#tamlin2026

A series of short Stories to heal the beast beneath the face of the high lord. Soo to be follow by an illustration. While I draw I like to think about what the story behind this drawing is. Sometimes the illustrations don’t pan out like I want them but the stories always help paint the  full picture.

TamlinxOc

I was told he was happy once, filled with joy and life. I was told he played and danced, his face lighting up with the firelights. I yearned to see that if only once. I was his now, and he was mine. Yet pain still lurked in the shadows, inside the corner of his eyes. I hear it sometimes; I hear his fiddle cry. Night when he thinks no one's watching, but I do. I watch him through the threshold of his study. I listen to the melancholy sound of the strings under the moonlight. Those green, emerald eyes filled a longing I am afraid I am still too afraid of describe, but still here I am.

Sometimes I want to walk in, want to be the person he plays his song for, but deep down I know I am not.  He plays for himself, for the pain, and for the loss, for whom he was before, and who he wishes to be once more. So, I stand here behind these doors, listening to the music within his soul, until morning comes and the music is no more.

The strings stop their crying, and I open the double doors. My eyes search for his own. He looks surprised but his surprise only meets my smile.  I reached out to him to the fiddle he hold close to his heart. The wood smooth and worn, an instrument well loved.  “play” I asked “play as much as you want” thought he seemed surprised, I wish he could see what was in my heart.  To me he wasn’t the high lord, he was just Tam.  He needn’t hide who he truly was from my eyes, becaused I loved every part.