Chapter Text
Nights like these heralded hoarfrost. Particles of ice that froze directly onto your skin, fed by the mist that sprang off waves colliding off the rocky sea shore. Once the storm passed––and he got a decent sleep––he would have to start removing the icicles off the catwalk with an ice ax.
Until then, he was content to stay well within the bounds of the lighthouse, far away from howling winds and bitter cold. There was little beauty in Ireland in the greyscale months.
Before bed the three lighthouse keepers ordered their shifts properly to ensure the light would always be kept running, even if it was impeded by the ice and snow. David would take the first shift, and Tawny the second, leaving Seán to wake early in the morning. By now alarms and loud sounds had grown deaf enough to each of them that it was easiest to be woken by the last person on guard, and with that in mind Seán collapsed in his bed, pulling the frigid covers up over his head in a weak attempt to mute the lighthouse horn.
Stupid fuckin' college, he thought to himself, grinding his teeth as he stared at the darkness around him. College had done nothing wrong––for the most part––and only earned his ire because he now lacked what it freely gave; heaters, mostly-quiet dorm rooms, and a variety of people. David and Tawny were nothing like him and nothing like each other, either, making the trio a rather awkward, unchoreographed mess of lighthouse caretakers. The only thing they all had in common was a desire for money and a place to stay.
Unfortunately for him, recording videos quickly became a fruitless endeavor due to the lighthouse horn that he hadn't realized existed. It blew once every minute and drowned out everything else; after a while, David, Tawny, and Seán learned when to take pauses in conversations just to avoid the horn. That made his six-month stay in the lighthouse seem like two years.
No matter––once the spring arrived he would be gone, and he was under no obligation to reenter the life of lighthouse living.
Tawny said once, while they were drinking coffee together, that the fae love the northern shores of Ireland. Fanad Head––the lighthouse he currently occupied––was staged on the northernmost tip of the island, so whenever he heard singing in the night, he imagined the fae walking through the paths in the woods unmarred by snow. Steps made of moss and permafrost, lined by vines weaved into ladders and the glowing lights of goblin lanterns. They weren't real, of course––he knew that much despite having heard voices in the night in his old cabin. The majority of Irish people didn't believe in them, but... you never wandered those paths, and you never left your home during the night. Not unless you wanted to die.
His eyes shot open as the voice creeped in, singing from outside the lighthouse. Somehow it managed to roar above the wind and snow, yet retained an element of softness, as though someone was humming the words in his ear. He didn't know what it was they said, but it was familiar; a form of Gaelic.
He tried to squeeze his eyes shut tight and curl up more, but the music called to him. Beckoned him out of his bed, pulled him out, and placed shivering feet upon the cold, stone floor. The feel of the floor was enough for him to shake out of the trance, and a moment later he was back to hiding beneath the covers.
No, no, he thought, shaking his head quickly. Don't fuck with the faeries.
The moment his eyes closed, it felt as though God gave him only two seconds to sleep before Tawny was shaking him awake.
"Seán –"
The horn blared.
"– it's your turn."
"Okay," he mumbled, clutching his sheets. "Give me a moment."
"Here."
Seán opened his eyes to Tawny holding a cup of steaming coffee in front of his face. A pleasant, lazy smile stretched across his face.
"Thanks," he said, giving her a nod as he sat up.
She offered a small smile before leaving his quarters.
The sun had yet to rise, still hidden behind thick clouds and late dawns. On his bedstand, the alarm clock quietly told him the time was 530, acting as the only light in the room besides the crack in the door. He groaned and rubbed his face with his palm before drinking from the mug.
His woolen gloves––sent by his mother––stuck to the icicles he was set to hacking off, letting the cold easily seep into his fingers. Overgrown clouds in the sky promised yet another storm, but nonetheless, until then, it was his duty to clean the lighthouse and ensure the sea was a little safer. The swinging of the ice ax was nothing in volume compared to the lighthouse horn, but he still flinched whenever the steel collided with the giant columns of ice.
A breath of air left him when the icicle fell to the catwalk floor, shattering into pieces. His breath left in a cloud and drifted into the sky.
"Fuck's sake," he mumbled, having barely moved enough to avoid getting his foot impaled.
Such close accidents must've happened to him a hundred times in the time he'd been here.
As his gaze darted from the lighthouse, to the clouds, and to the sea, he caught a glimmer of foam that nearly blinded him. It moved, glowed, in a way that the ocean never did––remaining on the edge of a wave that wouldn't move nor diminish.
It was dancing, and now he stared at it, losing sight of the rest of his surroundings. Growing winds nor sleet made it through his head despite pounding his skin.
The light from the lighthouse made yet another round, further illuminating what finally formed to be you––a humanoid creature whose body gleamed like it was made of pearls, obscuring your actual features. His mouth fell open. When the light passed, he could finally concentrate, and heard the Gaelic singing he remembered from hours ago.
"Holy shit!" He yelled––or gasped, he couldn't hear his actual volume over the wind––as he clutched his hat to his head.
He stumbled over his feet for only a moment before he scrambled himself back inside, nearly slipping on the ice-covered catwalk. The slip in his balance and his near uncontrollable, thumping footsteps on the stairs had his heart racing, begging to be put to rest.
"Tawny!!" He yelled once more, cut partway off by the horn. "Tawny, I need to talk to you!"
He landed on the floor with a thump, quickly scanning the common room.
"I swear t' God Jack, if you don't shut yer fuckin' trap I'll do it for ya!" He heard Tawny shout from within her bedroom walls.
"Tawny, it's about the faeries," he said in a quieter, but none less hurried, voice. He ushered himself quick through the thin hallways, and rapped quietly on her door.
A soft sigh came from within, followed by rustling sheets and the sound of slippers hitting the floor.
The door pulled open, revealing Tawny dressed in a thick sweater and scarf.
"What is this about?" She asked in a grumble, her eyes barely open.
"I think - I think I saw a faerie, in the ocean," he stammered out, blinking quickly as he recalled the image.
She stared at him.
"Alright, come in," she said, waving him in.
Among the many books she kept scattered throughout her room was a thorough dictionary of the world's many faery types. They were sorted alphabetically, which hindered his search that asked only for two specific categories––Ireland and oceans. The first he found were protectors of the Irish sea; devotees and soldiers of the sea god, Manaan. But these faeries were only a few inches high, and considering he could see you from the top of the lighthouse, he assumed you were of somewhat-regular size.
Murdhuachas. Faeries with the tail of a fish and the upper body of a mammal, but never human. You weren't one of them, either.
Selkies, also known as Roanes, were seals who could shed their skins and reveal humans with ethereal beauty. But you were in the water, and you had the form of a human. That couldn't be it.
There were vampire-like creatures, and putrid little things only a foot high, and goblins who would clean your home if you left them food. He chewed on his lips as he met the last page of the dictionary, at which point he threw down the book. Tawny looked up from her seat on the bed.
"Find anythin'?" She asked.
"No," he grumbled, leaning back in her desk chair. "The thing I saw, it - it wasn't anythin' inhuman, except for it being.. you know.. like standing on the water."
"It's possible it wasn't a water element fae," she said with a shrug. "Maybe it was an air sprite enjoying themselves."
"Well that doesn't narrow down the search, does it?" He said, crossing his arms.
"It's a faerie, Jack," she said flatly. "Yer prob'ly never gonna see it again. I wouldn't worry 'bout it too much."
He did. He saw you better––clearer––than he did the first time, yet all the while remained in the confines of his own mind, his body overtaken with sleep and dreams. It was nothing more than soft hums and an unearthly glow, but it was enough to leave him tossing and turning till he nearly fell off the bed. He knew of the dangers yet still tried to step closer; an action that woke him abruptly.
His gasp was the only sound in the darkened bedroom, lit by moonlight tunneling through a nearby window. Outside, the storm ceased to rage, and the only distant motion was the rolling waves that brushed against the rocky shore; a kiss that follows the ravages of the ocean's love, healing the battered shore.
Things always washed ashore after storms. As a child, when he wandered down the coast with his parents in tow, there were times that tiny fish were strewn dead across the rocks. Bits of dead, red moss and the occasional seal carcass sometimes joined the mass funeral. He found those same things as he stalked down to the beach now, tugging at his scarf and wondering what he was doing outside so early in the morn. No wind tugged at his jacket or gloves, but the cold still made it through, seeping in quietly until he reached the shore.
A soft breeze, smelling of summer and touching him like fall, brushed past his body when he stopped. He swallowed through a tight throat as he stared past the low, choppy waves, attempting to find the horizon between the clouds and the ocean. When his gaze fell to his feet, however, his eyes widened upon recognizing a tiny fish.
Dead, of course. A twinge of regret pulled at his consciousness, and before he could think, he pinched it by the tail and hurled it back into the sea.
"There ya go," he said out-loud, to no one at all except the wind. "Now ye can at least be food."
"It could've been food before."
He whirled around in an instant, his eyes widening with recognition once more––this one pale and in wonderment.
It was you. Your face, at least, he couldn't forget what he saw less than an hour ago. Instead of a naked, glowing body, though, you were clothed in regular human clothes, and you were just as dim as the rest of the world. Nothing unearthly remained, nothing magical––only that he recognized you in the first place.
"Hi," he said lamely, blinking quickly as though you'd disappear at any second.
"Hello," you chuckled. "You're one of those lighthouse workers, aren't you?"
"Well – yes, just for the winter, though. How'd you know?"
"I think I've seen you, up on the lighthouse," you murmured, digging your hands into your pockets.
"Really?" He frowned, glancing up to the rocky cliffs.
Beyond them lay little more than a grassy plain (which was less than grassy in the winter) and ancient stone walls left by old farmers and, according to Tawny, the Tuatha de Danann: the ancient, mythological race of faeries who originally inhabited the island before being driven underground by newcomers. The nearest building was abandoned.
"Do you live nearby or something?" He asked, a hint of suspicion creeping through his tone.
"Wouldn't you like to know," you said with a sly smile.
"Oh." He realized the insinuation behind his words with a chuckle, and awkwardly scratched at the back of his neck. "Sorry. I just – I'm used ta living in the middle a' nowhere, ye don't get many neighbors."
"It's fine," you said, shaking your head and chuckling. "What're you doing out so early?"
"I..." he glanced out to the sea, "I'm throwing fish, apparently."
"Do you do that often, then?" You asked in a teasing lilt.
"Every chance I get," he said with a grin that faded too easily. Before he knew it, new words were slipping out of his mind. "I'm actually... I thought I saw someone, on the shore."
You raised an eyebrow.
"It's not safe t' be out here during the winter, 'specially not at night," he continued.
"Oh, aren't you sweet," you said, smiling as you cocked your chin upwards.
"It's my job, at least fer now."
"Still... I've seen men work here longer than you, and they don't e'er leave their tower at night," you said, taking a few steps closer. "I think they're afraid."
"Of what?" He asked, and his suspicion, though tempered, grew.
"The ocean." You paused. "And ghosts."
"Ghosts?" He repeated with a laugh.
"Ancient lands leave ancient memories," you shrugged.
"Yeah, I guess so," he said in a softer voice.
You smiled at his response.
"May I have your name, lighthouse keeper?" You asked, raising your hand for him to shake.
"Seán," he said, and shook your hand with a dopey smile. Even without the glow, you were beautiful.
"You may call me (Y/N)." You smiled, but something dark overshadowed your expression. "Come, Seán. I want to show you something."
He tried to stutter out some form of response, but his feet worked faster than his mind, and he followed you off the beach. Rough stone replaced sand, eventually followed by a thick layer of frost that clung to the ground.
Words entered his mind––questions and quiet needs that said 'I think I should go back to the lighthouse now', 'I shouldn't be here'. None of the words could make it past his lips.
The ground surrounding the lighthouse––like much of the barren mountains of Ireland––was knotted and knolled, saved only by the vibrantly green grass. Now even that was gone. Snow hid the various dips and hills, where the fae were said to live, away from the influence of humans. Somehow, he could recall Tawny naming those faeries as the Tuatha de Danann. In the same moment he remembered a warning he'd heard and read many times before:
Don't give faeries your name.
He paled, a sick sensation bubbling in his stomach. He hadn't meant to follow you––were you already playing with him? What did faeries do when they kidnapped people? He always heard of changelings replacing victims or cannibalistic feasts, neither of which particularly appetized him.
You must've known. Something in your stature, in your demeanor, changed, accommodating his realizations. You turned back with a knowing smile, reaching for his hand as he helplessly reached back. Your touch burnt through his gloves.
"You should take better care of your words," you said softly, and part of that strange humming returned to your voice.
"I've never been one t' think before speaking," he admitted.
You smiled, your eyes fluttering shut before you glanced almost bashfully away. Upon the incline of a knoll you stopped, allowing him to stand closer to you than he ever had.
"You know what I am now, don't you?" You murmured.
He nodded.
"Does it scare you?"
"Yes," he said, though he'd meant to lie and say 'no'.
You scanned him up and down, slowly taking his other hand so you could rub both thumbs over his skin.
"What do you want?" You asked, your gaze flickering from his lips and back up to his eyes.
The inch of space between you gave him little room to think.
Money. A better job. More productivity, an actual goal in life. A girlfriend. A better relationship with his mother. A home that was all his own.
"I don't know," he eventually said.
You again watched him, continuing to toy with his hands and intertwine your fingers. If he tried to look away, you followed him.
"Seán, I'll be honest with you –"
I highly doubt that, he thought sourly.
"– that there is only one thing I need, one thing I desire." You ran your hand over the side of his head, carding your fingers through the short hair. "Everyone else has one."
"Is (Y/N) even your real name?"
"I'm not yours, yet," you said, a sly grin stretching across your lips. "You don't need t' know my name till then."
"Are you saying I'm yours?" His tone was softer this time, all too aware of the heat emanating off your body.
"Forever." You beamed––the glow around you grew brighter. "But I'm afraid I'm not as quick to imprison humans as the others are, or to steal them from their families. Humans are living creatures, too, despite their lack of magic. Living in my realm isn't the best... habitat, for non-magic beings."
Every word spoke what you refused to say; come with me.
I'm not leaving my family, he thought, and he wanted to say it, but once again, something else stole its' place.
"I want ta see you again," he said quickly, grabbing your hand from its place on his cheek and squeezing it. "Please."
You stared at him––through him.
"A 'no', then," you murmured.
"I can't just leave my family, my friends."
"I understand," you said, just barely nodding. "It would be cruel of you to entrap me in this realm, as well."
You took a step away, but he was quick to follow you.
"But," he squeezed your hand again, "I do want to see you again."
"You're still mine," you said as a smile returned to you. "When I call upon you next I will take you with me into the realm beloved of the Goddess Danann."
When you attempted to pull yourself away, he gripped you tighter. There were endless amounts of curiosities that your existence brought to him––countless questions and answers he needed to understand. A whole world had been opened to him, and he couldn't leave it so guileless.
"Why me?" was the question that begged to be released from his mind, and the one that tumbled from his lips.
To his knowledge, you barely knew him. He'd seen you once in the waves and talked to you for maybe an hour, and now he was standing close enough to feel your breath, wondering if it was really so bad to leave his life behind. Perhaps you'd been following him since he was a child; acting as some sort of protector, only to harvest him once he grew older. Maybe faeries could easily see through the minds of their victims, peeling back their memories and their auras. But you just laughed, shaking your head.
"You were nearby."
There was nothing special about him at all. He should’ve known, but you disappeared in a gust of wind, leaving him alone in the dead of winter.
Faeries, he thought in a grumble.