Chapter Text
Seymour never liked the woods.
The trees grew claustrophobically close to one another, their branches tangled to cast the forest in permanent shadow. Sometimes at night, he would hear horrible, bellowing screams that had him scurrying under his covers. Lady Isla clucked at him and told him they were foxes calling to their mates. Seymour knew foxes with high, eerie barks that rang through the spring. This thing, that growled deep and dark as the sea, was no fox.
He thought of this sea beast as he ducked under a low-hanging branch. He flinched at every noise and scuttled between trees, hugging their trunks like a lifeline.
He glanced back in the direction of the cabin longingly, his view blocked by overlapping foliage. He dragged himself onward with shaky legs.
Normally he would never step foot into the depths of the woods. Ever since he started living with Lady Isla, the farthest he's gone from the house was the rocky creek ten paces from the door for laundry.
Sometimes - when he was bent over the water and elbow-deep in suds - he felt eyes burning holes into his back and followed him up until he slammed the front door shut behind him.
Lady Isla held no such fears.
She would regularly leave early in the morning and return by tea time with a hare or a rare deer thrown over her shoulder.
On the days of changing seasons, she would shake Seymour awake and tell him she would not return until sundown. She was always on time, and would always burst through the door with a small feast.
Even during the winter solstice, she carried honey-glazed lamb chops and vanilla shortbread with rare, raspberry jam balanced in her arms. Seymour had gotten into the habit of skipping lunch to have room for everything.
Today marked the first day of Spring, and like always, Seymour was roused from his slumber, sleep pulling at his eyes and turning his brain to cotton. Lady Isla promised to return by sundown as she threw her cloak around her shoulders.
Sundown was two hours ago, and Lady Isla had yet to return.
He had paced the front entrance with horrific thoughts buzzing around him like mosquitos.
What if she had slipped and broken her leg in the fading light? What if she was attacked by bears or stumbled upon a pack of wolves?
He raided her medicine cabinet. He shoved rolls of bandages into his pockets and balanced two wooden splints on his back before stumbling out the door.
"Lady Isla!" He called, watching his step.
Lady Isla had made the forest ground into a labyrinth of traps for both prey and trespassers. Her pit traps were especially useful in deterring wannabe witch hunters from raiding her cabin. Seymour himself had fallen into one of her pits while scavenging for mushrooms. He had to wait hours for Lady Isla to do her rounds and find him with a broken arm and a bruised ego.
He was careful not to make the same mistake twice.
He continued to wander the forest aimlessly, calling out for his guardian with growing desperation.
The woods had grown quiet as the singing birds and scuttling squirrels all settled down for the night. The only sound was Seymour's hurried steps and the wooden clatter of the splints on his shoulder.
His breaths grew panicked as the sky shone a cool violet, and twilight all too quickly faded to black. He would need to turn back soon if he is to find his way home.
But he can't return without her.
She could be bleeding out, her bloodless fingers frosting over in the chilly night. She could be dead already. His eyes stung from the rock of emotion that threatened to clog his throat.
"Lady Isla!" His voice cracked on her name.
He could barely see anything, the moonless night shrouded the entire woods in shadowy darkness. He adjusted his hold on the splints and kept one hand before him.
It did little to help when the ground disappeared from under his feet.
His heart leaped to his throat as his body plummeted. He let out a short yelp cut short by the sudden impact of frozen ground, the leaves and half-melted snow doing little to cushion his fall. The rolls of bandages dug into his thighs. The two wooden splints miraculously balanced on the lip of the pit, swaying like a scale coming to equilibrium.
He pushed himself up with scratched palms and achy arms, wincing at the sharp pain shooting up his right wrist. Cradling his injured arm to his chest, he pressed a blind hand out and brushed against a wall of dirt. He looked up to see the stars winking at him through naked branches, the sky framed by a square of dirt and grass.
A pit.
He fell into a goddamn pit.
The first time he fell into this trap he had tried to claw desperately at the walls, the loose soil crumbling under his weight as he fell with each escape attempt.
Even now, he was too short to pull himself free. He kicked the side of his dirt prison with an angry grunt.
He was cold, hungry, and now stuck in a hole until someone stumbled upon him.
If someone stumbled onto him.
His bottom lip wobbled dangerously as his eyes stung with unshed tears. No! He was seven now, he was too old to cry like a baby. He couldn't contain a pitiful sniffle.
"Seymour?"
Seymour's head flicked up to the edge of the pit. A middle-aged woman bent her head over the edge of the pit, her long braid dangling over the opening. The stars backlit her figure.
They danced lazily upon the embroidered flowers stitched into the hem of her cloak. Seymour's face lit up in recognition, his relief cutting through his fear and anxiety like a knife through butter.
"Lady Isla!" He cheered, "You're alright!"
She cursed under her breath as she frantically reached for the length of rope tied to her belt. She strode away from the edge of the pit, likely looking for a sturdy tree to tie the rope to. He couldn't contain the small, delirious laughter as he shot up to his feet.
She was safe, and here.
With Lady Isla here he had nothing to fear. She hurried back to toss the loose end of the fraying rope down to Seymour. He gripped the rope with both hands, his right wrist protesting as he heaved himself up.
"What were you thinking?" She asked frantically, looking over her shoulder.
Seymour slipped on loose soil. He collided with the side of the pit with a pained grunt, his bruised side aching anew.
The rope bit into his cold-bitten hands stinging like shards of glass. Lady Isla's impatient gaze was enough to turn his grip into iron.
"I fell," Seymour said, his hand straining towards her expectantly.
"I figured," She kneeled to pull him the rest of the way, "What are you doing out this late? You know it's dangerous."
She grunted as she heaved him up and out of the hole and let him flop unceremoniously onto the ground. His breath left him with a pained oof. She brushed invisible dirt off her skirts, her satchel abandoned at her feet.
The pouch of the bag extruded out like a balloon, no doubt full of unlucky critters that had fallen for her traps. Seymour hunched his shoulders and rubbed his achy arm sheepishly. She must have been on her way home.
"You were taking forever," Seymour said defensively.
Lady Isla's eyes flashed dangerously, her cheeks burned pink at the disrespect. Seymour could not dodge her fingers as they dug into the bridge of his ear. He stretched up onto his tiptoes as she yanked his ear up.
"Ow, ow, ow!" Seymour hissed.
"I'll take as long as I please you impatient brat!" She tugged on his ear with each word, "That does not give you the excuse to ignore the rules!"
Seymour's arms flailed uselessly at his side, feeling thoroughly bullied by his guardian.
"I thought you needed help!" He said, his voice tight from the pain.
She did a quick scan around them. Her eyes paused on the abandoned splints still balanced over the pit.
Lady Isla's face softened.
Mercifully, she released her iron grip on Seymour's ear. He covered his throbbing ear gingerly as he put a safe distance between him and the pinching hands.
He was safe for the moment. She was too distracted grabbing her satchel to have another go at his ears. Dusting off her bag, she did a cursory scan of Seymour before she pushed him back towards the cabin.
"Even if I did need help," she did not slow her steps as Seymour stumbled to keep up, "You should never enter the woods at night."
She ducked and dodged under tree limbs and over fallen logs expertly, as familiar with the forest as she was with her own home. Seymour was lucky to duck a branch only to trip over a raised root.
"I would have fared fine against some trenches, Lady Isla."
She danced around a strange circle of mushrooms that had somehow survived the night frost. Seymour rushed through it with tromping feet.
"It is not the pits you should be afraid of," she said ominously.
Lady Isla froze so suddenly Seymour was helpless to smack into her back.
"What is it?" He peeked around her, his brows furrowed at the sight.
The entire forest seemed to waver around them like heat rising off the stone. The late-night shadows seemed to recede like the tide to reveal colors too vibrant as if the sun had come out after years of clouds.
The bare branches of winter rapidly budded and bloomed into the blossoms of spring. Faint, as if in the distance, beautiful flute music danced in the air.
Lady Isla grew pale as a ghost when the cheery music only grew louder. She tugged Seymour in front of her as she whipped off her cloak. She spun it neatly over Seymour's shoulders.
"They've spotted us. Hide your face," she whispered, fiddling with the clasp of the garment.
Seymour didn't understand. He had seen her face down a bear with a smile and yet delicate flowers and enchanting songs had her hands shaking as she tugged the hood over his head.
"Lady Isla? You're scaring me."
"Do you remember what I taught you? About the Seelies?" She asked.
Lady Isla has spoken often about the Fairies. She even had a small hobgoblin that liked to organize her spice cabinet. But the Steelers were no happy helpers who could be bribed with a cracker. These were beings that could change the seasons.
They could just as easily starve an entire village from a short harvest or provide a grand feast from a never-ending summer. These mysterious creatures had a nasty habit of taking stray children for their own. Seymour gulped nervously.
Surely they would not abduct a man at the ripe age of seven?
"Do they wish us harm?" He shifted nervously.
"Not if you do exactly as I do," she gave him a reassuring pat on his shoulders.
She guided him to follow her through an unrecognizable scene. What was once a chilly, bare snarl of tree limbs was now a lively festival.
The overlapping trees crawled to the edges of an invisible circle to make way for the festivities. Ribbons of every pattern and color swayed in their branches.
No trace of snow could be found, the ground miraculously covered with a thick, luscious grass that seemed straight from his fondest memories.
Lady Isla led him through a walkway of stalls that shone like glass, with creatures of every shape and size selling their fantastical wares.
"Toadstools! Finely carved toadstools!"
"Pixie wings! Pixie dust!"
"Cyclops! Cyclops for sale!"
They weaved around the busybodies, each one more strange than the last. A stout beast with glowing mushrooms on its cheeks grumbled as Lady Isla squeezed past it the fungi glowed a fiery red with its irritation.
Seymour kept a death grip on his guardian's hand.
Further down the road that felt more like carpet than grass, the stalls split to surround what appeared to be the main festivities. The farthest from them was a sprawling feast that Seymour couldn't make out. But he could smell it. Something savory, like beef and garlic, reminded him that he hadn't eaten since breakfast.
His attention was quickly grabbed by twirling skirts of jewels as the pair passed a rambunctious dance floor. The dancers were caged off by thin columns of crystal that broke the light into shimmering rainbows.
Seymour noticed some of the dancers were human. These were the only dancers with broken, bloody feet.
"Lady Hunter!" A musical voice called.
Lady Isla came to a stop with gritted teeth.
She backtracked towards a small stall with silver hunting bows, curved blades, and toothed traps decorating the front. He had a horrible thought of those teeth snapping shut around his leg. He dug his feet into the ground, but Lady Isla pushed on.
"Lady-" Seymour whispered.
"Hush!" She interrupted him, "Do not call my name until we are at the cabin."
Her tone brooks no argument.
"It would be rude to ignore her," she muttered.
Seymour kept silent as they approached the stall owner. She was a short fairy with feminine features and hair of gold. She would pass for a human if not for her long, pointed ears.
"Lady Hunter! You made it!" She greeted warmly, "I thought you weren't gonna make it."
"Greetings, Nuala," Lady Isla replied politely, "I cannot stay long, I leave my garden untended."
"Oh, your garden will rise again, but you have but one life! You should enjoy yourself!" Nuala leaned her head against her hand.
"How's that king of yours doing?" Nuala mimed a crown.
"Moved to England, I'm afraid," Lady Isla said as she shook her head forlornly.
"What? He plans to be King of the Scots and the Brits?" Nuala scoffed, rolling her eyes, "Next you'll be telling me that squirrels are allergic to walnuts."
Lady Isla laughed with good nature, but Seymour was far from a laughing mood.
While Lady Isla and her friend continued to chat, Seymour urged Lady Isla to hurry with a tug of her sleeve. She slapped his hand, quick as a whip, and did not skip a beat in her conversation with Nuala.
Going to try again, Seymour was caught off guard when a little ball of light zipped in front of his face. He flinched back, grimacing at the mosquito-like buzzing coming from the pixie. He puffed up his cheeks and blew the light away like a ball of lint.
It returned with a vengeance.
Flitting faster than he can follow, the ball of light yanked on his hood with surprising strength. The fabric stretched over his face as he stumbled blindly in whatever way the pixie pulled. It laughed meanly as it yanked him into the spiny side of a walking thistle bush.
Getting a grip on the cloak, Seymour managed to rip the fabric out of the pixie's hands. He glared at it heatedly, flailing his arms wildly in a 'go-away' movement. It flew off with one more mocking buzz of its wings.
Straightening the cloak with care, Seymour's stomach dropped like a stone when he realized he had lost sight of Lady Isla.
He was somewhere between the feast and the dance floor, bodies packed so close together he could not see where the stalls were. He stood frozen in a sea of strangeness.
Lady Isla told him what to do when this happens. He was to remain where he was until she found him. He just needed to get her attention, to let her know where he was.
He cannot call for her by name. Nuala called Lady Isla by another name.
"Lady Hunter!" He called out, rooted to his spot, "Lady Hunter!"
A dancing sprite with primroses for hair startled, she spun to look at Seymour expectantly her porcelain skin chipped with her smile.
"You called?" Her voice grated like shattered glass.
Too frightened to speak, Seymour shook his head 'no.' She shot him a bemused look before she returned to the dance floor.
How strange, she must have misheard him. Fairies must have plenty of odd names.
"Lady Hunter!" He repeated.
He waited for a response to break out from the murmur of the masses. Just before he could call again, the earth shook under his feet. Frazzled, Seymour clutched the cloak tight around him as the rumbling got closer to him.
The crowd parted around a wooden beast, massive like a bear and covered in moss, as it approached the feasting tables. As it approached Seymour. It stopped in front of him, bending down with the sound of splintering wood to look him in the eye.
"You called?" Its voice groaned like an old house.
Feeling faint with terror, Seymour desperately shook his head 'no.' It grunted low and tiredly before stomping off towards the buffet.
Afraid of what else he would summon, Seymour dared not call for 'Lady Hunter' a third time. But this left him back at square one: lost in a crowd with no way to contact Lady Isla. He spun in a jerky circle, hoping to catch a glimpse of her long braid or a flash of her cream-colored skirts.
A gentle hand tapped his shoulder.
"Are you lost, little mouse?"
Seymour, at the end of his rope with meeting strange and fearsome fairies, flicked his gaze up with some relief at the sight of a young man.
A normal man.
He stood out with how normal he was among the clawed and shiny fairies.
"I am looking for someone," Seymour said tiredly.
"I know plenty of 'someone's!" The man grinned, "Perhaps I may be of some assistance?"
The man was dressed in a simple red and purple ensemble, the soft silk and gold embroidery bespoke wealth despite the restrained decorations.
Lady Isla could be found in similar fashions on special occasions. Soothed at the familiarity, Seymour saw no reason to refuse his help.
"Do you know Lady Hunter?" Seymour asked as his fingers picked at the edge of his cloak.
"Does a child like cream?" The man laughed.
He knelt to be of height with Seymour. He pointed rather rudely at the lumbering tree beast Seymour interacted with not moments before. It was trying to bite down on an entire cheese wheel the size of Seymour's head. And succeeding.
"All of our beloved huntsmen are bequeathed the title," he whispered conspiratorially, "Hundreds of our fine denizens answer to that name."
Seymour sighed dejectedly and wilted where he stood. he crossed his arms mulishly in front of him.
"How do I find my Lady Hunter?" He stressed.
The man chuckled once more.
Seymour shot him an unamused look, getting quite tired of this man. The man blinked owlishly before he lit up with 'eureka' spelled across his face.
"I know that expression anywhere," he said to himself.
"Your Lady Hunter is the Celtic woman," He scoffed and pinched the edge of Seymour's cloak with a hungry look, "I should have recognized the fine stitching."
Unnerved, Seymour yanked the thick fabric out of the man's hands. He clutched it protectively close to his chest. The man spread his hands out disarmingly.
"If you know her, could you take me to her?" Seymour asked.
"I could," the man drawled as he tapped his cheek, "But not for free."
Seymour's spine prickled with nerves, his face tense. Lady Isla has warned him about this. Fairies did nothing for free, and their bargaining system varied from fairy to fairy. It took a master barterer to leave a fairy deal unscathed.
But this man didn't seem like a fairy. Even Nuala had pointed ears, and the man proudly showcased his ruby earrings attached to rounded ears. Before Seymour could speak one way or another, he became aware of eyes upon him. Eyes that burned holes into his back with a strange sense of deja vu.
He instinctively turned and gaped at the sight behind him.
A beautiful woman, taller than the crowd, approached with graceful slow steps. Butterfly wings covered her face like a mask, fluttering idly over her picturesque smile.
Her dress sparkled as the constellations fell from the sky to decorate her hems. Large dragonfly wings peeked over her shoulder as blue as a sapphire. Even without eyes, Seymour could feel her blazing gaze on him.
Her presence evoked an unnatural hush in the crowd.
Even the man, confident and casual, stood up straighter and tipped his chin down in respect. Finally, she turned her head, addressing the crowd at large.
"My children, it brings me such joy to see all of you," her voice rang through the clearing, "Please, enjoy yourselves. Dance until you drop. Eat until you are full. After a season of scarcity, embrace the bounty of the equinox!"
The crowd cheered uproariously before returning to their merriment. The beautiful woman glided over to Seymour but, thankfully, her eyes floated over his head.
"Puck!" She said warmly.
"Queen Titania! Marvelous speech," the man took her hand and spun her gracefully.
As she spun, a comet twinkled through the darkness of her dress. Seymour stared dubiously. Were her metaphorical constellations made from genuine stars? Her skirts were still settling when she flicked her head towards Seymour.
"Who is this little one?" She asked.
Puck parted from the queen, he shot her a knowing look over Seymour's head.
"A King Arthur in search of his Merlin," the man smirked, coming to stand over Seymour.
The Queen smiled mysteriously, already turning to walk away.
"I had been meaning to speak with her. Come along, little king." She did not look back to see if he was following her, "We will give you guidance."
The puck slid past him and up beside the queen, familiar and trusting. Wary, but desperate, Seymour begrudgingly trudged after the two. The fairies partied rambunctiously but somehow managed to maintain a bubble of space around the queen.
As if her presence repelled any from bumping or tumbling into her.
It took no time at all to come across his frazzled guardian. She whisked through the stragglers between them and yanked Seymour into the tightest hug he had ever received.
She released him just as quickly. A quick pat down, checking Seymour for scrapes or bruises, had the tension melting from her face.
"You're safe," she sighed and turned to the queen, "Your Majesty is kind."
"Not at all, Hunter," Queen Titania said, her smile like the cat that caught the canary.
She turned her head towards Puck expectantly. He matched her sly grin with his own before he turned toward Lady Isla.
"Her Majesty would naturally require compensation," Puck said, eyes flicked to Seymour, "The gift of reunion is rare and should be properly repaid."
Lady Isla froze like stone.
"How so?" She said, her eyes unblinking.
Puck tutted, circling Seymour and eyeing the velvet cloak appreciatively. He rubbed the end of the fabric between his fingers.
"This garb is enchanted?" He asked, and smiled when Lady Isla nodded, "It will be an acceptable trade for our Queen's aid."
Lady Isla went to protest, her cheeks burnt from fury and went white as a sheet when Puck ripped the cloak off Seymour. Lady Isla looked on in horror. The queen's face lit up as her butterflies flapped joyfully.
"A child!" The Queen cried, "How delightful! Hunter, how horrible for you to keep this boy hidden."
The Queen knelt, uncaring as her dress pooled in the dirt. She cooed at Seymour when he hid behind Lady Isla. The Queen's gaze never left his face.
"He's just darling, my dear," she craned her head around Lady Isla to follow him, "You simply must let me keep him!"
Seymour's blood turned to ice in his veins. Fairies do not say what they do not mean. He glanced up pleadingly at Lady Isla, she looked helplessly between the Queen and Seymour. She could not say no to the Queen without half the festival staking her on a stick. She looked hopefully towards Puck.
"You have your compensation," She said meaningfully, "We must be heading home."
Lady Isla backtracked with Seymour behind her, taking slow steps away from the Queen. Queen Titania followed each step, the wings of her butterflies drooped as her face fell.
"No, please! Stay for a few more hours," She implored, tears thickening her voice, "It hasn't been a year since King Oberon stole my human boy from me."
Lady Isla continued to retreat, resting a hand protectively on Seymour's head. She shot a heated glare at Puck. He grinned smugly as he patted her cloak gingerly. Then he sprung into action. He jumped in between Queen Titania and Lady Isla, a jolly barrier that allowed Seymour and his guardian to flee.
"My Queen! I must show you this wonderful new dance!"
Puck's voice faded as the pair sprinted for the woods.