Fairy Stories: Adoring Tarren Ravaren – Part One

adoring tarren

Would you like to know something bothering and awesome? Legends say that the fairy folk are lovemaking and merrymaking the entire time. They fall for many and are never single. For them St. Valentine is always a great occasion for a huge celebration.

Good morning, Enchanted Forest!

The morning was smelling of pink ink–the inhabitants of the forest were sending love cards, wrapping presents, and asking each other out to the Holiday Ball… The Old Postman Leprechaun was begging the Invisible Sylph to be his Valentine, which she was, as usual, going to refuse, but in such a nice manner, that he would have the heart to invite her again. Next year…

Scarlet Eveningflash, the party girl of the Forest and the Queen’s sister was hosting the royal event at the Desire Evening Hall. It was a high profile event for fairies, and some humans were invited – but only princes and princesses of the blood. So Queen Isabelle was preparing to do her sister a tiny favor. She had to visit the Forest Human Embassy and approve the guest list for humans.

So how does a fairy dress up? Profile, full face, smile! – She stands in front of a magickal mirror and starts changing her form until she is happy with it. Long straight hair in the color of dark honey, hazel-green eyes, sparkling so softly that she didn’t need to add glitter. Her breasts ripened heavy like grapes. Being size plus felt gorgeous, it was an original fashion statement, worthy of a Fairy Queen.

When she gave a gracious form of the almost transparent, heavenly blue gown, she looked like an ancient goddess. You could genuflect before her and pray. She finished her toilette with the stunning ring King Oberon gave her, the one with a shining sapphire. Forever the royalties in the Enchanted Forest had believed that they would be protected by this stone of nobility – from envy, evil eye and falling into lust. Having in mind how amorous fairies are, it was a most necessary artifact, especially since she was going to meet humans.

When she found she looked presentable, she sat at the table in her shabby chic kitchen, which looked cluttered, although everything was in its place and poured for herself a hot black coffee. Twenty minutes later, ready for an adventure, she locked the door of Fae Keep, since everybody in the Enchanted Forest is a notorious prankster and headed to the Embassy.

Just Like His Name

The Forest Human Embassy was on Nightingale Street in Ouch York – it was a peaceful and pleasant place, the fancy buildings were adorned with small turrets, trees and flowers, colors blended nicely in the bright February morning. In front of the embassy itself, there was a statue in the shape of a woman who was reading her palm–symbolic of the peace between humans and the magickal folk, who had taught humans divination and other crafts. Isabelle passed through the gate, and on reception, she was greeted by a well-maintained woman she knew quite well, for she had been the secretary serving chocolate cookies for the Diplomat for the past ten years.

“Happy St. Valentine’s day, your Grace! You look wonderful! Well, a bit chubby!”
“Happy holiday to you too, Anabel! Make a wish!”–and she pulled a hair of dark gold from her head and gave it to the girl. “Here, write your wish on a parchment, roll it and tie it with this hair, it will come true by the end of the year.”
“Thank you, you are very kind!”
“Is Roland in?”
“No, your Majesty. Mr.Roland does not work here anymore! He has crossed the Great Silent Lake and got married in a distant land.”
“What then happened to his position?”
“We have a new Diplomat, your Honor” and she began to whisper “He is a swapped child–stolen during the war between humans and elves when the noblest and the most wonderful human babies were kidnapped by the fairy folk. Back to the human world, he graduated with a degree in the Magickal University of Ouch York, won the trust of all the King’s men and now serves as a diplomat in the department. His name is Tarren Ravaren.”

“Tarren Ravaren” – the fairy repeated with her bell timber savoring the words.
“At your service, madame!” – and with this fine and dandy line the cabinet door swung open as if from a boot.

He entered and stole the entire space.


Like his name, Tarren exuded thrilling masculinity and power. Like his name, he exuded potency. He came dangerously near and shook her hand and locked his eyes with hers and smiled his amicable grin.

“I am not falling in love with him!” was the thought, which crossed her mind.

“Welcome to the Embassy” she muttered.

“Welcome to the Embassy to you as well! Who are you and what brings you here?”

“Mr. Tarren, this is Isabelle Dazzlesparkle, the Great Monarch of the Enchanted Forest!”

“Oh,” he said looking as if he met royalties every day. “I have been expecting you. Please follow me in my cabinet. It seems tonight the Enchanted Forest is throwing quite the event.”

The room smelled of milk, honey, and cinnamon, it seemed the Diplomat liked his coffee just like the Queen had it in the olden days. He sat behind an expensive and massive wooden bureau, while she perched on the familiar sofa with pink and golden roses on the furnishing fabric and fancy pillows. He took out a parchment and placed it on the bureau before him.

“I am glad you’re here Mrs. Dazzlesparkle. I have heard a lot about the noble ruler of the Enchanted Forest. You have often been in the prayers of the family which raised me. Thank you for the peace contract, and a happy childhood.”

“However,” he continued, “You are familiar with the tension between the magickal folk and the humans. There is animosity. Here is a major Forest event, and the list of the participants has to be personally approved by you. You know how this sounds to our rulers. It’s pure racism.”

While he was speaking, she was looking at him hardly able to focus on his words. An Alpha Man. Hot as blazes. Irresistible from the first gaze. Tarren. He had the demeanor of a gladiator and the body of a king, warrior and knight.  When she regained the ability to think, Isabelle said with her voice a bit low and husky.

“As you know, we genuinely respect humans, but we are different cultures. The Enchanted Forest is sacred. It remembers being mutilated by the first human settlers here, they hurt the forest to build their civilization. Were it not for our magickal powers, the Enchanted Forest would have turned into a spooky marchland. The fact that we have granted permission of your royal kin to enter the Forest, shows we are highly concerned with these matters.”

“Shall we go through this list?”–he took out a fountain pen and leaned towards the parchment.
“It is obligatory.”–Isabelle said.
“Duke Remi and his daughter, princess Evelyn from Fairland.”
“Oh, the Princess who wanted to get married to six Princes from six different Kingdoms. The fairy folk is going to welcome her!”
“Following are the names of the six princes.”
“Oh, what a fun affair!”–said Isabelle with the typical female fondness for gossip of the intimate kind.
It turned out that Tarren had the same fondness, which is why he added ironically:
“She will eventually end up being in love with thirteen princes after today’s event.”
“Of all the diplomats in the world, I had to meet one with a sense of humor.”–Isabelle gave vent to her thoughts and then blushed.
“Thank you!”–he cleared his throat. Then he gazed at her as the alpha men do. She felt butterflies in her belly.

“Milord Tarren!”
“Yes, My Lady?”
“I would love you to come to the ball as well.”

Preparing for the Ball

We already know Isabelle is pretty vain, alright, so she was standing in front of a heap of crinolines and pouting her rosy lips. She was waving her magick wand, while the wonderful dresses and accessories appeared in her boudoir and disappeared after being disapproved. Oh, how she wished the magick wand would make her feelings and thoughts disappear just like the objects. But no – she was bound to think about Tarren the entire time. Oh how she wished that she could make him appear at her bed and make love to her until the sky turns bright again. Tarren Ravaren, she repeated, and the name sounded well between her lips.

When a fairy begins to love anew, her world is turned upside down. When a fairy falls in love, it is forever… and the heart of the Fairy Queen was like a crowded bus already… So when she gets the spark, the first thing she does it is question it, suspect it. Is it true, beautiful, worthy, divine? Does it feel it has been right there the entire time? How is she to give him a signal of her adoration? Yes, a fairy is a special edition of an easy catch. Since she was in love, Isabelle imagined vividly his touch, in such a way that she was having those quite realistic sensory sensations like butterflies in the belly. She couldn’t stop thinking about his smile and his virile warmth, with which he welcomed her. She wanted to taste his full lips and it was magick. But then, he was human, and the humans tend to look down on the magickal folk–they consider them quite loony. But right after their hands shook for the first time, she had this preventive reaction, which made her heart state, that it is not falling in love… Well, several hours later, roasting over a slow fire, Isabelle had to admit it, she had fallen for Tarren Ravaren.

Dear Friends Hello:

Isabelle entered the Desire Evening Hall carried on her serene gait. She was capable of balancing a hard-cover book upon her head at all times. She saw familiar and unfamiliar faces, and a red carpet was rolling in front of her, as she stepped gathering all the eyes.

“Look at the Queen, isn’t she curvaceous!”

“Curvaceous?”–said Isabelle, who had extremely good ears. “As you know my dear sister Scarlett Eveningflash dictates the fashion, the games, the customs and the manners in the Enchanted Forest. So, you don’t need to rely on me for that…” and she smiled her most forgiving smile. Then Isabelle looked around for her friends, and spotting Dew Lilycome in the other corner of the hall, she smiled and waved. Heading towards him to invite him for the first dance, she felt how someone caught her hand. The gesture was so tender, that she sighed, and froze, she didn’t turn around, while he caressed her arm and when he reached her elbow, she knew who he was.

“I am yours!” he whispered in her right ear. “And this dance is so delicate, fine and romantic. It connects us like nothing else. Don’t you agree that it is very romantic?”

Never in her life had Isabelle imagined she’d hear such words from a human being. A male human being. Who held her in his arms, whispering soft and low, the most romantic lines, she had ever witnessed, and by God, she had witnessed plenty of pick-up lines. She was going to drop dead from a romantic rush.

“Can you feel the love?”–he continued. “You are adorable! Divine!”–he repeated, and it made her feel like a pet that has been caressed. Among the hypnotizing lines, he managed to dance with her, better than anyone had ever done it, until both of them were crazy from the touch. Then the song had to end, and they separated, each of them feeling soft and vulnerable, their souls naked and responsive. Their bodies separated, but their hearts remained bonded for the entire night.

“You are out of your mind”–Isabelle thought about herself. “To fall in love so easily, and so… magickally. Well, he is obviously the most romantic man… and his heart is noble… and he knows what to say in the heat of the dance, but… You have totally lost your mind!–she reprimanded herself.

What else happened on this ball, she did not notice. All the magickal folk and the human guests were indulged in gossiping, but since he was there, she couldn’t pay attention to anything else. She followed him around with eyes, and her heart was begging for another blissful touch. The hours passed as minutes. She danced with other people, but her heart had sunk unto his. She threw blazing glances at him while they were dancing with other partners. Other people held her tight and danced with her, but her heart was elsewhere and seemed it would remain there for good.

With Tarren Ravaren.

Who Comes to Isabelle

Sitting in her kitchen in Fae Keep, stirring her tea with a silver spoon, Isabelle was submerged in her thoughts. She was still hot and heavy from the dances; she was still craving for him, it had not been enough. Her eyes were pensive and full of amorous mist.

Then someone knocked on the door. Twice.

Isabelle checked her complexion in the magical mirror and jumped to open the door.

It was Dew Lilycome, the Elf of Kindness himself.

“We should talk.” – he stated politely.

While they were talking, Isabelle was shortening the distance between them. A few hours later, they were talking at a distance of ten centimeters, and she could breathe his breath and was insanely happy. She was repeating in her mind, “oh, we are so close, we should kiss…,” but Dew Lilycome had not come here to kiss. To make Isabelle’s soul feel at ease, he had come with the latest gossips around her on the ball. All the men had said that the Queen is so curvy, it is strenuous to lead her in a dance. Though that was a bit compromising for her, she absolutely enjoyed the moment with Dew. While he spoke softly right in her right ear, there was no one else, but their two souls almost kissing while sharing their happy thoughts, while the kettle was murmuring his song over the stove. “I am going,” he said, “for I can’t bear staying with you anymore – your sensuality seems to be awakened, and this is going to give me a health condition.” When she thanked Dew and sent him away, she stood in front of the magick mirror, she stretched a bit and ordered:

Show me Tarren Ravaren.

Tarren Ravaren was riding a pure-bred black stallion through the Forest heading straight to Fae Keep. He looked like a skillful rider. It was a pleasure to watch how he tamed the animal, which was obviously wild and powerful. They moved in an angry rhythm, obviously, he was in a hurry and spurred the horse, to get to her faster. But when he reached the door, he knocked even politely. She heard him breathe even through the door.

“Good health to you from Tarren Ravaren, divine beauty.”

“Wait!” – she glued her cheek to the door. “What will just happen if I open this door?”

“Nothing will change. I promise, I will stick a sword with a name between us on the bed, so that you may remain faithful to the King.”

“Front door is ajar”–she said and followed closely by him entered the living room.

“Yet, the sword will not protect you from my passion. ”

“Would you like a cup of tea,” she asked, as he hugged her slowly and his craved lips were covering hers. She felt like all the handmade amulets she owned could not protect her from this man’s passion. Soon she was topless, and the breasts heavy as grapes were cupped in his hands and subjected to his male wonderment. He touched her in a soft manner, that was however so stimulating it felt painful when he didn’t touch. Every centimeter of her skin was craving for his male, physical attention. It seemed her body had buttons, and he was discovering them and pressing them all, one by one, with determination. His lips followed her curves, everywhere, and his body, she had dreamt of, was pressing her to the bed, and penetrated like this she finally felt the delirium of lovemaking, that was essential for her soul.

“We must have tea!”–she declared after they were lying perspiring on the bed, their eyes shining with delight and approval. “It is a special tea. It will allow us to hear each other’s thoughts. And I can’t wait to learn, what have you been thinking about me…”  said Isabelle, and we know she charmingly thought a lot about herself.

“Well, if you want to”–he said in the happy, after-love-making voice that enamored beings know so well.

They put on a dressing gown each and headed to the kitchen where Isabelle sprinkled the potion in the cauldron with saffron and poured some golden liquid inside. She served the tea in her favorite bone-china cups, with floral ornaments, and placed some chocolate cookies on each saucer.

The kitchen was steamy from the tea’s aroma. They exchanged enamored glances and sipped from the hot infusion. Suddenly there was this telepathic connection between them, and they were now able to talk without moving their lips at all. They shared soft kisses and enamored thoughts, and everything was absolutely perfect until a perky thought arrived in Isabelle’s head.

Author: LadyF

I know that I can speak about writing until I annoy even the most patient person. It obviously is more than a passion to me. Dean Kansky said: "You know, the Greeks didn't write obituaries. They only asked one thing after a man died: "Did he have passion?"

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *