A/N: I apologize for the long hiatus! I've had a lot going on in my personal life which takes precedence over writing, and, when I do have time and energy for writing, I'm prioritizing original works. This was written as a gift for my girlfriend for her birthday back in November. I figured I'd post it to try to get back in the swing of sharing my writing online.

Please be aware that this work contains swearing, disturbing imagery, and graphic violence. This story is a retelling of The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe relying on modern characters and mythology about the fair folk. It does get dark. That said, the darkest segment, the ritual murder and subsequent revival of the Queen of Summer, is not posted here for the purpose of keeping this within a teen rating.

Her younger cousin finds it first, and none of them believe her. Lydia always was a bit prone to tall tales. It serves her well as a budding writer, but it doesn't exactly lend credibility to her claims that there's a secret world hidden between two hawthorn trees in the forest behind their new apartment. Not much could; not for David, political science major, soccer star, and sworn member of the fellowship of Christian athletes; not for Ethan, with his love for physics and obsessive need to make sense of everything; and certainly not for Ellen. Ellen, who has only one more year as a premed. Ellen, who has to study for her MCAT. Ellen, who hasn't had time for make believe since she was 17 and reading The Hobbit one last time before she lost the leisure necessary for novels.

Lydia, who must spend half her waking day dreaming, doesn't care in the slightest.

"It's true!" she insists, blocking the door to their apartment and glaring at Ethan as if she can trap the much larger man by sheer force of will. "I met a faun, and we had tea."

Ethan meets her eyes with an expression of mixed pity and exasperation. "Even if portals to other worlds were possible— which they aren't— that doesn't make sense. I'm pretty sure that fauns aren't associated with snow, and if you really believed that you were in the company of a fair—er, one of the fair folk, why would you have accepted any food from them? Isn't that supposed to be bad luck? You just dozed off for a bit and had a very vivid dream."

"I wasn't asleep! And I told you, it was only winter because the Queen of Winter is pushing farther into Seelie territory. Mr. Tumnus didn't choose to live somewhere snowy; he only stays there because he has nowhere else to go and is afraid of attracting the queen's wrath. And it's not bad luck, it just risks you being trapped in the fae realm. I wouldn't mind that." Abruptly, she whirls towards Ellen. "You believe me, right Ells?"

Shit. "Lydia, we're all adults now…"

"So? A number means that you're not allowed to believe in the fair folk anymore? Come on, you used to be obsessed with them—"

"When I was a kid!" Her face is burning, and she can see David biting back a snicker. Jackass. Why does Lydia always have to do this to her? God, she should have known rooming with her would be a terrible idea. More firmly, Ellen says: "Listen, Lydia. What you're describing just isn't possible. I'm sorry, but it isn't. The fair folk are an interesting myth, but we all have more important things to be focusing on than myths. Don't you have a paper to write?"

"It's on myths, thank you very much. And no, that's not why I dreamed about meeting a faun! I didn't dream anything!" Lydia shakes her head in frustration. "Listen, Ellen, please. Will you at least go back out there with me and check it?"

"If there's a portal just sitting there in the forest, why aren't people wandering through it all the time?" David wonders.

"Because it's hidden by the patch of poison oak… Oh, Ellen, don't make that face, there's a route around it—!"

David pushes past her with a snort, Ethan retreats to the kitchen to make coffee, and Ellen returns to her books. It's almost slipped their minds by the end of the day, and despite Lydia's best efforts, less than a week later, the rest of them barely remember it at all. A month later, the discussion might as well have never occurred. Midterms are approaching, and even Lydia can't afford too many distractions. As long as each day seems, it denies adequate time for the increasing amounts of work that their professors seem to delight in piling upon them. In his spare time, David turns to prayer. Ethan seems to be living off of coffee, ramen, and cold pizza from the undergraduate TA office. Ellen begins substituting polite social phrases for equations without noticing. As for Lydia, her aggressive cheer becomes more desperate by the hour until one day, after returning to their apartment from a particularly grueling literature exam, she breaks down into tears over her burnt attempt at scrambled eggs and can't be consoled.

"I fail at everything! Even the stove! I can't even make scrambled eggs with the stove!"

"You made eggs fine last week! Really, Lydia, think about it. At least you can make eggs. I don't think Ethan even knows how to turn on the stove."

Ethan half heartedly throws an eraser at David, but Lydia doesn't even crack a smile. Ellen eases down into the chair beside her and awkwardly tries to rub her back. She vaguely remembers Aunt Carole doing that when either of them would get upset as a kid, but she can't remember if it actually helped anything. It doesn't seem to be helping much now, even if the tears are slowing. How could it? Back rubs don't fix fears of failed grades.

"Listen," Ellen finally sighs, hating the words even as she speaks them. "It's a Friday night, and we could all use a break. Why don't you come watch a movie with us – or with me, if, ah—"

"With us," David says firmly. "I'll make hot chocolate, and it'll be just like old times. We can pretend we're all awkward freshman again. I'll even take up all the couch space so that Ethan has to sit on the floor."

"No you won't, and for that comment, I'm picking the movie."

"No documentaries," Lydia says. Her voice is thin and her smile is watery, but when she wipes the remaining tears from her eyes, she almost looks alright. Her roommates enthusiastically agree to this, and they all make their way over to the TV. "One movie" turns into a Breaking Bad marathon, and it's past midnight when they all start calling it a night. Ellen stays out just a bit longer than the others, debating whether or not she should go against her own suggestion and try to sneak in a bit more studying. A single chapter review for Organic Chemistry II couldn't hurt, and it's not like she isn't used to long nights.

A banging noise disrupts her thoughts. A moment later, Lydia's door opens, and Ellen scrambles up in alarm.

"Lydia, are you alright?"

There's no answer. Lydia's expression is almost blank as she reaches the apartment door, and Ellen realizes that she must be sleepwalking.

"Lydia, why don't you come back to bed," Ellen says as loudly as she dares, not wanting to wake up Ethan or David but hoping to break through to her cousin. Almost immediately, she begins doubting her choice. "Shit! Don't—" She quickly slides into her tennis shoes, silently grateful that she's still dressed, and follows Lydia into the hallway. She quickly catches up to her and grabs her arm, but Lydia shakes her off and darts halfway down the stairs before Ellen has even regained her balance. Ellen spares only a moment for shock before darting after her.

"Lydia!" She shouts, throwing all desires for privacy to the wind, but although a few confused students open their doors to see what the commotion's about, Lydia doesn't acknowledge Ellen at all. What's more, she doesn't slow down. By the time that Ellen exits the complex, Lydia is almost at the edge of the woods. Ellen breaks into a sprint, but Lydia's form melts into the shadows cast by the trees before her.

Scrambling, Ellen pulls out her phone and turns on its flashlight. She's never liked nature as much as Lydia always did, and the stillness of the forest at night unnerves her. Maybe this isn't the right choice. Maybe she should call for help. Maybe she's worrying too much. The forest is intersected by a wall at the border of campus, so it's not like Lydia can wander off too far. If she fell and hurt herself, that would wake her up, right? But she was already in her pajamas and wouldn't have her phone with her. If she was seriously hurt, would she be able to get help in time? What if there are drunk guys hanging around, and they find her first?

How big are these woods? Ellen realizes that if she's not careful, she could easily get turned around and end up in one of the situations she fears for Lydia. She doesn't come back here much, and she's unfamiliar with any paths that the forest has. Even with the light from her phone, she'd be ill prepared to dodge protruding roots, sharp thorns, or other hazards. Shaking her head, Ellen forces herself to stop and listen. Lydia shouldn't be able to see at all, so even if she does have an actual trail memorized, she's likely to make at least some noise traversing it, especially once she wakes up more. However, the night is almost silent. Ellen can only pick up the faintest stirrings of… music?

Her feet carry her closer before she's aware of herself. Yes, it's definitely music. It sounds like it might be coming from a flute, maybe, or a harp. Is there some kind of pagan band practicing, or is Ellen about to accidentally crash someone's idea of a romantic date? Because if that's what's causing the music, Ellen will crash it. She's still walking towards the source, justifying to herself that Lydia likely did the same. It isn't until she reaches a small clearing, notable only for the two hawthorn trees within it, that she understands that Lydia would have come here anyway.

It's so much easier to believe impossible things under the light of the full moon, especially when moonlight hits the space between two trees in such a way as to almost cause a visual distortion. Ellen's palms suddenly feel damp, and her heart pounds in her chest. What am I so afraid of? She asks herself. Lydia's probably right past those. Just walk around them and keep going, and you'll find her. But part of her bristles at that. Why should she walk around the trees? Why is she reluctant to go between them? They're just trees. She doesn't really believe in this portal nonsense, does she?

Of course she doesn't. Ellen shakes her head resolutely, ignoring how she uses that motion to procrastinate just a few seconds more before slowly walking forwards. Almost involuntarily, she pauses before the actual gap. Deep breath, she commands herself, and then she breathes and steps forward—

– into snow. She freezes, mind reeling. What the—

Turning back around is no help. There are two hawthorns behind her, but they show only a shimmery path to more snowy forest. Around them is snowy forest. In every direction is snowy forest. Now panicking, Ellen jumps backward, back into her own familiar forest.

Oh my god. What the fuck. Oh my god, what the fuck! Her teeth cut into her lower lip as she bites back a scream. Stepping forwards does nothing to dispel her fear; again, the world melts around her into a white blanket of snow and ice.

Lydia! Oh god, Lydia is in here somewhere. I'll never be able to convince the police to help look for her here. What if the portal is only open at certain times? What if – oh god, the music was for her, it was calling for her, what if she really is trapped here now, I'm not a hero, I don't remember the stories well enough, I won't be able to earn her back, what if I get trapped here too—

The music! Ellen strains her ears for it, but it seems to have stopped. She's not sure if it meant only to lure Lydia back here or if her cousin has already reached a more specific destination. Either way, how could Ellen possibly find her?

Waves of nausea hit hard, and Ellen falls to her knees in despair. Oh god, oh god… this is a nightmare, it has to be. This is just a nightmare. It feels real, it feels too real to be a dream, but it can't be real. It's a prank, or I've been drugged, or the stress has me hallucinating, this can't be real, it just can't!

If it's a dream, it's not one she can wake up from, and she's brutally reminded of this by the snow seeping through her jeans. She's not dressed for winter. She's never seen such a white winter in her life. The cold drives her back to her feet, and Ellen takes several deep breaths, trying to ignore the way the air pierces her lungs. She has to approach this logically. This can't be real, but if it's not real, then what's the harm in looking for Lydia? It could by symbolic. Didn't her intro psych class say something about meeting goals in dreams? And if this isn't a dream, if it is somehow real… she doesn't want to think about it, but the wind is harsh, and she can't stay here for much longer without risking hypothermia. Lydia, in her thin cotton nightgown, must have even less time.

Seeing no other choice, Ellen picks the closest thing to a path that she can see and begins walking. She tries to move quickly to preserve heat, but it can't be minutes before her legs are growing numb. Her breath hangs before her, and her teeth are chattering forcefully enough to hurt. Dreading what she'll find, she uncurls her right hand from around her phone and drags it out of her pocket. Her fingers aren't white, not yet, but their shade of blue is disturbing. If she can't get warm soon, she'll have to turn back.

It might already be too late, part of her whispers, and Ellen tries to shove her fear back down. She hasn't gone that far. Blue fingers aren't good, but they do still have blood flow. One of her friends has secondary Raynaud's; her fingers turn blue all of the time. Ellen's joints still bend with only minor stiffness, and she doesn't think that she's that dazed. She must only have mild hypothermia at worst—

She's rationalizing. She has to turn back. At this rate, she may even have to lose her jeans. The snow on them has iced over, and beyond impairing her movement, they're contributing to her rapid heat loss. If she trusted her ability to make a fire, she'd try to burrow in one of the small caves up ahead and wait out the worst of the storm, but as things stand, she figures her best chance is to escape home. She can return with Ethan and David. They'll have to believe her, and she'll force them to follow her even if they don't. They'll find Lydia, and they'll find a way to take her back with them, and they'll all warm up back in their dorm and everything will be alright…

Somewhere to her left, a wolf cries out. Another sounds closer, and then a third. Ellen freezes. She should run. Right? Something about staying still tickles at her memory, but maybe that was for bears. Or snakes? Her thinking feels sluggish. Moderate hypothermia? Fuck.

The wolves, larger than any Ellen has ever seen, crash through the forest and circle around her. Absurdly, Ellen finds herself wondering if she could curl up with one of them like a dog. They look warm, certainly warmer than she is. Her laughter is ugly, and it leads to a nasty bought of coughing. Before she's aware of herself, she's on her knees again, arms tightly hugging her midsection. The shivering is getting bad now, and she can't stop a sob of despair. For a moment, hopelessness blots out everything else.

When she notices that the wolves have all parted for a figure paused in front of her, it startles her badly enough to send her reeling backwards – now her shirt is wet, too, she distantly notes, but her attention is largely elsewhere. In front of her, the woman is eyeing her just as intensely, though her curiosity seems more muted. Ellen has caught her attention for now, but there's no promise that she'll keep it. A chill hits Ellen that has nothing to do with the slow freezing of her body. This woman might be her only chance of survival, but some small, instinctual part of her warns that keeping her attention is not a good idea.

I don't have a choice! Forcing her numb lips to form words, she manages to croak out, "please—"

She's not sure what she's begging for, but the woman must. A smile stretches across her lips, and a glimpse of her sharp teeth has Ellen pressing back even further. Then the woman's arm is raised, warmth radiates through Ellen, and the relief is enough to banish her fear.

"Thank you," she sighs, finally relaxing some of the tension from her muscles. On an impulse, she brings a hand back in front of her. To her relief, movement comes easily, and color is returning. She wiggles her toes to find the same. "Oh thank god…"

The woman laughs, and Ellen looks up, startled. Again, instinct tries to flare in warning, but something different has caught attention now.

The woman is gorgeous. It's a harsh, alien beauty, but it pulls at Ellen all the more for it. The woman is tall, with skin so pale that it hurts to look at, as if it reflects the sun's light. Her hair is long and as fine as silk, and her eyes are so dark and deep that Ellen feels as if she's falling into them. The woman raises a hand to sweep a lock of hair away from her face, breaking the spell, and Ellen notices that her fingernails are curved and sharp. When she smiles, her teeth are sharper. Only her lips show any color, a deep stained red.

The lips curl, and Ellen's brain seems to lag as she hears: "What is your name, child?"

She shakes herself and answers before her brain makes the final leap about why her answer – the fact that she answered at all – has made the strange woman look so pleased.

"Ellen," the woman murmurs as if tasting the name, and a shiver travels down Ellen's spine. The pull that she felt towards the woman – the fae, for that must be what she truly is – deepens, and it's all that Ellen can take to remain kneeling in the snow before her. Then the reality of her position hits her like a brick, and she scrambles to her feet, red faced with shame and horror. The fae laughs, and the sudden sound of bells reminds Ellen why she's here.

"Please, I—I'm sorry, I didn't mean any offense—"

"I did not take offense," the fae answers smoothly, and Ellen fights to overcome the urge to get lost in her voice.

"My cousin!" She blurts. "My cousin got… she came here a month ago, and she got called back tonight. I came to retrieve her."

The fae cocks her head to the side, at once sympathetic and cold. "Oh? And why did she get 'called back?'"

Ellen closes her eyes to steady herself. "She admitted to taking tea with a faun, but… please, she's my cousin. She—" Ellen stops, sensing that giving excuses like she was under a lot of stress or she was going to be a writer won't win her any favors. Instead, she tries: "I know that you traditionally offer quests to win back loved ones. Tell me the terms."

The fae makes a noise in consideration, looking somewhere past Ellen. "A faun, you say?"

"Yes. A Mr. … Tums?"

"Tumnus. Interesting, how he failed to report this to me." Her eyes turn back to search Ellen's, and Ellen dares to hope.

"Come," the fae says suddenly, already turning away, and Ellen tries not to trip over herself in following. The wolves stick closely by her side, and, now that she's paying attention, she can sense eyes coming from the trees. She can't suppress a shudder, and she'd swear that she hears mocking laughter. Ahead of her, the fae takes no notice. Until they reach her white mount, she spares no attention for Ellen at all.

"Do you ride?"

Ellen swallows hard. She's ridden horses, but not for years, and never without a saddle. Sensing her ignorance, the fae frowns. Ellen tries to ignore how badly even the smallest display of displeasure upsets her.

"Rest beside it nonetheless."

Ellen does as she's told, and now the fae is circling her. Ellen feels no less like prey, but she tries to keep her breathing calm and deep. It occurs to her that they've left the path, and even if they hadn't, she'd never be able to find her way back with fae calling her name from every direction. She'd swear that her breath catching is what finally causes the fae to again smile. God, she's never been so enticed by open cruelty.

"You have given me valuable information, but not enough to win back your cousin."

"What else do you wish to know?" The fae doesn't respond. Cursing herself, Ellen begins to ramble. "Her name is Lydia. She only turned 21 in November. Her mother is my dad's sister, and we grew up together. We live together now, in an apartment with two guys—" that seems to get the fae's attention, so Ellen hurries on. "Their names are Ethan and David. We roomed together as freshman, and it seemed to make sense to stick together. Lydia told all of us about her visit with the faun after it first happened, but none of us believed her. Of course we didn't, it—oh…"

"Few remember the tales," the fae murmurs, and her eyes pierce Ellen.

"Lydia does. She wants to preserve them and study their historical context. She's volunteered to direct plays about them before, and it's hard to get her to shut up when she hears someone misrepresenting them or talking about fairies or Santa's elves. She's been obsessed since we were kids… I guess that she picked it up from me, though. I got a book of myths from my aunt, my dad's sister, and I spent a lot of time pestering my mom for more books from the library. It was just a game we played with each other at first, but she—" Ellen stops herself before she can say she never grew out of it. Clearly, Lydia had the right idea.

Silence stretches, and Ellen's nerves stretch thin with it. Finally, the fae slowly nods. Her eyes lock with Ellen's, and from a pocket, she produces a cluster of bright berries.

"A fair trade. If you show your sincerity, I will release Lydia for you. You must return with all of your friends, but none will be forced to remain here."

Instantly, Ellen's guards are raised. "Then why do you want them?"

"I would like to meet them." The fae's eyes never stop burning into Ellen's, and Ellen's sure that they'll haunt her dreams for weeks. They must have some deeper power over her because although Ellen knows that it can't be this easy, she's on the verge of agreeing.

"There's more to it than that." She's reminding herself as much as she is accusing the fae, and the fae knows it.

"I may ask one of you to fight for me in battle, but for no longer than a week. None of you will lose your life in battle, and you will return to your world fully human."

She should have realized this sooner, but: "you're the Winter Queen." A faint nod is her only answer, and Ellen's eyes remain locked onto the queen's throughout it.

Does Ellen want to be responsible for helping this creature to invade Seelie territory? Does she have a choice?

No, she finally admits, she doesn't.

Only in forcing herself to look at the berries can she break the queen's gaze, and then her eyes are just as hopelessly locked there. The berries are in her own hands before she's aware of having moved, and a moment later, they're gracing her lips. Internal alarms that she hadn't even noticed are suddenly silenced. Maybe her brain is admitting that there's no use trying to warn her of danger that she can't avoid. Maybe even the deepest parts of her are unable to resist the lure of putting the fruit between her teeth and biting down.

It's strange, she reflects. She wasn't sure what she expected – mind numbing pleasure, to be made a mental zombie, to feel a shift as her free will is bound – but she almost doesn't notice a difference. It's only when the berries are gone and the craving sets in immediately, irresistibly, that she begins to realize what she's done.

Lydia lived with this for over a month, she tries to tell herself, but it's harder when the fae queen is still right there, smiling in a way that suggests that she knows exactly how Ellen is feeling. Begging her for more would be very, very stupid. But she can't quite convince herself of it. Would being trapped here really be so bad? She remembers Lydia saying the same, that she'd eaten with the faun knowing fully what it would do to her. If she chose this, who is Ellen to try to force her away? Really, this must be Lydia's dream. Even if it means fighting in a foreign war with no end…

That's horrible, Ellen tells herself crossly. Then, more desperately: stop it!

"You are a strong one." The queen circles closer, close enough to reach out and touch Ellen's lips. Ellen's legs tremble, but she refuses to fall for the third time in so short a span.

"Thank you, your Majesty," she manages instead, and she's rewarded with another rich laugh. Finally, belatedly, her instincts kick back on, and she knows that she needs to leave now. "I suppose I should be returning to my world now?" It's more of a question than a comment, but the queen appears to accept it. Ellen stumbles away as quickly as she can, but she's not gone more than a few steps before the queen stops her by casually calling:

"Ellen?"

All strength leaves Ellen at once, and she turns back automatically, almost subserviently. The queen's smile grows sharper, but it isn't unkind as Ellen might have feared.

"You will want this." She tosses a small vile to Ellen. "It will treat the rash you are about to develop from walking through poison oak."

The mocking bell-like laughter trails Ellen all the way back through the hawthorns.