Hello!
So this is my first ACOTAR/ACOMAF fanfic so please don't be mad if it's crap! I hope it's still good!
Enjoy!
Feyre and Rhysand trudged through the thickened snow. It was peak winter season, which meant it was all the less convenient for them to travel in the Winter Court.
The one and true reason they had actually intended to visit the High Lady of the Winter Court is because while she is cold, she is also extremely powerful.. for her age. Her father and family had just recently been slaughtered, and she had just taken to the throne like it was there for her sole existence. Nobody actually knew whether she was affected in any way by these staggering happenings, and no one dare to ask. Feyre did have to admit, for being younger than Rhys, yet leading an entire court by herself, it was a truly impressive sight. Almost enough so that Feyre often wondered what he saw in her. Beauty? Grace? She better not kid herself; first, Rhysand was her mate, second, the High Lady of the Winter Court was barely 13. While Rhysand was often seen as bastard by her, pedophilia was most definitely not in his agenda.
Through the thick hazes of snow, Feyre spotted something. Advanced Faerie vision, she thought, was definitely one of the things she did not regret. It helped her in every way she could imagine. Now, it also helped her. She pointed her gloved fingers to the looming silhouette in the distance, and beside her, Rhysand nodded. Then, he spread his dark wings, which made him look as if he were a dark angel, and picked her up, soaring through the biting winds.
Feyre did end up regretting that she didn't cover her face any further. The biting wind made her cheeks turn a bright pink, almost to a point of her being unable to feel them. Her thin nose had already frozen up at least half and hour ago, so she preferred not to bother with that anymore. Although, she was almost quite certain her nose was turning blue.
The silhouette, which had started out small, began forming itself into a larger structure, and instead of it just being a silhouette, it began to show itself clearer; a white-silver castle, seen like no other, spread out in front of them. Icicles hung as decoration and accenting and no window was open, each drawn shut and the curtains hiding whatever she may have been able to view. The snowflakes danced and glimmered in the structure's reflection, and Rhys began plunging down, down towards the frosted ground again, where walking was nearing impossible and snow was stacking further up.
They landed, to find at least half a dozen of guards, faces impassive, awaiting them already. Perhaps Rhysand had already notified them ahead, Feyre thought, and also straightened her face into a mask. Two of the guards stepped forward and glanced at them expectantly.
During this, Feyre had time to view them up close through the gusting winds. They had white and pale blue uniforms, their armour sharp like icicles. Their helmets were also milky white, and they each held a crystal staff with a unique snowflake etched on the top. In their own way, they were each unique. Rhys pushed her forward gently, encouragingly, and Feyre's numb feet began to move forward.
The guards had led them inside, where Feyre relished the warmth she felt, although she also felt the absence of any fireplace. How the High Lady warmed the place, she wondered, was probably a secret. The hallways were silver, simple-minded, with several doorways. Nothing special edged towards Feyre. It was almost as if this place was... isolated.
Again, the same two guards pushed open a larger, more intricate set of doors, beckoning the two occupants of the Night Court forward. Feyre hesitated slightly, then relaxed; if Rhysand could trust this girl, then she would also learn to. It couldn't be that difficult.. right?
The next room was far larger than she had expected.
The ceiling seemed endless, the only distinguishable detail of it actually having an end a large, snowflake chandelier attached to said ceiling. Large, translucent columns were lined up at the sides of the room, each leading up further to the dais. The dais was large, silver, with a throne made of crystallised glass sitting in the exact middle. An extremely enormous and detailed snowflake hung above that throne, and Feyre thought of the sight so intimidating, she was almost afraid to step forward.
Then she remembered.
I am Feyre Cursebreaker.
I have been Turned from mortal to immortal- High Fae.
I have defeated Amarantha's wrath of evil.
I have found myself from crumbling apart.
I can do this.
She continued nearing, and also saw that someone had been occupying the throne - the High Lady of the Winter Court.
Feyre froze in her tracks to drink in her sight. The girl was.. young. Her face was pale, and immaculate, not a single feature out of place. Her eyes were large and extremely light blue, almost white. Her hair was silver-blonde, almost blue at the tips. She wore a long and exquisite gown, with thin sleeves that were traced by snowflakes. The waist was cinched in, and the skirt flowed freely. If Feyre was to be honest, she'd say that she's never seen anyone like her before. It was like standing before a goddess. Except this goddess was... exceptionally young.
Rhysand also followed Feyre's gaze, and when he did, he did a small bow. Of simple, polite respect He probably doesn't respect her deeply, she thought, he probably just respects her like any other High Lord or Lady.
Feyre also bowed, and the High Lady stood. All her guards went into formation, and a few left the throne room. Altogether, everything was deserted. The High Lady glanced at Feyre and Rhysand, and nodded. Both Feyre and Rhys then stood, Rhysand's dark and confident aura oozing from him. The younger female glanced down at him with a small smirk etching across her cupid's bow lips, which were coloured a soft sky-blue. Then, she stepped forward a bit, now at the edge of the shimmering dais. Rhysand spoke.
"Hello, High Lady," he said, his velvety voice blooming across the empty room. She did not move. "We thank you for kindly accepting our invitation."
The High Lady blinked this time, her soft, waist-length curls swinging in a newfound breeze. "I did not accept anything," she replied, her voice sounding harsh. She was like a beautiful arrow, gorgeous but... deadly. "I offered you to propose your plans." Rhysand blinked in return at this, but straightened himself soon.
"Of course," he said.
"Now," she skimmed her eyes over Feyre, who was still shell-shocked and silent. "What is it you offer? Do not waste my time."
Rhysand seemed clearly unfazed by the coolness of her tone. Of course, Feyre thought. He was used to this. He does this. Feyre now averted her eyes from Rhys and instead dared continued looking at the High Lady, who was still standing expectantly.
"We have come to take request of your armies," he began. "And an alliance." He looked back up at the girl. Was she really a girl? She was young, yes, but... she acted like a grown woman. Perhaps it would be better so, since she had an entire court to rule.
The High Lady raised her nose, expression, however, unreadable. Then, she softly replied, "An alliance with the High Lord of the Night Court, hm?" She glanced at Feyre and tsked. "And an extremely powerful Fae. High Lady, I take?" Feyre was almost shocked that this High Lady already knew so much. Did word travel fast? She put her ice-cold eyes back on Rhysand. "Would you propose, pray tell, why you need my troops to assist you?"
Rhysand seemed prepared to answer, as he immediately replied, "Your troops are very strong, their ice-powers giving us certain... advantages. And I will assume an alliance with an extremely experienced - and powerful, I might add - High Lord will only benefit the Winter Court."
The High Lady, in return, put a hand to her chin, as if she were considering this. "That it may," she muttered. Then, she lowered her hand. "But it will also cause a rift between some courts that my people are near. Is it worth the risk?"
"Illyrian fighters can be stationed at the borders," Rhys answered smoothly. "You have our word."
She peeked at him through her thick, pale eyelashes. "... Very well, then. You may have an alliance and troops. But dare to break your word, High Lord... it will not end as you may like it to." She pointedly glanced at his wings. Rhys just grinned.
"Thank you, High Lady," he replied politely, then grabbed Feyre and turned around, beginning to waltz out of the throne room.
"That was the High Lady of the Winter Court?" Feyre demanded as soon as they were outside. They had decided on walking, seeing as spies may still be hiding out. Feyre doubted it, but Rhys refused to take any risks or chances.
"It is, indeed." He replied to her, not even sparing her a glance.
"Why is she so... young?" Feyre countered, almost slowing down to a stop. Rhysand sighed, and turned to Feyre.
"I told you, her family was just recently murdered. Out of vengeance, or something else, no one knows. Aelienora had to take the throne, as she's the only legible heir."
Feyre continued walking in her thick, furry winter boots. "Her name's Aelienora?" She inquired, trying to keep pace with Rhys' long strides. It was the one thing that irritated Feyre the most; Rhysand's inability to walk slowly. Whether it was the long, slender legs or just trying to tease Feyre, she wasn't sure. She'd rather not ask, in case it gave him ideas.
"Yes, Aelienora, High Lady of the Winter Court. Extremely strong with her powers. Armies of hers have been stronger since the start of her reign," Rhys informed helpfully, continuing not to glance back at her. He was fixated at the road ahead of him.
Their journey, however, was interrupted when an ash arrow jabbed the snow only two feet in front of them. Rhysand cursed, and Feyre pulled out her bow, suspiciously glancing around to see who - or what - had done this. Her question, however, was answered when a large thunk resounded and Lucien and two other Spring Court people landed in front of them. Feyre almost let a snarl echo through her, a snarl of rage, a demand of what the hell they were doing here. Rhys sensed her white-hot rage and put a soothing hand on her gloved wrist. Feyre almost immediately released some tension, and sent a thank you down the mental bonds. Her mating bonds.
Lucien began coming a bit closer, and Feyre drew her first arrow. It was also ashen, but she was not afraid to shoot it should Lucien dare come closer. And she knew that Lucien also knew that. He stopped briskly in his tracks, and sighed deeply. "Feyre," he called. He was almost shocked. Well, at least he looked like it. There was something akin to disbelief etched across his face. Feyre wasn't exactly surprised; her escaping the Spring Court, to be found leaving the Winter Court, would most likely confuse some.
The two men began coming closer as well, boldly stepping forward, when Feyre aimed her arrow at one of them. They stopped. "Don't come any closer," she seethed, and glanced at Rhys. He too seemed to be slightly irritated, but she decided against dwelling on it. Anyone in his place would most likely be irritated.
"Feyre, we've been looking for you," Lucien breathed, reaching a pleading hand out. "Tamlin has been."
Feyre almost let her feral growl slip, but instead replied, "Tamlin does not care about me," coldly, as if she's adapted the High Lady's personality. When she said those words, the air felt colder and the breeze picked up again.
Lucien looked almost desperate. It partially disgusted her. That feigned desperation that played on his face, it disgusted her. Tamlin was a tool, much more a useless one. She'd probably never forgive him for letting her rot away in the manor.
"Feyre, please," Lucien tried again, his two accomplices standing still, however their weapons ready to be drawn. Lucien stopped pleading, however, when he saw something behind her. Feyre also turned to see what he was gaping at.
Behind her, the High Lady was floating towards them, small gushes of ice keeping her levitated. This time, a dozen guards walked in formation beside her, and the High Lady's gorgeous face had turned into pure, ice-cold rage, with no effort to conceal it. She landed next to Feyre, and stepped closer.
"What," she spat. "Are people of the Spring Court doing here?" She cocked her delicate nose towards the three men in front of her, her eyes glittering in angry sparks. Those eyes... those eyes, Feyre thought, reminded her of Nesta's stormy blue-grey ones.
"Forgive me, my Lady," Lucien began, but was cut off when the young woman waved her hand.
"I will do no such thing."
"We have been sent to retrieve her," he pointed at Feyre with the tip of his sword.
That's when something that Feyre had never seen before happened. The sword began growing frost, immaculate designs, then splintered into shards, scattering in the snow. Lucien gaped at it in shock, then back at the High Lady.
"I do not care what your purposes are," she hissed. "And I gave you no permission to occupy my lands." Then, she nodded at the guards, who grabbed each man who stood. They kneeled Lucien down, who was protesting a slight bit, while Feyre just stared in amazement.
She was so young. She was not even of age, could not bear children yet, but.. here she stood, ruling the Winter Court and its people herself. She ruled the land without hesitation. She looked unafraid of anything in her way. She was... strong and resilient.
That she is, Rhysand's voice echoed down the bond, and Feyre gave him a look to shut up. He simply smirked, and raised an eyebrow.
In slow, yet purposeful strides, the High Lady of the Winter Court neared Lucien, who had ceased his protests, instead focusing on her. When she stood in front of him, she glared viciously. "Filth," she snapped. "Bothersome, idiotic filth." She put her thin, long fingers around his neck, and he gasped, even though her grip was loose. But something white began appearing on his already-pale neck, and he seemed to be gasping for air.
She muttered slowly, but the words were full of venom. "I would kill you right now," she said, then let go of his neck. Feyre almost threw up at the sight. His neck was blue, purple, grey and white, and small, delicate tips of icicles decorated the gruesome pattern. She stepped back.
"However, given your position as the High Lord of the Spring Court's lap dog and son of the Autumn Court, I will spare myself the quarrel and release you. But return to these lands-" she gave a murderous glare in his direction again - "and I will see to it that you shall be put up as my lap dog for a while, before I rid of you. Painfully."
She turned to the guards and waved her small hand again. They released the three men, and Lucien's hands flew to his neck, holding it, desperately trying to soothe it without a single hope. Then, the High Lady turned to Feyre and Rhysand.
"As your ally, I will protect you on my lands," she said, then glanced towards the horizon. With another flick of her wrist, she turned to them. "The wards are down. Winnow back to Velaris. It is only for your safety, and my people's."
Rhys gave an appreciative glance to the girl, then held Feyre. "Let's go home," he mumbled, then winnowed them both back to home. Where she belonged.
She was still grateful for the High Lady.
Well, that's the first chapter!
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