Chapter 17. Strangers when we meet

Devon reappeared in the foyer of his home, disturbed and fatigued. He leaned back on the heavy oak door of the entry and let his weight rest for a moment. Closing his eyes he tried to put the situation into perspective, but no point of view was going to justify anything he'd witnessed or taken part in. He could only hope that Jareth would rest and allow his strength to be restored.

The house was quiet, and Devon supposed his guest was resting in the rooms he'd instructed the housekeeper to take her to. Sniffing he got a whiff of the brandy that still soaked his garments. Struggling he removed the outer jacket and headed up the stairs. Entering his own suite of rooms he continued to remove the liquor soaked garments. He was still struggling to remove them when his own valet entered the room. "Ah Jasper, just the chap I wanted to see. Be a good man and see to it that these things are burned, would you?" The garments now were in a pile.

"Burned, my Lord Baron?" Jasper, a scrawny little man of mixed Elven heritage, had served for several centuries as Devon's personal valet. He was meticulous and fastidious taking pride in the Lord Baron's appearance more than he'd ever worried about even his own appearance. "But my Lord, this is your favorite waistcoat," Jasper bemoaned.

"No longer," Devon sat upon is bed in but his undergarments. "After what they've born witness to this day, I never wish to see any of that again." He looked troubled as he leaned forward on his arms. "Just take them out and burn them."

Jasper began to pick every thing off the floor and began to wriggle his nose. "Good Goddess, this smells like…."

"The King's best Napoleon Brandy," offered Devon and nodded. "I'll tell you all about it, someday… but not now. Jasper, do get rid of those things, and be good enough to draw me a bath. I'd like to be more presentable before I encounter my guest." His manservant gathered the rest of the discarded items that were to be destroyed. Moments later he returned to the room and prepared the masters bath.

While Devon reclined in the deep waters of the bath, Jasper took the remainder of the Baron's garments down the back steps toward the kitchens of the tranquil home. He stumble upon Mrs. Finch, holding up the items, he looked as if he were about to cry. "He wants them burned… these lovely garments that I've taken such care of…. Burned…"

The woman looked at the odd little man with compassion. "I'm sure his Lordship has good reasons…"

Jasper began to grouse, "I'm sure it has something to do with that house guest he's brought in here…. Did you see the way she was dressed?" He was scandalized.

"I've seen worse," the woman who ran the house said boldly. "Besides, scrape off the showy leathers and the war paint and beneath them lay a very decent young woman." She looked up the stairs. "Yes, very decent."

Jasper blinked. "Decent?"

Mrs. Finch patted the little man on the arm. "You best be doing what he ordered you to… he'll be needing a fresh change of clothes, and you had best be there to help him. You know he has no idea of where anything is kept." She reminded the manservant of his duties.

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The warm scented waters of the bath did wonders to revive Devon's spirit. Once the aroma of brandy and stale smoke were washed away, he felt more able to shoulder the responsibility he was duty-bound to. He finished his bath peacefully. When he entered his bed chamber wrapped in a long bath clothe, he found Jasper laying out a new garment for him to don. With the aide of his valet he was soon looking just as handsome as ever.

He was surprised to find Mrs. Finch awaiting him in the corridor outside his chamber's door. "Is there something wrong?" he asked politely.

"Your guest is awaiting you in the sitting room, my Lord…." She seemed troubled about something.

"Yes?" He waited.

Mrs. Finch had never been one to carry tales to the master, so it was weighing heavy on her to have to do anything that could be contrived as snitching now. "I offered her a cup of tea, and she's just staring at it… as if I'd tried to poison her…" Clearly she was more hurt by the reaction than insulted.

In one of his most soothing tones, Devon smoothed over the ruffled feathers of his housekeeper. "I'm sure she meant no offense, the young lady has had a very long and trying day…"

The woman looked up at him with hopeful eyes. "I'm sure you're right, My Lord." She wiped her hands on her long apron. "Dinner will be served in half an hour in the little dinning room as you've requested, sir." She turned to go down the back stairs used by the staff.

Devon paused and remained in the hall for a moment. He wondered what it was he'd been thinking when he'd been so bold as to demand the girl as a boon. He'd had no qualms about what was to happen to the dark eyed Greek girl, none at all. Nor did he in truth find fault with the punishment dealt out to the one Jareth called Sarah. The fiery redhead had been a member of that little clique, and by all rights he should have allowed Jareth to meet out punishment to her as well. However something about her from the moment he'd set eye upon her had stood out. Heaving a heavy sigh, he moved down the main staircase of the house.

What he had expected to find he didn't remember the moment he entered the formal sitting room. Standing at the window, looking out pensively stood a young woman with a regal air about her. The long curling reddish gold hair was cascading down her back, held away from her face and pulled back in an elegant clasped hair dressing ornament. She was no longer dressed in the fancy and showy leathers; she was now wearing an elegant day gown in soft sage green muslin with just a hint of lace at her collar and cuffs of the leg-o-mutton sleeves. The empire waist suited her soft curves, and she looked like a Fae princess. She turned from the window and looked at him, quietly awaiting his conversation.

Devon moved into the room feeling something he'd never experienced before, shyness. He noticed the untouched tea sitting on the table, and decided not to broche that subject just yet. "I do hope you'll forgive my ill manners and what an appalling host I've been thus far." He said as he approached the girl. "Things being what they are, I did have my duties to see to first before I could give you a proper welcome."

The girl's face was serious, and her eyes filled with a myriad of worried thoughts. "I'm sure you…" She tried to be diplomatic but quickly realized she'd only fail if she was not true to herself. "Sarah?" she asked quietly.

Devon would have liked to have taken her hands, to comfort her and reassure her. However since he was not even aware of her given name yet, he resisted the urge. He placed one hand behind his back and steadied himself. "She's alive," he said softly.

"That's a blessing," Bryn closed her eyes to accept the fact that her friend must be in danger. "Thank you." She opened her mossy green eyes, looking up at him with resolve. "When can I see her?"

"Not now," Devon said brusquely, more abruptly then he'd cared for and he tried to cover. "She's a prisoner of the crown, Cariad…"

"Don't call me that," Bryn interrupted him harshly, fire now showing in the depths of what were usually peaceful eyes. "I don't know you, and I've not given you leave to call me your sweetheart."

Devon smiled softly, "That is true," he admitted extending a hand in formal greeting. "Allow me to introduce myself to you. I am Devon Tuatha Dé Danann, Lord Baron of the Goblin Realm and the devoted cousin of the Goblin King. And you are?"

Bryn stared at the hand offered; reluctantly she placed her hand within the other's grasp. "Bryn, Bryn Enid Cystennin," she waited a heart beat then added; "Witch." Devon, charmed beyond his wildest expectations raised her hand and bent over it placing his lips gently to the back of it. Bryn eyed him with concern. "You intend to play this game of treating me as a… guest?"

Devon straightened up, set his jaw and began the conversation he'd dreaded since he'd left the Goblin castle. "My dear," he gently led her toward a chair and gestured her to be seated. "How do you like your truth?" He asked briskly. "Do you like it sugar coated and watered down, or do you prefer it unvarnished and sticking to the facts straightforward?"

"Straight from the hip if you please." She responded without becoming emotional.

Devon took a seat beside her, "I knew you'd be practical and realistic. Levelheadedness is a virtue I much admire, but rarely find in most of the females I've been acquainted with. All right then, straight from the hip… You, Miss Cystennin, are my guest, and your friend the girl called Sarah is the prisoner of the Goblin King. She is not your concern…"

Pulling her hand free of his, Bryn gave him a disgusted look before she began to pace. "Not my concern?" she railed angrily; "How presumptuous of you! Of course it's my concern, I was part of that little triad that called down the all might Goblin King, or have you forgotten?"

Shocked at being the recipient of the girl's anger, Devon stared at her. "No, I've not forgotten… I was there… I saw what you… three witches did." He crossed his arms over his chest, "I've not quiet figured out what it was you thought you'd achieve… I know that the Greek wanted to end the life of the Goblin King, but I don't think that's exactly what you had in mind, was it?"

"I'm no murderer!" Bryn snapped harshly, forgetting for a moment she was arguing with a Fae Lord. "And I know that Sarah, while she had every right to want his life, didn't wish to end it… she just wanted back what he stole from her…"

"Harvested," corrected Devon with a gentle smile.

"What?"

"Harvested," he repeated. "He harvested her dreams."

The girl with mossy green eyes stared. "And you approve?"

"I don't approve or disapprove," he admitted complacently. "It's not my concern…it's not my war being waged."

Blinking the girl felt her mouth drop for a moment before she could stop it from happening. "Not your war? Not your concern…He took her dreams. Do you have any idea what that does to a human, Lord Baron? Its amazing Sarah can function at all close to normal...by rights, she should have gone completely mad years ago. She's had to fight every day and night since your cousin "harvested" those dreams … he didn't take just her little dreams of that moment… he took the past, present and even her future dreams… Her very ability to dream, that's what he harvested, Lord Baron Tuatha Dé Danann, yet you have the nerve to sit there so smugly and tell me you think she has no right demanding justice of your king," Bryn shook her head, reprimanding Devon. "Do you even know what justice is, Fae lordling?"

Knowing the angry woman would not appreciate his amused smile he schooled his features to remain as serious as she. "Whether you like it or not, Miss Cystennin, your friend forfeited her dreams to Jareth, and it was a fair exchange…. However by declaring war on a Fae Sovereign the young lady in question has forfeited more than just her paltry dreams… she's forfeited her very life; by declaring war on Jareth, she was no longer looking for juristic but vengeance."

"She refused Jareth making her dreams real. That didn't give him the right to steal them from her completely," Bryn argued forgetting she didn't really have the authority to use the King's given name.

Devon had known many women, perhaps too many, he mused. However few of those he's known had the ability to argue as logically as this mortal woman. He admired her fire and her conviction, and most of all her loyalty. "Of course he had the right," he lied carefully.

"Refusing to allow him to make her dreams come true is not the same thing as saying 'here take my dreams and off you go'," she exclaimed coldly.

"Details," Devon mused.

"Details?" she stormed moving closer. "Well maybe it will be just details when I kick you right in the …" She stared at the pronounced bulge in his pants. "Damn it man, think with something besides your balls!" she roared.

Amused that she was aware of his arousal, he provoked her a bit further; "Temper, temper, Cariad." Balling her hands into tight little fists, she turned and let out an agonized snarl. Devon stood up, and closed the space between them, gently placing his hands on her shoulders and soothing her with what he felt was common sense and reasonable judgment. "Cariad, what is between Jareth and Sarah is not our war…"

"You don't understand," she lamented in a weary tone.

"I understand loyalty," his lips were near her ear, "I admire it."

Bryn was too weary to fight the attraction she felt. "I can't just stand by while…"

"You've no other choice here," he cautioned. "Accept that some things are out of your hands… they are out of mine as well, Cariad." He felt the pent up emotions that were now dangerously surfacing in the girl. He was not surprised when the tremors and tears began. Slowly he turned her, his arms folding about her as she wept into his chest racked by deep sobs. "Cariad," he soothed gently. "I am not going to lie to you or sugar coat things; your Sarah is in dire straights. She pushed Jareth to the limits and that collar nearly poisoned him… she may not have wished for his death but that's damn near what she achieved." One hand moved up and down her back to calm her. "For now your Sarah is alive, accept that as a blessing and let it go at that."

Bryn looked up at him, teary eyed and feeling very tired. "And me?"

"You are my guest," he said pleasantly.

"I thought we agreed you were not going to sugar coat the truth?" she pulled her self free of the tender embrace the handsome man had enfolded her into. "You asked the King to give me to you as one of the spoils of war… and you rather made it clear that what you intended was a…intimate encounter."

Feeling caddish at hearing her speak of his actions in that hellish chamber he'd first seen her in, Devon grimaced. "Was I so un-caviler? Damned thoughtless of me," he mused. "However you're right, I did say unvarnished… Alright then, yes… I'd like to take you to my bed… however I don't think I will…not just yet." He smiled courteously and handed the girl a linen handkerchief.

Bryn dabbed the tears from her face and eyes; "Oh really?"

"Oh I will bed you Cariad," he crooned tenderly; "But not until I've had a chance to…woe you."

"Are you joking?"

"No, oddly enough I'm not." Devon mused shyly. "I won't lie to you Miss Cystennin, I'm no novice at the games of men and women…. I've had a good many encounters… very pleasant for me, and occasionally for the woman in question." He moved toward the cup of untouched tea. "However, you are the very first mortal I've ever encountered."

"I'm the first mortal you've encountered?" Her voice rose sharply, disbelieving.

He frowned, "I'll correct that, you are the first mortal of the mortal realm I've ever encountered… I mean we do have them living here… and I've met a few… but they are not quite like… you." He shrugged. "Living among the Fae and other ethereal has a way of changing humans…"

"So what you're saying is I'm a novelty?" Her voice betrayed the insult she was feeling.

"Hardly a novelty," he soothed. "But you are new territory," he acknowledge making a clean breast of the situation. "Make no mistake Bryn Cystennin… you will be in my bed, but not until you are ready."

"You're pretty sure of yourself, Baron." Bryn sniffed stubbornly.

"No, Cariad," he said darkly. "It's you I'm sure of." He backed down. "We've time, and I should like to get to know you."

"You may not like what you learn," she warned.

"I'll take my chances," he winked as he pointed to the cup of tea. "You let your tea grow cold." He observed.

"I know the cannons," she sighed.

"Which cannons?" he asked softly.

Bryn sighed again, "All of them." She looked at the cup of tea with dread. "I was not ready to… commit to that step…"

"And now, Cariad?" He asked apprehensively and troubled by how very intelligent this mortal female was. He had not expected intelligence, not really. "Are you ready to make that commitment?"

The girl with mossy green eyes dug the toe of her right shoe into the fine Oriental rug that adorned the wooden floor of this sitting room. "Lord Baron, if I thought there was even the faintest hope for escape… or release…" she looked up at him. "I know that once I eat or drink something here, I'm subject to the Persephone Cannon."

Devon nodded, "I see you're well versed… I was told most mortals refer to it as the Persephone Rule. I see you know the correct term… I'm impressed." He reached out a long tapered hand to her face, gently he stroked her cheek. "Do you understand the full extent of those cannons?" He watched as the girl nodded slowly, not enthusiastically, but solemnly and reverently. His hand moved beyond the cheek, cradling her neck tenderly. "Dinner is ready, Cariad." His eyes challenged her.

Squaring her shoulders the girl addressed him formally. "I'm ready, my Lord."

His hand released her neck, as he extended his arm to escort her into dinner. "Shall we, Cariad?" Her hand went to his arm and she moved at his side gracefully.

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Della and Daisy had stood guard silently until their replacements had come into the hall outside the King's rooms. They gave the new pair the instructions given by the Healer, and after relinquishing authority, departed. Della watched the little Goblin woman as she moved swiftly down the hall, and followed her easily. Daisy seemed perturbed and troubled, and Della wondered if she'd missed some little detail that was important. She followed the Goblin out of the castle and down into the town to a pub that was favored by the armed forces that protected the castle. She watched as the Goblin moved to the bar and ordered a tankard of ale, and downing it ordered a second. Della came to stand beside her partner, watching her with a perplexed expression. Daisy ordered a third drink for herself and one for the Harpy. When they were served, she hoisted her tankard and held it for the other to clink. Della moved her tankard against the offered one, and then drank deeply.

"What's up your ass?" Della asked at long last.

Daisy would have answered except her eyes caught the sight of another Goblin seated in a dark corner nursing his own tankard of ale. She moved to the table in the dark and roughly let her tankard hit the surface of the table. The man looked up at her, waiting. "Did you bother to inform him?" she asked knowing the man would understand her question even if her companion at her side didn't.

Joachim frowned. "No," was his curt answer.

"So he does not know," Daisy gripped the back of the seat she was standing behind.

"Know what?" Della asked softly. "Who does not know what?"

The metal smith shook his head, "I saw no reason to inform the King, as the leather master didn't, and the scribe had not…why should I?"

Della blinked in the dark, drank deeply from the tankard in her hands and growled. "Tell the King what?"

"Men are idiots!" Daisy pronounced harshly. "You three are fools as well." She pulled out the seat and sat down heavily, then pointed to the other free chair. "Sit, my winged friend." She commanded in a persuasive tone.

Della understood that something here was not to be spoken of openly. "Is there something I should know?"

"Tell her," Daisy commanded the man as she drank deeply from her tankard.

"History repeats itself," Joachim murmured. "The King's…personal jewelry… is an exact replica of that which was owned by Zoltarie." His voice was kept low and subdued.

Della shrugged.

Daisy looked at her with a blank expression on her wise little face. "Tagaan or Rhuukarlaan."

Again Della blinked in the dark, then shook her head, "No, that's not…possible…" The Harpy reasoned. "That was a Goblin… and besides it was an eon ago."

"Do the Harpies keep no records of their history?" Daisy asked quizzically.

"There are glyphs…." Della thought of the walls of the nesting caverns. "But few read them now… before the King made the accord with the new Matron, we were too busy dying."

"I suggest you go read your history." Daisy said soberly. "Perhaps warn your new Matron of your part in the repeating of history." She turned her concentration on her tankard. Della rose from her seat, leaving her drink on the table behind her.

Joachim looked at the entry and saw the dark cloaked man who entered and moved to their table. He motioned him to join them. "Leather Master," he addressed the man as he gestured for the owner of the pub to bring yet another tankard over. "Have you started work on…" he didn't finish leaving his words hang in space.

"I began work on it the moment the King took up the mantel of the last true Goblin King." He sighed enigmatically as he lifted his tankard to his lips. "It was only a matter of time before it would be needed."

Daisy shook her head, as she regarded the men seated with her; "And neither of you thought to mention any of it to the King?"

Looking at her with a wistful smile Joachim sighed. "Daisy, not even the old tutor spoke of this to him… and he most of all should have… Talos here did direct him to read the scrolls of Zoltarie, can we help it if he didn't read all of them?"

"Someone should have warned him…" she muttered into her tankard. "The moment he became bewitched by that moral girl, someone should have warned him."

Talos glared at the female, "I wouldn't have taken the chance that he would ignore a summons!" His tankard made a loud thud as it came down on the wooden surface of the table. "Would you?" he accused.

Daisy looked about the pub; the changes brought about had been good for the Kingdom. She could not argue with the success the King had had. "I suppose I would not." Once more she lifted the tankard, this time holding it out to her companions. "To Jareth Tuatha Dé Danann Huukec Mec, Warrior King," she toasted, and held her tankards as the two others were brought to it.

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Devon had asked the housekeeper to set the table for an intimate dinner, not a formal one. So instead of him sitting across from the young lady, he was seated at her side. He held her chair, and waited for her to be seated before he took his own seat. "I'm sure you'll find everything to your liking," he said confidently. "My cook is one of the finest in the Kingdom," he smiled gently. "She's not a Goblin." He promised.

"I'm not xenophobic," Bryn stated stanchly, valiantly working at keeping her resolve.

"I had not meant to suggest you were," he commented softly. "It's just that Goblin cuisine is not to every ones liking."

Bryn looked down at the table, feeling a moment's embarrassment. "Nice table," she said softly. "The china is very pretty."

Devon looked down at the table as well, "I agree." He picked up one of the crystal goblets and commented. "I had no idea we had anything quite so fine…I have had few occasions to dine here."

"This is your home isn't it?" she asked suddenly aghast at his comment.

"Well, yes, it is in fact my home… I mean I own it… However until a short time ago I rarely spent even an evening here;" He poured wine from the carafe it was decanter in and took a taste, finding it most palatable, he poured a goblet for the girl. "Until recently I spent most of my time divided between the High Court and the Goblin Palace." Staring at the goblet with its rich ruby claret colored wine as if it were about to come to life and bite her, Bryn didn't appear to be listening to the Baron any longer. Devon placed an arm over her seat and whispered. "You're going to have to drink it some time, Cariad. I'm not going to force you to lift it, you'll have to take that step yourself."

Bryn turned to look at him; her mouth formed a tiny grimace before she looked back at the goblet. "Hail Creaser," she muttered as she reached out, lifted the goblet to her lips, drinking deeply. It went down smoothly, but she'd still closed her eyes. When she opened them, she placed the goblet down and looked at the man seated beside her. "I don't feel any differently."

"You sound disappointed," he mused lifting his own wine to his lips. "Just what did you expect?"

"I don't know…" she admitted feeling a bit foolish. "I guess I expected to be… changed."

"You've read too many Fairytales," he winked. "Real changes are much more subtle."

Not convinced, she took a second sip, still no sensation of change. "I am changed though, am I not?"

"Indeed," he took the goblet from her. "You are changed." His expression was one of admiration as well as one of flirtatiousness. "And now you are bound to this fairy realm."

"Do you flirt with all your prisoners, Baron?" she felt a bit emboldened and gave voice to something that had bothered her.

Devon shook his head, "Caraid, cad though I may be, you are the only living being I've ever requested from this or any other King." His eyes were dancing with merriment.

"Oh," she was taken aback, but had to hold her questions as dinner was brought into the room. The man had not lied, the dinner was delightful. Bryn had always had a taste for traditional Welsh dishes, having sampled a good many while visiting her Father's mother when she was a child. The meal started with a savory leek soup that was perfection, and followed by roast mutton and brazed potatoes served with seared green beans in a garlic sauce. They finished the meal with a tempting elderflower cream cheese tart. When the last morsel had been devoured the girl murmured with a full mouth; "Oh that was good…" she licked the last of the dessert from her lips. "I haven't had elderflower tarts since my Granny passed on."

Devon teased her gently, "I thought perhaps they had been staving you on the other side." He used his own napkin to dab at her lips.

Blushing slightly Bryn murmured, "I don't get Welsh cuisine often and when I do, I tend to really enjoy it." Leaning back Bryn murmured contentedly. "Granny had three wonderful elderberry trees in her little yard…One had berries that were huge and that one she used for making pies and jam… one had sweet fragrant flowers and that one was used for tarts, and the other had a tangy flower for tea…"

"Sounds wonderful," Devon looked longingly at her mouth wondering how long it would be before the girl would allow him to kiss her. "Tell me more."

Mrs. Finch and the cook stood in the archway watching the couple at the table. The housekeeper nodded knowingly. "I told you," she muttered to the cook. "She's perfect for him."

"Let's hope he sees it as well," muttered the cook back.

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The Harpy Matron was listening to a sound that had not been heard in the caverns in years, babies crying. The Goblin had been true to his word, and they were once more breeding and feeding as Harpies should. They were hunting meat and mates, and life was good. She looked at her talons, knowing it was her mother's blood on them that had sealed the bargain with the Fae who was now Goblin. He had honored his bargain just as the Harpies had honored their oaths. The three who served at the castle would report in to the rookery as often as they could. It was important for them, building their sense of the flock. Iris could feel the shift in the wind, and knew there was an unscheduled visit. She looked to the opening and stood awaiting the arrival.

Della entered the familiar entry, extended her wings to their full span and greeted the Harpy Matron. "Hail Iris, hail keeper of the nest, hail oh mother of us all." She went to her knees rising only when the elder gave her leave to.

"Welcome Della," Iris extended her wings, and then lowered them swiftly as a sign of recognition. "I've been expecting you." She said thoughtfully. "What news is there from the castle?"

"The King has taken a hostage to the peace," Della said curtly.

"He's taken a Tagaan or Rhuukarlaan." Corrected the Matron knowingly, sadly smiling at the King's personal guard. "So, is this one human?"

"This one?" Wing feathers twitched as the King's guard followed the Matron deeper into the cavern. "What do you mean this one?"

Iris stopped before the glyphs that depicted the history of her race and their taking refuge in the lands of the Goblin. "Long ago, when the fabric between our world and that of the Humani was narrow the two worlds trafficked with one another far more often than we do today. The Kings of the Underground and the Kings of the Above were in open communion with one another." She read the glyphs easily. "The Goblin realm was ruled by Goblins then, the ones from whom the present race are descended. They were ferocious warriors with violent tempers and made turbulent powerfully aggressive lovers… ah those were the days…" Iris remembered tales handed down, she'd have lost herself in the memory had Della not cleared her throat. "I digress." She looked at the next panel; "In the time of the great Goblin Zoltarie a famine came, decimating many of the underground nations. Goblins went above, salvaging and raiding, keeping the rest of us alive. Zoltarie himself would lead many of these raids. They would come back with food and livestock and human children who'd been left unguarded. On one such raid the Goblin King returned with a young female, just entering womanhood… she was fire to his ice, and fought him tooth to nail…He valued her above all other possessions and guarded her jealously…. He built the tower of ivory and opal in which to keep her, a place with no stair, nor easy entry. The Harpy became the guards and only winged creatures were allowed contact with her."

Della looked at the glyphs, "I should have remembered this," she grumbled to herself. "I should have remembered."

Iris continued looking at the same panel Della was now staring at. "So jealous was he, that he marked her as his…. He had the Harpy guard pierce her and he adorned her body with silver adornments." She turned to Della. "Is this one human as well?"

"Yes," Della nodded sharply. "A human witch…"

"That one was a user of magic as well…" Iris said soberly. "I take it the King had you do the piercing for him."

"Yes," Della rolled her eyes, "I am also the one who delivered her to the tower."

"Understand this, daughter." Iris took Della's chin between her fingers and forced the creature to face her. "She is Tagaan or Rhuukarlaan, and she will be his obsession. She is the price of peace with the above, whether she knows it or not."

"She is nothing but a vindictive hellion" Della snarled. "She tired to kill the King…"

"As did she who bore the title first," Iris released the face of the younger Harpy woman. "History repeats itself, and again a Goblin has taken a mortal…"

"He's not a Goblin," protested Della scoffing. "He's a Fae…"

"No longer," Iris moved past her walking toward the sounds of the young in the Harpy nursery. "He relinquished his claim the moment he allowed me to end the suffering of the last Matron. The Kingdom has not been this alive in generations! He holds off they who would slice this land into little parcels and destroy it…. He sees… and acts and thinks like a Goblin…. A true Goblin, not the puny little mites that inhabit the castle and do his bidding but the Once Great Goblin Race and though him perhaps it will rise again… no matter, the circumstances of his birth… Jareth Tuatha Dé Danann is the Goblin King."

Della looked at the nursery; new life had entered the caverns, due to Jareth. "What happened to the Tagaan or Rhuukarlaan?" She asked carefully.

"She was murdered." Iris whispered. "And Zoltarie was inconsolable, he vanished into the bog… no Goblin was ever as strong as he, and the High King proclaimed this land one of his provinces…. See to it my daughter that history does not repeat that event as well."

Della looked at the young harpies and knowing some day her own would be housed in this nursery she gave her oath to the Matron. "I will protect the King and his bonded slave."

"As will I," Iris extended her talon, gripping the extended talon of her kinswoman.
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Jareth opened his eyes something flashing had woken him from the herb induced sleep. His eyes slowly focused, and he reached out a hand to pull the orb off its stand and into his bed. Curling it under his chest he went back to sleep.

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Devon listened to Bryn describe her early childhood and the visits to her beloved Gran's. He envied her the closeness of her family, and the loving grandparent who had taught her so much of her Welsh heritage. "It must have been hard for the family when she passed away and the house had to be sold."

"My Father never forgave his elder brother…selling the house out from under the rest of the family…Had my Father or his sister known," Bryn shrugged. "Spilt milk."

Rising from the table, Devon held her chair for her to rise as well. "I'm sorry to be the cause of more sorrow for your family, Cariad." He said softly. "I'd spare them that if I could."

"Thank you, Baron." She took his arm as it was offered.

"Allow me to see you to your room," he said softly. "You look tired, and you've had a very long day." He led her toward the steps. "Mrs. Finch will see to getting you settled in, I'm sure she's already arranging a lady's maid for you."

"A maid," Bryn snickered. "Silly, I have no need of a maid, nor would I know what to do with one."

"Humor me," he snickered back; "I should very much like to spoil you a bit." He paused only when they reached the door of her suite of rooms. "I'll be saying goodnight to you then, Cariad." He now held both her hands. "I may not be here when you rise, it depends on if the King has need of me… So please, if you have any needs ask Mrs. Finch."

"I will," she promised.

Devon took her hands in his and drew them to his heart. "One thing, Cariad, and this is important. You must not leave the estate. You are free to wander my garden, or orchard. But do not ever go beyond the wall, not without me. Is that clear?"

"Yes, Baron," the girl went sober again. "Thank you for a lovely dinner, sir."

"Good night, Cariad." Bryn turned, opened her door and moved into her rooms. Devon watched her door close and cursed himself for having giving the warning. No matter how much it was necessary, he'd wished it could have waited. Slowly he moved down the hall to his own room thinking of the nights he would spend with the pretty creature that was so near, and yet so far.

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Something pained the girl lying on the cold stone floor, something was moving her. She looked up to see dark eyes looking back at her. She recognized the talons even in the dark, the Harpy had returned. "Come back to give me another warning?"

"No," Della hulled her off the floor none too gently. "I came back to see if you had the sense to get off the cold floor. I see you don't."

Every movement pained the girl, and she winced as she was dragged to the bed. "The floor was cold and it helped the pain," Sarah made excuses.

"Yeah, well, it's not a fitting place to sleep." Della moved the girl to the bed, and watched as the injured human curled into a ball. "Do you need a healer?" She asked reluctantly.

"I don't know…" the curt answer came.

Della pulled the blanket up over the girl. "Go to sleep, I'll be here keeping watch if you need me." She moved to a chair that looked very much like the one the King had used in the dungeon. "Go to sleep..."

Sarah closed her eyes once more, in pain and exhausted, she fell into dreamless sleep.

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The ballroom had known better days, it was tattered and torn and had a gaping hole in one wall. The floor that had been adorned with cushions in bright orange and yellow now lay empty. Dust and dirt covered the once smooth surface of the dance floor. The mirrors that were ornately placed on every wall were dirty, and the silver was tarnishing and loosing its glimmer.

Jareth walked through this room, down stairs that he'd used to pay that wicked game of hide and seek with the beautiful woman-child. Even empty the room was still commanded by her. Her scent clung in the air, like exotic perfume. She was gone, long gone, and yet here she remained. He would have liked to have sat down, he was so tired. But here was no peace, and no resting place. He moved from level to level in this unique room. Pausing to look in one mirror, perhaps the same one she'd seen his reflection in that night so long ago.

Behind him stood a feminine figure with a horned mask covering her face watching him as he'd once watched the girl. She was dressed much as he had been with the exception that she was in a gown of midnight blue, not a frock coat. He turned expecting the specter to have disappeared like all illusions were in the habit of doing. The phantom of his dream lowered the mask and Sarah's face looked back at him. Not the innocent child she'd been but the woman she'd grown into. Her expression was as haughty as his had been.

He moved forward, looking down at her with a matching haughtiness. She tossed the horned mask to the ground and dared him to make a move. Violently he pulled her into his grasping arms hands tearing at her gown, shredding it as she began to struggle feebly. His white silk shirt was rendered a rag in moments as they fought violently. Roaring like a great beast of the forest, he fastened his mouth down on hers, drawing blood as his teeth scraped her lips.

The woman bit back, snarling as he tripped her, and crouched over her. Her wrists were captured in his as he lowered himself to take control of her. She moaned as he pinned her to the platform. He moaned as he took her mouth once more, and she cried into his open mouth.

Jareth sat up, fevered, and covered in sweat, in his hand the orb was changing color and giving off heat. The Goblin King looked at the image, the same he'd been dreaming only moments before and shuddered. Shakily he placed the orb back on the stand and fell back against the pillows on his bed. He promised himself that he'd see Lutin when he was able to walk without falling on his face. Until then he was going to make sure that orb remained silent. Flicking his wrist, he expected it to go dark, when it did not he stared at it and whispered, "Sarah."