“Whoa there, Jasper,” murmurs Kurt. They're close. He can feel it, a weirdness in the air that thickens with every breath. He pulls the reins tight, and Jasper slows to a walk.

The forest is silent but for the occasional soft snuffle of Jasper's breath and the thud of Kurt's heartbeat. Even Jasper's clomping footfall has been muffled by the blanket of unbroken snow. All around them is pristine white, fresh and untouched. It gleams in the bright, pale light of the full moon that filters in through the barren branches above.

They could be the only living creatures on earth.

The trees break, all of a sudden, and Jasper stops without any direction from Kurt. He must be able to feel it, too. They're here.

Kurt dismounts, stretching out muscles that have gone stiff and sore after hours of uninterrupted riding. He takes up Jasper's bridle and ties him to a nearby tree with a long length of rope he brought expressly for this purpose. He doesn't want him to spook.

He stops at the edge of the clearing. He pauses. The air is humming, and the moonlight seems suddenly eerie, reflecting bluish off of the snow and throwing distorted shadows from the trees at the circle's impossibly perfect edges. An evergreen looms tall and forbidding at the center of it. It feels like a sacred place, meant for worship, or ritual. Meant for sacrifice.

He steps forward.

He waits.

It doesn't happen right away. His feet start to go numb through the thick leather of his boots as he waits, and he can feel the apples of his cheeks and the tip of his nose pinkening as they're bitten by the cold, but he remains steadfast all the same.

A sudden flicker of light catches his eye. He whips around, but it's gone. There's another, just at the edge of his vision, and another, bright flashes that dart faster than his eye can follow. He blinks. He hears a sound like little bells tinkling – laughter, he thinks. He shivers. It's a terrible sound.

The air buzzes, thickens, until his nostrils flare with the effort to take it in. He hears a fluttering, like butterfly wings, soft and ominous in the still, silent night and growing stronger by the second.

And then – it's like the heavens have burst open and cast their stars upon the earth. Hundreds upon hundreds of bright, twinkling lights descend upon the clearing, scattering over the snow and nestling among the branches of the tree until it glows like a beacon.

Still, Kurt doesn't move a muscle.

Somewhere, far off in the distance, a church bell chimes midnight.

Here, now, the air cracks, like ice over a skating pond. The sound of it is brutal and terrifying. Jasper whinnies his panic. Kurt swallows his down.

And then, in the time that it takes to blink, there she is. Out of thin air.

She stands inhumanly straight and tall before the evergreen, drawing its light to her until she seems to be glowing from within. Her cloak shimmers with it, iridescent in the light, as if woven from gossamer. Her arms are bare, beneath, and her long, lithe body draped in a silvery material that runs like water over her skin. She wears a delicate white-gold circlet, picked out with tiny, clear jewels that are finer, even, than diamonds – more pure, like tiny chips of ice that catch the light and turn it beautiful. They drip down in strands through her hair, lost in the pale golden stream of it until she turns her head, just so, and they spark. Her skin is pale and fine, no ruddy glow in her cheeks to mark her as human. Her features are sharp, and pointed, and her eyes a clear, icy blue.

Kurt shivers under her unblinking gaze. He holds steady.

“Be gone,” she says. Her voice is deep, and rings through him like the jolting clang of a bell.  “A fairy glen on Midwinter night is no place for a youngling.”

He clears his throat and tips up his chin.

“I've come to claim what is mine.”

There's that sound again, that tinkling laughter that grates like nails scratching down his nerves. It isn't coming from her. She's smiling, faintly, amused and pitying.

“There's nothing for you here, I'm afraid.”

“You took something that belongs to me.”

“If we took it, it very much did not belong to you.”

There's something about her that's starting to feel dangerous. She's cold, and regal, and beautiful, and she could snap him like a twig with the cock of her head. It doesn't matter. The tide of hot, burbling anger that sweeps through his blood makes him feel dangerous.

“You took him,” he says, quietly, restrained.

“He bore our mark.”

Kurt clenches his jaw. He remembers. He remembers the day it appeared, a spring day full of promise that was dashed in a moment. Kurt was the one who noticed it first, a swath of red stained into his love's neck, shaped curiously like the brush of a wing.

“You marked him, and you took him.”

“We take only what is ours. He is no longer of this world.”

“And he will never belong to yours.”

Her gaze sharpens.

“I tire of you, child. You will leave this place.”

“No. I won't. Not without him.”

Her eyes flash. Her light flickers, then flares. The air takes on the scent of something burning. She raises her arm, and Kurt braces himself. He closes his eyes on instinct.

Nothing. He opens them.

Her head is tilted, curious.

“Your mother bore the mark of the fae. While you were still in the womb.”

Kurt nods, cautious.

“Yes.”

“You have the shadow of it, still.”

There's something almost tender about her expression, now. Her hand falls gracefully back to her side. Kurt swallows. He can't help himself.

“Is she – ?”

“She found her happiness beyond the veil. He will, as well.”

She says it kindly, but that isn't good enough. Nowhere near it.

“You took my mother from me when I was only a baby. I won't let you have him, too.”

“The choice is not yours to make.”

“No, and it's not yours either. It's his. You just – people aren't playthings, constructed for your use, they're people, and you can't – ”

“He is to be consort to the prince. I can assure you, he will want for nothing.”

“Except his freedom.”

Her eyes are hard, again, and pitying.

“He has been claimed. It is done. You will leave.”

“I'd like to strike a bargain.”

His voice comes out clear, and ringing. He can feel her focus narrow in until her eyes are two knife points piercing through his skull.

“Your father could offer nothing of consequence. What makes you think you are different, youngling?”

“I'm willing to give what he wasn't.”

“What is that?”

“Me.”

Titters tinkle through the air. Kurt clenches his jaw.

“You were an infant. Her first-born. It was the only fair price, and the only price he wouldn't pay.”

“Well, I'm offering to pay it now.”

“Even if it means you will never see your love again?”

Kurt swallows down the cries of No! that rail against his throat.

“If that's the price to pay for his freedom.”

She searches him. She smiles, ever so faintly.

“It is not.”

Frustration curdles in his stomach.

“Then what is?” he grits out.

“Nothing you can give. My son…values him. He is ours.”

Not if I can help it.

“Not yet.”

“He will be, come Midsummer.”

Her patience is wearing thin, he can see it on her face. He draws in a deep breath.

There is no escaping his fate. It was always going to come to this.

“I have magic,” he says, with confidence he doesn't have.

She blinks. He can almost feel the bitter cold of her gaze, scraping at the inside of his veins.

“So you have,” she murmurs. “Mage magic, running through your blood.”

She looks at him as though she is seeing him for the first time.

“From my mother. It's not – a lot, hardly enough to light a candle. But it's mine to give.”

“You offer up your magic?”

Her tone is unreadable. It could be incredulous, or scornful, or indifferent – Kurt has no way of knowing.

“I offer it in trade.”

“You know that you may well be offering up your life.”

It isn't a question. Kurt swallows.

“I do.”

“Is this what your love would desire?”

Kurt's heart plunges. No. Of course not.

“Will you accept my offer?” he says.

She pauses. Her eyes cut through him one more time, straight to the heart. She inclines her head.

“Of course.”

“I need to see him first.”

His hands are shaking, he notes, but his voice holds strong.

She gives the barest nod.

“You will wait,” she says. She vanishes without another word, and the light goes with her. He is left alone in the moonlight.

The snow is untouched, where she stood.

Time seems to stretch and snap as he waits, too long and far too short. He doesn't think of what's to come, doesn't dwell on the fact that this air could be the very last he breathes. He thinks instead, as he has for months on end, of the look on dear Blaine's face that Midsummer day, when he was dragged from Kurt's arms by hands he could not see. Wide, expressive eyes stark with terror, mouth twisting around a scream – and then, nothing. Gone, behind the veil and out of Kurt's reach.

Kurt couldn't keep him there, could do nothing, in the end, to keep him safe.

This, he can do.

“Courage,” he whispers. If he closes his eyes, he can hear it in Blaine's voice, too.

When he opens them again, the fairy queen has returned. No fanfare, this time, to herald her arrival. Just her sudden presence, like a slap in the face.

Blaine is by her side.

Kurt's breath is stolen away – he cannot speak a word. Blaine is – he's alive, and he's – there's something wild about him that wasn't there before, in the unnatural gold gleam of his eyes, perhaps, or the peculiar twisting of his glossy curls. And yet, when his eyes light on Kurt – oh.

“Kurt,” he murmurs, like he can't help it. His body pulls toward Kurt, and Kurt knows he would be bounding toward him were the fairy queen not gripping his shoulder so very tightly.

“Here he is,” she says. “Your prize. Safe and well, as you can see.”

Blaine looks sharply up at her and back to Kurt, not a trace of relief in his impossible eyes. He's written all over, instead, with dread.

“Kurt, what did you do?”

“Blaine, I – I'm sorry, I had to. It was the only way.”

“You – what did you do?”

“He's agreed to make a trade,” says the queen. Blaine shivers with the force of her voice so close to his ear. His eyes don't leave Kurt.

Kurt watches as understanding dawns.

“No. Kurt, no, you – I won't let you do that, how could you – ”

“It's mine to give. It's worth it, for your freedom.” He can't hide the tremble in his voice, not from Blaine.

“No, you – I don't want that. Can't you see? Shouldn't it be my choice?”

He's desperate, his eyes even wilder, now, with the beginnings of panic. Kurt's breath hitches. He swallows roughly, and he doesn't cry.

“What would you choose?”

“You. Every time, I would choose you.”

“And I choose you.” He shifts his gaze to the fairy queen, before Blaine can bring him to his knees. “Okay. I'm ready.”

“Kurt, n- ”

“Silence, halfling.”

Blaine's jaw snaps shut as if drawn up by a wire. Kurt's hand twitches at his side. He wants to reach out, wants to run to him, wants to hold him in his arms – every last bit of his body longs to be close to Blaine's. He tears his eyes away.

“How do I know you'll keep up your end of the bargain?”

“The fae do not deal in trickery. I will keep my word.”

If she's insulted, she doesn't show it. No, instead she looks…hungry. Kurt averts his eyes.

“Promise me that you'll release him. Promise he'll be able to return home, or – or behind the veil, if he prefers, and that his life will remain his to choose for as long as he has it.”

She hesitates, but Kurt doesn't know what can be found in her gaze, because Blaine's begging eyes have ensnared him once more.

Forgive me, my love.

“I promise.”

A rumbling rolls through the air, like thunder. It reverberates through Kurt's bones.

He braces himself.

“Do it.”

He can feel the scream coming from Blaine, even if he cannot hear it. Blaine's face is wretched with it.

“I love you,” says Kurt, suddenly desperate for him to know.

It's meant to be a reassurance, but it comes out as goodbye.

Blaine's screaming intensifies. Kurt can't look away.

The fairy queen reaches out a hand, fingers graceful and long and pointed at Kurt. He feels it, then, a rip, and then a tear, and it's agony. It's this, finally, that brings him to his knees.

The sensation spreads through his body, like it's slitting his veins, one by one, and scraping the marrow out of his bones. Something vital, taken. He's gasping around the pain, and the wrongness of it, until his breaths become shallow and unsatisfying, and spots dance before his eyes.

Finally, mercifully, the world goes black.

&&&&&

He doesn't know what's awoken him, only that he is awake. There are blankets tucked in tight around him, the way he likes, and fingers carding gently through his hair. His body feels heavy, and his mind slow and sticky, like his thoughts are trudging through molasses. A voice is humming soft and low, close to his ear. His heart picks up when he recognizes the sound of it. He opens his eyes.

“Blaine,” he breathes. Blaine starts – his voice cuts out, and his fingers jolt, pulling at the strands of hair between them. Kurt takes no notice of the pain, because – “You're here.”

Blaine laughs, incredulous, his wide eyes sheening slightly in the dim, flickering candlelight.

“I think that's my line,” he says, gently. His hand has found Kurt's cheek, one thumb stroking delicately over the bone.

“I missed you,” says Kurt, because it's the only thing that feels real right now, when Blaine is so beautiful and his fingers are warm on Kurt's face. Kurt wants to catch his hand and hold him so tight he couldn't possibly disappear without taking Kurt with him, but moving still feels too hard.

“How are you feeling?” says Blaine solicitously.

“Like Jasper kicked me to the ground and ran me over.” Blaine smiles, and Kurt is lost in it, for a second. “But otherwise, wonderful.”

Blaine's face crumples a little, working to keep his tears at bay.

“I can't believe you did that,” he says. “I can't believe you would do something so stupid.” His voice is strangled, and harsh, but his touch is nothing short of tender.

It takes Kurt a moment to remember what, exactly, he did.

“You're here. It was worth it.”

Blaine shakes his head.

“You almost died. If you'd had even a particle of magic more for her to take… It wouldn't have been worth that, Kurt. Not to me.”

Kurt does move, then, he reaches up shakily to soothe the furrows from Blaine's brow.

“I can't be sorry,” he says.

Blaine closes his eyes, leans into Kurt's touch.

“Me neither,” he whispers. “But you can never do anything like that again.”

“Deal. As long as you never get yourself abducted by fairies again.”

Blaine smiles.

“I think that's unlikely.”

Kurt's fingers travel to Blaine's neck. Blaine turns his head obligingly.

“It's gone,” says Kurt, in wonderment. He strokes over the place where the mark was smeared, like blood, into Blaine's skin. It was always warm, unnaturally so. Now, he feels nothing but Blaine's smooth skin and the pulse pounding deep below.

“Like it was never there.”

Blaine is suddenly far away. There's a flash of – of something over his face that Kurt doesn't recognize. Something…fey. Kurt swallows. His fingers curl into Blaine's flesh before he can curb the impulse to grab him, to hold on.

“Were they – do you think you could have been happy there?”

Blaine looks at him, startled. He doesn't answer right away.

“In a way, I think. If I had to be. They weren't…cruel, to me. But I meant what I said, Kurt – I would always choose you.”

Kurt smiles.

“I know.” He hesitates. “Do you think…”

“Yeah?”

“Do you think that's how my mother felt?”

He says it quickly, hushed. Blaine's eyes go soft and honey-sweet.

“Yeah, Kurt, I do. If there had been a way back, she would have taken it, no question.”

“Until it was too late.”

Blaine nods, sadly.

“Until it was too late.”

“I like to think that she's happy.”

“If she's anything like you, I'm sure she found a way.”

Kurt's heart gives a squeeze. He wants to pull Blaine close to him, but the muscles in his arm are starting to droop. He tugs weakly at the collar of Blaine's shirt instead. “Come here, would you?”

Blaine leans down and kisses Kurt's waiting lips, reverent and all too brief. Kurt chases his lips as he pulls away, with a feeble whine that he's too far gone to hold back. “Don't worry,” murmurs Blaine, reassuringly. “I'm not going anywhere.” He leans in for one more kiss, then climbs up and settles himself into Kurt's side, careful not to jostle the mattress. He drapes his arm across Kurt's chest and nuzzles into the curve of Kurt's neck, at just the perfect height for Kurt to rest his cheek against Blaine's head.

“Better?” says Blaine.

“Much.”

He can smell the fragrant oil Blaine uses to slick down his hair, and feel the beating of his heart and the solidity of his body. He twists to press a kiss to Blaine's forehead.

“What was it like?” he asks.

“Honestly, I…I don't remember. At least, not the details. It's like my memories were smudged, when she removed the mark. All I have left are…impressions.”

“The queen, she told me it was her son who…chose you.”

“Yes.”

“Was he good to you?”

“He treated me like a beloved pet.”

Kurt snorts.

“He sounds like a catch.”

He can feel Blaine's smile against his skin.

The church bells start to clang at the other end of town. Kurt counts twelve chimes.

“What day is it?” he asks.

“Oh – Christmas Day. Officially, now.”

“I've been asleep for four days?”

“Your body went through a major trauma. It's a miracle that you woke at all.”

Blaine's arm tightens around Kurt's body. Kurt rubs at it soothingly.

“Merry Christmas,” he says wryly.

Blaine laughs. He ducks his head to press a kiss to Kurt's collarbone.

“Merry Christmas.”

“So, what did I miss?”

“I wouldn't know. I've mostly just been here with you.”

“I can't have been very good company.”

“Well, Sam's visited a lot, and Rachel. Cooper and my parents have even been sleeping out in the sitting room – they're having a hard time letting me out of their sight.”

“I can't say that I blame them.”

“Mm. I'm glad they managed it tonight, at least.”

Kurt murmurs his agreement and burrows himself closer.

“How did you get me here, anyway?” he asks presently.

“I sat you in front of me and rode like the devil. I don't think Jasper's forgiven me yet.”

“He'll come around.”

Blaine sits up, suddenly, eyes wide.

“Oh, my – I need to tell your father you're awake. I – he's been worried sick.”

Kurt grabs his wrist before he can move to leave the bed.

“No. Not yet, please? I want just a few more minutes with you.”

Blaine hesitates, then nods. He settles carefully back into his place. His fingers linger and worry over Kurt's ribs, right above his heart.

“We should get Mistress Pillsbury, too. She should look you over, now that you're awake.”

“Just a few more minutes.”

Blaine nods again, the top of his head nudging up against Kurt's jaw.

Kurt can feel his eyes starting to go heavy. His body is weak, and Blaine is warm, and Kurt has been longing for him for so very long. He lets himself drift.

They're safe.