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Once there was a man who passed into faery lands. The man had been in a hurry, though if you were to ask the man he would not be able to tell you why. The result is the same, regardless. A trespasser is never looked upon with fondness, humans even less so, and the faery demanded the man provide recompense.
The man offered money, which the fae have no need of, and the blueprint of a building he had been designing. The fae's eyes lingered, but ultimately the man offered nothing the fae would take. Finally, a spark dawned in the fae's eyes. "I claim the law of surprise. May I have your name, sir?"
The man, unfamiliar with fae laws, gave his name and was cursed to spend his days as a traveler, only able to settle in one place for 100 days or less.
The man gained a reputation in his traveling, for where he went, misfortune was sure to follow. He lingered in the wilderness, and he was beset by animals and fierce weather. He fled to a town, where strange beasts roamed and bellowed. In the city, a plague swept through the residents. Unforeseen moss-like plants crept their tendrils into people and cracks to summon forth horrific guardians from the depths. In the following winter, nightmares blinked in the dark nights surrounding his camp. Frost melted to reveal peculiar vaults laden with treasure and dangers cracked open in the mountains.
The man gained stories he would share around a fire with adventurers swarming in his wake. His tales were unbelievable: a killing blow ending with him waking in a strange fae realm subsisting entirely of void, an underwater kingdom swimming with monsters and mer, a break for farming that ended in a roaring blaze. The man was a survivor. He was fantastical.
He was a danger.
It was decided that the man must be dealt with as so many dangers are: eradication. But the man had grown wise over the years, and he escaped the mob using treachery, cunning, and a sword he had crafted himself.
The man, now that he had killed, no longer accepted strange faces to his campfire.
The rest of his life may have continued on in this manner—isolation, disaster, persistence—if another fae had not taken an interest in the man.
It was a hard winter, that year. The snows had come early, and the prey hid warm and safe away in the burrows far from human hands. Yet the man cracked the ice for fish, and melted snow for water, and tried his best to live. He made himself a flute, and would play what songs he knew before designing his own. He drew lines in the snow that confused the fae and yet set the man to muttering. He whittled a small bear, and let it keep him company in the long, silent frost.
It was the last that had the fae stepping out of the shadows. The man reacted with fear and distrust, but the fae did not take offense. It had been years since friendly campfires reminded the man how to be human instead of animal.
"Greetings, Traveler," the fae said. "I am here to help."
"Forgive me if I do not believe you," the man returned, "for the last of your kind cursed me to this life, and I do not believe humans wish goodwill for me."
"You may call me Apo," the fae said. "Will you tell me about your curse?"
"Why?" the man asked. "What do you stand to gain from it?"
"Was it so long ago that you shared your fire with others in return for companionship?" Apo asked. "I would like to hear your story, and in return, I will share mine. In a gesture of friendliness, please accept this wine for our dinner with no debt."
The man was lonely. He had been lonely for a long time. His sword dropped to his side and the man led Apo to his campsite.
The man shared what food he had and they drank Apo's wine. He spoke of trespassing on a faery's land in his hurry and his mistake offering his name. The details of the curse seemed especially interesting to Apo, who said, "I cannot free you as I am, for a dark power has befallen my lands. I am in need of a strong fighter, a survivor, who can help me take back what is rightfully mine."
"I am a survivor," the man agreed, "but how do you know you can trust me not to turn on you?"
Apo gestured to the wooden bear hidden inside the man's coat pocket. "You do not desire power nor do you take advantage of your fame to demand tribute lest your curse fall on those who have displeased you. You have chosen solitude and regret to save the lives of strangers, even as they hunted you. You want to be kind, Traveler, and if you do me this kindness I will repay you tenfold."
The man agreed to assist Apo and so they granted him a boon: a sword black like the void, sharp enough to cut the hair off a leaf, and balanced perfectly for his hands. She also granted him dark metal armor that could keep him warm inside the Winter Court lands. For that was where they were going: the Unseelie Court.
The man's first trial plunged him into darkness. He stilled his body and listened. To his left was sweet birdsong. To his right was silence. The man did not trust anything beautiful in such a place and, feeling along the smooth, straight lines of a wall, followed the silence to a dead end.
"I was trying to help you!" a voice scolded, and the man spun on his heels. The movement was disorienting in the blackness and he placed his hand on the wall for support.
"If you aren't going to listen to me, I won't bother," the voice continued.
"I did not realize you meant to help," the man replied. "I am not used to the assistance of others."
The man could only hear his heartbeat and he despaired, for he had driven away an ally with his assumptions. Then, feathers brushed his cheek, and the man turned his face helplessly toward his shoulder. He still could not see, but beautiful chirps told him a bird had perched on his pauldron.
"Then I will guide you," the bird announced.
The man was not foolish enough to ignore aid offered a second time. With the voice on his shoulder, the man was able to navigate the smooth walls and exit the labyrinth. Sight was restored to him once more, and there stood not a bird, but a man.
"I am trapped as a bird, but if you defeat the Nightmare King, Apo will be able to return me to my human form," the other man explained.
"I am not certain about my abilities to defeat someone called the Nightmare King," the Traveler admitted.
The other man shook his head. "Apo believes in you, or she would never have given you that sword. You have to try."
"I have to try," the Traveler agreed. Thus bolstered, the man moved on to a great plane of ice. When he looked down to assure himself of his steps, a dark image stared back: himself with eyes like void, bleeding black, pale as death. The man startled backwards and began to fall.
He was caught by the front of his chest plate and dragged onto solid ground.
"Thank you," he said. "I owe you."
"You do," the woman replied, "but I will not task you with your debt now. You need to get to the palace of the Nightmare King."
"Am I going the wrong way?" the man asked in concern.
"No, but you will never make it if you follow your reflection," the woman responded. "I have no reflection, for I have already fallen in and tasted of its waters. Keep your eyes on me, and I will lead you well."
The man had no option but to trust her. His faith was well-placed, for he could rest his eyes on her shoulders and match her steps to walk safely across the ice. When they came to the other side, the man said, "Now I owe you twice. How may I repay you?"
"You may pay one debt by freeing us from the Nightmare King," the woman said. "And the other by helping my beloved. He is lost and will need to be guided back."
"This I will do," the man promised, and he walked until he came upon a person weeping before several piles of spilled seeds in frosted grass. It took several attempts before the person would shift his attention from the spill to the man.
"Do you need help?" the man asked.
"Yes!" the person on the ground wailed. "I was bringing Marm wheat to bake into cookies, but it's spilled all over the ground! I don't know what to do!"
"I will help you," the man said, and though it took much time and searching, they managed to pick the wheat from the grass and return it to a bag.
"Thank you," the person said. "You can call me Avid. What's your name?"
"I do not have one to give," the man said, "but I have been called Traveler. You should be careful with your name, lest you lose it."
Avids smile was sharp. "Oh, that's not my name. You don't need to give advice to a fae." Then his smile faded into something gentler. "What do I owe you?"
The man looked around. The trees had grown around them, their branches forming a cage over their heads, their roots churning the ground into a hazard. "I was told you may be lost. I see why."
Avid laughed. "Yeah, this happens all the time. Watch. Drift!"
A great crashing sounded through the forest and a deer leapt to join them. The man did not draw his sword, and was grateful for his restraint when Avid threw his arms around the deer's neck. The deer only snorted and shook its head.
"Are you lost again?" the deer—Drift—asked.
"Maybe!" Avid cheered. "But look! It's not just my fault! The magic doesn't like Traveler either."
Drift inspected the man, and the man stared back. "I will guide you out," the deer agreed, and Avid was sent back to his beloved.
"I am trying to reach the palace of the Nightmare King," the man explained before Drift could ask about his purpose in the forest.
"Wow," Drift said. "That's a long run from here. Are you sure about this?"
"Not at all," the man said, "but I made a promise and I intend to stick to it."
"Good on you," Drift said. "Then I will run with you, and keep you company while you journey."
And run Drift meant, for her pace was swift and her feet were sure. The man did not know he could run so fast, nor that he could go without stumbling, but he felt as if he were flying as he approached the ever-taller palace. It loomed on the horizon, the size of a mountain, its black stone a too-sharp contrast to the white winter surrounding it. The man felt dread heavy in his stomach as it tried to slow him down. Yet determination lightened his limbs and company lifted his chin.
The man and Drift were able to approach the doors without guards. It all felt very strange, and the man knew in his guts things were about to get worse.
Before leaving, Drift transformed into a woman and took his hand. "If we make it out of this, Viking will make us dinner," she promised.
"Who's Viking?" the man asked.
"The bird. You already saw him," Drift explained. The doors to the castle creaked open and she leapt away, transforming once more into a deer and bounding back toward the relative safety of the forest. The man had no such option and drew his sword as he entered the castle.
The Nightmare King waited for him on his throne.
He was a giant, bipedal being sprawled across cold obsidian. His long arms ended in clawed hands, his bone white mask obscured all but his glowing red eyes, and his fur was the same deep lack of color as the man's sword. He didn't bother to clap or make any noise other than a groaning exhale the man thought could be a sigh.
"Another of Apo's challengers, I suppose," he rumbled. "What shall I turn you into? Any preferences?"
"A bear would be nice," the man replied. "Do I get to try and fight you first?"
"Certainly," the Nightmare King growled.
The fight was long and terrible. Black slime oozed down the walls and solidified into warriors that rushed at the man. The Nightmare King took advantage of his home to attack the man with hands reaching through the walls and floor. His long arms meant the man was constantly dodging attacks from any distance. Sweat dripped down the man's face, fatigue drew on his body, and yet he stayed standing.
He was a survivor. He could endure. He would endure.
"Why won't you die!" the Nightmare King bellowed.
"I ask myself that everyday," the man laughed, and tore his sword through the Nightmare King's throat.
The palace shook around the man and he was buried under bricks and mortar. He lay there, unsure if he was alive or dead, for some time. Eventually voices drew near, and hands drew him out. All inquired to his well being and the man managed to crack open an eye. This led to a great celebration.
"Traveler," Apo greeted. She was carrying a black scythe and frost trailed behind her. "You did well."
"Thank you," the man said. "Can I go home now?"
Apo smiled. "Your curses are broken. You have your name and you may go home."
The man wept. When he had calmed, Viking and Drift took the man, Avid, and Marmalade into their home for dinner. The five of them celebrated together, and when the night grew long, Viking and Drift invited the man to stay until he could get a home of his own.
"What can we call you?" Drift asked as she set blankets on the couch.
"Legundo," the man said, the taste of his name rich on his tongue. "You can call me Legundo."