Authors' Note: We apologize for the long delay on this fic, but it is still being worked on, and will be finished someday. In the meantime, have a new chapter.
Jareth was having a pleasant dream. He and his friends had stumbled across a performance of that silly play, A Midsummer Night's Dream, but instead of interfering they had gone on their way, tossing mockery of the mortals back and forth between them. They played the usual games of young fae pranking Above, and when that grew boring, they went back Underground where they were all safe. Thorvald was there, and the other who could not come Above with them, a girl by the name of Lyselle who was younger even than their youthful set, but old enough to know her own mind. They all got riotously drunk and sang ballads and played instruments until the tavern-keeper threw them out – even that with good humor, for their coins were gold and several of them had deep pockets.
It was late to return to Etaron, so Jareth stayed with Urylas in a nearby inn. Ever winsome Urylas, who could swagger as cockily as bearded Thorvald, and who could also cinch himself into a corset and gown, making many women look plain beside him. Jareth was more than a little in love with Urylas, but he tempered that, keeping a stranglehold on his feelings; Urylas laughed at the notion of love, said it made women spiteful and men boring. Even as young as they all were, Jareth was beginning to realize that Urylas could only love himself, and whatever he felt for the rest was because they glorified him.
Some of the others had gone on to spend the night at other inns, taking tagalong Lyselle with them, though she had sent a pouty look Urylas' way. Jareth ignored that, ignored everything, because when one was alone with Urylas, one had to make certain that he was first in one's mind. The other man could be capricious, if he felt himself slighted, and Jareth spent an exhaustive hour proving his devotion and desire. At the end of it, they both sprawled languidly across Urylas' bed, and he rang for a servant to bring them cold wine and something to snack on.
Jareth magicked his pants on, at least, to receive the tray, and tipped the servant as well. It did not bother him that he paid for the room and for the refreshments Urylas called for without asking his leave. Urylas was worth it all, and more. Just now the handsome fae man was sipping wine and grinning at him, eyes flashing delight at the prospect of a second round…
… until those merry eyes grew bulging, the smiling mouth widened to a horrid gape, and instead of one of Urylas' playful jests, the voice that echoed was the gulping of a toad.
Jareth sat up in bed, his heart pounding, sweat stippling his skin. It was a nightmare, of course, his mind knew that even while his heart kept galloping away. Just a little reminder that, no matter how things were looking up for him, the rest were still serving their sentences. Urylas and Sevinder were learning how to catch flies by now, living in ordure that might rival the damned bog here in Umardelin. The rest were developing calluses on their shoulders from leaning into the yoke, dragging heavy carts into and out of the mines.
He shuddered all over at the horror of it. His parents were right, his grandmother was right, he at least should've had the sense to confess and throw himself on the High King's mercy. He could've spared them all so much trouble – there would have been punishments, certainly, but none so cruel or so enduring.
It was too early for breakfast, but sleep had fled, so Jareth went downstairs, exploring his castle. The kitchen was quiet, Landon bundled up by the banked embers in the hearth. Jareth looked thoughtfully at the boy; when they announced the shipments of grain and livestock and seedstock, he would promote Landon to seneschal. It was a weighty task for one so young, but he had proven he had the right instincts for it.
A noise made Jareth turn around, and he saw a young fae woman in the doorway, startled by the sight of him. He held his finger to his lips, pointing at the still sleeping Landon, then moved toward her. She backed out into the hall, her nervousness made plain by the lashing of the cow's tail that swung from under her skirts. The mark of a huldra, a Norse breed of fae. "Margit, I assume?" Jareth murmured, once he was sure their voices wouldn't wake Landon.
"Yes, your highness," she replied with a bobbing curtsy. "How can I be of service?"
That was a good question, wasn't it? "I suspect you are already doing far more service than any one person ought, given the shortage of staff," Jareth murmured to her. "I could not sleep, so I decided to rise early and look about the place. You may go about your way, Margit. I did not intend to disturb anyone."
She looked at him with eyes that were very, very blue, yet shrewd. "Thank you, your majesty. Are you certain you wouldn't wish a cup of tea, at least? The mornings are damp and chill."
"If it is no trouble," Jareth replied. He would not be this deferential to a servant at home, and in light of his current situation, he could only view his high-handed attitude as a flaw. He needed every one of these people to stay, and he needed their loyalty. If mastery of a kingdom meant care of his people, then he had much work to do.
Margit built up the fire without waking Landon, swung the kettle over it, and pulled it just before the water boiled. She poured three mugs of tea, serving Jareth from the same sort of rough pottery she used for herself and Landon. That was a test, he thought, to see if he would take umbrage, but Jareth only nodded and thanked her as she spooned a little dark honey into it. He left her to wake Landon, and padded through the long corridors of the castle alone and unremarked.
It felt much colder than it was, as if the mood of the place chilled him more than the air. He paced, climbed winding stairs, looked out over stone railings, and walked some more, choosing a route at random until he returned to the main floor. "I am doing my best," Jareth murmured, standing outside the throne room. "I will see you filled with light and life again, this I swore when I took up the mantle. I would not find a little help amiss, however."
There was no answer from the kingdom, but something in the atmosphere changed. The air smelled a little fresher, the corridor seemed a little brighter. Jareth lifted his head, and saw that dawn was creeping over the horizon.
That meant his grandmother would soon be awake, and he decided to return to the kitchens.
…
No one was more shocked than Iswyniel to find Jareth in the scullery, using a careful trickle of magic to scour ages of rust from some of the pots. "Nonsense, it needed doing," he told Landon, who was nearly beside himself at the idea of a king cleaning. "You'd take years to get that off with sand and scrubbing alone."
Still, Iswyniel nodded approvingly. "He has a point, though, your majesty. A king should not need to spend his magic on such things. His assistant, however, can more readily afford the loss." And with a narrow glare and a gesture, she rendered all the cooking vessels and implements clean and rust-free. Copper pans shone, knives gleamed, cast iron shimmered as if just tempered in oil. Landon looked fit to weep, and Margit's tail lashed in surprise.
More porridge for breakfast, but this time there were eggs and slices of ham as well. Jareth raised an eyebrow, and Iswyniel nodded; the villagers had brought more supplies up to the castle in response to their visit yesterday. Landon and Margit both served them, nearly tripping over themselves in their eagerness to be of use, and Jareth ate with a will. He had the foresight to ask, "I see we have honey to sweeten our meals. Are there still hives here?"
Margit spoke up then. "A scarce few upon the castle roof, your majesty. The village hives were all abandoned over the winter."
Iswyniel and Jareth shared a look, both of them guessing it had been more than that. The villagers had been hungry enough to eat their plow-beasts; they would have robbed the hives of all their honey, as well. The bees would then have starved. A sorry fate, and one with longer consequences – the fields and gardens would produce less fruit without the eager attentions of the bees.
"That reminds me," Jareth said, putting down his tea. "I have appointed Jytha as the village reeve. I am expecting her or her representative to deliver a census of tools and available foodstuffs in the village. I do not know how relations between village, castle, and city have been over the past years, but under my rule I hope to see all of you in harmony."
"That is my hope, also," Landon said earnestly. "Begging your pardon, but relations have been almost nonexistent. The villagers pay their tithe to the castle in grain, vegetables, and meat, when they have it to give, and ignore us otherwise. I've traded them honey and some trivial things, like ribbon from the stores, for anything else we need. There was no one to decree that we must have supplies, or to enforce such a demand."
Jareth nodded, and the young man looked encouraged. It seemed too long since anyone had listened to the servants, who were after all the ones most likely to know everything about a castle. Landon continued, "The city trades with the village, and with us, but the goblins could shut their gates and be self-sufficient for quite some time."
Jareth looked thoughtfully at the doors leading to the storerooms. There should have been more interrelations between the castle, the city, and the village. In most kingdoms, the castle was the seat of government, the villages handled agriculture and raw materials, and the cities took care of manufacturing and trade. It seemed much the same here, though on a smaller scale. Umardelin's chief powers were its magic and its labyrinth; the city and the village should primarily support the castle and one another. "What are the goblins eating? All I've heard so far is that they eat rat."
"They do, and in addition they have their own stores," Landon said. "But not much, honestly. They prefer meat, though they'll take bread and vegetables when offered. And sweets, all of them love sweets, and they come to us for pastries. Though they do keep a few hives of their own in the Labyrinth and collect the honey. It's strong, and oddly flavored; I've never found the taste for it. The goblins' bees are not so tame as the ones we had in the village, but they survive year in and year out."
"New hives are on their way as well," Jareth said. "I've arranged to import everything this kingdom needs, though it may nearly empty the treasury. Which reminds me, both of you – what are your salaries? New servants will be coming, to bring the staff up to par, and I want to see you rewarded for your loyalty."
Margit and Landon looked at each other, and she laughed, clapping a hand over her mouth in dismay at her own effrontery. He only said, "There's been no pay since the Chancellor disappeared…" and then named a salary that was cruelly low, to Jareth's mind.
He scoffed, and saw both of them look crestfallen. "As near as I can tell, you are both doing the work of three people, if not more. That's a pittance, and an insult to you both. I will see your wages trebled, and brought out of arrears."
That stunned them both speechless, and Jareth cut off the stammering thanks with a wave of his hand. "It is the least you deserve. Do not thank me yet, we still have much to do before all is made right. But I shall see the circumstances improved for all," Jareth said, and meant it.
The huldra finally gathered enough composure to ask, "And what is your majesty's will for this day?"
"We will be exploring the stone maze," Jareth said. "I've been given to understand that the Gardeners' Guild practices their craft there, and they are involved in some trade for the kingdom's benefit. I should like to inspect their work more closely."
The freighted pause after those words made it clear that both servants knew something was amiss. Landon wrung his hands, and said, "Your Majesty, please, I don't want to seem as if I'm getting above my station…"
Jareth fixed him with a serious look, and let his eyes flicker with iridescence, a reminder of exactly what he was. "Your station, young man, is as one of a very few loyal and hardworking servants who've undertaken to serve a new king in a realm you know full well is tottering on the edge of ruin. As such, I'll thank you to speak honestly and freely. If you think I'm being a fool, then bloody well say so, and I'll not take offense. You might be saving my skin – my station here is far from secure, as all of us know. Perhaps later, when we've swept out the throne room and put a crown upon my brow, then I'll insist on proper royal address. For now? We in this room, along with the villagers, are all in a scramble together to make this kingdom successful. Let us not concern ourselves unduly with rank."
"Good," Margit said. "Because the Guild won't. Don't trust them, sire. They ruled here before and after Thydus, and they think to rule after you, as well. No one's said anything, but I've been here long enough I can feel it."
"Thank you," Jareth said to her, touched by her sincerity.
Landon added unhappily, "We got a basket of eggs and a pig from the village, last night, but the Guild hasn't brought in any vegetables. And I've asked as humbly as I know how for something to serve besides pease pottage and onions. They told me to use up what's in storage, first."
"The vegetables in the cellar are rather dismal," Iswyniel said. "The village pigs might appreciate them."
"Anyway, what I meant to say is, don't go to the stone maze just yet," Landon said. "I'd visit the city first, were I you. Not that I ever could be, I'm nowhere near royal myself…"
"No, but you may be the most knowledgeable person in the room," Jareth said. "I said speak plainly, my friend, and I meant it. I have been a fool, recently, and have no wish to compound my error by being an even greater one and ignoring well-meant advice."
That seemed to reassure Landon, and he sighed. "The goblins would be happier if you saw to them first. They're closer, too. Not visiting them first would seem an insult, and in any case, I trust them more than the guild. They could lock their gates and ignore us, but they don't. Mayhap I'm biased because of that."
Jareth was inclined to trust his instincts. He glanced at Iswyniel, and she nodded. "With your approval, majesty, we will alter our agenda to visit the Goblin City today," Iswyniel she said. And then, turning to the steward, she asked, "Landon, do you know what service the goblins provide for the Gardeners' Guild?"
He shook his head ruefully. "I don't. But they are a forthright people. If you ask politely, they'll answer."
"'Politely' may be the key," Jareth mused. "I suspect the goblins do not get a great deal of respect anywhere outside Umardelin."
Landon scoffed, then remembered who he was speaking to and blushed. "Um, they don't get a lot of respect here, either. I mean, we do, obviously, because they built the pump that keeps our water flowing with just the lightest touch, and they help out in here. The village respects them, too. They built the mill and made a new leg for the smith. But the Guild seems to just give them orders or shout at them."
Jareth remembered how he had dealt with the goblins, on first meeting, and felt a twinge of shame. He had assumed that because they were ugly to his gaze, they must also be stupid. Yet the mill was ingenious, and Valka's leg was a work of art. He had badly underestimated his subjects, allowing his prejudice to rule him. Jareth vowed to do better.
Iswyniel took the last sip of her tea, and caught his eye. She seemed to be thinking along much the same lines as he was. "Let us go forth and pay our respects, then," she said.
Nodding agreement, Jareth rose, carrying his plates and cutlery over to the sink. Iswyniel did the same, and they left the kitchens in a thoughtful mood.
As they walked out the great doors, Iswyniel said, "Wise of you, thinking of the goblins' needs. They are your people, too. And this is their homeland."
Jareth nodded, musing. "I've heard all my life that goblins are ill news, the lowest of the low fae, stupid, ugly vermin … but their works are marvelous. There must be more to them than the rumors say."
"Aye, I think so too," Iswyniel replied. "I know little of goblins beyond hearsay. We're fortunate Landon was brave enough to speak up. We do need to know what service they perform for the Guild, and why."
Agreeing with her, Jareth took the next branching of the path, and they headed for the Goblin City.