"I must say, this is very unlike you, Jere; to be sitting here by your lonesome self." Finola's soft voice, at once recognisable, played by his ear, very nearly startling Jareth. It seemed her cloaking abilities had improved. He glanced to the side, meeting a pair of striking blue eyes. "Shall I keep you company?" Her gold-dusted shoulder brushed against him as her lips quirked with mischief.
"Have you nothing better to do with your time?" Despite those words, he allowed himself to answer in kind. She shook her head empathically. Jareth looked her over, from the top of her wild golden mane to the bottom of her thin-soled slippers. She wore her husband's colours, plum and sage. "You look surprisingly well for some who has crossed swords with the fearsome Duke yet again." Finola's eyes shone with surprise, their colour darkening. "Word travels even to my remote little kingdom."
The heavy silver torque around her neck bounced with movement; she grabbed firm hold of his arm. "Rumours are such vicious things." Her fingers dug into his sleeve and Finola's expression altered. "But wrong they are not. And so I beg your aid once more." That certainly brought back memories. Jareth placed his hand atop her own, wordlessly consenting to it. "Wonderful; I've missed your little Goblin Kingdom. Only we must leave at night."
"I don't take it you intend to inform that husband of yours before we depart." Finola's assurance that such would defeat the point of the whole exercise told of trials and tribulations ahead. "Far be it from me to question your wisdom, yet it seems to me a very hard thing to abduct another man's wife; as this must surely look like an abduction to the Duke when it comes to pass. Do you mean, perhaps, to put me at odds with your husband and the High King?"
"Oh, pish; father wouldn't involve himself, not when I've done little other than visit my favourite brother." Self-satisfaction written all across her face, his sister gave his arm a light squeeze before removing her hand.
Adopting the guise of a hard-headed fellow, he frowned at his wayward sibling. "Ah, then you mean for your husband to come against your favourite brother? I must say–"
"Do quit while we're ahead, Jere. I merely want some time away from all this." She gestured impatiently to their surroundings. In fairness, mother's insistence on roses and nothing else in the gardens made everything the view tedious. When he pointed out that much to his sister, she gave a little snort. "Elva feels the same. She has stopped visiting the gardens altogether," she noted as an aside. Finola leaned into him, settling her head against his shoulder. "I am truly grateful to you. I know the Duke can be fairly intimidating. Even Aralt finds him a challenge."
"Some things never change." Jareth felt both comforted and wounded by the thought. Aralt would never truly grow beyond tolerating very brief interactions with his good-brother. Jareth felt a bit of kinship with the man however; it was quite obvious whenever the Duke looked at Finola and at times he could not help but wonder at his sister's attitude. His own longing would never be fulfilled, as the object of his ardent adoration had barred him from her presence and was unlike to ever view him as anything other than the villain of a children's fantasy, let alone seek out his company. Indeed, some things were immutable. Sorry as he might feel towards the Duke's predicament, as a brother his duty was to Finola.
"Things do change." The younger fairy hid her face against his shoulder. "You have changed." Despite her voice being slightly muffled, her words carried over with perfect clarity. The gold dust on her shoulders gleamed and clashed with the silver of her torque. "I too have changed." When she lifted her face, he noted something very like determination on her features. "Brother, I am planning on a lengthy stay."
"A lengthy stay?" Loathe though he might be to question Finola, she was asking for rather a peculiar thing. "About two moons, I expect; with wards against the Duke." He sighed. "Would you not rather speak to your husband?" He did not look upon her face, but rather stared at one of the fully bloomed rosebushes. The trouble with his sister, Jareth decided, lay not in her stubbornness, though he well knew she carried enough of that in her veins, but rather in her inability to set aside her pride. A family trait, no doubt. Tempering the biting words coming to his lips, he settled instead for a much plainer, "Would you at least give me some inkling as to why?"
"When father arranged the marriage, I was pleased beyond words. It never occurred to me the joy was not a shared one." In all fairness, it hadn't occurred to Jareth either. But then the Duke was no powerless pawn to be moved on even the High King's whim. "I thought I could win him over, that in time he might open himself to me. But ours if not a union of hearts, after all, and," she trailed off with a shrug. "Enough is enough."
"Not a union of hearts," he repeated slowly, considering the best way to proceed. Having seen his sister in company with the Duke, Jareth doubted such a separation could be easily arranged. As a matter of course, such unions perpetrated for the benefit of more than just the two parties directly involved did not unravel without far-reaching repercussions. Albeit he supposed father would smooth things over if Finola truly wished it, just as he had encouraged the marriage at her urging. "Very well then." The Duke was another matter. Unlike the High King who was wont to dote upon his offspring, that one was rather a cold fish. And he had enough power to make the proceedings very unpleasant indeed. "What exactly do I gain from this?"
"My exquisite company," she chuckled. "I will even aid you in the running of your kingdom if you would have me." Jareth thought of his minions, cowering in fear at the feet of his sister the last she had kept him company for a spell, many years before her marriage; no one could ever accuse her of being lax, that much he knew. Had she her own kingdom to run perhaps the small tribulations of a cold marriage would not have affected her so. But then very nearly all of their sisters had wedded within father's court and showed little sign of regret. There was Elva, naturally, who'd turned down all proposed matches; but for all the rest, the wisdom of the High King and his Queen seemed to have prevailed and borne fruit.
Jareth shook his head. The goblins would be much put upon and his own burden would be eased with another soul by his side. She did not need to know that in some ways they suffered under the same malady; it would be enough to simply share the experience, unspoken, unacknowledged. "We leave this night," he told her at length, noting the way she watched him, all hope and grief mingling in her gaze.
He could not guess at the state of her heart and would not ask for fear of peering too deeply into it. A fae's heart was a strange thing and one could easily get lost into the strength of its emotions. That manner of strain he had no need of. Jareth studied his sister further, waiting for any manner of response. But Finola's gaze had shifted from his, eyes firmly affixed to her lap, to where the plum and sage came together, sewn with silver thread. A nod was all he received and al he truly needed in any event.
They sat together in silence for a time, each with their own thoughts, avoiding a meeting of the eyes. Mother's roses proved ample excuse to keep them as such, despite their rather boring appearance. Elva must have been disappointed at the disappearance of her lavender; he mulled the thought over, wondering for just how long the fae would resist their mother. The sons of the High King had been allowed to wed where they thought best, in deference to their station of ruler and the needs of their realm. The daughters, while consulted on the matters and allowed to take their pick from many a candidate, had been persuaded, strongly so, to wed sooner rather than later. It had been the Queen's fondest wish. The High King could never resist his wife and so matters had progressed according to her will. Jareth would never quite understand mother and her need to see all her children settled. Only his eldest sister supposedly understood the matter and she had not deigned to explain to the rest of them before secluding herself away in the small keep of her rather insignificant spouse. Hers had been the last advantageous marriage, seeing as she'd taken on a mere baron who had neither the wish to remain at court, nor the disposition to seek of his good-father's praise, which meant the eldest Princess of the blood but rarely put in an appearance.
His musings were interrupted by the sudden noise of rushing footfalls and a merry greeting; Jareth turned. Lasairian's bride, resplendent in her gold-trimmed dress, came towards them with a lively step. "Nonin," Finola cried out in obvious delight, abandoning him for the arms of her good-sister who did not even have time to observe proper protocol before she was fiercely embraced. Their brother was nowhere in sight, but that did not surprise him in the least.
Jareth exchanged a few words with his good-sister himself once she was free of the clasp and learned that her husband had indeed been borne away by the High King's eldest who had something or another to complain of. "This talk of borders always bores me," Nonin confided with a vaguely embarrassed smile. "I should rather be organising balls than garrisons." Let no one accuse the pixies of dwelling upon the unpleasantness of the world. No doubt his brother too would rather be attending said balls as opposed to having his ear talked off by the Boggart King. Lasairian had enough sense, even if his wife did not, to indulge Tarla and his talk of borders without falling asleep.
He excused himself at lengths, not entirely interested in the conversation once it shifted to common concerns of the two and just as well that he had, for not long after he found himself invited to the little council locked away in Tarla's chambers, witness to an argument between brothers as to whether the pixies had infringed upon the boggarts.
Aralt, stood by him and watching the display of tempers with mild amusement, put down his goblet. "No such family gatherings as ours, are there?" Despite the comment, he remained unperturbed even when the Pixie King managed to splinter the table upon which the map lay asunder. Tarla was equal in his ire and not to be outdone by a younger brother managed to destroy a few pieces of furniture as well. Thankfully the chairs upon which himself and Aralt sat remained unscathed.
Jareth took a sip of his own wine, allowing the sweetness to linger on his tongue. "I suppose not." He looked away from the bickering siblings so as to better make out Aralt's face. "How fares Mairin?" Of all brothers, Aralt had followed their father's choice most faithfully.
Something flickered in his brother's eyes. "She grows stronger every day. I hope to say soon enough that she is fully recovered." Jareth did not press; the wound might yet be too raw to sustain poking and prodding. Instead he gave an understanding nod and Aralt's expression eased into his usual mellow display. "She is thinking how to best please the brownies this year. Our subjects do not realise how spoiled they are." He said it with obvious pride, meaning Aralt found a wealth of satisfaction in his wife's conduct.
"Perhaps next year she will even spoil you," Jareth commented with an eye to their other brothers, his tone light enough to convey he meant it for a jest. Their eyes met and held in spite of the din coming from the still quarrelling siblings. Tarla seemed to be on the winning side of the argument, for all that was worth. The boggarts might reign supreme for quite some time.
Aralt's grin uncovered sharp canines. "I have been reliably informed I should not encourage her in such an endeavour. Which is why I will be sure to persuade her to do so as soon as may be." Something in his brother's eyes gave Jareth pause.
He had thought it downright odd that Aralt of all his brothers should take to a human. He certainly hadn't though much of Mairin when his brother brought her to court. As it turned out, Jareth had underestimated her. One would think he'd have learned his lesson, only the mistake was duly repeated, with disastrous consequences. He might have been as pleased himself had he only managed to win Sarah over. But even as far removed from the fatal moment as he was, Jareth remained ignorant as to what more he might have offered the girl to tempt her. The world was not enough. He had put his whole being in the palm of her hand, leaving himself open to her whims and desires. He would have given her anything she wanted, if only she'd asked. But cruel Sarah hadn't merely rejected him; because he had given her his everything, it would have been far kinder to close her fist around him and entirely crushing into dust. She had left a powerless husk behind.
Jareth supposed it might have been easier to cope were he allowed to wallow and fade into insignificance. But as it happened, his fate was tied to the Goblin Kingdom and the Labyrinth at its centre. He could not fade, but linger on in some manner of perpetual lack of fulfilment. He pushed the notion aside, noting the argument occurring before his eyes was drawing to an end. And amicable solution must have been reached, as neither of his brothers looked the least bit displeased with the new lines drawn upon an old map. That should last them for enough time that they would pass a pleasant evening together.
Conversation finally shifted to more general subjects. Jareth was not the least bit surprised to learn all kingdoms had begun preparations for the all hollow's eve feasts, though it came as something of a shock to note that for once Tarla meant to leave his wife in charge of preparations and execution of the banquet. "Not of my own volition, but the High King hinted at his desire that I attend the soirée this year in particular."
"Have you any idea as to the reason behind it?" Lasairian questioned, his dignified mien betraying little of the previous state of affairs among brothers. His curiosity was nevertheless very much present. "Perchance could he have come to some conclusion regarding the conflict between Sealskin and the Chancery of Owls?"
"The Duke shan't easily give in to the demands of the selkies and the selkies seem no more willing to forgive the slaying of their party, no matter what justification is presented. Our good-brother had been hard at work negotiating a satisfactory pact between himself and the Grand Selkie, but for whatever reason there seems to be little progress."
"Does anyone know what her demands are?" The Grand Selkie had been stalking his father's halls for the better part of the past couple of moons, with her court of seal-maidens, bent upon conquering the hearts of the fae folk with their lovely songs and soft eyes, in tow. Jareth had seen a fair few of their number during his stay, observing the women at length. The Grand Selkie remained the fairest of them all, as was expected; her statuesque beauty worked to captivate several admiring looks, though the head of the Chancery never truly gave anyone the opportunity to get too close to her.
Jareth supposed he could understand the fascination. Siv, with her pale-grey skin and jet-black hair which seemed to catch the light and glisten no matter how dim the glow, had only to look at one with those large dark eyes to press them in thrall. Were his heart unengaged, Jareth expected he might have leveraged his position of patron of the chancery against a better acquaintance with the Grand Selkie. She seemed the sort who would reward an ardent admirer with plenty of gratitude. Yet despite admitting to the loveliness of her form and the charm of her personality, he found himself utterly unmoved by either. Much like admiring a skilfully carved sculpture, his heart never quickened. The remote sort of admiration, though true as any passionate amour, would not satisfy a woman's heart. Thus he hadn't even made the attempt. Wise of him not to promise with his body what his heart could not fulfil and wiser still to give no opening for misunderstandings; Jareth thought he had done quite well.
"I heard a rumour," Tarla began with a stern look towards Aralt, "that she asked to become blood kin to the Sealskin, so as to put an end to all discord between them." More than one pair of eyebrows shot up at the words. Tarla held one hand up to prevent anyone interrupting. "Mind you, I cannot vouch for the veracity of it. Might be she has an entirely different solution in mind."
It would be useless to ask whether Finola was aware of the rumours. His sister was equally fair of hearing as she was beauteous. If Tarla heard such whispers, all the more should Finola have been needed with such knowledge by ill-intentioned wretches. Fearsome though her husband might be, his rank and prestige awarded him the admiration of many a fairy. Many of them had never quite forgotten the tumultuous beginning of the Duke's marriage, nor, it seemed to Jareth, forgiven the bride her blatant eagerness. The High King's court was a cruel place after all. He supposed that answered, nonetheless, his questions as to why Finola might abandon her hitherto firmly-held beliefs. Ought he sit her down and advise her to seek out her husband? And what if he meant to indulge the ruler of all selkies? It had to be a distinct possibility, or his sister would not have acted as she did.
"That being the case," Jareth spoke over Aralt who had just then begun voicing some thought or another, "you had best not spread it. Who knows which lips might pick it up. Nor can we foresee which ears it might be spoken into." He regretted having rushed to give Finola a firm term for their departure. Had he known the High King hoped to solve the issue with such haste, he would have lingered a few days longer. He doubted the Labyrinth would offer much complaint at his prolonged absence. Like him, the core of the realm seemed to have sunk into a queer mood of late, preferring silence and solitude above all else. Yet he has spoken the words, thus he would return as first planned, though with a guest in tow.
Might be it was a chance, after all. His sister would be profiting from the hospitality of the Goblin Kingdom and he would profit from the interaction of one who understood his own pain. Birds of a feather; they always had been close. At the very least she would provide a distraction from his dark thoughts. No more could he ask of her, unless he were willing to make a clean beast of it. That, however, did not make up part of his plan.
He watched Tarla raising both his hands in a gesture of surrender. "You've the right of it, brother. We would not wish such words carried over as though they were tidings. Whatever the terms, Oisin has refused them time and again. I suppose it does not quite matter what they were with that in mind."
There were times when Jareth wondered if confined within their own kingdoms the lot of them were becoming increasingly narrow in their views. "All the same, I should be curious to learn what it is the Grand Selkie could possibly want from one such as the Duke. He is, after all, partly responsible for the decline of her once vast empire." That was putting it mildly. Jareth recalled the stories whispered of the Duke from a misspent youth avoiding tutors and lurking in darkened corners. It would be quite uncommon for a queen in her own right to seek out the fairy who has slaughtered unnumbered selkies and worn their hide as a prize of sorts.
Lasairian shook his head. "I sensed no resentment in her, not even standing side by side with him. Rather it seemed to be the Grand Selkie and the Chancellor were rather cautious if anything." A curious thing that. "I am quite certain of it."
Jareth mulled it over. While the death of one's subjects was seen as an inevitability in times of war, he could well understand how a ruler might not necessarily feel any closeness towards the creatures. He was the Goblin King, but he was no goblin himself. The same went for his brother and their territories. Only the High King ruled over his own kind. That aside, he did not think he could look towards the suffering of his goblins with indifference for all they were altogether different. Jareth supposed the emotional shallowness of a puddle was not an impossible attribute of a queen, but if he recalled well, close kin of the Grand Selkie had died by the Duke's hand.
"Cautious, were they?" Tarla muttered. "And well they should be. It was the selkies who set upon the Duke. Should he have obliged them and simply perished because they desired it?" Even if the ruler felt no resentment, her people seemed more than willing to pick up the mantle of revenge and exercise judgement in her place. For all their looks, selkies proved a very feeling species. "I will advise father against indulging them too greatly."
"If I am not mistaken, the High King's hands are tied. It was his own pact with the selkies that promised they should be harmed no further," Jareth pointed out. The pact had simply not accounted for the situation they found themselves in. As utterly defeated as the selkies had been, who would have guessed their obedience to the High King should not be total. Magic was unforgiving and its penalties spared no one.
The eldest brother sighed. It would be much easier to give into the demands of the selkies and have done with the matter entirely. But given the fae court showed such reticence, Jareth had to assume whatever had been demanded was quite egregious. He was fortunate indeed he should be ensconced in his own comfortable kingdom and far away from the troubles at court. By and by he would come to know what the demands had been and what the selkies had gained for their troubles. In any event, he did not envy Tarla his position or his closeness to their father. Better not to be relied upon to such a degree.
Conversation continued until the subject was quite exhausted. They moved on to matters of lesser import in due time and spoken until no further words were necessary. By common accord, they parted ways late into the night and Jareth never corrected the expectations of his siblings that they should see one another come morning. A more sensitive soul might have experienced some degree of remorse. Jareth merely made his way to the sumptuous chamber given him and looked about with mild interest.
As expected, Finola was sitting in one of the chairs facing the hearth, the silver on her arms and around her throat painted in a warm glow by the firelight. She gave him a tired sort of smile and a somewhat weary greeting. "You were gone for quite a while," his sister noted, eyeing him with undisguised interest.
"One has to do the pretty by one's brothers, at least upon occasions," he answered the implied question, seating himself on the open chair facing hers. "Leaving that aside for a moment, I must ask; are you quite certain you wish to follow through with our plan? There is still time to change your mind."
"I won't be changing my mind." Finola leaned back in her seat and closed her eyes. "I've already gone to the trouble of convincing Oisin I will be in mother's company for a good long while. And as far as mother knows, I will be spending my time in the glass gardens, adding some variety to her roses." That would buy them some time, though Jareth suspected it would be nowhere near as much as Finola hoped for. The Duke would take some time to learn of his wife's actions, bound as he was by the rules of court, but he would find out. And depending on when mother went to see Finola's progress, it might well happen sooner rather than later.
Still and all, Jareth had given her plenty of opportunity to change her plans. He experienced not the least twinge of guilt at the e=deception she would be embarking upon, indeed, upon which she had already embarked. And if Finola could live with the knowledge that must suffice for him as well; Jareth held out his hand. "Your familiar's form would be much too conspicuous; do allow me to lend you a more appropriate guise." An owl was very well to be flying through the night. But a sparrow would be quite the curious sight and he would rather avoid trouble, if it could be helped. Besides, the delicious confusion at finding Finola missing come morning would be quite ruined if they were to be so easily spotted.
She reached for his hand, accepting his gift. The both of them were airborne and covered in feather in a matter of moment. From that point, it took no trouble to make their escape through one of the windows, allowing the wind to carry them upon its wing. They reached the Goblin Kingdom with nary a spot of trouble, the success of their plan assured as soon as they crossed its border as the morning deepened. Jareth used his time to observe the goblins hard at work, their excitement at the prospect of feasting as high as ever. Finola kept to his side, carefully watching the unfolding preparations. The capital of the Goblin Kingdom would naturally have something on a grander scale to satisfy the desires of his courtiers, but quite frankly, Jareth expected his subjects would have the grander time.
Together they landed upon the branches of a majestic tree, shedding the guide of nocturne beasts. It was a matter of expertly applied magic to complete the last leg of their journey and arrive as one within the throne room. Having delegated his duties to one of his trusted officials, Jareth was not the least bit shocked to find him hard at work despite having known his master's return was just around the corner. "Ivor," he said in plain greeting as the man hurriedly executed his bows. "Hardworking as ever." The note of approval in Jareth's voice was met with the bailiff's gratitude.
"Your Majesty is finally returned and Her Grace has joined us as well." While his eyes betrayed unspoken questions, Ivor wasted no time in calling forth Lysagh, the seneschal, so his sister at least might have some rest if she wished. Finola gratefully accepted, promising she would return refreshed and ready to aid him as gratitude for his hospitality. Jareth dismissed the words, assuring her she had no need to repay him. "It is long since the Princess graced us with her presence. The goblins shall we ecstatic when they learn of her arrival."
"In due course, they may even see her about; for now, however, my sister requires rest." Jareth occupied his throne with nary a word more on his kin. "Now tell me, how has the kingdom fared in my absence."
Ivor had a myriad reports to present despite the relative peace his tenure had seen. A few infants had been wished away during his absence and were making admirable progress in the company of the goblins becoming quite adept at climbing. Preparations for the upcoming celebration were very much preoccupying the populous, fairy and goblin having joined hands to ensure a smooth running of the whole affair. It was naturally understood that the more civilised gathering of courtiers was not to mingle with the little imps bent upon creating as much chaos as possible. But their common cause has stopped, it would seem, much of the bickering which would have otherwise dominated the collaborative effort. Last, but not least, their crops had been nothing short of formidable, which meant they could increase the amount of food the goblins received. As that would keep them from staging an ill-advised revolt, Jareth approved the plan. Goblins were not formidable enemies. Quite the contrary; their sheer ineptitude tended to land them on the losing side of the conflict time and again. But Jareth had no patience for any of that at the moment. Best to forestall any such attempts.
"That would be for the reports. But there are still one or two matters Your Majesty might wish to look upon. I deemed them much too delicate to rule one way or the other." Jareth signalled his willingness to listen, pleased that so much of his workload had been effectively taken care of with no expense to his time or efforts. As Ivor launched into an explanation of some issue or another, handing him a scroll to open and peruse, he could not quite help being as pleased as he was by the performance. Only the Labyrinth presented its dismay with a spark of irritation he could feel burning in the back of his mind.
A/N: As you may have noticed, I've chosen to expore a bit of the High King's fae court. In this iteration Jareth is his son, though I am aware the device has been used before with the two of them not being related. However, I thought it would be a nice chnage of pace to see something of Jareth's family. In the future you may expect a bit of exploration on fae society and such - not a lot, just enough to flavour the story. I feel in a lot of these tales Sarah and Jareth end up isolated in their own bubble, which is truly a pity considering all the possibilities.
I chose to go with an Irish inspired naming scheme for most fairies, though I will likely be using Scottish names at some point as well. The selkies will bear mostly Scandinavian inspired names to contrast that ans show that while they are related, there is still much difference between them.
In any event, I hope you enjoyed the chapter.