A Child of A Dôn
”You must be lost.” Dôn said but the boy did not answer. He looked upon her with faked confidence and tried to look like he knew exactly what he was doing there in the other side. Dôn could see trough him like he would have stood there naked.
“No.” He just replied with anger. He had clearly destined himself to keep his pride beyond his own best interest and choose not to beg help from Dôn. For a brief moment Dôn almost wanted to allow him keep his pride and leave him alone in the other-world while she would have just continued with her errant.
Almost, but the fair side was not a gentle place for a mortal child to wander. Knowing their way or not…usually the later though. Even for the children of Dôn it was not safe. And Dôn could clearly see herself from the boy, whose northern austere looks couldn’t completely hide that little elfish twinkle that still lid in his eyes.
“You must be a Dôn then.” Dôn said herself. The boy didn’t answer, but his mope wielded little less of anger.
“It wouldn’t be possible for a mortal child to come here, unless he was one of the Dôn’s off course…”
Dôn threw a little bait in the air and the boy raised his glance and demanded from her: “How so?”
How so indeed. It shouldn’t have been possible for a child of any family to break the barriers of the worlds…not unless the child was trained by the druids or shamans who could do it, and then only if they knew the right passage-ways and hidden doors. But Dôn doubted that Son of King Jurva of Vanaja would be a druids apprentice…
“Well…” Dôn continued and the boys demanding look begun to take form of plea with his eyes opened wide in front of Dôn. She sensed power in them…hidden things…that look was a look of a prince, and not just a sight of nobility but a glance of someone who was destined to rule and lead. It was the look of Gwynnedd, and despite this boy was tall and white-haired, Dôn could almost see her first-born again, couth sneaking in the fairside and grimly opposing her parental inquisition.
Dôn could barely keep her sudden rush of emotions hidden. There was indeed something in this lad…
“Becouse its told that the foremother of the Dôns were a great Queen of fairies in the west beyond the sea…”
“In Sweden?”
“No, far, far far beyond that, in the green lands of Wales and Ireland.”
“No she wasn’t! We are…”
“Ah, so you are a child of Dôn!” Dôn caught him before he could continue disregarding his roots. It has been long since Dôn had actually had any sort of relationship to her descants, she should correct that in the near future…
“I’m Valta, son of King Jurva!” the boy claimed openly, and foolishly…if he would have been a stranger to Dôn, he would now be under her complete power… Well he was…already, but someone needs to teach these modern Christian kids how the old world and the other side had rules…rules…
But Dôn didn’t thoughts didn’t dwell much on there…
Valta…
regal that was powerful name. So powerful that it was not a coincidence that a boy with such name would stray into otherside… A shiver run down Dôn’s spine, but the feeling was not all of horror. There was hope in it as well… For long she had not loved anyone, but some things in this boy raised her motherly feelings back into surface…and she had thought that Gwynnedds death had buried them deeply. But was it any wonder? While the world was filled with the fierce roar of warriors, there was little room for words of tenderness and affection.
“So a king’s son.”
“Yeas”
“Well then it would be great deal of harm that such would be trapped here forever…”
“Forever?”
“Forever…and not just being unable to find his way back to mortal lands, but to be held captive by the Queen of the fairies for her own amusement…”
“I’m not afraid of any fairies!”
“Ah, so many times….so many proud and gallant ones have said so… but tell me young Valta, how many tales of such men have you heard of?”
“what men?”
“Men that have returned from the underworld?”
“Underworld?”
“Yes. You didn’t know?”
“mmm….underworld like the land of the death?”
And now there was a fear in his voice, that he had toned almost to a whisper…just so that Dôn could hear it, but the possible armies of the death wouldn’t. Dôn enjoyed. She could make the situation feel even more frightening to him, as the wind and weather of the Fairside were as much of her vassals than any prince or knight.
“So tell me, a tale of mortal man that has returned from the other side unharmed?” Now Dôn whispered it herself, so that the boy could barely hear her.
But then, as her act would have gone too far, the boy bloomed out into a grin and stood firmly again:
“I know a one!”
“Ah, the stories of your kin, of Vainamoinen and Gollevainen!”
“NO…or yes, but I don’t mean those. It’s another…it’s something that my father told me…About a bard that had three choices...no, three roads he could choose, to get back to the mortal lands when the Fairy queen…”
And then he looked Dôn deeply, first with examination, then with awe and almost with a fear…
“And which roads were them?”
“mmm….first one was narrow and full of thorns and obstacles, then there was the board and wide one and the last one was green and small, like a deer’s path through the woods. “
“I see…and which one he choose?”
“Mmmm….I…he…I can’t remember.” The boy answered with his heart falling. He began to sob gently.
“I can’t remember…”
“Well, tell me then son of a King, which one would you choose?”
And the boy looked Dôn, stared her grin and then slowly turned his head to the ferny brie and saw the three roads opened In front of him.
He didn’t hesitate in choosing the right one and spurring back trough the velvet green foliage back home…