Áine was the last of her kind. The Fae lived so long that they almost seemed immortal. Even Áine wasn't sure how much longer she had. For the first three millennia of her existence, she'd foolishly believed that Faeries couldn't die. She'd thought that the greatest harm that could ever befall her was what had almost transpired with a haughty Irish king.
She was wrong.
The human king may have been strong, but he was nothing compared to the wileish ways of the pixies. They fought not with teeth and steel, but with tricks and guille. They invaded minds and memories, warping their deepest fears into a weapon of mass destruction as they poured poison into each Faerie's sleeping mouth. It wasn't war, it was genocide.
She wasn't sure if it was a blessing or a curse that they decided to spare her. The Fae can shift their forms at will, but weakened in her grief, she found herself unable to grow. And so she watched from the blades of grass as the pixies began their reign.
Eventually, a stone creature came across her clearing, picking her up with one of his six great arms. The wicked troll placed her in a matchbox and hung her round his neck like she was a stone or amulet. Once again, she'd been stupid enough to beleive that was the worst of it, but when a goose with a broken wing ran past her captor, her fate was sealed.
The troll may have been a brute, but he was not stupid. Always prepared, he carried a glamour stone, which he would often peer through. He saw past her magik and recognized the goose for what it was, the Irish king who had defiled her robes and golden threads. A Faerie toy was something to break and dispose of, a creature who could change a beings very nature, was an asset.
The six eyed fiend gave her to a troll named Gunmar, a gift, or perhaps a bribe for his favor. The Troll king placed her in a bird cage, and clipped one of her four wings so she couldn't fly. She denied him at first. Áine refused to do his bidding, but when Deya the Deliverer locked the Gum-Gum king in the parklands, taking the Faerie with him, she was trapped.
It was a blessing then how the Darklands drained her of her magik, forcing her to stay in a weakened form, unable to speak or fly. For if it had not, Áine could not know what she would have done.
For 400 years, she was a slave. Once the most powerful queen in all of Ireland, now the size of a thumb, curled to the bottom of her cage like a firefly in a glass jar. It was a pitiful existence, but a fate she had accepted long ago...
Until a human child tripped over her cage in the earthen halls of Trollmarket. The weight of his converse snapped the golden cage and she crawled out, climbing the rubble like the mountains of her homelands. A troll woman had her back turned from her, arms cradling stones like a child. She stood on the peak of the rubble, testing her wings.
The Darklands had eaten at her, and Gunmar had made certain she couldn't fly, but even the weakened thrum of a corrupted hearthstone was enough to heal her broken wing. Áine hovered in the air, incredulous at the feeling. She hadn't flied in 400 years. Forgetting her cover, she zipped around the cavern, becoming but a yellow blur in the corner of the troll woman's vision.
She passed through the barrier easily, burrowing through the earth and into the sunlight. Outside, she shifted into her humanoid form, wings folded into a yellow gown. A womanly figure gaped at her.
Áine smiled warmly, creating a series of clicks in a tongue only she recognized. She frowned, then grunted out a greeting in Trollish. She squinted at the woman before her. Ah, a human. It had been centuries since she had seen one of those.
"Dia dhuit" she tried. No response. It seemed she would have to use a process of trial and error. "thiat taybata." More open mouthed staring.
"Wènhòu."
"Χαίρετε?"
"Мои извинения, это правильный язык?"
"Wy, ludzie, macie zbyt wiele form języka."
"Wie kommunizierst du?"
"Hello?"
"¿Este humano está roto?"
The woman steadied herself on the support beams of the bridge. "What are you?"
I wanted to base this in reality, so Áine is based off an actual diety in Irish folklore. I've always believed that AAARRRGGHH's limited vocabulary was due to a language barrier rather than a lack of intelligence. I wanted to replicate this with Áine.
Dia dhuit: Irish, meaning 'Hello.'
Thiat taybata: Arabic, meaning 'Greetings.'
Wènhòu: Chinese, meaning 'Greetings.'
Χαίρετε: Greek, meaning 'Hello?'
Мои извинения, это правильный язык: Russian, meaning 'My apologies, is this the right language?'
Wy, ludzie, macie zbyt wiele form języka: Polish, meaning 'You humans have too many forms of language'.
Wie kommunizierst du: German, meaning 'How do you communicate?'
Este humano está roto: Spanish, meaning 'Is this human broken?'