This is a fairy tale, and a fantasy.
In fairy tales, there are many things that are not real. Faerie lands, peaceful towns on the Borders of reality, good kings, brave knights, easy answers. But fairy tales teach us how to fight monsters that may be real, though not what they seem on the outside.
There are many fantasies we tell to comfort and inspire us. There are power fantasies, romantic fantasies, wish fulfillment fantasies. This is a forgiveness fantasy. That you can forgive someone who wronged you completely and heal. That the one who hurt you could change into a person worthy of your forgiveness, worthy of your trust. This may not ever happen in our world, and I'm doubtful it even should. But this is Oddford, a place for misfits and miracles. Maybe it can heal, in some measure.
-000-
Robert Williams rested his head back on the wood paneling of the wall behind him. It had been another long, grueling day at work, and while he would love nothing more than to get home to Karen and the kids, his friend Dan was in town and eager to catch up. The man himself weaved back from the bar to their booth, two syrupy stouts in hand and his glasses dangerously drooping down his nose.
"Success! Sign me up for the circus." He preened as he settled in the seat opposite Robert. The middle-aged dad humor was new for Dan. Not that Robert minded, also being a middle-aged dad, but he was pleased to see his friend doing better. The city hadn't been kind to him, so he had escaped to a small town a couple hours south of here with his wife and kids. Gone was the nervous, passive man Robert remembered; in his place was an easy-going family man comfortable in his own skin. His own goofy, nerdy skin.
Robert and Dan clinked glasses. "To the weekend, and maybe getting some rest," he said.
Dan laughed. "Toby's still a toddler, isn't he? Good luck with that."
"Heh. Potty training and naps are still a struggle, but he's mostly been going to his sister instead of us if he wakes up at night."
"How is Sarah these days?" Dan said innocently, unaware how loaded a question he asked.
Robert took a long sip of his beer to mask his hesitation to answer. In his mind, what he said was, 'Well, Sarah went through some kind of psycho-magical rite of passage this past spring that made her mature beyond her years but also involved Something she and Karen are treating like sexual assault. No one has told me details because they think I'm allergic to the existence of the supernatural, but actually, I'm a damn coward who won't confront a reality I can't understand or control. In the meantime, I have to support my scarily competent but clearly traumatized daughter about to start sophomore year and thank everything holy this didn't happen when Linda was in the picture.
What he actually said was, "She's fine. A teenager."
Dan raised an eyebrow but let it go. "How's the firm treating you? If you don't mind my saying, you're looking pretty beat."
"My supervisor is over a decade younger than me, and they're slowly working me into an early grave. But hey, a job is a job." Robert tried to keep the bitter edge out of his voice as he spoke. He really did.
His friend looked back at him with a sympathetic expression that swiftly turned contemplative. "What if there was… a better job?"
Robert scowled. "What are you getting at?"
"You know how I went into business for myself after the move?"
"The surveillance tech? I thought you said that was going well?"
"It is. So well I'm getting out of my depth with the paperwork," Dan answered with a sheepish shrug. "I was always a basement tinkerer, you remember. I can do some contracts, but I'm getting to the point I can't keep up with everything."
Robert drained his glass and contemplated. "So what do you need? I can come down South once a month and clean up your filing cabinets for a freelance fee. I'll probably have to cut back at the firm, but it will be quite a commute. You sure there isn't some upstart paralegal in your area who needs the experience?"
"I wasn't exactly looking for a freelance pencil pusher." Dan puffed up his chest slightly, preparing. "Robert, I'd like to make you partner in the business. I do the technology; you do the red tape and contract work. Fifty percent up front. Benefits. Weekends. Everything you have to scrape for at the firm, I'll get you the luxury edition. You can even have time to start taking pro bono cases again."
Robert leaned back with his hand on his heart. "Don't tempt a guy."
"I'm serious. I think you and I could really take Owl's Eye somewhere. And as for the commute, maybe you could consider relocating. Far be it from me to extoll the virtues of small-town Americana," Robert snorted. "But Oddford is a nice community. And it's not like you have roots in that suburb. Which is quickly getting absorbed into the city." Dan lowered his voice, his gaze empathetic. "You've been in the same house since Linda left. It might be good to find your own place. And probably even better for Sarah."
Was everyone but him allowed to read between the lines where his daughter was concerned?
Dan fumbled through his attaché case, producing a file folder and a brochure. "Think it over, talk to Karen about it. You don't have to answer right away. Here's a brief on how Owl's Eye is doing. And here is a little information about Oddford. It's a nice place, really."
Dan backed off the subject after that, and they slipped into the comfortable routine of reminiscing. Two dinners and sober-up cups of coffee later, the two friends parted with hugs and well-wishes to their respective homes. It was quiet and dark when Robert pulled into his driveway and turned off the ignition. When he pulled his bag from the passenger seat, Dan's brochure fell into his lap. He thumbed through it curiously. It did look nice. Quiet, community minded. The kind of place people flocked to when they got tired of excitement, when they wanted to tend their own garden without fanfare. Not to disappear entirely, but find a calm place to grow and connect in peace.
Robert sat in his car for a long time, thinking. Thinking about his cramped, windowless office at the firm. About this house he bought for Linda but moved into without her. About Karen's tiny backyard garden, about how much busier their street had gotten. He thought about Sarah, and how few friends she brought home from school, and how she flinched at every car backfiring. There was no guarantee any of this would improve if they moved, but there was potential in the in the risk.
It was a leap of faith, wasn't it?
The door to the garage opened and Karen stood in the frame, the kitchen light casting a halo over her warm, quizzical smile. Robert gathered his things and got out to meet her with a smile of his own. He was still holding the brochure.
He had a question to ask.
-000-
The same week and a world away
Jareth walked down the hallway, measuring his breathing. He was never this nervous entering his uncle's office before, but then again, the summons didn't say 'Uncle Destryn'. It said 'HRH Destryn Di Marli, High Fyn of the Fae Realms'. Usually, he only saw that stationary when someone was getting crowned, or -gulp- sentenced. It would also be the first time Jareth had seen him in since The Incident. Maybe that was why his shaky hand was hesitating on the door handle. Either way, it was time to screw his courage to the sticking place. Jareth took a deep steadying breath and walked in.
"Jareth, welcome. Sit down, my lad." Uncle Destryn was exactly as disarmingly affable as he remembered. His voice was warm and his smile genuine, reaching the small crow's feet at the corners of his blue-green eyes.
He didn't look like a king sitting at his desk. He looked like a kindly principal or relatable pastor, with his (Fae)business casual dress and tousled dark hair flecked with gray. But this was still the study of the High Fyn, and the weight of an entire dynasty settled heavily all around them, no matter how many of his kids' crafts his uncle put on the bookshelves.
"Looking well, Uncle. It's been too long," Jareth said as he sat, going for a sincere tone over his usual casual bravado.
Destryn stilled him with a look. "Yes, it has. How did the monks treat you?"
Right after Jareth came clean about The Incident, Destryn secreted him away to a monastery for a six-month stint of rehab, leaving the goblins to his neglected council and the Runners to the Labyrinth. The first three months were mostly spent getting sober. He had only been back a few weeks when he received the summons.
"Well. Very well. Spent much of my time in community service, study, meditation, and therapy. Quite a large amount of therapy, actually."
"Good. Glad to see you cultivate productive habits." He looked down at his papers, clearly unbothered.
Jareth's unease grew. "But as much as I appreciate your consideration, Uncle, it's not a sentence. I broke the law," he said quietly. Better to rip off that bandage soon as possible.
"You mean abusing your authority in a sacred border trial?" Jareth felt skewered to his seat by Destryn's gaze. There was disappointment there, and sadness; painful emotions to see in the eyes of a man more Jareth's father than the sperm donor who left him his crown. "Those laws are the Labyrinth's," Destryn continued. "We have adopted them for other Border Tests, but it is the Labyrinth who bore your sharpest transgression, and it is the Labyrinth who decided against removing you from your position."
Well that was… a surprise. As much that the Labyrinth had deigned to speak as her decision to be merciful. She was the First Threshold, the Gate of Gates, and such a genius locus did not often converse with Fae, even royalty. All she asked was a monarch to care for her subjects and preside over her Trials, then she kept to herself.
"When did the Labyrinth speak to you?" Asked Jareth.
"She channeled through you the night before the monastery."
Jareth grimaced. "I loathe when she doesn't ask permission before channeling."
Destryn raised an eyebrow. "Much like your, oh let's be polite, overture towards an underage girl?" There was anger creeping into his voice now, and hot shame bloomed in the pit of Jareth's stomach.
"I wasn't sober…" he started, but now the old excuses felt empty and inadequate in his mouth. Destryn still stared at him, and his protests died.
"For that crime there is not a complete restitution I can demand of you. That belongs to the poor girl you traumatized, and it will hang over your head for the rest of your days. But if you've come expecting something more punitive," He took an antiquated goblet from the bookshelf behind him and placed it on the desk. "I might have a solution."
Jareth fought the urge to tremble. Between himself and his uncle sat an Oath Chalice. It was an ancient way to hold a man to his word, no matter what.
"Have I been that untrustworthy, Uncle?" He asked softly.
"Know that I would happily keep you in that monastery, quietly farming and talking out your issues until you emerged with a halo on your head. I'm aware that is not convenient for you, and also is a gross display of nepotism. But desperate times have arrived. I need someone I can trust with my most valuable asset. Someone unaffected by Tel Sidhe politics and understanding of that which I need to protect most. You fit the description perfectly, provided no one holds your mistakes over your head or…" A pointed pause. "You fall off the wagon."
"What are you asking of me?" Jareth couldn't keep the worry out of his voice.
"I ask you to be the appointed Guardian of my heir for the duration of her academic exile until she comes of age or assumes her place in succession."
It was the official wording, and Jareth knew he should be kneeling in gratitude, but he kept staring at the chalice, feeling like he'd been slapped. "Guardianship of an heir is supposed to be an honor," he said, his voice hollow.
Destryn leaned forward and took his nephew's hand. "And it still is. You were my hope for her Guardian ever since she was born. But with the amount of unrest lately, I need to be assured your past stays in the past. That way, you can focus your all your energy toward training and protecting her."
"So, you require leverage over me."
"So that no one else can obtain it."
Jareth looked up from the chalice to his uncle's face. Gone was the disappointment, but in its place was a dangerously thin hope. "Is it really that bad?" He asked.
"Yes," Destryn said, soft but frank.
After a long exhale, Jareth leaned forward to grasp one of the goblet's handles. "What are my stipulations?" He asked with new determination.
With a relieved smile, Destryn filled the cup with wine and took the other handle. "Jareth Marline, Border Lord and Goblin King, for a period of seven years from your crime, your will shall be beholden to this oath, set forth by myself, High Fyn Destryn Di'Marli. Your immortal soul may be commended to God, your authority to the Labyrinth, but your ass belongs to me."
Jareth failed to hide a smirk.
"In addition to Guardianship over Princess Calria Di'Marli upon her customary exile, you will act as my left hand. I will ask you to undertake certain assignments. Secret and unsavory missions that a king should not have to consider, but must be done regardless. Do you consent?"
"I consent."
"Your leadership role in the Labyrinth's Border Trials has been suspended. You may aid the education of a Runner, even play a part, but the overseeing of a run must be handled by one of the Labyrinth's Council. Do you consent?"
"I consent."
"You will abstain from any chemical vices stronger than human alcohol. So far as you can control it, your mind will remain your own. You will maintain your sobriety absolutely. Do you consent?"
"I consent."
"And lastly, I am suspending your carnal desires for the duration of this probation. You will be functionally asexual, so to eliminate temptation from yourself and others. Do you consent?"
The therapy from the monks had to be working because Jareth did not immediately throw that wine in his uncle's face. He stared blankly and blinked for a moment. It did make sense, really. Calria was the same age as… the one from the Incident. And even though Jareth considered his cousin a sweet summer lamb who needed naught but protection and familial love, she would doubtless have friends and confidants around. And how could Uncle know if the Incident was a one-off or the escalation of a pattern? And it was just seven years, not long at all.
Jareth swallowed his pride and thought of the Realm. "I consent."
Destryn smiled proudly at his nephew, probably for the first time in years, and that thought alone gave him resolve. "Then with a draught from this Chalice, you have given your word and sealed your oath. Go forth, and have courage, for the burden you carry is not light."
Without hesitation, Jareth took the cup and downed the wine in one gulp. He did not slam the chalice back down on the desk like a beer stein at a frat party, but his old wolfish smile was back as he returned it to his uncle. He could feel the magic flow through him with the alcohol, binding him to his word.
With all the flowery official wording out of the way, Destryn squeezed Jareth's arm. "Thank you. I'll do everything I can to make sure you're taken care of. During and after."
Jareth smiled back, glad for the lighter mood. "So, where is sweet little Calria spending school?"
Destryn pulled a file from his desk drawer, a magical seal shimmering on the cover to keep away any unwelcome eyes. "You will be staying in the Human Realm. A little border town. American Mid-Atlantic."
Jareth felt the color swiftly drain from his face as he glanced over the maps. "That is very close to the subject of… the Incident. Are you sure some border town is the safest place for her exile? I'm sure either of the Aunts would be happy to host us for her time."
"They would. I know that, you know that, but unfortunately so does everyone else, including the insurrectionists. Were I to send you both to Olympus or Tuatha, you would be attacked en route. But a quiet border community on the human side isn't likely to attract attention. And if it's not immediately apparent you are Calria's Guardian, even better."
Jareth looked closer at the brief. There wasn't a strong Fae population. The town mostly consisted of Travelers. Either younger Travelers maturing before moving on to larger adventures or older ones looking for a quiet place to settle down. The kind of place for people tired of excitement, who wanted to avoid grand drama and politics. Not a place for disappearing entirely, but of calm, growth, and peace. Uncle didn't want his daughter to sit at the feet of schemers in some unfamiliar court for four years. He wanted her to be a teenager for once, and Jareth couldn't fault him for it.
He looked back with determination in his eyes and a cavalier smile. "When do we leave for this… Oddford?"
"When she turns sixteen," said Destryn. "In the meantime. I have a few assignments for you…"