Chapter Text
“Harry! Don’t run on the grass!”
Harry stopped mid-step, then turned to her mother. “It’s just grass, mum, come on.”
Anne tutted as she walked over. She fixed Harry’s dress affectionately.
“Normally I would agree with you, darling, but the Queen’s going to be walking through here for the Spring Festival and everyone’s been,” she paused, looking around before leaning in conspiratorially, “really fucking anal about everything being perfect.”
Harry snorted. “This is what you get for agreeing to be on the council.”
Anne laughed. “That’s enough out of you for today, young lady! Where were you off to in such a rush?”
Harry blushed, brushing away some loose curls that had escaped her braid. “I was just gonna go pick some flowers for my hair. You know, the good ones.”
Anne gave her a look. “Harry. We’ve talked about this. You can’t go outside the mountain. I don’t care if the flowers are better out there, or that you saw a really pretty butterfly, or whatever your latest excuse is. It’s Imbolc, just ask someone to borrow from their offering. Everyone’s got plenty this year.”
Harry huffed. “Fine, alright. But it’s only two weeks until I’m of age, you know. And then you won’t be able to stop me.” Her tone was joking, but her words couldn’t have been more serious.
Anne smiled sadly. “I know, sweetheart. I know.” She pressed a kiss to Harry’s forehead. “Off you go, then.”
Harry hugged her, then made her way (slowly—no grass was harmed) over to where she could see Gemma organising her offering.
“Hey Gems, can I borrow some flowers?” she called once she was within earshot.
Gemma turned a grumpy frown her way. “Yes, but why don’t you have her own?” She gave Harry a flat look. “Did you leave it too late this year again?”
Harry plucked a red tulip from Gemma’s neat pile. “Maybe,” she evaded, taking a delicate sniff.
Gemma sighed. “Harry…” she trailed off.
Harry didn’t want to hear it. “I hear the Seelie Queen’s coming to our Imbolc this year.”
If Gemma saw through the distraction tactic, she didn’t comment. “She rotates which village she visits every year. She was supposed to come two years ago, but…”
Harry tried not to wince. “Yeah.” She picked up another tulip—yellow, this time.
“Here,” said Gemma. She gathered some forget-me-nots, and a rainbow of tulips. “Take these.”
Harry took them gratefully.
“What braids are you picking for your coming of age?” Gemma asked.
Harry pursed her lips, eyes shifting to the side. “Love. And… hope.”
Gemma sighed again.
“Don’t,” Harry snapped.
Gemma held her hands up in surrender.
“Thank you for the flowers, Gems,” she said, softening.
Then, she turned away. She walked across the town centre, careful not to trample the grass. It was still young, dewey and green.
Sunlight drifted down from the opening at the top of the cavern, vines flowing down and birds flitting about. Harry passed the spring, overflowing with water from all the melting snow further up the mountain. She dipped a foot into the water as she passed, smiling at the children who were splashing around in the bathing area.
Everyone in the village was gathered in groups in the main cavern, the living areas spiralling out from the cavern walls around them. The villagers were either organising for the feast or gossiping about what blessing they might receive from Brigid this year. The East Village was blessed with a population of about 200, but there was room enough for far more.
Harry remembered from the stories she heard as a child that there used to be at least a thousand living here; the original ever-living ones, the aes sidhe .
That might have only been a few generations ago, but a generation for fae was an awfully long time.
Harry made her way down the hallway. The further she got from the main cavern, the darker it became. She was used to it, though. It was all she’d ever known.
Once she reached her room—softly lit by glowing worms on the wall—she collapsed onto her bed with a world-weary sigh.
As Harry’s deft fingers threaded through her hair to undo her loose fishtail, she looked about her small room. Her collections of dried flowers, gems and dresses were scattered around the floor. It was a comforting sort of mess. In the little nook by the doorway was her prized possession: a polaroid camera that she’d found in the woods outside almost a decade ago. There was only one photo left in it. She’d been saving it for years.
Her hair now loose and falling down to her waist, Harry moved to the spare bed she’d prepared for Brigid, picking up the pile of twigs lying there to start making her Brigid’s cross. As she wove the rushes together, she talked. It was a mumbling, ambling sort of speech; she didn’t really expect anyone to be listening.
“I know I don’t have any flowers for you, Brigid, and I’m sorry for that. I’m sure you understand. I set out lots of food for you, though! I hope you like your bed, and you give me a blessing. For my coming of age. Something other than fertility, please. I know that’s what you’re known for. I could… really use a blessing.”
Once she was done, she organised the cross on the bed, straightening all the bowls containing her offerings. Then, she began to braid her hair. It took all afternoon, because the special eight-strand knots she was making from her left and right temple were complicated, and so was the magic she was weaving into them. After much swearing, and a couple crushed flowers, she was done. It was tradition to choose two of five well-wishes for your life to braid into your hair for your coming of age. The beads that went with them had been passed down by her mother, and her mother’s mother. They would stay in her hair until her ceremony was complete.
There was a soft knock at the door, then Anne poked her head in.
“There you are, Harry! Come on, the festival’s starting!”
Harry followed her back to the main cavern, where small lights inside multi-coloured lanterns had been strung in a delightful criss-cross pattern. Imbolc was breathtaking every year, but this year was something else. Fae were milling about, eating from the feast table and chatting excitedly. Harry spotted Gemma amongst the group of musicians, her fiddle adding to the lively tune that was echoing around the cavern.
Harry made her way over to the feast table, taking an entire bunch of grapes. There was still plenty left, she justified to herself.
“Harry!” hissed an excited voice to her left.
Harry turned to see Bebe, dressed in glittering silks with violets in her hair.
“Hi, Bebe!” Harry smiled. She offered her a single grape.
Bebe snorted, but took it.
“Who do you think the Queen is gonna chose this year?” she asked, excited gaze flickering around the cavern.
Harry tilted her head in confusion. “For what?”
Bebe gaze her a flat look.
“For a raunchy night of sex, what do you think, Harry? The blessed divination, obviously!”
“Well, it’s definitely going to be you for both of those things,” Harry shot back.
Bebe preened. “You think so?” She winked.
Harry laughed and shoved her playfully. The music swelled grandly, and all eyes in the cavern turned upwards.
“She’s coming!” Bebe whispered.
Harry shushed her.
From the opening at the top of the cavern floated down a woman. The train of her golden dress reached the floor a good minute before she set down on two soft bare feet. Her hair was loose around her head, her dark skin contrasting beautifully with the shimmering fabric tightly adorning her frame. Her gaze was distant but not unkind, and the raw power that oozed from her very being was enough to make Harry’s arm hair stand on end.
She was beautiful. And terrifying.
Her three attendants joined her from the crowd, carefully organising her train into a neat swirl around where she stood. Everyone watched, rapt, as the queen clapped once. The sound echoed around the cavern, and the lanterns flickered.
“Let us welcome Brigid’s blessings this evening, and rejoice for a fertile year to come.”
Her voice was soft, but it carried.
The band started back up as soon as her proclamation was complete, everyone turning back to their feasting and merriment.
As was customary, all those of age started lining up to greet the Queen.
“Come on, Harry! Your ceremony’s only two weeks away, you’ve gotta meet her,” Bebe hissed, pulling on Harry’s hand.
Harry shoved the rest of the grapes into her mouth and followed.
They waited patiently in the queue, watching as everyone received a touch to the cheek and a whispered blessing from the Queen.
Some girls in front of Harry and Bebe were whispering excitedly to each other. Harry caught snippets of their words.
“Who do you think she’s gonna chose? I hope it’s—“
“No way! It’s gonna be—“
Harry tuned them out.
Eventually they reached the Queen. Bebe went first, practically melting at her touch.
“I bless you with peace and clarity,” the Queen said.
Bebe nodded gratefully, then stepped to the side.
Harry cleared her throat nervously as she stepped up, fighting the urge to fix her hair.
The Queen looked Harry over, gaze catching on the beads in her hair. It was more attention than Harry had seen her pay to anyone else so far.
“Your Majesty?” Harry greeted uncertainly.
The Queen’s hand moved suddenly to grip her chin, pulling her closer to examine her face. Without turning, she asked her ladies in waiting, “What do you think of this one?”
Harry didn’t move. Or blink. She wasn’t sure she remembered how.
“She seems scared,” the one in blue answered. Her blonde hair was piled precariously on top of her head.
“I think she’s perfect,” supplied another. She was wearing a deep pink. All of the maiden’s dresses were loose and flowing, leaving their breasts exposed. It was a nice contrast to the skin-tightness of the Queen’s garb.
The last one hummed in disagreement. She flicked some of her wavy hair over her shoulder judgmentally. “Are you sure, Highness?”
The queen released Harry’s chin. She nodded decisively. “It’s her.”
Harry was about to stammer out something that would definitely have embarrassed her, but the Queen clapped. It echoed around the chamber just as before, and everyone stood to attention.
“I have made my choice! This child will receive my blessing for this year’s Imbolc divination. May Brigid give her sight.”
“May Brigid give her sight,” echoed all present. The words bounced around the cavern, ringing with finality in Harry’s ears.
The Queen turned her weighted gaze to Harry, making note of her stunned silence.
Bebe elbowed Harry.
“Th-Thank you, my Queen,” Harry rushed out.
She nodded, then gestured to her maidens. They moved fluidly to surround Harry, walking her over to the centre of the cavern where the well had been opened for Imbolc. It was only about a metre and a half wide, hewn straight downwards through the rock of the cavern’s floor. Harry didn’t know how deep it was, but it’s occasional overflowing resulted in the soil around it bursting with life.
It definitely wasn’t overflowing right now. Harry gulped.
The one in pink pushed at Harry’s shoulders gently. Harry knelt obediently in front of the small opening. The grass was wet on her bare calves.
She took in the opening of the well, wide-eyed. In the soft light of the lanterns the blackness of its depths was rendered terrifying.
Harry looked up, meeting her mother’s eyes in the gathering crowd. Gemma was still busy playing with the band, but the music was softer now.
“What is she waiting for?” hissed one of the Queen’s attendants.
“Go on, darling,” pressed another.
Harry placed her hands on the edge of the well. The water was about two metres down.
Harry leant further over the hole. She breathed the crisp scent of the mountain water. She could barely make out her reflection in the utterly still surface. For a moment, it seemed something was in the water.
She leant further still. The sounds of the cavern faded into the back of her mind as she peered downwards.
Forgetting why it might be a bad idea, Harry moved one of her hands off the edge to try and reach the water. Her fingers extended out searchingly. She had only gotten her ring finger to the waterline—not even breaking the surface tension—when she felt her other hand slip.
She plummeted headfirst into the well.
Before she could process the shock of her fall, she was suddenly… Gone.
Or… perhaps it was the well that had gone.
What surrounded her now was a comforting, full darkness. It wrapped around her warmly, whispering words that she couldn’t quite hear.
Then, she was in a field. The sun was beating down on her, and there were bees flitting about pollinating the flowers.
She turned her face into the sun. She’d been here before, she knew this place well; it was just outside the mountain, a meadow that she used to visit all the time with…
“Come on, Hazza, we’ve gotta get back before the festival!”
Harry turned in shock. Standing in front of her was a girl. She had long brown hair held back with a leather band. Her eyes were as blue as the hyacinths that littered the meadow. She was only a young thing, but she was already so beautiful.
“Come on, Harry!” she cried, gripping Harry’s hand and tugging her back to their secret exit, the one they’d discovered together.
Together. Because Harry knew this girl. She remembered her. It was likely she would never be able to forget.
The memory faded before they reached the mountain.
Harry was still in the meadow, but it was dark this time.
She looked around. Snow had claimed the forest, all the trees barren and lifeless. A branch snapped behind her. She whipped around.
“Did you mean it, Harry,” the girl asked, hope shining from her face like starlight. She was much older, now, but she was still young. So young.
Harry tried to reach for her, but her hands met air.
“I need to know if you meant it. Please. It’s okay if you didn’t, I just….”
Harry’s heart broke all over again.
The girl wiped her eyes and smiled sadly, like she was waiting for a death sentence but she wanted her executioner to know she forgave them.
Then, Harry was somewhere else. It was a room unlike any she’d ever been in before. It was human .
There were white walls, tables, chairs, windows, and... people.
Three girls were piled onto a couch watching a screen on the wall. Harry had learned about all of these things, seen drawings and heard stories.
The stories paled in comparison to the real thing. Harry looked around in wonder, noticing the view from the window. It was a city. A real, human city with its tall structures, loud noises, and awful metallic everything.
“Are we headed out soon, lads?” came a voice.
Harry’s eyes widened. She turned, and there was the girl again.
She was standing in the doorway, looking at Harry.
No, Harry realised; she was looking through Harry.
She wasn’t wearing clothes Harry recognised anymore, and her hair was...
Her hair was gone.
It was cropped short around her face, a soft fringe falling just above her eyes. It made her look both softer and harsher.
Harry tried to move towards her, but her feet were glued to the ground; no amount of tugging would budge them.
So, Harry remained where she was, drinking in every detail of her. This was older than Harry had ever seen her, this was new.
Harry struggled again to get closer to her, but the more she tried the further she sank into the ground.
Then the vision was gone as she was pulled downwards harshly with a sharp tug. She took a gasping breath in as she broke the surface of the water.
Hands were all over her body, pulling her out then laying her on the ground and patting her down. She blinked up at the ceiling in a daze, trying to breathe evenly.
She was back in the cavern.
“Harry?” Bebe’s face appeared over her, frowning in concern. Anne was hovering nervously over her shoulder.
Harry sat up.
“Are you alright, darling?” Anne asked.
Harry nodded mutely.
“What did you see?”
Harry turned towards the attendant who had spoken. It was the one in blue. Her torso was soaked—looking around, Harry realised all of the maiden’s were. Harry, oddly, was completely dry.
“I saw…” Harry started, then had to stop to clear her throat.
The Queen appeared to Harry’s left. She gazed down at Harry in consideration, raising her brows for Harry to continue.
“I saw Louis,” Harry said honestly. “She’s alive.”
There was a heavy silence that followed her words.
Once of the maidens stood to whisper something in the Queen’s ear.
Her expression remained as stoic as ever.
“Harry,” she said.
Harry pushed herself to her feet, then bowed deferentially. It was hard to bow to someone a good head shorter than you, but Harry was used to being taller than people who were bigger than her in other ways.
“I’ve been told your coming of age is in two weeks.”
Harry nodded.
“It seems Brigid has given you a task to complete. You will do so before your ceremony.”
There was no room for argument in her tone.
Harry looked up, wide-eyed.
The Queen met her gaze. “What is your task, child?”
Harry took a deep breath, frowning.
“I think…” she started. “I think I have to bring her back.”
“Harry—“ Anne started from behind. She was silenced by one look from the Queen.
“I will wait in your village for your return. If you cannot complete your task, then…”
Harry nodded. Though she had not finished, the Queen’s meaning was very clear; the price of failure was banishment.