Five years before Feyre Archeron ever stepped foot in Prythian, another human girl found herself in the Spring Court. But the trials and tribulations of her time Under the Mountain left her with nothing but a certain red-headed High Fae emissary, wh...
CHAPTER WARNINGS: Violence, Canon Character Death, PTSD
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The room was spinning around you, to the point that you couldn't focus on one singular point to keep yourself steady. It was a familiar room; you knew that dais, knew the stone throne that stood there, knew the cavernous walls and that cold, unholy atmosphere. You had been there before, in Amarantha's throne room.
"I know it wasn't real," you whispered to yourself. "I knew that the Spring Court wasn't real. I never left. I'm still here. Still Under the Mountain."
There were other people there, a crowd that suddenly, as if they had been given a cue, began to laugh. Loud, accusatory laughter, aimed at you. They pointed and cackled, tears in their eyes, hunched over with red faces. Those faces, people that you knew. Tamlin was there, laughing so hard that he was bent over, hands on his knees, staring at me through the holes in his golden mask. Feyre laughed, throwing her head back, hands on her stomach. Rhysand laughed, eyes screwed shut, gasping for air between roars of loud laughter. Even Alis, and the man from the Spring Court who wore the wolf mask laughed, Aeryn and Lucien's other brothers laughed, Keir and his cronies laughed. Everyone laughed, at you.
And you didn't know why.
Until, that is, you saw that flash of red hair in front of you, your eyes meeting Lucien's pleading ones, russet and gold, wide and filled with terror. He was on his knees, arms outstretched to his sides as if something was holding him back, although I couldn't see what it was. You took a step forward, head reeling and dizzy with the constant twirling and spinning of the room. Your foot splashed in something, and when you looked down you realised that there was a red liquid coating the tiled floor, candlelight reflected back up to you, providing you with enough light to see how it had splattered up your bare legs. Blood. Lucien's blood. You looked up, and this time saw the back of his shirt ripped open, no doubt hiding those lashes of raw skin seeping blood.
Then you heard it, that melodic cackle, that laugh that you had heard so many times.
"No no no no no," you whispered, shaking your head and closing your eyes closed tightly. "She can't be here. I can't be back. I can't."
The laughter of the crowd rose, Amarantha's louder than any other voice as you took another step forward, splatters of blood flying here and there from every step. You whirled around, searching for her, but she wasn't there. You scanned every single face visible to you, every single person buckled over with laughter, but there was no sign of the wicked High Queen. She wasn't there, but this was her doing, you knew it. There was no question about it. She was using Lucien against you once again.
"Y/N, please," Lucien begged. His lips were trembling, his back arched with the pain that had been inflicted on him. "Please, stop this."
You would put a stop to it, as soon as you found Amarantha. If you could kill her once, whether it be in a dream or not, then you could do it again. Even if it took everything that you had, you would make her stop, you would save Lucien. Because you couldn't do this without him, and you couldn't bear to see his pain, to hear his screams.
