By the Light of the Fire
Let me begin from the beginning of this tale...
Not all things in the world are as they should be... There is often an explanation for everything, even if the explanation doesn't explain its reason for being, there is a common truth. Mysterious things happen when you mix love and magic. Her being was that of what some might call abomination, but some... Some may call it a blessing. I promise in the end my friends, you will see.
It began with an Elf, beautiful in all essence and wise, gave light to a lost Halfling who became besotted with her. Sprinkled with innocence and the naivety of a love drunk Hobbit when seeking selfish magic, he sought the help of a dark conjurer who created a spell most foul. In a vial of beautiful glass a red passion of liquid slumbered, until Enwe consumed it taking it for a gift from the small admirer as a token of gratitude. Their love was fake, the Halfling knew this, consumed with obsession and shame after many moons; he asked the conjurer to break the spell after but three years. The conjurer agreed, and revealed that within the spell was a counter spell... For once he had undone the first enchantment placed upon her, if the Hobbit were ever to lock eyes with Enwe again, she would die, unbeknownst to the Hobbit he had been tricked by the conjurer to drink a spell under the illusion of good hospitality upon his entrance to break his deal. Played out in the conjurer's mind it had been foreseen what was to be, the eventual death of the Halfling, but one thing slipped the conjurer's radar... In a flash of light the Conjurer disappeared, leaving a lingering laugh of wickedness.
Roaming the lands for many moos, stricken by grief, he one day encountered a white rider, striding down from the north on a horse the colour of fresh snow. His eyes locked onto the blue orbs under the hood. The rider fell from atop of the horse, a heart no longer singing a tune into the cold, misty woods. The hood fell to reveal Enwe, her face pale, her hair as white as the cloak she was wrapped within. Fosco lay on the cold brown earth, sobbing and broken, the mornings frost thick in the air stinging his gaunt face; the presence of death ethereal within his hands, his very small childlike hands that grasped the Elf, the one he loved, the one he abandoned somewhat 10 years ago, not but seconds for her life, but an eternity spent in wondering hell within his mind, doomed to run, and cruel fate had her way with his heart, Enwe was but a small pawn in her plan.
For the conjurer was a greater evil in disguise, a fallen Maiar, graced by the growing presence of evil in the lands of Middle Earth. Fosco ever assumed the conjurer to be of male presence, but as Almasenor, a Witch among the world of magic, she despised Enwe, a beautiful Elf who had enchanted the hearts of many but took the hearts of none, only used her beauty to lead weak heart of men into battle, she thought it a fitting end to her time upon the earth to die a pawn to a lowly Halfling.
Fosco was distraught, he took Enwe's sword and held it to his throat. A small call in the dawns darkness, a cry of a young voice, scared and ever so... small. He threw the sword to the ground in disbelief, for there, riding a small pony, hair in flowing white locks as curly as the waves of the eastern seas, eyes, a piercing hazel green of his own colour, a nose that wasn't sleek like an elf but still framed by a beautiful face, an ever so tiny body, for if she were a pure Elven child, she would be taller than dear Fosco, but she was as small... well as small as a hobbit. Tears streamed from his matching eyes as he watched her, a bewildered look on her face turn from scared to grief. Fosco stood, reaching a hand out towards her.
'Desh'mieve!' she cried out to the god like woman held in Fosco's arms.
His hand reached towards her, laying Enwe on the cold earth, drawing ever closer he tried to speak Elvish but her heart would not listen to his words. Her Pony became startled by his abrupt movement and dashed, taking the child with her. They escaped together through the woods, into the opening, the light of day beaming down on them as they ran. The child cried, her mother had been slain by this creature! The creature with hairy feet, she grew to know as Hobbits - Halflings.
No-one told her what she was. Never through her avid years of hatred and ignorant fear against the Shire folk. For even they did not know, they only had rising suspicion on her maturity. She wanted revenge on Fosco. But that revenge never came. The wondering Hobbit had vanished from all existence, he was never seen from that day again. He had died there in those woods. The moment she bolted the bond that still nursed the thread of his life together had been severed, he had nothing left and took his own life, there lay there forever, turned to the earth with the Elf that he loved so bitterly, clutching to a trinket that his Elf, Enwe, had given him the day his guilt consumed him. A little charm that was engraved with the words in Elvish that could be translated by the word of Hobbit folk to mean Faye. Fairy in the words of men like you and I. A simple silver jewel that had the wings of an insect, a silver heart shaped diamond in the center and laced with Celtic shapes to outline its radiance. It was his Daughters, an offering from the Elves to Enwe as congratulations before they knew, before they banished her from their realms to wonder alone with the child...
Some mysteries of this world are hushed and forgotten. Some things in this world become among legend. We forget what once was and what still is we choose not to perceive as being extraordinary.
We wonder aimlessly in search, as does this solitary Faye. For answers, for belonging and home. For a little thing called... hope.