My Dearest and Most Imaginative Master Silverhoof,

It has come to my gentle attention, with no small measure of wonder and sorrow, that many among our fair folk have grown so distant from the old truths that they no longer know from whence they came.

Indeed, some sweet but misguided souls, seeing me in my present form, have mistaken me for Niamh herself in youthful bloom, and have turned their reverence toward me in ways both alarming and profoundly embarrassing. Though I cherish their love, it grieves me that the true tales of Faerie, its first dawns, its ancient glories, its follies, and its lessons, are slipping like silver mist through careless fingers.

A people without their stories are as children wandering lost in an enchanted wood.

And so, dear Panthor, whose pen dances nearly as gracefully as Titania’s court, I entreat you to undertake a most noble and necessary labor: the crafting of a treasury of Faerie’s tales, made especially for the bright hearts and curious minds of our children.

Let them know the truth of who they are.

Let them laugh at the merry absurdities of the Good Folk.

Let them shiver at the wickedness of darker things.

Let them treasure wisdom, kindness, cunning, and joy.

Above all, let them remember.

I can think of no soul more suited to this grand endeavor than you, whose heart has ever been a faithful steward of beauty, mirth, and meaning.

May your words plant ancient roots in young hearts, and may your stories bloom for generations yet unborn.

With abiding affection, royal gratitude, and the warmest blessings of hearth and grove,

Queen Aoibheann von Mountainheart

P.S. Please do ensure the princesses are drawn especially beautifully in the illustrations.

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My lady, I submit for your review a draft of the first story for the collection you tasked me with writing. We must begin where things began, lest the wee ones not understand what came afterward. So, hence we begin with the tale of the creation of fey society and, more importantly, of the first Sidhe and first Hobgoblin.

The legend of Príomhrós and Dathúil

Or the origin of the ordering of Faerie.

Once upon a time, when Faerie was young, and Niamh and Faolan were yet but children

Niamh, wandering through colorful trees and shadow-dappled underbrush, came to a pond as clear as crystal and lay down beside it.

She sighed as she stared into the water and traced ripples on the surface.

Since the first time they opened their eyes, she and Faolan had done little but frolic through their personal world. But the games and romps had lost their excitement, and every vista in Faerie was known to her.

Even the myriad things the Faolan created for her, the wild beasts, soaring birds, and slippery fish, had outlived their novelty.

So she lay by the water, long golden hair dangling down into the water, absentmindedly poking at the fish.

Romping through the woods came bright Faolan, with twinkling blue eyes, nut brown hair, and a warm smile. She spotted his playmate lying by the pool. Spotting his playmate by the pool, he danced over and said, “Niamh, let’s play tag!”

“No,” she said with a sigh.

Sensing something amiss, Faolan settled himself beside her. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

All is the same,” she sighed. “The games, the wanderings, the wonders… There is nothing new beneath these boughs.

“That’s not true,” shouted Faolan, “There is plenty new to see and do.”

With one motion, he plucked a fish out of the river. He grabbed a handful of clay and started to remake the creature. He made it as bright as dawn with wings that rippled along its long length.

He let the newly created creature go, and it swam through the air as easily as it did in the water. It swam up to Niamh and nuzzled her cheek playfully.

She sighed again. “Faloan, your creations are too samey now. How is this thing any different from the birds or the other beasts?”

Faolan had no reply.

“And the games are so old too,” said Niamh, “It’s just not fun, just the two of us.”

Faolan took that as a challenge.

He leaped to his feet and said, “I will create more like us, many more, that way you could never be bored again.”

He ran off into the forest without another word.

He went to the grove to be alone and create, and gathered a massive amount of clay from the verdant soil. He had no idea what he would make; for no sentient creature had yet walked the face of Faerie or any of the mortal worlds, so he let his hands fly.

He shaped creature after creature, only to cast each aside when it failed to match the wonders in his heart.

Some were too scary.

Some looked mean

Others were just ugly.

The grove soon became a maze of little clay boys and girls of all species.

Eventually, he shaped two beings, certain they would be the best playmates for him and Niamh, the first sidhe girl and the first hobgoblin boy.

However, he was so focused on making his creations that he did not notice Niamh had wandered into the grove. She was delighted by all the new forms Faolan created. She started to wander through the grove. With her touch, the figurines turned from clay to living flesh. To each, she gave a name that suited them.

First, she named the large and lumpy Formorians.

Then the mischievous boggarts

Then the goblins, centaurs, and saytrs and all the rest.

Each one was delightful to her and frolicked off into the woods to play with the others. So focused was Faolan on making the perfect form that he did not notice the delighted laughter of Niamh as she wandered the grove, or the yells of play through the trees.

When all but the figures that Faolan had been working on had left the grove to play in the forest, Niamh tiptoed up to Faolan and gave him a playful tap upon the shoulder.

Startled, Faolan quickly turned around and saw Niamh smiling at her.

“Perfect timing, Niamh. I created some playmates for us. What do you think of…”

His expression dropped when he saw that the grove was now empty, with not a single clay figure to be found.

Confused and a little anxious, he searched for his creations, and while he was distracted, Niamh brought the last two figures to life.

She named the girl Príomhrós and the boy ​Dathúil, and they went off to join the others.

Now for a time, there was joy and merriment in Faerie. Niamh had a horde of new friends, and they played all day and night in endless games and adventures.

Except that Príomhrós and ​Dathúil never got along.

Each knew in their heart that they were the finest of Faolan’s works; they were the last, the pinnacle at which he finally got the design right. They were better than all of the other children, save for their creators, but they wanted to be the best. They knew that there was only space for one at the top of the pile, which made the existence of another just as great as they were intolerable.

Every game they joined became a contest, with all others swept into their rivalry.

​Dathúil played tricks on Príomhrós, who retaliated by telling cruel stories about ​Dathúil.

They each ingratiated themselves with their creators.

Príomhrós became Niamh’s best friend, shadowing her wherever she went. They traded secrets, giggles, and stories. Príomhrós had a natural talent for making pretty things for her queen, and Niamh loved everything she created. It is said that she invented clothing, hairstyling, and eventually makeup.

​Dathúil became something of an apprentice to Faolan, learning everything he could about the way of creation. True, he could not mold the stuff of faerie with a thought like Faolan, but he could make suggestions to his master for clever new ways of doing things. Among the things he and Faolan created were the first verses of power so that all the children of Faerie could shape the world to their whim as Faolan and Niamh did.

Their rivalry only grew as they did, and it drew in the others most like them.  

The Fairies formed a clique around Príomhrós.

​Dathúil bullied, misdirected, and coerced the goblins to follow his lead.

Then one day their rivalry came to a dramatic head.

Untold years had passed. Faolan and Niamh were showing the first signs of adulthood. Príomhrós, Dathúil, and all the other children Faolan had shaped from clay were likewise taking their first tentative steps toward adulthood.

As Faolan and Niamh held court within the grove, Príomhrós and Dathúil lingered nearby, casting sharp glances at one another from the shadows.

A long line of petitioners waited to speak their grievances to their creators.

Faolan and Niamh had made many new children since that first day in the grove. Around their personal grove, the first settlement of Faerie slowly took shape as each new inhabitant carved out a space for themselves.

But as Faerie’s population grew, so too did its troubles. Soon their days were spent not in play, but in settling quarrels, great and small.

Then Faolan lost his temper.

With thunderous bellows, he ordered all of them to get out. The petitioners scrambled from the grove in terror.

Frightened, Niamh asked what was wrong.

“I cannot take it anymore,” he shouted, “The whining, the complaining, the broken promises, the bickering over who gets to play with what, and all the lying.”

Dathúil grinned; he had been waiting for this moment for some time.

He sauntered out of his corner, saying, “My lord, if you find our friends’ little problems so burdensome, then tell them not to make them in the first place.

Faolan turned towards him, confused, and asked, “What do you mean?”

“Why, it is simple,” said Dathúil, “The games we play have rules, why not give our friends rules to follow when they are not playing?”

“It sounds like a good idea,” said Niamh.

Faolan thought for a moment and said, “No, they would just complain about the rules. There is always someone who complains about the rules of a game. They would seek us constantly to judge on their behalf.”

“Then task me and my hobgoblin kin to serve as referee on your behalf,” said Dathúil.

“Wait a moment,” yelled Príomhrós as she darted into the center of the grove. “Why should the hobgoblins be the ones enforcing the rules?” She said with a sneer, “My siblings and I are obviously superior.”

“Are not!” cried Dathúil.

“Are too!” answered Príomhrós.

One of Príomhrós and Dathúil’s screaming matches seemed imminent  until Faolan shouted, “Enough.”

Both turned to watch him like a startled deer before a hunter.

“We will have a competition to see who will be the one to enforce the rules,” he said, “The species that gives us the best gift will be the one who serves as referee and voice among our friends, and to ensure fairness, all will be allowed to participate.”

Príomhrós and Dathúil just stood there for a moment, letting Faolan’s words sink in. Then they dashed off in opposite directions seeking their brothers’ and sisters’ in the hope that haste would confer some sort of advantage.

For some time, there was not one single set of idle hands in Faerie. Word of the competition had spread far and fast, and all sought a chance to stand as the chosen hand of their creators.

Some went into the wilds to seek out what beauty they could find.

Others worked to create something beautiful to present their deities.

A few, like the boggarts, did not care.

When the appointed day came, all in Faerie came to the grove to present their gifts.

Dathúil watched with carefully hidden delight as each resident of Faerie presented what they had managed to cobble together or found in the woods.

None could compare to the marvel he and his kin had wrought.

Soon, a humble mound of carvings, flowers, and bright stones lay before the divine pair.

When it came Dathúil’s turn to present the hobgoblins’ gift, he sauntered out into the middle of the grove with an affable grin and said, “My lord and lady, may I present to you the gift of the hobgoblins.

The crowd parted as Dathúil’s kin entered the grove, some pulling on ropes made from twisted vine, others pushing behind. All watched in awe as a massive statue of Niamh and Faolan, made from polished wood, was slowly heaved into the grove on a sled.

Niamh gasped, and Faolan stared in wide-eyed wonder at the magnificent sculpture. It showed them on a romp through the woods in exquisite detail, down to the bark on the trees and the strands of Niamh’s braided hair.

“Now this is an excellent gift,” said Faolan, “Well done, my friend.”

Dathúil blushed. “Oh, you are so kind, sir,” he said with a bow, “If there is no objection from you, my kin and I will take our earned place as your agents.”

“Wait, there is still the gift of the sidhe to consider,” said Niamh.

As if on cue, Príomhrós and several of her sisters entered the center of the grove.

Dathúil raised an eyebrow. Each one had shorn their hair short, and each held a strange implement of wood and string he had never seen before.

Príomhrós plucked one of the strings on her instrument, and it made a pleasing sound. She did it again and again, and the others joined in.

Then Príomhrós drew a great breath and sang.

Everyone in the grove was transfixed. Never before had any soul heard music. Indeed, this was the first song in all creation.

She sang of birds and beasts, of flowers and trees, of frolic beneath sunlit boughs and moonlit leaves.

Around Dathúil, the world started to change. The beauty of the song had brought tears of joy to both Faolan’s and Niamh’s eyes, and the world changed to reflect their joy and wonder. Flowers sprouted on every surface, colors grew brighter, and the sun shone more brightly.

When the last syllable flew from Niamh’s lips and the last note resounded from her harp, all assembled broke out into applause.

Both Niamh and Faolan sprang to their feet and congratulated Príomhrós.

“That was magnificent, Primmy,” said Niamh as she hugged her best friend.

“Please show me how you did that?” begged Faolan, “I want to make more of that.”

Príomhrós beamed at the praise of her creators and the adulation of friends.

Dathúil sank to his knees. He knew it was over. He and his kin had done their best. Yet when all was judged, they came just short of sidhe.

Niamh and Faolan declared the sidhe the winner of the contest.

Niamh herself wove Príomhrós a crown of living flowers, the first crown in all creation, to mark her as first among their people.

Her first royal decree was that Dathúil bow low and kiss her feet.

And thus history turned.

Príomhrós became the first of the high fey, and her descendants would rule Faerie for untold ages.

The hobgoblins have never ceased striving to prove that day a fluke.

Nor have the sidhe ever ceased reminding them otherwise.

And so the order of Faerie was born.

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