A/N: All thanks to MrsKroy who said "Do it!" when I said I wanted to start this story earlier than my original launch date of 5/7/17.

Chapter name is an apropos song title and its artist. Chapters will be posted every two weeks. Chapters will all be long (5k+ words), so that is the only schedule I can commit to keeping. Enjoy!

xXxXxXxXx Present Day xXxXxXxXx

She had intended to kill herself, but I was not quite so ready to let her go, let her soul suffer the consequences of her turmoil – so I did it for her. Needless to say, she and I were no longer on speaking terms, and I could not help but wonder how long she would hold her grudge. But I hoped it would not last for an eternity…

oOoOoOoOo Flashback oOoOoOoOo

After popping outside the small country hospital, the faery guard dropped his cloaking and stepped towards his prince, uneager to play the messenger for the news he was charged to deliver. He stifled the urge to despondently shake his head as the prince quirked a single eyebrow – expecting to pay for his discovery with his life seconds after the words fell from his mouth.

"And?"

The white-haired prince growled with just the smallest hint of worry laced in his tone, staring down his guard as if it could somehow influence the outcome of his simple query.

"It is as you feared…"

The guard steeled himself for a blow, closing his eyes despite his trainings to watch in seemingly all directions at all times – what did that matter now? He believed, by all counts, he was going to die, focusing on the events of his unfulfilling life – he should've been better to his sister. But the assault never came, and as he peeled his eyes open, he noted a stray tear trailing down his prince's face, knowing full well he should not comment or make a remark, averting his gaze to watch the stars sparkle in the Louisiana sky.

"We cannot leave her here," The prince announced, breaking the relative silence while simultaneously muting the crickets' twittering songs, "My son will dote on her, and foolishly seek to protect her by showering her with his attentions. Breandan will find her in less than a fortnight. No!" He yelled, and the guard finally snapped his head down from its tilt towards the heavens to find the prince's eyes teeming with a fiery resolve, "We will take her far away, hide her amongst the humans. Without faery interventions, she could remain unknown to my nephew's followers at least until she comes of age, develops her powers…"

"They will notice a missing child – the parents – I mean, of course, the parents, but also really their friends, the town, the hospital, the humans…"

The guard chimed in to offer unsolicited and unwelcome feedback, interrupting the prince and earning a fear-inducing growl, regretting his utterance only a millisecond after it occurred. He was rambling, and he knew it, but he could not bring himself to stop even though Prince Niall Brigant shot him daggers with his eyes, trying to slice him in half just by looking at him sideways. Darick trembled lightly, once again recalling the most relevant and memorable moments of his life – many scenes involving the very being he expected was mere minutes from becoming his executioner.

"I do not know what you speak of," Prince Brigant hissed through gritted teeth, "the baby girl has died, suddenly and without a savior. Such a pity when a human life is cut so short, heartbreaking, but I'm sure the parents can overcome this tragedy and soldier on..."

Darick's mouth gaped open as a contentious disagreement spilled from his lips, outside his sphere of control, "No, I just saw her, she is..."

"DEAD!"

The prince snarled, his features becoming harsh and monstrous, revealing his true form in lieu of the affectation he regularly donned.

Prince Brigant had given no credence to the "missing child" scenario – a plausible problem, a real thorn in the side of his plan – and quickly began to wrack his brain for an acceptable solution, outwardly scowling to mask his glaring oversight – the quintessential answer to every possible contingency popping into his mind in under a minute's time. A self-satisfied smile slowly crept across his countenance, reaching its full glory as he unveiled his ingenious plan.

"It seems we will need my son, Fintan, and his human woman after all," The prince admitted at a painstakingly measured pace, seeking to heighten the suspense and unnerve his faery guard, "Tell me Darick, what have you heard about cluviel dors?"

"Umm… well…"

Darick sputtered, unable to contain his shock – cluviel dors were akin to a faery death sentence. It required its maker to exchange his many years for essentially none, predetermining his own end by tying himself to a mortal being – shucking aside a Fae's most precious gift, an ostensibly infinite life. Despite being markedly powerful, only a handful of cluviel dors had ever been created – the cost of its magics too unpalatable for most. But outside of his own fears of the magical object, Darick was flabbergasted to hear the prince mention it at all, especially in the same sentence as his own son's name. If he had deciphered the prince's meaning correctly, Prince Brigant intended to sacrifice Fintan's immeasurable lifespan in trade for the protections of a halfling newborn. It was true that she possessed the faery spark, but her heritage could only be boasted as one-eighth Fae – at most – the rest of her disturbingly human, especially considering the amount of attentions she was receiving from the Skye Fae's prince.

What made her so special? That Darick did not know – and he did not want to know. Knowledge held a power he did not aspire to possess, content to live out his many years – or final minutes, depending on the night's course of events and the prince's erratic temper– in absolute ignorance; it truly was bliss, of that he was certain.

But for what was not the first time, the faery guard wondered if Prince Brigant had lost control of his mental faculties, if his old age – some three thousand years – had finally consumed any last modicum of sanity he had been clinging to after the eternity he had already experienced. Surely, he could not mean to exchange his son for the girl, his reputation – even his people's safety, if Breandan were to discover the ruse – for a mostly human baby. Darick did not align his interests with the pureblood's war, but he harbored, albeit small, suspicions that the prince's nephew was not altogether wrong in his presumption that dilution of the purity of the Fae race, breeding with mortals to produce progeny, had angered the Gods, bringing forth the wave of infertility that afflicted all but a handful of faery females.

Such thoughts Darick kept to himself, understanding clearly that the prince stood in opposition of Breandan's machinations – if not previously obvious from his many impassioned speeches delivered to the other Skye Fae, then from his current quest to save the Stackhouse girl a forfeiture of her hours-old existence to the purebloods campaign against faery mutts.

Thwack!

After receiving a brusque smack to the head, Darick realized his prince had been informing him about the details and particulars of his plans while he had been lost in his thoughts, questioning the prince's possibly crackpot motives for going to such lengths for a great granddaughter he had yet to lay eyes on.

Hoping to cover his folly, Darick offered in response a stray concern that flitted through his mind.

"But how can a baby make a wish?"

Prince Brigant merely shook his head, disappointed he allowed such a simpleton to act as his royal guard while traveling to the Human Realm, amazed Darick managed to dress himself at all, let alone put together complete sentences. He wondered if Meridian, Darick's sister, shouldered the brunt of her brother's ineptitude, and he felt the smallest bit sorry that she likely carried that burden.

'Perhaps I should relieve the good faery woman of her troubles,' he posited as Darick looked at him inquisitively, genuinely concerned the prince's plan hinged on an impossibility.

"She will not wish for anything; it is what Fintan will wish for her that will protect her! Surely, Darick," The Faery prince pinched the bridge of his nose, squinting his eyes shut in frustration, "You can understand that babies, human or otherwise, are not imbued at birth with the skills necessary to devise solutions for complex problems like the one facing us with Breandan's war against cross-bred children."

"Breandan's going to win, isn't he?"

Darick said sullenly almost outside of his own accord, his curiosity demanding satisfaction, despite his innate desire to remain uninformed. He hung his head in defeat, expecting to bear the brunt of the prince's anger, and steeled himself for a blow that ultimately didn't come.

"He can only win if we let him, and saving her," Prince Brigant spoke self-assuredly, but without his usual air of arrogance, and motioned towards the hospital, "is the first crucial step we can take towards stopping him. Now… go and fetch my kin. We must make haste back to the Faery Realm before our enemies find us out in the open and vulnerable."

Darick placed his hand over his heart, sweeping into a small bow, and prepared to pop back inside, this time to abscond away with the child. He stopped momentarily as Prince Brigant called out quickly, an afterthought jumping into his mind.

"Oh, and Darick? Do not forget to grab something to feed her – surely a human hospital has a food source her small body will tolerate."

As Darick disappeared after giving a small nod to acknowledge his request, Prince Brigant's countenance bloomed a genuine and self-satisfied smile, the expression reaching his eyes, which danced mirthfully.

Yes, surely the Fates had finally stacked the deck in his favor.

Back in the Faery Realm, flanked by armed royal guards within the fortified walls of his castle's throne room, Niall cradled the swaddled newborn to his chest, protectively, and out of the reach of his son, her grandfather.

He watched as she burbled and gurgled, her mouth reflexively opening and closing – as if she was hungry. He imagined she was, and placed the nipple of a pilfered bottle of infant formula to her mouth, smiling as she latched on, drawing the mixed and milky liquid into her tiny form. Niall held her as he had held his own children as he fed them, being careful to angle the bottle ever so slightly to discourage bubbles. After several swallows, she hiccupped, formula spilling from the sides of her mouth, and he assumed she was, at least for the time being, sated and content. He handed the bottle off to his right-hand man, who quickly tucked it under his armor before resuming his stationary position, as the newborn slipped effortlessly into a dazed slumber.

Niall gingerly wiped away the remnants of her spittle with the sleeve of his byzantium-colored robes, careful not to rouse her, gazing down at her in awe before popping his head up to address his own child, Fintan.

"Think of the human folktale – the judgment of Solomon – my son. Surely you would not rather cut the girl in half – sacrifice her chance at life – just to serve your own selfish purposes. Let her have her life, her freedom from Breandan's war, protect her by hiding her, by masking her existence with a cluviel dor. If you love your human's offspring as much as you claim to, prove it; make a cluviel dor – offer your long life in exchange for hers. For your service, the Gods will grace you with a second one in the Summerlands, and I will arrange for your human and her family to gain access as well. Surely, this will remedy all your concerns and doubts."

Fintan could not shake the nagging feeling that his father had butchered the allegory, spun and twisted the tale to contrive and conform to his own selfish purposes – although he could not glean the intent behind Niall's actions. Fintan had partially read the tale of Solomon and his decision to cut a child in half to satisfy a pair of aggrieved mothers. However, at the mention of such savagery, Fintan had slammed the tome containing the story shut. He had found what he read of the anecdote so grossly barbaric and depraved that he had avoided the Human Realm for hundreds of years, in fear the astrocytic practices of a deranged king had persisted despite the passage of time.

Niall grew impatient for his son's answer, annoyed Fintan deliberated at all, clicking his tongue to count the passing seconds, earning no acknowledgement or response from his zoned out child.

The faery prince pivoted to another tactic to force his son's compliance, to remove any false beliefs that a negotiation was at hand. With a coldness in his tone that was not quite unfamiliar to those who did not know him so well – or even those who did – Niall growled out lowly through gritted pointed teeth; his true form moments from consuming him.

"Do this or I'm going to give her to Breandan."

His threat apparent, unveiled, and impassioned.

Fintan tamped down his shock at the dichotomous display, the juxtaposition of the doting great grandfather cradling his granddaughter snuggly in his arms against the regent who had unceremoniously threatened her life, suggesting she would be handed over to their enemy like a sacrificial lamb to the slaughter if he refused to be cooperative.

His cousin, Breandan, was a coward who hid behind his inflammatory speeches and platitudes, blaming the ills of the faery people on an unknown force – an offense against Gods who had not spoken in over a thousand years. He had amassed a lemming-like army, and had proven to have no qualms against slaughtering the young in the name of his cause – Fintan's granddaughter would be no exception. In fact, she would be quite the boon to a monster like Breandan.

Fintan was not sure if his father was bluffing, but he was not willing to bet his granddaughter's life against the house – the odds so far out of his favor. Niall's touted three thousand-year old reputation as a man true to his word suggested that if he was merely trying to exploit his son's weaknesses, unwilling to actually follow through on his threat to throw his kin to the wolves, that it would be a first. Fintan expected today was not the day his father would deviate from form, especially under the witnessing watch of the faery guards.

As always, Fintan was powerless to curtail his father's machinations, and he hated it – even though he could not bring himself to hate his father for it. So he opted to respond with an emotional appeal, hoping to pluck at the flicker of humanity that hid behind his fierce and cold eyes – the one that he could see as Niall cooed and whispered his love to the baby child.

"How can you be so cruel? She is of our blood..."

Fintan pleaded with his father, searching his eyes for some shred of humanity - finding none.

Fintan desperately wished he could remove her from his father's arms, pop her away, and be free of his father's insane notion of benevolence and leadership – that an absolute dictatorship was of benefit to them all. Had his father not absconded with his granddaughter, put him into this precarious position – where he could acquiesce to Niall's request, or lose the precious addition that had come into his family not even twenty-four hours prior – he had intended to shepherd her away from the faeries' interfering ways altogether. He had planned to draw his human family into a cloaking of his own making, one that would exhaust him, but would save them from Breandan and his nefarious intentions – his desire to cull the realms, faery and human, of all halfings.

"EXACTLY!" Niall's voice bellowed through the space, knocking paintings askance and off-kilter; his fury culminating in a momentary gale force wind, "If you do not do this, we may as well surrender her to Breandan!"

Fintan hid the shock that flooded through him at his father's outburst as the faery prince continued.

"My son, you are transparent to me… as are your ill-conceived stratagems. You are so blind to the failings in your own plans, so enamored by the idea of becoming your human family's savior – their white knight – that you have not considered that your actions will attract the attentions of our enemies, bring them straight to your human's doorstep. My son, a magical cloaking is so easily disabled – especially if the one providing it is struck at... you would be too tired, defenseless… unable to stop an assault at all... if I was not able to come to you in time, casualties could cascade out of control... you are a target as well as the girl… You would all be lost…"

Niall's impassioned speech trailed off, and Fintan spied a single tear dribble down his father's cheek – flicked away as quickly as it fell. And, in that moment, he understood his father's actions were spurred on, at least partly, by fear – fear Fintan and his family would quite literally meet his end at the hands of Breandan, who sought to crush Niall and everything important to him like bugs under his heel.

"My son, you must think with your head and not your heart," Niall offered with a gentleness Fintan had not heard since he was a child over seven hundred years ago, "You act from your emotions right now, but I know that surely you can grasp the ramifications of any misstep, the cost of your interference, if you were to attempt to protect her yourself. You would lead your cousin straight to your human family – to her – and he would rip them all to shreds, like a lion does to a gazelle, just to make an example of you. Imagine... just imagine if Lochlan and Neave got their hands on her instead of your cousin..."

Fintan could hardly stomach the thought.

Lochlan and Neave were the most sinister beings among the faery people – of all the known supernatural races – a sick brother and sister duo, eager to join Breandan's cause not because they believed in his ideologies, but because there was promise of bloodshed and mayhem. The two thrived on chaos, leaving it in their wake wherever they went – that and a trail of mutilated and dismembered corpses. They had no honor; they had no master...

They were nothing more than unhinged, unrestrained monsters.

Fintan trembled, remembering how they had slaughtered the last halfling they unearthed, stringing up the disfigured body as a message to all who sought to quash, or simply close their eyes to, his cousin's war. No, he would never risk Adele's kin that way, lead his enemy straight to his heart's doorstep to tear away the family he cherished more than life itself.

Fintan realized, true to his father's unravelings, that his plans had indeed been riddled with flaws, and as he mentally searched for an alternative outside his father's maneuverings, he found none that promised better results than the one currently proposed. His newest grandchild would be mystically hidden, and his human family – because none possessed the faery spark – could continue to live their short years in ignorant bliss, unawares of the faery rebels that raged within the realm. The insurgents had no interest in those without faery magics within their bodies.

Now all he had to do was find a way to live with the guilt, but it was not his sufferings that mattered – he would soldier through. It was everyone else he worried for. His wish would bring heartbreak in droves as the belief the newborn had died shortly before childbirth washed through the town of Bon Temps, and anyone who had been associated with Adele's daughter-in-law's latest pregnancy. But some evils were necessary, to avoid worse ones; he thought to himself before agreeing to his father's proposition.

"I will do it."

Fintan said begrudgingly, knowing he had to if he did not want to lose everyone dear to him by trying to hold just one of them too close. In truth, his father's request that he magic a cluviel dor, tie his lifespan to Adele's, was moot – he had already done so years ago, the object currently residing in a writing desk, hidden in Adele's farmhouse attic, in the home on Hummingbird Lane.

"Good… good…"

Niall replied, his attentions flitting to the child stirring in his arms. He rocked her lightly, humming a lullaby he thought had been long forgotten to him, and in seconds, she drifted back to sleep. Once he was assured of her slumber, Niall continued in a hushed whisper.

"Of course, I will bequeath you a favor, one thing you may ask one thing of me in exchange for your sacrifice, for making a cluviel dor to save my great granddaughter from the purist scum."

Fintan dropped to his knees onto the hem of his father's floor length robes, overwhelmed. He had hoped, but not expected, his father would bless him with a favor – a highly sought-after reward in the Faery Realm because once given it became a magically binding contract that could not be rescinded. Without pausing to reflect on his entreaties, he beseeched his father, begging for information he felt he sorely needed.

"Where will you send her? Please do not deny me the location of her new life, not after you have asked me to trade mine. I will not interfere, but I need to know that you will not send her halfway around the world or to live out her years unloved, uncared for in an orphanage or a prison of sorts..."

Niall squeezed his son's shoulder gently after silently motioning with the same hand for his guards to stand down and leave them alone, so they could discuss the child's ultimate fate more privately. Niall bid his son to rise and surprised him by gesturing for him to come nearer. Once Fintan was close, Niall carefully transferred the sleeping baby girl into his arms, allowing Fintan to cradle and hold her.

It was a sign of trust, a show of respect that was not overlooked by Fintan, especially now that royal guard had taken their leave.

"Is this what you would choose to ask for? Her location, her whereabouts? My dearest son, surely you can acknowledge the folly that lies in requesting a piece of information so capriciously volatile, wholly unreliable to find her when she reaches the mature age of twenty-five, comes into her powers."

It did not escape his notice that his father had refused by omission to allay his concerns that his granddaughter may face an uneasy life; his and Adele's own contribution to her potential struggles long since forgotten.

But Fintan needed a way to find her someday more than he required peace of mind, so that she would not be lost to his family with Adele forever. Once any chance of a magical remedy had been negated, nullified by the wish he would make against the cluviel dor – the one that would save his newest grandchild from the evil faction brewing within the Faery Realm – his faery ways would be useless to discover her hidden spot. She would be effectively dead to the Fae's magics – impervious to detection – and believed dead by her human family – as safe as she could be.

"No," Fintan responded, answering his father's question, "I do not wish for know her whereabouts. My request is much simpler than that..."

oOoOoOoOooOoOoOoOo

Geraldine Winters sat in her fluorescent-lit government office, papers stacked messily about her desk, the off-kilter fan spinning and sputtering its age as it offered a welcomed noise that cut through the pervasive silence. She sifted through file folder after file folder, hunting for the adoptive terms she needed to review with the prospective couple sitting across from her.

After several uncomfortable minutes full of unaccepted apologies, she finally plucked the buried paperwork relating to her latest case, her newest charge, and skimmed it slowly to ensure its correctness before proceeding.

In the short time Geraldine had fostered the blonde-haired baby – a rarity for her – she had grown to care deeply for the newborn. Personally, she could not fathom anyone turning down the chance to raise such a precious little girl. Geraldine believed in her heart of hearts that she had finally found right family for her; the Harding's were equipped financially, and otherwise able to create a little family unit much stronger than anything she could offer. In fact, the two were perfect on paper, an agency's dream set of applicants.

'They're almost too perfect.'

Geraldine thought to herself before she shrugged it away, admitting that perhaps her own desire to keep the girl fueled her few misgivings about the couple sitting across from her. In truth, something had nagged at her about them since the day she met them – when they instantly took a shine to her newest foster – but she could never place a finger on it, borne of nothing overt or alarming. Geraldine knew that even if she wanted to deny them, she had no cause, no justification – that she was making mountains out of molehills to stave off the depression she expected to follow her loss.

It broke Geraldine's heart to let the girl go, but such was the depth of her love – that she wanted only what was best, even if it meant it was not with her.

"As I mentioned before this will be processed as a closed adoption – the parents have legally signed away their parental rights and they have no desire to be found – but you must understand…" Geraldine swallowed hard, hoping she would not run off yet another couple, handcuffed by a trivial, but critical demand from the child's family that many had found surprisingly too unpalatable to accept, "Although custody has been forfeited, the family did so conditionally. They have made one stipulation in regard to the adoption, and if you refuse to comply, she cannot be yours."

Geraldine paused, watching as the young couple – hands clasped with one another's – inquired with their eyes as to the last hurdle standing between them and their new family, their baby girl.

"Anything!"

The strawberry blonde woman exclaimed, breaking the relative quiet and releasing the hold on her husband's hands to lean forward with her palms down on the desk. Her position was more submissive than aggressive, and out of place. While Geraldine had an inkling she should not overlook the display, she wanted to shepherd her charge into a new and better life, one with the well-off couple before her who had tried unsuccessfully for years to conceive a child of their own.

"Sookie…"

Geraldine sputtered out, overcome by a wave of grief as she realized despite the failures of the past weeks that she truly was about to lose a child she had come to consider her own. The young man's face contorted in confusion – a sneer Geraldine forced herself to ignore – as she back-tracked, explaining the meaning behind her utterance, even though she imagined it had been gleaned.

"If you want to adopt the girl, you must legally retain her given name: Sookie Adele."

A/N: (5/7) - Having a site issue. Next chapter will go up once the issue is resolved!