Foxglove

Part I

And in their courses make that round
In meadows and in marshes found,
Of them so called the Fairy Ground,
Of which they have the keeping

- Michael Drayton

Sometimes you had to do the brave thing and bravery would follow, right?
If this was a time to follow your gut instead of your bravery Elain was about to be very, very, sorry.

Feyre was out hunting again. She hadn't caught a thing in weeks. They had tried to make do with what they could get their hands on, which luckily wasn't that hard at the moment.
It was harvest season so they used the berries, wheats and pumpkin that grew in Elain's very limited garden. It was enough for the three young girls but not for her father whose health had been frail ever since some debtors crushed his leg years ago.

He'd gone out in the rain last week to sell some of his woodcarvings. His cough was horrible but it was his irregular heartbeat that scared her. She knew that foxglove could help him but they didn't grow it. She had to be careful when preparing it though, they didn't call it dead man's bells for knew she'd seen it somewhere in the forest a while back. She threw her threadbare cloak around herself and left. It couldn't be that long of a walk after all, so there was no need to disrupt Nesta's reading.

•••••••••

'Gwanny, pwetty flowah!' A young Elain cried while pointing at a drawing in her herbology book.
'And do you know the name of that flower, sweetheart?'
Elain shook her head.
'They call it folk's gloves. Do you know why? It's said to be a flower that was smuggled out of the faery lands by some humans who wanted to share its beauty and benefits with the world. But the faeries were angry with the humans for stealing it. So they cursed their beloved plant. Don't cut or pluck one of the flowers, it would offend the faery folk. You know how rancorous the faerie folk are. They steal children from their cribs and swap them with changelings. They lure travellers into the woods with music so they become lost. Elain, love, admire the flowers but don't touch them.'

•••••••••

Just old wives' tales, Elain told herself. People said that so that children wouldn't take flowers out of their gardens.
They'd lived near the woods for seven years and never had she seen a fairy that wanted to lure them deeper into the woods. The Treaty forbade them to cross the Wall. The wall was close though. It wouldn't take long for faeries to cross it and get her...

No. Her father needed the flower and she wouldn't be scared by some damned folklore. Besides, she was wearing her iron bracelet.

In the tiniest meadow imaginable the flowers stood proud and tall, basking in the sunlight that managed to fight its way through the forest roof.
She strutted towards it, not allowing herself to ponder lest she chicken out of it.

She should've paid attention to the circle of mushrooms she entered.

She should've paid attention to the tales.

She should've wondered how, while all the grass had turned brown, the grass in the ring was still a vibrant green.

She didn't.

She pulled the knive from her apron and cut off a stem.
All the forest sounds seemed to disappear.

'Well well, why ever would you cut such a pretty flower?'
Elain stiffened.
'Yes dear, I'm talking to ya.'
She slowly turned around. A man in emerald and silver outlandish clothing was standing in front of her. But it weren't as much the elaborate clothes that drew her attention or the head of long copper hair but the fox mask that covered half of his face.
This had to be some kind of joke.

'Well, why you be plucking our flowers? Don't they teach you humans to respect the belongings of your superiors anymore?'
'Superiors?'
The red-haired god smirked, making the brutal scar from his jaw to his brow stand out. 'So it does have a voice. And it's just as sweet as the face it comes along with. Yes, superiors. Or shall we pretend you didn't know that foxgloves are flowers stolen from our lands by your envious kind?'
'My father is ill. I needed it.'
He sighed, putting a lock of hair behind a pointy ear of his. He was unearthily beautiful.
'Doesn't matter. So, how would ya like to do this?' His accent slipped through from time to time. Something distinctively old Northern lilt, though he quickly corrected himself.
'Do what?'

'You killed something of ours. A life for a life. Do you happen to have any babies I can snatch and swap for changelings?' His sardonically grin was absolutely terrifying. Something about this whole situation seemed endlessly amusing to him.

'You can't be serious. Please, my father is terribly ill. I can't be sorry for wanting to heal him. Is the life a flower worth as much as that of a life of a living being?'
'It is if the being in case is a human', he answered coldly.

'What, exactly, do you want from me?'
'Your life. Or someone else's.'
'How? Are you just going to kill me?'
'Well, dear, as you can see you walked right into a fairy ring. Perhaps we can dance together naked under the moonlight until you're so tired you collapse?'
'I'd rather not take my clothes off.'
'Such a prude. Fine. You can keep them on for the time being.'
'I agree to go with you. But please, let me first go and help my father.'
'So you want your father to heal, is that everything?'
'I can't provide for my family like Feyre. My hands are pretty useless. I can only grow flowers and if luck is on my side, a random pumpkin. The only thing I was good at was playing intermediary between my two sisters. I'll be one less mouth to feed.'
He remained silent and with a flick of his hand a root wrapped around Elain's leg.

The faerie disappeared. She tugged and pulled but her leg remained put. Leaves rustled somewhere nearby. Elain twisted and turned until she saw her youngest sister Feyre padding through the leaves only a few meters away from her.

'Feyre! Oh thank the gods. Feyre! Over here. Feyre! Feyre? Feyre, where are you going? No, Feyre! Come back. Please! Please. She doesn't hear me. Oh god. The circle, I must be invisible.'
Feyre looked over her shoulder and for a few seconds the sisters looked straight into each others eyes. But the younger one remained unaware of the elder's impending fate.
The Fae soundlessly reappeared behind Elain. He watched the girl bundled up in animal skins disappear. 'Friend of yours?'
Elain turned around again. She wasn't going to volunteer any information. The faerie folk were well and truly wicked and she had been a fool to believe otherwise.
'If you would be as kind as to sign this?' He asked. Feyre looked at the piece of parchment and quill in his hands.
She took a deep, resigned breath.
'You father is fine now by the way. His heartbeat is back to normal and I fixed that leg of his as well.'
The fae refused to make eye contact.
'How did you know where he lived?' 'I tracked your trace back to your house.'
Elain signed the damned piece of paper.

Before she knew it he had conjured a vial, grasped her chin and dumped the content in her mouth. Within a matter of seconds, nausea overtook her. The fae scooped her into his arms. She remembered smelling the oak and moss scent that clung to his leathers. As her vision started going blurry she couldn't help but giggle at how perfectly his hair blended with the colours of the leaves.
'You look like autumn. Pretty.'