was the throne.

  They’d all mentioned a queen, but no king, yet there was a place for one.

  “Beware, bonnie lad. She’ll bring you to her bed, place a crown upon your fiery head, take your seed and soul, and then feed her wee babes your bones once you are dead.”

  Tom mounted the stairs and sat upon the dais, awaiting the queen’s arrival. He would not lay stretched out, pretending to be someone he was not.

  A section of the forest parted. He felt the court enter before he saw the fae. Their power was at once a siren song and the building pressure of an upcoming storm. The fae looked splendid, their gossamer finery out of some Renaissance painting, except they weren’t all pale-skinned and light haired. They ranged in features and complexions in a rainbow of colors, not just human flesh tones. Some had diaphanous wings. Some appeared human, but much, much more beautiful and much, much colder.

  Looking upon these fae, Tom realized he hadn’t really seen Fergus and Aoife. They were more attractive than average but had looked human. There was nothing human about most of the court.

  The sea of fae approaching parted, allowing room for their queen. Tom’s heart leapt to his throat when he caught sight of Mab. Her iridescent silver skin shimmered, catching the light as if her flesh was made of a living mirror. Flowers grew from hair the color of emerald grass. Carved bones studded with jewels crowned her head. Her sheer dress was floor length, leaving nothing to the imagination. Her whole body was lithe and her features androgynous.

  Hanging from a strand of gold, the Tear of Elphame gleamed between two small breasts. The jewel glowed with pulsing red light as if it were a beating heart. He only allowed himself to glance at it once, in his slow and purposeful once-over of the queen.

  She halted, staring.

  No one spoke.

  Tom swallowed and rose to his feet. He wished he hadn’t. His legs were jelly in the presence of all this power and beauty. He didn’t want to steal the queen’s necklace or crown for Niamh. All he wanted was to go home to Ariel and his old life, to be a better partner and appreciate what he had. Too late for that.

  Mab ascended the stairs.

  Fear and awe mixed as he watched her move with fluid, inhuman grace. She was so tall he had to tilt his head slightly to meet her gaze. She took his hand in hers, her mirrored skin, soft and pliant as human flesh. Tom allowed himself to be led around the waterfall, the rushing water and the thrum of his pulse in his ears the only sounds drowning out everything else.

  On the other side of the waterfall, there were two chairs facing each other. Beyond the chair rested a massive bed that could sleep at least ten. Roses bloomed everywhere, the air fragrant like the little garden where he’d made love to Aoife and Fergus what seemed like eons ago.

  Mab gestured to one of the chairs, taking the other for herself. She watched Tom through narrowed eyes the color of a starless night. “I have Manandán demanding I return his daughter and a demigod of great power threatening war with the Orisha if I don’t return you to him.”

  Tom blinked. Ariel, the love of his life, was a demigod.

  “I didn’t steal either of you. Both have trespassed onto my lands with ill intent.” Mab’s voice resonated with power, but she kept her tone soft. “I would grant you both pardon and exile, but if I did, I would look weak to my court. So, I left you unguarded in an unlocked cell, hoping you would be smart enough to try to escape.” She gave him a pointed look. “Why didn’t you just leave? No one molested you.”

  “I want to take Fergus and Aoife...and Brón with me.”

  Mab sighed. “Then Niamh distracted you with her machinations to take over my throne?”

  Tom shrugged, heat flushing his cheeks. He’d been so foolish to trust Niamh, but at least he hadn’t gone through with trying to steal the necklace.

  “You’ve been lied to. Aoife and Fergus are not prisoners. They were punished for neglecting their duties, yes, but they are free. Niamh is likely on her way to murder them so she can lay the blame on me.”

  His heart jumped.

  “You have so little faith in your lovers’ battle prowess? Fergus and Aoife will handle her.”

  “Brón,” Tom gasped.

  Mab shrugged. “The dryad is a fool for the water horse. He tried to steal the Tear of Elphame for her.” She tapped the air over the pulsing teardrop pendant.

  “You’re going to let me go with the knowledge of—” He pointed to finish his sentence.

  “My power isn’t in a jewel or a crown, foolish human.” The fairy queen scoffed and then a cruel sort of smile played on her lips. “Alas, the bobble has served me well to know who seeks my throne.”

  They sat for a long time. A three-foot-tall goblin appeared from a side door Tom hadn’t noticed before, its green skin covered in warts and boils. The goblin carried a tray of fruits, nuts, and bread and set it out, bowing to the queen before leaving.

  Mab took a handful of nuts. “Eat.”

  Starving after only having Brón’s fruit, Tom dug in.

  “Do you know why my guard came after you?”

  Tom shook his head.

  “Tam Lin chose to sleep with all of my court. I let it go. He took the maidenhead of every mortal young woman who passed through Carterhaugh. I let it go. When Janet tried to abort his child, it wasn’t his first spawn. He’d sired hundreds of children by then and was a grandfather many times over, but never did he raise a single one of them and never once did the former maidens dare do such a thing. He broke my heart. All the power and glory I gave him, and he couldn’t bear that this human didn’t want his seed.

  “So, I gave them that ridiculous test to show him how fickle a human’s heart was. I was sure Janet would have run off, but she was made of stronger stuff than Tam Lin himself. I admired her courage, so I gifted her my lover, though he did not deserve her.”

  This was very different than any of the versions that Tom had heard.

  “Fifteen years after leaving me to be a mortal again, Tam Lin came back. I had Fergus run him through in front of the entire court. You see, we all loved him, but he had made his choice. The fae are not a forgiving lot.”

  An icy frisson of fear slid across his shoulders. Was this his last meal?

  “Generation after generation of his seed came to Faerie, seeking immortality or revenge for their ancestor’s demise. Poor Fergus was tasked with bringing them to my court and killing your kin each time.”

  The food turned sour in his stomach. He set aside the cake he was about to put into his mouth back in the tray. It would be too late if she’d poisoned him, but he couldn’t eat another bite. “Are you going to kill me?”

  “No,” Mab replied softly, her tone holding a world of hurt. “Fergus said you had not meant to come on my lands. He tried to warn you off, but you wanted to come anyway. What did you seek here?”

  “Love,” Tom answered truthfully, quickly adding, “but, I already had it at home. I just...wanted more of it.”

  The door opened again. This time Aoife came through. “We have my sister bound. I’ll take her back to Da before he creates a scene.”

  Da? Tom’s eyes bulged. Aoife was the daughter of a god, and Niamh’s sister, apparently.

  “Tell your husband to take this one to the envoy of the Orisha.”

  Tom rose.

  Mab took his hand as he passed. “If Ariel tires of you, there is a place for you here. I won’t abandon you, Tomlin.”

  He smiled politely and made no promises.

  12

  To
m traveled to the border of Faerie and the mortal world upon horseback, his arms around a silent, pensive Fergus. Brón followed, complaining the entire way. The dryad complained about Niamh and her schemes, Tom falling victim to her lure. They complained about the walk. They complained about having to leave Faerie forever and that he’d have to look human all the time.

  Finally, Fergus halted the horse. He pointed toward the western horizon. “Ye ken the sea is that away and Mab doesn’t rule it. Go if ye want to remain a tree. No one’s going to stop ye.”

  Brón’s mouth opened and shut several times. They folded their branch arms. “Fine. I will.”

  A smile crept up Fergus’s lips as Brón headed west toward the sea. It didn’t reach his eyes. “They’re in love with Niamh, the fool. It’ll never work. Brón is not what she seeks.”

  Tom didn’t mention the water horse tried to offer him a place as her king. He doubted she meant it. Then again, she had been offended at his rejection.

  “Was it hard?” Tom asked.

  “What?” Fergus peered over his shoulder.

  “Leaving behind your humanity for this.” He gestured to the forest but meant Faerie in general.

  “Life was short and cruel when I made my choice to run away to Faerie with Aoife.” His deep blue eyes cut into Tom. “I’d not choose it if I were ye. I’d grow old, fat, and happy to never know a day of adventure if I were man of your generation.”

  After seeing the glee in Fergus’s eyes when the Scot had cut down those fae, Tom doubted that. Tom, however, liked the idea of returning to his mundane life. He had a deep hate for this place, that seemed ingrained in his soul. “Trust me. Even if Ariel dumps me, I wouldn’t ever—”

  “Don’t be so hasty to make that vow,” Fergus warned, ice in his words. “The queen of the fae offered ye a life here instead of murdering ye. Don’t insult her.”

  Tom nodded.

  Fergus smiled. This time it reached his eyes. “Besides, that offer is good for life. When yer an old man with aches and pains and can’t keep up with yer still-young husband, ye might reconsider.”

  13

  Ariel lowered the rail of the bed and pulled up a chair, waking Tom with the noise. The bed whined as it lifted the elderly man’s torso. Tom no longer had the strength to sit up on his own. His husband, on the other hand, was still a professional athlete and had the build.

  For the last twenty years, Ariel had been using another name. Tom couldn’t remember it. He’d gotten so mad when he’d overheard Ariel tell the pretty, red-headed nurse Tom had memory problems in general and to not be surprised if he didn’t recognize her either.

  Ariel flashed him a smile, still as bright and white as the day they’d met, making Tom’s old heart flutter. “I made you an Irish stew, mi amor.”

  Tom smiled back. They’d had a nice two weeks touring Ireland in their youth. They honeymooned there and went annually. They were friends with a couple there. Tom forgot their names. He hoped his husband wouldn’t mention them. Ariel would make a big deal about Tom’s slipping memory. A big deal would mean a trip to the doctor’s and more pills.

  Ariel patiently placed a spoon to Tom’s lips, waiting for him to sip his meal.

  He placed a sallow, wrinkled, and age-spotted hand over his husband’s smooth brown one for balance. His head shook as he sipped the pureed stew.

  After Tom finished, Ariel wiped his chin with a towel, not complaining that more got on Tom than the old man swallowed. He did his best to take care of Tom himself instead of having the hired nurse do it, when he was home, but Ariel also had to devote a lot of time maintaining the adoration of his fans. That’s how gods maintained their power. Tom had learned much over the years.

  “Did I tell you Mab offered me a place in her court?” Tom’s voice warbled as he spoke, no longer holding the rich tenor of his youth.

  Ariel’s eyebrows shot up. “No.”

  Tom laughed and wagged his finger. “Mmhmm. Said as soon as you got sick of me, she’d take me.”

  Sadness filled the soft brown eyes. “I’m not sick of you, mi amor. I’ll never be sick of you.”

  “She could make me young again,” Tom countered.

  “Do you want to trade our love, our life for youth?”

  “No. I just don’t want to be a burden on you anymore.” He wanted to leave before his husband left him.

  Ariel licked his lips. “Tom, I’ve decided to stop playing ball.”

  Tom’s eyes flared. “You’ll—”

  “Grow old,” Ariel interrupted, “Without worship, I’ll become mortal, I know. I’m old, Tom. Older than I’ve ever let on. I want to see what’s next with you.”

  Epilogue

  Fergus laid flowers on the dual gravestone. Ariel, the fool, had thought it would be the last time and wanted to pass into the afterlife with his husband, but the ancient Scot knew better. Mab didn’t let go of her enemies so easily. Fergus and his sweet wife had been paying the price for leading Janet and Tam Lin to safety for five hundred years.

  “Don’t know why yer wailing,” he groused. “He’ll be back.”

  Done with her grieving widow’s theatrics now that the few mourners had left, Aoife wiped her tears with the back of her hands and smiled. “This reincarnation was lovely up until Tam Lin thought I was his nurse, not his wife. He was a grumpy old codger once he couldn’t get it up anymore.”

  “Ye weren’t his wife but on paper.” Fergus sighed. “He has but one wife. One of these rounds he’ll remember it, say he’s sorry for betraying her, and we’ll stop having to do this.”

  “Maybe she’ll let him rest.” Aoife got that romantic, wistful look in her eyes that made her seem younger than her years. “This one was kind.”

  Fergus snorted. “Yer sister has a better chance of stealing the Tear of Elphame and becoming queen then Tam Lin has of resting. He promised Mab forever, and she’ll have her forever.”

  Aoife threaded her arm through her husband’s. “Maybe we should help Niamh.”

  “We’d make better partners than that damned dryad,” Fergus agreed, laughing and honestly warming to the idea. He was tired of Mab making his sweet wife pay for a kindness.

  The couple walked away from the grave of Tam Lin and his beloved, entering through an arch into Faerie.

  The End

  Afterword

  For more books from Dans La Lune Press go to www.tammydeschamps.com