fay child
Cant say this is how I saw my life playing out but it could have been worse. By all rights I should have died four hundred years ago. Margo had other plans for me it seems. Oh, you don’t know who Margo is do you. Of course not how could you, you are only some twenty years old yourself. I guess I should really start at the beginning.
I was born in 1530 to a poor family in servitude to Duke Fergus. He was only a small feudal lord but he held my family’s livelihood in his hands. I was for lack of a better term sold into a squire-ship to a cruel knight who had saved the duke from robbers. I was barely 7 when I was sent to him. For three years all I did was tend to his secondary horse. I was not even trusted near his main horse who both ate and was housed better than me. He was riding in a battle for some lord I cant remember if I even had ever known. On his death I was freed though all I had was a second rate horse and the clothes on my back. Oh and a short sword I had found as we made our way away from the battle field, I had no idea what to do with it but it might have value to get me food later. We were far from home and I did not even know my way back not that I would have gone back or even had anything to truly go back to. The woods were cold at night and. Oh dear, I’m rambling again aren’t I.
After a couple year I had started to grow into the part of a young man. I practiced what I remembered seeing men do with swords before battles. I was sure I could fully defend myself. I met Margo Fiston on a road heading toward Paris, I thought, wrongly, I must add, that she needed my help when I saw her carriage being attack by a small group of rouges. I never saw what it was but something moved man to man and slit their throat before I could get off the horse. I know you don’t believe in things you cant see but it was real. I opened the carriage and there sat the beautiful Madam Fiston. She even fake a believable, “My hero” as she wrapped her arms around my neck. More to hide the blood on the front of her dress than out of any feeling. I offered to escort her as far as the nearest town as I could not leave a helpless ( laughing under his breath as he continues) woman out here along and I feared her driver was gone.
I thought horses were horses and I had driven a team of horses taking the Duke’s cook into town to get supplies a few times before the battle after I turned 10. Her horses were as special as she was. I was steering them right up until I wanted to continue down the road towards the small village and they took us down a small trail I had not even seen until they were pulling us down it. A short time later the lady spoke from inside the carriage. We are here boys her words bringing the full team to a stop so quick my horse I had tied to the rear ran into the carriage. I turned to look at the noise he made and when I turned back she was sitting beside me. “I have always wanted a son,”she said. Then in a voice no more than a whisper she said “Home.” We did not move but at the same time we were no longer where we had been.
The house I would spend the next forty years calling home stood before us. I still don’t fully understand what happened to me there but I< after I reached my early twenties, I just stopped aging. I noticed she was also not aging but she was in her thirties it seemed to me. Still she treated me as a mother would treat a loved son, I did not realize till I had left just how much she had done for me. Or how unprepared I was to function in the normal world. I took a horse that had been fathered by a distance offspring of my horse and headed to where the road should be
ok who is he. He was adopted by a fay witch. Her adoption was so complete he does not age even after he leaves her. But other than that he is human. He did not receive any of her other gifts. No aging makes it so he has to move every ten years or so. When he does he first looks for his mother to ask forgiveness for leaving her. While he is sure she has seen him and hears his apology he has not seen her or the house since the day he rode though the hedge line.
