Once upon a time...
...a man sat at a crackling fire under a starlit night sky in the middle of the woods. It was a big man with a big name, at least in some parts of the world. He didn't feel big, though; in fact he felt quite small, at least tonight. He was all alone in the world, had no family or friends, and a night like this made a man wonder. He looked back at his life, at his deeds and mistakes, and didn't find any of it much to his liking. What had he accomplished so far, in the forty years he'd lived? He hadn't built or grown anything, hadn't made anything that had lasted. In fact he'd done quite the opposite. He had killed and ruined, more than anyone he'd met, and what did he have to show for it? A ragged bearhide and a notched axe. He didn't even have any money. He had the memories, aye, and his name, true, but those he could live without. Who would speak of him, when he was gone? Who would say the words at his grave and sing to his passing? No one. He would die alone, just as he'd lived, and the world would move on. Good riddance.
Only he didn't want that. He wanted something else. He wanted warmth, kind words and friendly faces. What would the rest of the rugged bastards he'd fought with say if he told them that? More than likely they'd laugh in his face and call him a fairy. Well piss on them, and piss on their laughter. He'd gladly be a fairy if it meant just a drop of more meaning to his life than... this.
As he watched the embers glow in the dark, he heard a bush rustle not far from him. It could've been an animal, but it wasn't likely; animals didn't usually stray that close to a fire. Gripping his axe with one big fist he stood up and looked about him.
"Who's there?" he called out, and waited.