Man no one even remembers laptop in bed. It was laptop in bed for years. Now it's just phone in bed. Maybe tablet. But usually phone. So much has changed
Summary: Being taken away in the night by a Fae High Lord is not something you could’ve expected for your short, mortal life - and falling in love with his red-headed emissary was the most dangerous part. He’d sworn you were to be together for the rest of your lives, so how do you cope when the Mother grants him a mate? His mate - your sister.
Warnings: Language
A/N: HERE IT ISSSSSS i am so so excited to get this going
The evening was bitterly cold, as was the water you were splashing your face with. The cut on your lip stung furiously; the man you had fought tonight could not have been anything less than a giant. Still, you’d held your own - and made a pretty penny, too.
You could see the violet begin to bloom around your eye, but there was no helping it. All the money you made went straight to your sisters, and if they ever found out you’d selfishly spent coin on any kind of ointment, Gods, you’d be dead by morning.
As you inspected every scratch and bruise and scar littering your face, you wondered if this was truly meant to be your fate. Before the complete loss of your father’s wealth, you would’ve considered yourself a pretty girl. You certainly weren’t now, not like this. It’s not as if you were struggling to find suitors, but there wasn’t a time in your life that you’d been treated nicely by one. Been treated pretty.
They liked the rough and tumble. They liked that you were outspoken and messy. Isn’t it funny how men completely change in the dark? They’d never be seen with the likes of you about town - you didn’t dream of it anyway. Not for the likes of the vermin around here.
The cabin door creaked open and slammed shut in the other room.
“We can eat half the meat this week,” Feyre’s muffled voice bled through the widening crack in the bathroom door, “We can dry the other half.”
On the table in front of you lay what you could only call a beast. The deer was giant, and so was the wolf pelt covering it. You tilted your head; that wolf pelt was a bit too big for your liking.
“I’ll take the hides to the market tomorrow,” Your youngest sister’s eyes lit up at the sound of your voice, “This is amazing, Feyre. We’d starve without you.”
You heard Nesta tsk behind you. She and Elain quickly began bartering over who would receive the money. You walked a few steps to the destitute kitchenette you had to work with - too blunt knives scattered along the countertops. You didn’t waste your breath joining in the argument over Nesta’s wood-chopping abilities. She was a lost cause - just as guilty as your father in your suffering. Elain was, too, and you detested treating her as the child she acted, but certainly wasn’t.
A long glance was shared with Feyre before she disappeared into the bedroom. A sigh escaped you as you began slicing.
Dinner had been… well, as pleasant as it could’ve been.
“Nesta, you cannot marry Tomas Mandray.”
“And, why not?”
Feyre came to your defence at Nesta’s sneer, “You can’t chop wood for us, but you want to marry a woodcutter’s son?”
Cutlery scraped and clattered as you rose to start the dishes; the argument did not die down behind you.
“At least I don’t have to resort to rutting in the hay with Isaac Hale like an animal.”
“Nesta.” You couldn’t stand it when she got like this. She was so quick to cast judgement - so quick to look anywhere but her own hurt and self-righteousness. “Feyre is right. Tomas’ family can barely afford food as it is, and we can’t afford a dowry. This is off the table.”
“We’re in love.” She declared.
Mother, help me. Your eyes might have never rolled this hard in your life.
“Love won’t feed a hungry belly.”
Feyre’s remark had done it. Nesta had exploded, calling her a wild beast to knock her down a few pegs. That wasn’t new from her - for either of you. She was fond of reminding you both how forgotten you would be when your time came.
You glanced at your father. “I don’t suppose you have anything to say.” A little harsh, maybe. You chose not to care.
“You know what she’s like, nugget,” A nickname from many years ago. It had soured over time. “What can I say? If it’s love-”
“It can’t be love,” Feyre exclaimed, “Not with his wretched family. I’ve seen the way he acts around the village. There’s one thing he wants from her, and it’s not her hand in marriage.”
“I don’t know if there’s anyone who could tame Nesta well enough for her to be wed, anyway.” You knew you were stropping as well now - you didn’t want to think about how similar you could be to your eldest sister sometimes. At least you exhibit a little bit of restraint, you reminded yourself.
It would all seem inconsequential soon enough; only one more day passed before the beast showed up at your door.
Your father was terror-stricken.
Stuck in his chair, awoken by the noise of wood splintering, he had no choice but to watch as Nesta and Elain shrieked in the corner of the room.
You held Feyre by her arm, positioned just slightly behind you. You could feel the hilt of her hunting knife pressing against your back. Where the fuck was your dagger?
The beast roared at you. “Murderers!”
He was fae. Oh, dear fucking Gods.
Nesta sobbed, “W-we didn’t kill anyone!”
You took a second to glance away from the golden-haired monstrosity to your eldest sister. She was holding her silver bracelet high above her head, toward the door. You doubted it could do anything at this point.
“Get out,” Feyre’s voice from behind you. “Get out, and begone.”
Your leg began to shake in your boot. Come on, you thought, now is not the time for fear. Feyre, Feyre, Feyre.
The cottage shook as the beast bellowed and you reached for your sister instinctively. Plates shattered and wood clattered as the beast set his paw on the dining table, snarling. You watched as his claws embedded in the groaning wood.
“Who killed him?!”
“Killed who?” Your voice finally rose above the noise.
His eyes flickered to you now, previously honed in on Feyre behind you. They weren’t animal eyes; they were green and flickering with something you couldn’t put your finger on.
“The wolf,” His voice was low, “A large wolf with a grey coat.”
Fuck.
You considered running. You considered begging. You considered throwing Feyre over your shoulder and through the nearest window just to give her a chance. You glanced at her behind you.
“If it was mistakenly killed,” Feyre’s voice barely trembled, “what payment could we offer in exchange?”
Feyre’s bravery was something you’d always admired about her. You liked to think it of yourself - brave, steely, unwavering. But Feyre? She seemed so fortified, so invulnerable, it was hard to remember she was so much younger than you.
You supposed that’s why your sisters took advantage of her so. Perhaps, this was what your mother had seen in her all those years ago when she made Feyre promise to look after you all. In reality, you knew it was just nonsense from a dying woman.
Thus, you refused to let her go it alone.
The beast laughed bitterly, “The payment you must offer is the one demanded by the Treaty between our realms.”
“What the fuck?”
“For a wolf?” Feyre had taken a gentler approach, it seemed.
“Who killed the wolf?”
“I did.” Your own voice surprised you.
The beast whirled on you, “Surely, you lie to save one of them.”
“It was me,” Feyre touched your arm, “I killed it. We sold its hide today, at the market. If I had known it was a faerie, I wouldn’t have touched it.”
“Liar,” He snarled, “You knew. You would have been more tempted to slaughter it had you known it was one of my kind.”
“Can you blame her?” You stepped in front of your sister, anger bubbling over. “Considering all your kind have done to us, and still like to do might I add, it was deserved.”
All he did was growl.
“What is the payment the Treaty requires?”
The wolf looked back at your sister now, “A life for a life. Any unprovoked attacks on faerie-kind by humans are to be paid only by a human life in exchange.”
Your blood ran cold. This couldn’t be. This couldn’t be it. Your heart pounded in your chest, mind looking for something - anything - that could save your sister from this fate. You glanced around the room quickly, searching for the answer. You came up short.
“Do it outside,” Your head whipped around to Feyre, “Not… here.”
The faerie huffed a vicious laugh. “Willing to accept your fate so easily? For having the nerve to request where I slaughter you, I’ll let you in on a secret, human; Prythian must claim your life in some way, for the life you took from it. So as a representative of the immortal realm, I can either gut you like swine, or you can cross the wall and live out the remainder of your days in Prythian.”
“Do it, Feyre” Your father whispered, “Go.”
Your eyes watered, lip trembling as you looked at him, “Stay out of this.”
“Live where? Every inch of Prythian is lethal to me.” Feyre asked incredulously.
“I have lands,” The faerie said quietly, now. You tilted your head, curious. “I will grant you permission to live there.”
“You can’t take her.”
The beast blinked at you, and you suddenly realised your mistake. “Can’t? You tell me what I can and cannot do? She murdered my friend. Murdered him, skinned his corpse, sold it at the market - and yet, you have the nerve to question my generosity?”
“I sold the hide. Am I guilty too?”
“Foolish human,” He snarled, drawing closer to you. “You think I won’t kill you where you stand?”
“I think your mercy is shallow,” You attempted to stand taller, “And I think this is a game to you. What was your friend doing this side of the Wall, hm? You’re so quick to offer my sister salvation - why?”
For a split second, he seemed taken aback. He was back to unbridled rage so quickly you were sure to have imagined it. You looked at Feyre now, hoping she’d see through you. She always did.
“Take me as well,” You steeled yourself against the faerie’s wrath, “Or, I stab her in the heart.”
You could feel Nesta’s stare from across the room. Elain shrieked loudly.
The beast looked between you both, contemplatively. “You bluff.”
You quickly grabbed Feyre by the elbow, pulling her in front of you and the knife out of her hand. You wrapped your arm around her chest, pulling her back, and placed the sharp edge against her sternum. You could feel her heart racing. It matched your own.
“Would you like to find out?”
You were on a horse.
Conversation had been clipped and short from the beast, and Feyre had soon fallen asleep, back against your chest. You found it odd how the mare trailed behind him, calm and serene, when just one wrong swipe could maim her.
The sun was high by the time your sister jolted awake and you shared a long look as large, golden gates swung open ahead of you.
It was magnificent.
Feyre squeezed your knee as the horse casually trotted upon the hills of green. The massive estate lay before you - willow and ivy and roses covered trellises and balconies, and the woods spread as far as you could see.
The impeccable marble was beautiful, but alarmingly domineering. The smell of metal tinged the flower frosted air; it was the magic. Of course, an eternal season would have to be kept in place by magic. The smell of early spring was tainted with the harsh reminder that this was punishment. This was not luck.
Dread crawled down your spine as you considered what may await you behind the mammoth front doors.
You could almost see Feyre’s thoughts whirring through her head as you both dismounted the horse - she had realised running was futile. Her shaky legs began the ascent up the grand staircase towards the door and every instinct within you screamed.
She was getting closer and closer to the door and you couldn’t breathe. There was nothing you could do. No escape plan you could hatch to save your little sister from this. Gods, you felt sick.
One look back from Feyre had you climbing the stairs immediately.
You resisted the urge to gnaw at your nails as you both crossed the threshold. You held your head high, keeping your gaze cold. You would not let your guard down in this place. And you certainly wouldn’t look nervous.
A long table lay in front of you as you followed the faerie into a nearby room. It was larger than any piece of furniture you’d ever seen, overflowing with steaming food - meats, vegetables, and cheeses clouded your vision and it was as if you felt your stomach shrink from your starvation.
You practically jumped out of your skin when the beast transformed into a man and simply slumped down into a chair.
You held a hand to your chest as you leaned against the wall, “What the fuck.”
The man rubbed his temples. “You should both eat.”
You looked at him properly now. He was blonde, and young as far as you could tell, and a peculiar golden mask shimmered on his face. He was large, to say the least. Tall and fair, and even as he slumped, he filled every part of the chair. The pointy ears were very weird. You wondered how long it would take to get used to this side of the Wall, if you even lived long enough to see any more of it.
“You should eat something.”
“Who are you?” Feyre’s words were clipped, stolen breath fighting its way back into her body.
“Sit,” He gestured lazily, “Eat.”
You looked at Feyre and shook your head.
“It’s not safe for humans.” She settled on.
The man huffed a laugh, “The food is fine for you to eat, human. Leave if you want. I’m not your jailer. The gates are open; you can live anywhere in Prythian.”
“That’s hilarious,” You drawled, “We all know we’d be dead the second we stepped outside of this estate.”
He looked you - you couldn’t place with what. You and your sister made no move to sit.
“Fine.” He said, and began serving himself.
Someone strode into the room from another door, right past you both as he headed for the table. He hadn’t seen either of you - you took this chance to gaze at him from your place against the wall. The first thing you noticed was how impeccably dressed he was. He had long, red hair cascading down his back, which was covered in a very fine tunic of muted silver. You could see from the side that he also sported a mask across his eyes. Was that meant to be fashion here?
“Well?” The man sketched a bow to the seated male and crossed his arms. The deep timbre of his voice filled the room nicely, you noted.
“Well, what?”
You wondered how anyone put up with this guy. Or, were all faeries this rude?
“Is Andras dead, then?”
A nod from your captor, “I’m sorry.”
You decided this was a moment you were very uncomfortable witnessing. Feyre seemed to be fiddling with her clothes just as you were.
“How?” The stranger demanded, his knuckles white as he gripped his muscled arms.
“An ash arrow,” The red-haired man hissed, “The Treaty’s summons led me to the mortal. I gave her safe haven. She came with a… companion.”
“A girl? A mortal girl actually killed Andras?” The man shook his head in confusion, “And, I’m sorry, a companion?”
The blonde man huffed a bitter laugh and nodded his head towards you and your sister. “The Treaty’s magic led me right to her - their - doorstep.”
The stranger whirled with grace to look at you both. You stood straighter under his molten gaze. You could see his mask now - it was bronze and fashioned in a fox-like appearance, and despite still being rather odd, you noticed how beautiful it was. It was delicate and intricate and you realised that this stranger took far more care into his appearance than anyone you’d seen before.
He had a scar too, slashing down his face from his brow to his jaw as it peeked out from under the mask. It seemed to slice directly through one eye - a missing eye that had been replaced with a golden substitute. His other eye russet and widening.
His lip curled, revealing perfectly white teeth, “You’re joking. One of these scrawny humans took down Andras?”
“She admitted to it,” The blonde one pointed to Feyre first, and then his finger fell to you, “And she lied to protect her.”
“Lied?” The red-haired man chuckled and looked at you, “She lied in the face of absolutely certain death?”
“I have learned mortals are… foolish.”
You snarled at the man, “You’re the one who broke into my home, screaming that she’d broken some rule you were destined to punish her for. Forgive me if I didn’t place my sister directly into your hands.”
The man in the fox mask sized you up now, it seemed. He sank onto the edge of the table, fingers gripping the wood and light catching in his fire-red hair.
“Well,” He said, “Now we’re stuck with them, thanks to your useless mercy, and you’ve ruined-”
Feyre stepped forward. She didn’t say anything, but she set that steely look onto the man.
“Did you enjoy killing my friend, human?” He leaned forward, “Did you hesitate, or was the hatred in your heart riding you too hard to consider sparing him? It must have been so satisfying for a small mortal thing like you to take him down.”
“Lucien,” The blonde one chastised quietly, “Behave.”
Lucien. Now he’d said it, it seemed like a name you’d known forever.
He went rigid, but hopped off the table nonetheless, and bowed to you both.
“My apologies, ladies,” A joke, it seemed. He looked to Feyre. “Your eyes are like stars, and your hair like burnished gold."
He whirled to you now and drawled, “And, you burn as intensely as a flame. If I had known mortals could look as beautiful as this, I would have visited your lands long ago.”
“Is that meant to be working on me?” You raised a brow.
He gave you a feline grin, “You tell me.”
He seemed to be waiting for either of you to respond.
“Her name is Feyre,” Your blonde captor beat you to it, gesturing to your sister before you. “And this is Y/N.”
You’d never told him your name. You hoped he’d learned it at the cottage instead of having some thought-reading power. Gods, you hoped he didn’t have a thought-reading power.
“Alis will show you to your rooms,” He said then, “You could use a bath and some fresh clothes.”
A brown haired woman appeared suddenly, also donned in a mask. You followed her as she tugged your sister on her elbow, and you gave one last glance into the dining room behind you as Lucien began to speak.
“That’s the hand the Cauldron thought to deal us? She brought Andras down? We never should have sent him out there—none of them should have been out there. It was a fool’s mission.” He growled, yet no bite lay in his tone, “Maybe we should just take a stand—maybe it’s time to say enough. Dump the girl somewhere, kill her, I don’t care—she’s nothing but a burden here. She’d sooner put a knife in your back than talk to you—or any of us.”
“No,” the other bit out. “Not until we know for certain that there is no other way will we make a move. And as for the girl, she stays. Unharmed. End of discussion. Her life in that hovel was Hell enough. Besides, I don’t need that sister of hers causing me an unnecessary headache.”
“Then you’ve got your work cut out for you, old son,” Lucien said. “I’m sure her life will be a fine replacement for Andras’s - maybe she can even train with the others on the border.”
This seemed to irritate the blonde one greatly.
The conversation thinned out as you and your sister delved deeper into the manor.
Alis had scrubbed you thoroughly. Her conversation was pleasant, yet she seemed particularly disturbed that you and your sister refused to leave the room as the other was bathed.
Embarrassment had no place in survival.
She had detested your argument over dresses - you couldn’t afford them back home anyway, and they were ridiculously impractical. Maybe, there was a part of you that longed to feel gentle, cascading fabric against your skin as you twirled and gleamed through a room. That version of you had been asleep for a long time now. Today was not the day she would wake.
Finally, you both had dressed in tunics and trousers, and Alis had given you both words of warning before she escorted you back to the dining room.
“If you’re wise, you’ll keep your mouth shut and your ears open. It’ll do you more good here than a loose tongue.” You did not approve. “Some folk are bound to be upset about Andras, but I say he was a good sentinel who knew what he was facing when he crossed that wall. So keep your head down, and none of them will bother you. Though, Lucien - he could do with someone snapping at him, if you’ve the courage for it.”
my actual favorite scene in wake up dead man is the one where jud is on the phone with the woman from the construction company and she asks him to pray for her, the sudden turn from humor to complete seriousness without it feeling like a tonal whiplash is really really good
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