A Twisted Tale

Prologue- 982 A.D

In land of soft grassed hills and many small lakes, a modest and quiet hut stood under a large apple tree. The dwelling housed a figure of legend. In older times, she was a nymph. In other times, she was a sorcerer's disciple. Known simply as the Lady of the Lake, Niamh du Lac breathed.

A shrill scream pierced the tranquil landscape then a softer but strong cry followed. The creature was a conundrum and blessing. In a land that was self preserving, even this was unheard of; A baby born to a virgin immortal.

He had wisps of tawny auburn strands along his soft little head. He was fair toned but his ears held a slightly darker complexion, a sure sign that he would gain a bit of color. There was a faint dusting of golden freckles along the chubby cheeks and tiny button nose. No longer crying, he opened his eyes to show the glossy gray that all babes bore. Niamh looked at him in tired wonder as he suckled her full breast lulling himself to sleep.

The lady is but a title, not a proper calling. With loose strawberry blonde waves and eyes the color of sapphire, she was built of nobility. Sun-kissed fair skin tarnished by sand colored freckles dancing across the bridge of her nose. Her bust was ample and hips were round. Her limbs were long and willowy and gave to gentle height. Niamh had looks desirable enough to tempt the gods.

Her aunt's child moved along the room gently cleaning the babe as her mind wondered. She knew that this was the child that Great Freya had spoke of. The child to break The Pact. She was but a child when all who rule the realms brought it to fruition. She only remembered it so vividly because it was what tore her from her Ma.

She was exiled to the Mortal Bridge called Avalon. It was a land that housed an entrance to the other realms. Her existence was forbidden and grounds for her very destruction. If not for her mother entrusting her to the bard Merlin among his travels between realms, she would have perished.

Niamh's mother was a Seelie courtesan. She had long, frost blond hair and ethereal quicksilver colored orbs. Mother and daughter shared that same delicate build. She was fae; the child of Angels and Demons of older times.

The beauty of the Angels and their fiery vengeance coupled the malice of the Demons and their need for chaos. It created the Fair Ones that speak in truthful lies. In recent past, the Fair Realm was divided. The Fae that weren't interested in the mortal realms beyond tending the garden of Earth, were called the Seelie. Beautiful and bathed in light, they tended to be healers and oracles. At times, they would be mischievous but with not true harm, unlike their more crass otherlings.

The Fae of the Unseelie court too were beautiful. Pale skin of shell and long dark locks of hair with tall, lithe frames were the commonality. The Unseelie were different as they had heterochromia; dual colored eyes. One eye the color of emerald glades and the other, the color varied. These Fae were battle hungry and beautifully cruel. Each sentence spoke, was a beautiful song like the sirens and just as deadly.

Her father was Bragi; the Norse god of poetry to some and a blessed bard to others. As her Ma would tell, the runes on his tongue could turn soot to gold. Blessed to read the welcome to the fallen warriors, his words began what was known as poetry. How this man became her pa was skewed and shrouded in mystery. The only thing that stayed true was Loki's involvement set her sentence in motion.

As Niamh settled down with the babe, she heard the crashing waves at the shores of Avalon. The winds screamed thru the trees and her heart clenched. Something was coming. She looked at the baby boy and held him close. What was coming, she did not know but she knew, her son's very being was at its core and there was nothing should do to protect him.