Jeanne cradled her son, softly shushing his wailing cries. Despite the attic being the most quiet place in the brothel - often occupied by other pregnant whores - jeers and sensual moans could still be heard through the flimsy wooden walls. Someone had also begun singing an old sea shanty, yelling out every other word out of tune. God only knew who else would join in the singing, and it wasn't even twilight yet. There is always time for a drink, I suppose.
For now, Jeanne couldn't spare another thought. Her son's wails only grew louder, begging for either food or sleep. She sighed, closing her eyes for a moment. At sixteen, she had already given birth to her third child, despite it being her second pregnancy. Her first-borns were twins, both females, who were given up to the nearby abbey soon after they were brought into the world. They must have been almost two by now. Jeanne didn't name them, heeding the advice from the older whores.
"Naming a baby only makes it harder to give up later on."
Some of the younger girls would try to keep their babies, but this place... This damnable, cursed place is not a suitable home for a child. It's cruel to have to watch your mama do these deplorable things. Jeanne blinked, not wanting to sit and remember her own childhood.
She had been lost to the cycle of a girl forced to sell her body for money, as her mother did before her. It was the only life Jeanne knew.
"SHUT THAT THING UP!" a male customer yelled, banging a fist on the floorboards. Jeanne stomped her foot back to shut him up, but another slew of curse words were thrown, along with a much louder bang that only made her son cry harder. She groaned, pleading to the crying baby with shushing sounds and a caress of his cheek.
"Just a little longer, my son. The priest will be here soon to take you to the orphanage."
And where was this priest? When he visited her the week prior, the priest said that he would be back by today's sunset. The last dim rays of the sun were finally settling in the distance before the nighttime hours took over. The rowdiness from below would only grow with the surge of drunken men wanting to share a bed with a whore.
Jeanne overheard a conversation from below, mentioning a ship coming in tonight, full of soldiers and sailors who fought against William of Orange and his men. His father was a sailor, I think. If he comes in tonight, I can just give the baby to him. Let him be raised by the sea.
"As if that would happen," Jeanne spat bitterly, glaring down at her son. Better for the babe to live with other orphans, learning skills, than to be thrown into the ocean to drown. Her son had finally begun to calm down now, slowly giving up on crying. A wave of relief came over Jeanne. Things hopefully weren't going to be as tense now.
Gently, Jeanne layed her son on the bed, taking an old rag and wrapping it around his delicate frame for extra warmth. The babe was so worn out from crying he was falling asleep, thankfully. It would make the process of giving him to the priest easier. It still felt odd to Jeanne that the priest hadn't arrived yet. From what she knew about him, the priest was a timely man. He would come to the brothel when he said he would, take a bastard, and be on his merry way.
The priest was kind to the other girls, checking up on them during their pregnancies - even beginning to shell out offers to take the babe. Rumors had it he was in charge of a church in Saint-Denis, where the location of his orphanage. Apparently he had been coming to collect babies at this brothel for a few years now. He was a friendly face, and was welcomed gladly by the other girls.
It was a little strange how far he would come, all the way up to this brothel, just for a baby. Surely there were plenty of orphans closer to Paris.
Jeanne shrugged, rising from the bed. She slid out of her flat shoes to make tip-toeing easier. The floorboards groaned under her feet, which would often lead to a wailing protest from the boy. Gently, she made her way to the window, sitting on the small perch. There, Jeanne could watch who was coming and going from the brothel.
If I had a bowl of fruit, I could drop them down on people. A tiny smile twitched at her mouth. That memory of being mischievous towards her mother's clients belonged to the handful of happier times Jeanne kept to herself. Material possessions were meaningless in here. Clothes and jewelry were stolen often if your eye wasn't watchful. Any sort of trinkets were sold off. Gold coins alone kept your belly full.
Jeanne curled up, hugging her knees. She leaned her head against the wall, glancing back at her son. Good, he's still asleep. She watched him yawn, somehow able to listen to its softness through the grunts and voices. Is this something other mamas can do? They know the exact noise of their own child? She watched him, almost proud of how quiet he was being.
Jeanne turned her head around, hugging her knees even tighter. No, I have to stop thinking like this. I can't keep him. This isn't the life for him. She should had given him up sooner, before she had become close to her son. He's so small… how can something so small grow up to be so big? Once more, she turned her head around, eyeing the peaceful babe. He's still mine. Even when I do give him up, and he's raised by nuns, he's mine. I brought him into the world to seek out a better life than I have. His is not yet ruined like mine.
While staring at her son, Jeanne didn't notice a strange, hooded man enter the brothel. The man pulled his cloak tighter around him, concealing the magic that was wiping blood stains from his clothes. Before anyone made note of him, he had made his way up to Jeanne's door, mimicking the knocking pattern he had watched the priest done to other girls'. The man heard small footsteps, taking their time to get the door before opening to reveal Jeanne and her sleeping babe.
Jeanne stared at the man, staring at the minute details of his clothes. "You're not him. The priest, Étienne Guibourg!" Horrified at the sight of the man, she screamed loudly and tried to slam the door. The man easily pushed his way in, swiftly closing the door behind him. He grabbed Jeanne, covering her mouth with a gloved hand. The baby was startled awake, and began crying with renewed effort.
"I will let you go to him if you do not scream for help. I will not harm you or your child," the man spoke, his voice stern. Almost fatherly. Jeanne froze; her only option was to nod her head. Once the man released her, she ran towards her son, clutching him close to her chest.
"What do you want with us?" Jeanne asked, her voice wavering. A great deal of time still remained before Jeanne was able to go back to work. Her body couldn't handle taking in a man yet.
"Étienne Guibourg is not the man you think he is. That priest is involved in the dark arts and trickery with the Devil," he replied tersely, though it seemed like he almost wanted to laugh toward the end of the sentence.
Jeanne made the sign of the cross, protecting herself and her son. "H-how do you know this? Who are you?" she whispered, eyes flicking to the door.
The man pulled down his velvet hood, revealing a messy mop of blonde hair with black streaks. His narrow eyes were wild, one blue and the other brown. He also wore makeup, very different from the kind Jeanne had seen rich nobles wear. It wasn't worldly; in fact, the makeup made Jeanne remember the fairy stories she was told as a child. The man was a perfect description of an elf. A beautiful elf.
"I am Lord Roy Gobelin. My name is meaningless now," Lord Gobelin casually said, the window capturing his attention more than the girl and her screaming babe. He rushed towards it, Jeanne moving aside. The nobleman peered down, seeing a familiar duo of men rushing into the brothel. "We need to leave right away."
"Leave?" Jeanne's eyes widened at the idea. "I'm not leaving with you."
A sudden draft flooded the room, and the strange man was hovering above her, his oversized cloak surrounding herself and the baby. He leaned in so close, Jeanne could see sparks in his eyes. They danced around his pupils, jolting around in chaos. "You listen to me, human, and you listen to me well. I am here to save your child from a grievous fate worse than death. This is your last chance at keeping your baby alive. If you don't take it, you will suffer the consequences for the rest of your short, pitiful life. Do you understand me?"
Jeanne was barely able to nod in the affirmative. She didn't understand him - or anything else concerning the matter. It was all so strange. Why is my son so important to this lord? Why does he care so much about a bastard child? Before she could form another thought, Lord Gobelin tugged at Jeanne's arm, dragging her towards the window. He spun her around, then wrapped his left arm and cloak around her and the boy. "Keep your eyes closed, and try not to move," the Lord barked at her.
Jeanne obeyed and, having no other choice, closed her eyes as tightly as she could. Mama used to say the same thing to me, right before she was about to get beaten up. Her hand cupped her son's head, petting the soft peach fuzz of his hair. His cries, slowly, were shushed once again. Jeanne didn't question it, as she heard the window being cracked open, and felt the Lord pulling her up on the still.
"Don't move," he repeated once more. Jeanne didn't respond. There wasn't even enough time to, as she felt herself being dragged out the window. She cried out, digging her free hand into his flesh.
But, they weren't falling.
How…? How in the world is this possible? She felt movement, a stepping motion, almost like they were walking up a flight of stairs. Jeanne's legs moved on their own, climbing up the invisible stairs to heaven. They continued this walking motion for what seemed like hours, yet Jeanne didn't feel the slightest bit exhausted. She had no idea where they were, obediently holding her eyes shut the whole time. There was a moment where she wanted to peek - and almost did, but was barked at again by the strange lord. He must have been watching her in case she tried.
It was hard to tell where she was exactly. They must have traveled out of the city to hide from the priest. As if he would be able to find them in the first place. Jeanne couldn't hear anything that stood out, except for the wind rushing through her, coiling her hair around her face like snakes. The thought of being so high up was nauseating. This...Lord, Jeanne dared to call him, was not human.
No human flew.
Jeanne was so preoccupied by her thoughts, she hadn't noticed they had been descending. The sudden sound of her feet brushing against dewy grass made her jump, her eyes blinking open. Night had now fallen, but there was no moonlight to greet them after their journey. Only the twinkling of the stars above cast a dim light upon them. Lord Gobelin pushed Jeanne away from his body, wandering off a few feet. He checked the area, an air of tension cutting through.
"We should be safe here." He finally spoke, putting his gloved hands on his hips. Seemingly on cue, the baby cried out, wriggling in his tightly-wrapped swaddling cloth.
"Yes, yes, it is your suppertime," Jeanne murmured, eyeing the lord. Usually she would breastfeed, but now didn't seem like the appropriate time to pop out a breast.
The Lord nudged on her shoulder, bringing her back to reality for a second. "Use this," he commanded once more, producing some kind of clear vial with milk in it. A rubber teat was fashioned on the top of it. Jeanne had heard about these kind of bottles before, but never had seen one in person. They were ridiculous things as well. How would you get the mother's milk in the bottle? By milking her like a cow?
"No thank you, I would rather feed him myself… my Lord," Jeanne replied, clutching the crying babe closer. The Lord shrugged, walking off a distance away before sitting down with his legs crossed on the ground. A small, white glow began to flicker around him. Jeanne was about to ask, but didn't. The baby needing feeding.
As Jeanne fed her son, the Goblin King created a small campfire, setting up a meal of a loaf of bread, salami, and hard cheese. He watched the flames with a steady gaze, taking off his gloves. By now, his goblin corps have taken care of that damnable priest Guibourg. Magic would cover up their tracks, and lead the humans to Guibourg's cavern. There they would find the information they needed to arrest the nobles who participated in this brutal act. Jareth will not forget what these humans had done to children.
Selfish, stupid creatures, humans are. Using the lives of innocents for their own desires.
He added another stick to the flames, embers dancing into the nighttime darkness. It was good that Jareth saved this baby from the fate of being a human sacrifice, but the others…
He was too late.
During a ball at his royal court, one of the fae lords spoke how the French palace of Versailles was rumored to have the skulls of babies buried in its gardens. Of course, Jareth eavesdropped, as this was something to be taken seriously, but admittedly, his mind was elsewhere. The Goblin King had his own kingdom to run. He had to let the humans rule their own fates. There was always some rumor or another spreading around the Underground of humans being vile. Instead, he ignored the issue, commanding his spies watch the humans from afar and to only report back in an emergency. Then this night happened.
If I had only taken this more seriously. Damn! Jareth huffed in frustration. A crunch of dead leaves brought him back from staring into the flames. The human girl was done feeding her babe and was coming towards the fire. She sat near him, placing her son to her right side - far enough from Jareth if he decided to snatch him away. "I have food for us. It isn't much, but it will suffice for the night."
"Thank you, m'Lord," Jeanne said, not looking at him in the eye.
Jareth broke off pieces of bread and cheese, handling them to the girl. He took out a small dagger and began to slice the salami into thinner pieces. "Tell me your name, girl," Jareth stated.
"Jeanne."
"And your son?" He pointed at the bundle of rags.
"He doesn't have one, Lord. Since I was going to give him away, there wasn't much of a point to name him. It would be better for the people taking care of him to name him than me." Jeanne explained, running a finger down her baby's plump cheek. She looked back up at the Goblin King. "You're a witch, aren't you?"
Jared laughed dryly. "A witch" was an understatement. If only he could display his true identity to the girl. For now, his vanity would have to be downplayed. "Perhaps so. Witches, however are usually female. The last time I checked, I'm not a woman."
"Then what are you, and what will you do with my baby?" Jeanne asked, her tone more sharp this time.
"Take him to my...estate. He will be raised by peasants on my lands and learn a trade to sustain himself. A far better fate than what your priest had planned for him," Jareth replied, now handing Jeanne the sliced salami. She took it, but kept it on her lap where she had the other bits of food. She hadn't taken a bite of anything either. He could tell the girl was hungry, but fearful to eat. She probably thinks I'll turn her into a toad once she had eaten her bread.
The Goblin King put a piece of the salami on the bread, taking a bite out of it. He swallowed, trying not to make a face. There was something not quite right with the salami. He didn't even remember where he had gotten it from, as he just grabbed it off a table in the Goblin City marketplace. He took another bite, again attempting to mask a disgusted face. This was proving to be more difficult than running away from Guibourg's men.
Not long after Jareth had started to eat, Jeanne hesitantly followed his example; however, she only placed the cheese on top of the bread and skipped the "salami." She nibbled lightly on her meal, still apprehensive of the contents being magicked in some way.
The two ate their meal in silence, the noises of nature chattering away a distance from the campfire. An owl hooted, causing Jareth to perk up. He couldn't recognize the call, concluding it was just a typical owl. Jeanne had nearly finished her meal, not realizing how hungry she was beforehand. Now that she thought about it, it had been awhile since she had anything to eat. Lunchtime at the brothel was the usual leek soup. Though, Jeanne kept her distance from the salami, putting it off to the side. Something seemed funny about the taste when she had taken a nibble from it.
Jeanne's eyelids suddenly grew heavy, and she yawned, stretching out her arms. She glanced down at her baby, once again stroking his cheek. The babe smacked his lips, letting out the biggest sigh his tiny body could handle. A twitch of a smile. Jeanne smiled back.
"He will have a good life," Jareth spoke, a little kinder than he had previously been. "I know the perfect family to raise him and treat him like their own."
"Why are you doing this?" Jeanne asked.
Jareth dryly smilied. There were many reasons why he was doing this. Reasons he couldn't afford to tell. For now, he just shrugged and let out a cocky snort. "It's a part of the job." Technically that was the truth. For now, the girl will just have to accept that for an answer. Once this whole baby business is done, he would wipe some of her memories to forget their interaction. The Goblin King had already broken several of his own rules at this point.
Gently, Jeanne picked up her baby again, cradling his head. Her heart melted as if it were the first time she heard his little coos. The want to keep him was lingering longer than could be allowed. Her son! Something in this world that was all hers. And she was about to give him away to a total stranger who may or may not be lying.
Still, it was a chance to give her son a better life than that of another gutter rat in the cycle. As her instincts conflicted, she gingerly handed her son over to Jareth.
Better to sever the tie now rather than later.
Jareth took the babe, confused at the girl. "You still have time with him before I leave."
"I know, but…" Jeanne trailed off, touching her cheek. Had she been crying? Her cheeks were wet with tears. "But, I have a feeling you'll take care of him, m'lord. I don't know what the hell I'm doing. Most folks would've tried to run away. Something tells me you're speaking the truth. My mama once told me all women gain this sixth sense about their babies. Other than you being not human, I feel as though you wouldn't do me or my son any harm."
Jareth nodded, trying to understand the human's reasoning. He had an almost fatherly air about him. "Very well, then. We'll be off." He stood up, sweeping the campfire with a free hand. With a large gust of air, the flames died down to a mere pile of cinders, but remained bright enough for Jareth to see Jeanne's face. "Would you like to hold him one more time?" Jareth offered the boy back to her.
Jeanne shook her head, letting out a sob at the same time. "No. It's going to be harder than it is already. Just take 'em and leave. Please..." The girl turned away to wipe her tears furiously. Suck it up, fool! You're making this harder than it needs to be. Remember Jeanne, you're doing this for his own good! A urge overwhelmed her, and Jeanne jolted back around. "WAIT!"
The Goblin King hadn't moved a muscle. He was trying to figure out how to wipe her memory and remember where the girl lived. All of these French brothels looked the same.
"His name is Oscar."
After those words, Jeanne was back sitting on her bed, in the brothel. The room was eerily quiet. No baby was around to fill the dead air with its cries and gurgles. The conversation she must have had with the priest was a blur, and she couldn't remember much about it. Her head felt fuzzy. Must've hit it against something.
Jeanne slid off of the bed, gently pushed her door ajar, and crept downstairs. A few customers were still hanging around, but by now most had left or were sleeping away their drink. A couple were (unaware or not) taking advantage of this stillness to continue their impassioned lust-making. She made each step to the bar a cautious one, tip-toeing over passed-out drunkards strewn to and fro about the floor. One lanky man with a familiar shade of black hair and beard lay slumped against a pillow, snoring quite loudly. In one hand, he held a half-empty bottle of cheap wine.
I think that's Oscar's father.
She blinked. Oscar? When did she name her baby Oscar? Jeanne didn't give her son a name. She wasn't going to. Her head seared with pain again, and she winced. Oscar….Oscar….
Now she remembered. Jeanne at the last minute, had told the priest she wanted her son to be named Oscar. It sounded like a good, sensible name. Common, but not as common as Louis. Every whore and their grandmother named their sons Louis. It was rather annoying.
Jeanne sat down next to the sleeping man, gingerly plucking the bottle of wine from his lame grip. Now that her son was gone, she realized, Jeanne could drink all the wine she wanted. Stupid old wives' tale about wine ruining the milk. She took a long swig out of it, smacking her lips in satisfaction. Dry and a little sour - just the way Jeanne liked it.
Pulling her knees to her chest, Jeanne continued to drink the bottle of wine until it was empty. She tossed it over her shoulder, where it landed softly on a bundle of pillows and blankets. The pile sturred for a moment, then became still once more.
Oscar's going to become a good man, I know he will. He won't be like his father. Jeanne eyed the drunken man. He was still dead to the world. Oscar will become a good man, and make good money. He'll never know harm or abuse. He'll see the world through eyes I will never see. One day, I'll see him again, up in Heaven, if St. Peter will let me pass those golden gates.
I will see him again.
And Jeanne smiled.
A/N: Orginally posted on ao3 with a collection of prompt works, but I thought this story deserved its own posting here. I wanted to try writing something a little different than a normally do. I also was inspired by the Affair of the Poisons, being a huge history fanatic for the reign of Louis XIV. Hope you all enjoyed it!