This a pseudo-Irish ballady-story-type-thing, and I really like it ^_^ The word "sidhe" is Gaelic, and as such has a bit of a strange pronunciation; it is pronounced "she," and is generally used to describe the Tuatha de Danann, or faerie-folk in Ireland. In this case, we're dealing with the dark sidhe or Unseelie Court. "Hame" is "home" with a different pronunciation; creideamh" is Gaelic for "creek." At least I hope it is. I used an online Gaelic translator sort of thingy....

Out on the moors of Ireland, where the winds can freely play, there stood an ancient rowan tree, no longer there today. But do not think about this day while this tell I tell, just put yourself nearby the tree, within its shadowed dell.
Around this tree are many plants and other trees besides, and though you cannot see, here great magic resides. The folk around the forest know what dwells below the tree, for it's from this magic gateway that came Unseelie sidhe.
They say to reach Tuatha's land you must first cross rivers three, and so there were three rivers beyond the rowan tree. So large the tree had grown it fed from the furthest one, and the plants around it yearned for but one sighting of the sun.
But as I said, a faerie gate was hid beneath the tree, and people in the countryside would often meet the sidhe. I know one time particular one festive Beltane Eve when faeries came onto the moors with devious cause to leave.
You see, on Beltane day, be there moon or sun for light, the Unseelie sidhe can take you, though norm'ly they've no right. They'll whisk you down to faerieland and offer you their food, and trick you into eating so you cannot leave their brood.
Now these faeries went out rambling, just looking for a baern to take back to their hollow and swiftly trap him there. Such a lad they found with joy and left in his own stead a changeling that fell fast asleep in his own lovely bed. They took him off into the trees and laugh to have their prize, tossing him among them with narrow, prideful eyes. He was gorgeous--for a mortal--and as they let their laughter ring, they brought him to the rowan tree to raise him like a king.
Later in the afternoon, the baby's mother came to take her baern out of the sun and in their well-built hame. She woke him up to feed him, and winced to hear his noise, never guessing that he was the Unseelie's own dear boy.
For days the family toiled with their baby's shrieks and cries, until at last they recalled old tales and came to realize the thing that they were hearing is not their younger son, but a changeling of the dark sidhe, and her own dear boy was gone.
Her husband put the babe to sleep as his wife tried no to cry, for if the changeling knew their plans, he would have surely seen them die. The father then called forth the son of near a dozen years, and told him what must happen through his own hard-stifled tears.
"Ye must retrieve thy brother, son, and ye must do it alone, for we must watch the changeling lest he wake while we're not home. There is a sturdy rowan tree where sidhe are said to dwell, and so ye must go forth and find their deeply shadowed dell.
"Now faeries all love music, so they'll likely bid ye play, and if ye cannot do it, they will turn ye straight away. Ye've learned your flute quite well, me boy, and you're better far than me, so I have trust in your skill, me lad, ye can set they brother free.
"Ye'll leave tomorrow with a bow and arrows by your side, and hid within that quiver, your bonny flute I'll hide. Upon your belt ye'll wear an axe to fell the rowan tree, for if ye leave their gate to gape, we'll still be bothered by those sidhe.
"Now do not mention aught, me lad, for if the changeling knows, he likely will detain ye, ere ye pass the rivers' flow. Make sure, lad, to keep your peace, lest that thing there overhear, else your brother then is lost--but if you're silent, never fear."
He nodded once to show he knew what tasks that he must do, and then the night was spent in silence, save for the baby's coos. His parents couldn't bring themselves to talk for all their woe, and their son felt doom impending, but still knew he had to go.
The lad was brave and kept his peace, and while the risk he understood, left his hame the next day, as if to hunt the wood. He kept his weapons with him and his flute hid well from view, heading to the rowan tree as his da bade him do.
A quiet creideamh crossed his path, so he took one step to cross, and in the little stream, both his boots were lost. The second one was wider, and swept his bow away, but he made the other side, and didn't dare to stay. The third was large and quick, and ate his arrows all; it was by only good luck's grace that his flute did not also fall.
Now before him stood the rowan tree, the tallest he had seen, beautiful as any tree, so majestic and so green. Around it stood a faerie ring where they'd danced some nights away, and faintly, as if 'cross the moors, some song was gaily played.
He took his flute up to his lips and played notes in reply, and ere too long the leader of the faeries he could spy. He knew him from his visit with his court some days before, and thus he knew what bade him come, and what his heart hoped for.
"I know your quest," the leader said, a smile on his face, "and say that you must trade for him, if you would take him from this place. As the moon is dark tonight, you must play till morning's light, and if you fail, we'll keep you both within our magics tight!" His friends appeared and jeered at him, thinking to dismay the patient boy the waited calm for them to cease their play. When they'd calmed and stood beside their leader thin and tall, the piper looked defiantly at those sidhe, one and all.
His eyes were burning with his ire as he spoke unto the sidhe, saying, "I shall not pipe if you don't show the babe to me!" With a snarl the leader brought the babe into the dell, saying, "Here's the prize--now play for us! And hope that you play well!"
He brought his flute up to his lips and let the music flow, recalling every melody that he was graced to know. Humbly as a master would, he played with skill and grace, all the while looking at the faerie leader's face. His kinfolk danced and feasted while the sky above grew black, and the piper had to wonder if he would be going back.
His fingers ached, his arms were tired, his lips were going numb, and somewhere in the crowd of sidhe, someone beat a drum. Above the tree, the stars were out, and moving far too slow, and ever on the dancing went, within the fire's glow.
The drum spead up and so did he, their laughter in his ears, ignoring all his tiredness, his pain, worries, and fears. A sparkle gleamed within his view, and sparked his fingertip, a bit of bright white magic from the leader's blood-red lips. He sought to make the piper fail and stop the flow of notes, but the magic was disrupted as the music burned his throat.
The leader glared up at the sky and sent another spell, aimed to make the piper think he wasn't in the dell. The party that he played for was his family and friends, and since he was so tired, they'd not care if he'd end.
But when the magic hit the boy, a chilly wind did too, and thus the spell was broken as the northern zephyr blew. He faltered not but played along, till sunlight kissed the skies, and then still more as Beleno rose, lest they cheat him of his prize.
The dark sidhe slumped as dawn wore on, and cursed the piper's name, angry that the mortal fool had fairly won their game. They fled below the rowan tree and the boy took up his axe, and sent it crashing to the ground with weary, desperate whacks.
His brother was returned to him, and they went home again, waking both his parents as they came into their den. They hugged their baby boy and laid him down to sleep, then woke the changed Unseelie from his slumber long and deep.
It shrieked out when it saw the baby to his folk restored, and grew up to his normal size, and bolted through the door. The family was left alone, for the faeries could not leave their rowan any longer, the farmer-folk to grieve.
But still when you are on the moors, you just might hear the cries of all the dark Tuatha that were cut off from the skies. If you hear the howling wind and it sounds like more than air, you'd better draw your shutters and see that you take care.