Authors' Note: We are still on hiatus for Superfic, but while reorganizing files this weekend, we found a completed chapter of this fic that I'd meant to post a while ago. So here it is now.
Honoria Granger asked where we got the chapter numbers from, and I am SO GLAD someone did! There's a wikipedia article about Proto-Celtic, which is basically what linguists have been able to figure out about the common Celtic language spoken the Hallstat archeological culture. Since the high fae in our fics are specifically Celtic in origin, and much longer-lived than humans, I figured that they might retain some of the old Celtic language from before it began to differentiate into Gaulish, Old Irish, Welsh, etc. I found a list of numerals and decided, since I'm terrible at titling chapters, to use those numbers instead. I can't post links to my sources here, but will on the AO3 version.
Thank you Honoria!
Jareth had to trust in Iswyniel's wayfinding spell. The hedge maze was not difficult, when the hedges pulled themselves courteously aside for both fae to walk through. Iswyniel made a point of thanking Umardelin aloud, and Jareth did so as well. He could feel, dimly, a trace of appreciation from the kingdom.
He wished for the easy connection he'd had with Etaron, where he would know immediately how the kingdom felt about him and why. The land's magic was his to use from the moment he'd been old enough to grasp it – a fact that had vexed Della until she spell-locked him out of much of it. Few parents were prepared to deal with a child who could change the color of the flagstones at a thought, or send eggs flying about to smash against his tutors' windows. Della had needed to restrain him, when Etaron would have let a sorcerer born of her bloodline squander magic on frivolities.
Magic had its cost, as did everything. It was possible to magic almost anything into existence – except cold iron – but the more complicated and refined the task, the more costly it was. And most kingdoms did not have such a deep well of magic as Jareth sensed in Umardelin.
Della had explained to him, when he began to learn sorcery in earnest, that magic was much like water. Every plant and creature and even the ground itself gave off tiny amounts of it, as could be seen when the fog rose from the fields, or when cold air condensed the vapor in breath into frost. The tiny amount of water in an exhaled breath was nothing much, until one realized it joined the clouds in the sky, which eventually became rain or snow. Rain flowed into streams, which turned into rivers; rain sank through the earth to return as the deep clear springs flowing up. Snow gathered in the winter, to melt in the spring and fill rivers to bursting.
Once water was in a river, it could be harnessed by a paddle wheel and made to do work. The same water exhaled in a sigh could collect until it was strong enough to turn the massive millstones.
The worlds Above were poor in magic. They ran on mundane rules only, for the most part. But the imagination, creativity, passion, and belief of their people fueled the flow of magic Underground. Magic came into the fae kingdoms like springs, having filtered through the worlds Above, and some kingdoms were stronger in it than others, just as some kingdoms had more rivers than others.
Water, and magic, could be dangerous. Some kingdoms had mountains, which held deep snows that became floods during the thaw. Umardelin had the Labyrinth, a constant pulse of magic, raw and unfiltered. A flood sweeping across a plain could not be harnessed like a river, not until it was channeled – and channeling mostly happened after the damage of a flood was done, in order to prevent the next flood. Umardelin had carved its own channels, it seemed, and Jareth could no more manage them now than any peasant could tame a flood sweeping away his field.
Still, once he had the land in partnership, Jareth could use that magic to help its people. He had learned how in Etaron, which was not a rich kingdom in terms of magic, but which had its resources so exceedingly well-managed by Della as to appear so. Until then, he would have to use mundane means for nearly everything. His back still ached a little from pumping water at the square in the Goblin City.
Iswyniel was humming under her breath, making turns leisurely in the stone maze as if she had all day to explore. Her wayfinding spell took the form of a violet thread spinning out from her right hand, anchoring back to the stone gate where they'd first entered this part of the maze. Within the first hour, they'd found three dead ends, and one pitfall trap that Jareth had tossed a stone to spring. "She's playful, your kingdom," Iswyniel commented as the trap slowly reset itself.
Jareth was about to make an acerbic comment about not liking such games, but he thought better of it. Softly was good advice for handling the realm, as well as its residents. "The goblins have that sense of mischief about them, too. I don't mind a joke or two, so long as the punchline doesn't have teeth."
Something nearby snickered, and Jareth congratulated himself on being diplomatic.
There were marks on some of the walls, in no script Jareth recognized, and thanks to Thorvald he could read dwarven runes as well as most fae languages. Iswyniel glanced at them without showing much interest, but he knew she was far too canny to ignore such a thing. Evidently the Gardeners' Guild had their own cipher.
After two hours of walking, Iswyniel called a brief halt. She and Jareth sat down on a bench in the shade, after first making certain that the bench was not itself part of a trap. A gentle breeze swirled around them, and for a moment even the seemingly endless maze was pleasant. Jareth let himself enjoy the respite.
"I wouldn't doze off, were I you," Iswyniel said quietly.
"I had no such intention," Jareth replied.
Instead of responding, she looked down at their feet, and then across the little junction where they'd stopped. Jareth did the same … and when he looked up again, the path they'd arrived by was just a little further to the right than it had been. "I told you she changes the paths around you."
"And I believed you. If we were foolish enough to nap here, she'd turn the whole junction around. That might be enough to make even a wise sorcerer trust their eyes instead of their spell." Iswyniel stood up and dusted off her skirts. "Come on then."
Jareth stretched as he stood, and then paused as a thought occurred to him. "Umardelin – richest and loveliest and wildest of kingdoms – would you be so kind as to show us to the gardens the guild keeps within your maze?" He spoke in his most sincere tone, not the unctuous flattery he might've once used. The goblins valued courtesy, but they laughed at flattery, so he hoped the kingdom would respond to earnestness as they did to honesty.
The air around them felt heavy, and Jareth could feel Umardelin regarding him. It brought back a memory of early childhood, when he'd wandered into his father's kennels and come face to face with one of the mighty stag-hounds. Standing on four feet, the beast's dark eyes were level with his own, and the moist black nose that sniffed at him was surrounded by bristly beard-like fur. He had been, for a moment, intimidated, feeling very small and vulnerable before the massive creature.
The hound was only a dog, though, fierce to its quarry, gentle to children, and a warm pink tongue had lapped Jareth's face and made him laugh. Umardelin was a much wilder creature, and Jareth was all too aware what sharp teeth might be lurking beneath that inquisitive regard.
Then the atmosphere lightened, and the sound of grinding stone heralded a new way opening to one side. Iswyniel nodded, telling him, "Nicely done, your majesty."
"Thank you, Umardelin," Jareth said, and they followed the new path.
Very soon they came to something that might perhaps be called a garden, if the orderly rows thereof were tipped upon their sides. Jareth stared at a series of walls, narrow at the tops and wider at the bases, with jutting courses of bricks along their slanted sides. And growing there in astonishing profusion were strange fuzzy stalks tipped with eyeballs, all of which swiveled to look at the pair of them.
"Well then, it appears the goblins are not Umardelin's only eyes," Iswyniel said, sounding unnerved by the unblinking regard.
Jareth knew better, and was surprised that Iswyniel did not. Then again, she might not have seen this particular flora before. Eyeball lichens grew in many arid, stony realms, though he'd never seen this many in one place. Astolwyr had no such plants.
Iswyniel approached the nearest wall, and all the eye stalks turned to follow her movement. "Fascinating," she murmured. "I suppose they make an interesting ornamental, as well, or else why cultivate such quantities?"
Jareth paused. For once, he suspected he knew something his grandmother did not, but it was not something he particularly wanted to share with her. He was saved from making a decision by the sudden appearance of dwarf, who bustled up to them with an obsequious grin. "Good day, your majesties! I'm Gamrus. May I be of assistance?"
Iswyniel curtseyed to him. "Good day to you as well, but I am no majesty here, merely an assistant. The king and I are touring his realm. This is a lovely garden, good sir. You must be very proud."
The dwarf ducked his head as if bashful, but Jareth didn't sense any real humility in him. "Well, now, it's hardly mine alone to be proud of, but I do a good day's work, I do. These eyeballs lichens are finicky plants, you know. Almost got wiped out a couple decades ago, when we had the bad drought. We're helping replenish them. The Labyrinth likes her eyes, she does."
Jareth didn't betray any reaction to that obvious falsehood. "Would you be so kind as to show us around the garden?" he asked instead. It rankled him to do so, when these dwarves were his subjects and had been at best disingenuous, at worst openly insubordinate. But if they thought him too meek to command them, they would likely not rise against him.
Gamrus gave them a bobbing bow. "Begging your pardon, your majesty, I should love to do that. But these lichens are at a delicate stage, and too much movement could make 'em break off. We lost a whole crop once, to mice runnin' about and makin' 'em spin, the sad wee things. If you insist, of course, your majesty, I'll be happy to, so long as you'll excuse a poor harvest."
"No, no, that's quite all right," Jareth said. "I shall trust in your judgment and experience. I've little experience of gardening, myself."
"I thank you, sire. There are none so wise as those who admit what they do not know, or so the chancellor used to say," Gamrus replied with another bow. That fawning began to grate on Jareth; he preferred the goblins' near-threatening grins, or Valka's honest regard. Even Landon and Margit, shy though they were, were not so blatant in trying to curry favor.
Then again, these dwarves likely thought him a fool and a drunkard, and that if they bowed deeply enough, he would overlook any of their indiscretions. Perhaps Thydus had been such a king, but Jareth was not. He had not even been such a prince. It had taken only one instance, as a boy, to correct that. He'd been told off by his father's marshal for failing to check his horse's legs after a strenuous ride, and in response he'd demanded that the man show him the proper respect due to his rank. The head marshal of Etaron was human, an enormous barrel-chested man, and he'd clipped Jareth around the ear and told him that was all the respect due to a man who didn't look after his mount. Jareth had, of course, run to his father in outrage, expecting to see the marshal whipped for assaulting a crown prince.
Instead, Deruthiel had agreed with the sentiment; the marshal had been quoting him. Worse, the king had given the stable-boys the day off, and made Jareth muck out stalls under the marshal's supervision. He'd spent the next week as an apprentice groom, learning to apply poultices to strained tendons and how to rasp hooves. It was dirty work, but he'd acquired a new respect both for the marshal, who professed pride in his progress at the end of the week, and for the horses themselves, which were living, feeling beasts and not mere transportation.
With a twinge, Jareth thought for a moment that he should have listened more to his father. Deruthiel of Etaron would never do anything so foolish as the display of magic that had cursed Jareth to rule here. He'd made his share of mistakes – thinking he could kidnap the crown princess of Astolwyr chief among them – but he was rarely foolish. Nor was he the sort to think he could keep some great transgression hidden, and thereby escape punishment. He owned up to his wrongs, and did what he could to right them.
Iswyniel had also thanked Gamrus while Jareth was reflecting, and the pair of them took their leave, following the purple thread of the wayfinding spell. "What has put that stormy look in your eye, my liege?" she murmured.
"No wonder I'm such a disappointment to Father," he said, his tone bleak. "He wouldn't have mucked up so badly."
She sighed, and slipped her arm through his. "Jareth … your father loves you. Never once has he expressed disappointment in you. Oh, I'm certain he's quite upset about this, but only because his beloved son's life was at risk, and now he's deprived of your company. The man loves you, boy. I should think you'd know that."
"Of course he loves me, I'm his son. That doesn't mean he can't be disappointed, too." Jareth hunched his shoulders, feeling sorry for himself.
"There's a difference between being disappointed in something your child has done, and considering that same child a disappointment overall," Iswyniel told him softly. "Your mother has disappointed me a time or two, and she knew it when she did. But she is my greatest joy, as you are for her and your father. Do not be too harsh upon yourself."
He looked at her in disbelief, surprised at such gentleness, and Iswyniel gave him a wry smile. "I'll be harsh enough for both of us, never fear."
That startled a bark of laughter from him. "Well I know it. I think my tailbone is still bruised from you kicking me out of bed."
"Served you right," she said. "In any case, you've wits and courage enough to make a success of this. With the help of two kingdoms and my good advice, of course."
"Of course," Jareth said, managing a smile.
She nodded in satisfaction … and they turned a corner to find her wayfinding spell ran right between the bricks of a wall that hadn't been there when they'd come this way. Jareth couldn't help laughing at the surprise on Iswyniel's face. When she glared at him, he only smiled. "You said it yourself, Umardelin is playful."
Iswyniel scoffed, and made a gesture, levitating up off the ground. "Very well then, if she sets barriers before us, I'll surmount that. I suggest you climb or fly."
Jareth glanced at the sky for crows before turning to the owl and soaring over, still chortling at her bemused expression.