For months, interviews were conducted with each of the most noble members of the Underground. In the end they voted unanimously to institute Oberon king of the Underground. Oberon was invited back to the home of the Triumvirate in the center of the fourth tallest mountain in the range that made up the southern border of the realm. There he was taught everything there was to know about ruling over a kingdom. How to be fair. How to keep order. How to motivate and lead by example. It quickly became obvious Oberon had been a wise choice.
Once he assumed the throne, the Underground began to thrive. Lush vegetation covered most of the northwestern sector of the kingdom. Fairy species which had been near extinction were brought to this oasis. Oberon even gave them a picturesque waterfall where they could hide from the goblins who tried to hunt them. They were able to frolic and play, dance and sing. Soon their numbers began to increase. Other mythicals came out of hiding. The unicorn could be found sipping from the pool created by the falls. A half dozen or so leprechauns uncovered a cave behind the waterfall where they chose to hide their gold pieces. The king was pleased.
He had done much in just his first few years of rule. But there was much yet to accomplish. In the northeastern sector of the kingdom he created a soft pink sand beach where the water nymphs could glamour to their hearts content. Further out to sea was an island which lifted a great lighthouse into the sky. Mermaids crested the waves and could sometimes be found on the shores of the island singing in the moonlight. Not to be out done, the cliffs provided the perfect setting for the Banshee to howl her cries. Creatures great and small scurried when her song echoed off the cliff sides.
Of course, by now word of all the improvements being made to the northern sectors had made way to the southern sectors of the kingdom. There was much unrest among the gnomes, sprites and pixies who felt slighted. Oberon pleaded for their patience. It was very much his intention to further refurbish these sectors as well. And so, reconstruction began on the southeastern section of the kingdom. A thick forest was created with plenty of foliage and undergrowth for the tiny breeds to nestle in. Grand stumps left in for the large varieties to make into homes.
Lord Oberon had made quite a kingdom for himself, but he’d forgotten something crucial in creating balance. All those creatures that favored the cold. The elves and snow fairies had no place to blanket with their magic. Therefore, the king used the remainder of his land to provide a wonderland for those who were content to dwell among the icy blue. Igloos dotted the snow covered landscape. An iced over pond was covered with skating elves.
In the center of it all, his castle stood tall. Inside the king, his queen and any of their minor children were permitted to stay. Surrounded by a city of goblins. Goblins were strong, but lacked common sense and good judgment. In this way, the king had created a true symbiotic relationship. He was well protected by their brawn and devotion. They were close enough that he could pay careful attention to their breed, protect them from, well from themselves. Because of this, Oberon earned the name Goblin King from the nobles of the other kingdoms. They mocked the gentility he openly showed to the creatures which were so often ignored by others. In truth, they were jealous. He had been given the Triumvirate’s faith and trust. For the first time in the history of the realm, one fey had been made king. Given a kingdom all his own to rule as he saw fit.
Before long, the Triumvirate stopped inspecting the Underground at all. Their time was better spent surveying the progress of the smaller kingdoms in the realm. By century’s end, they’d even found the time to rest. The Gavel visited the pink sand beaches in the northeastern sector of the Underground. The Sage sought a peaceful getaway to the northwestern sector’s inspiring waterfall. The Cleric dined with the king and they discussed all that he had done for his subjects and how it had created more harmony among the species. Even though it appeared to be a distinct separation, each species was free to roam about the kingdom as they saw fit be it for business, pleasure or residence. They’d become tolerant of one another. They’d learned to accept and embrace their differences. They’d even discovered some similarity.
The Underground had its king, but Oberon did not have a queen. It was well into his 150th year of rule when he decided to hold a masked ball. There was so much to see within the kingdom, that few visited the castle unless it was in despair. By throwing a ball, he would meet other fey who lived within the kingdom and hopefully a queen. Indeed he did find love that night, but not with one of the invited guests. Oberon found them pretentious. They were trying to be coy. Expecting him to fawn over them, pamper them, provide for them. Having reached his limits, the king wandered onto his balcony to stare at the night sky. From beneath the balcony he could hear sweet music filling up the night.
By the time Oberon managed to weave his way through the dancing crowd and get outside, the music had stopped. Instead he saw a fey kneeling before some rose and lavender bushes which lined the wall beneath the balcony. She was a commoner. The house maid to one of the guests who was asked to remain close at hand should milady desire to depart. Together they sat and talked until the night was chased away by the new day’s sun.
Her name was Gwendolyn. Both her parents had been murdered in the raids which plagued the realm prior to the organization of the Triumvirate. Gwendolyn was tall and pale. Her long blonde hair shone nearly white in the moonlight and glistened like gold in the morning sun. Oberon was smitten with her beauty. Not just her physical beauty, but the beauty of her character as well. Just as morning’s sun chose a resting spot in the tall blue sky, Oberon and Gwendolyn were come upon by her noble. Furious she ordered Gwendolyn into the carriage. The king objected vehemently and proposed marriage to the orphaned child. Disgraced the noble’s mouth hung agape. After a few minutes of uncomfortable silence, she dismissed her servant and returned to her carriage with as much dignity as she could muster.
The following year Oberon and Gwendolyn were wed. In the five years following their marriage she had bore him two sons. Corwyn and Darien. Though Corwyn was the elder, he was not the more aggressive. It became apparent from the very early years that Darien had no intention of becoming a submissive younger sibling. Even at play, he took great satisfaction in the defeat of his brother. Corwyn on the other hand was able to keep things in perspective. A game was a game. If winning was more important to Darien then it was more important to Corwyn that his brother experience that happiness. Gwendolyn found it endearing. She looked at her son as gallant, a king in the making. Oberon, on the other hand, worried that his son’s caring nature would become his undoing. These were fears not completely without merit.
In the Spring of his 1001st year, Oberon approached the Triumvirate. He had appreciated their faith in him and the honor they’d bestowed by crowning him first king of the Underground, but he’d had two heirs, both well since of age to take the throne. It was his plea to the Triumvirate that he be allowed to pass his throne onto one of his sons so that he might live out his years in the company of his wife without the pressures of ruling the kingdom. The Gavel was appalled at first. He felt Oberon had delivered an insult beneath his inquiry. After all, they had given him nearly supreme power. Now he stood before them rejecting it. The Sage understood what it was Oberon sought. It had been the same pressure they themselves had succumbed to 783 years ago when their quest to find someone to rule the Underground had led them to the man who stood before them now. With no precedent to call upon the trio voted amongst themselves. After many hours of debate the Gavel ruled: Upon the 1000th birthday of the king, or anytime thereafter, provided that he has an heir over the minor age of 75, may pass the title of king onto his heir. However, let it be known, that in the case where a king has a number of heirs, the throne will pass to the eldest male, barring death or some other tragedy that might effect his rule. Then unto each of the younger males in sequence. Should all male heirs suffer death or tragedy, the female heirs shall become eligible to rule as queen, with the same 1000th birthday option being given to her as well. In the case where a king has no heir, he will rule until such time as the Triumvirate deems him unable. Upon such a ruling, the king will be assigned an apprentice, whom he shall teach to hold the throne.
The words burned themselves into the stone that comprised the mountain all around them, and so the first of the laws governing the king were set. Oberon read the words carefully, as the Gavel had instructed him to do, making certain that he fully understood the process. He must, by order of the Triumvirate, pass his kingdom to Corwyn. He knew Darien would consider this a defeat. Quickly he ran the scenario through his mind. Corwyn was 631. In a short while, relatively, he would be able to opt out of the throne and, to appease what would most likely be an enraged younger brother, hand over the Underground to Darien. Although Oberon didn’t really feel as though Darien could effectively rule the Underground, but Corwyn’s attempts to satisfy his brother had not ebbed in all these hundreds of years and he doubted they would recede now. On the other hand there was his beautiful Gwendolyn, who much to his amazement retained a very youthful appearance for a woman in her 900s.
Fey aged differently needless to say. Though each passing year they aged one equivalent year, their physical appearances were a reflection of what they felt inside. Thus, while Oberon was 1001, he appeared about as old as a human man in his mid 50s. His wife, Gwendolyn, at 971, appeared as youthful as a human woman in her early 40s. While a fey could physically grow older the effect was not reversible. Were a fey in his early hundreds to experience grief or illness which weathered his spirit, they might appear significantly older. Even if he were to recover, his physical appearance could not rebound to what had once been a youthful facade. Being king had worn Oberon down. He could feel himself growing weary at heart and he knew that while Gwendolyn tried her best to hide it, she too suffered from the same weariness. So why not pass down the throne to a young and able Corwyn who was wise and kind enough to rule well? Oberon only prayed that he was smart enough to keep the throne from the dangerous temperament of his youngest son.
There before the Triumvirate, his wife and his two sons, Oberon who had ruled as the first king of the Underground became the first king to rescind his throne. The Triumvirate announced a formal festival to be held in three days at the castle. A celebration of the end of one king’s inspirational rule as well as inspiration to a new king that he may rule as well and as wisely as the fey who had ruled before him.
As expected, Darien was furious that Corwyn was asked to hold the throne. What had been etched into stone by the Triumvirate mattered very little to a child who had believed for more than 600 years that he had been forced to live in the shadow of the new king. What did amaze Oberon was that Darien worked tirelessly in those three days to prepare for the festival, despite the fact that his face betrayed joy he claimed he felt for both his brother and his parents.
Morning of the third day came. Oberon had called his sons to the castle for a family breakfast. In private, he gave each of them a gift. To Corwyn, a small box, unwrapped, black with a red velvet ribbon. To Darien, a larger box, magnificently wrapped and so weighty it required four goblins for transportation into the dining room. Darien’s eyes were wide with pleasure as he took notice of the significant difference in size between the gifts. Corwyn nodded to his brother who opened the package immediately, disregarding the card upon which Gwendolyn had scripted, ‘Defend your home before you attack your enemy, but above all else protect your family.’ Darien’s eyes met with his father’s once inside the enormous box. Oberon nodded. It was the first time in as long as the king could remember his son had looked to him for approval. Greedy hands felt the full length of the treasure inside. Darien’s fingers wrapped around the hilt just below the cross guard. His knuckles were white. Oberon’s gaze grew worried. Perhaps he had chosen less than wisely.
The sword had belonged to Oberon’s father who had fought for the Triumvirate during the raids. He warned his child, this was a gift to be greatly respected. Crafted to kill other fey, the weapon contained iron, the one element fatal to the immortals. Merely holding it would weaken fey magic and continue to do so even more the longer it was held. It was the former king’s hope that some of the nobility with which that sword had once been wielded would find it’s way into Darien. Heaven knew nothing else had worked.
With a hefty sigh, the attention turned to Corwyn. The attention of all but Darien who could not be distracted from his reflection in the blade before him. In Corwyn’s box was a medallion. Heavy and made of solid silver, it began as a triangular point and hung on either side like two upside down bull horns. Stamped, in gold, at its center point with the emblem of the Triumvirate. Just above the emblem was a feed hole through which a black leather rope had been placed. He recognized his father’s gift immediately. Corwyn had listened intently to his father when he spoke of the raids and the role Corwyn’s grandfather had played in them. The Triumvirate had hand chosen Corwyn’s grandfather to fight in the raids. This medallion was one of about a twenty awarded to the bravest fey which had also been so chosen. Corwyn pleaded with his father saying Oberon was the rightful owner of something so precious. Darien winced at his brother’s modesty. Once he agreed to accept the gift, Corwyn slid the leather over his head. The medallion was heavy on his chest, not the last nor the largest of the burdens he was to feel.
By noon the Triumvirate had arrived to inspect the grounds for the festival. All the families hard work had been repaid when the setting was approved. Moments later the guests began to arrive. Well into the night music could be heard even beyond the Goblin City. There was dancing and amazing foods. Magnolia wine and mead flowed from fountains that seemed to never run dry. Merriment overcame everyone, even Darien, who was caught dancing with more than one lovely fey woman throughout the night. Late in the morning Oberon pulled his eldest son aside. He hadn’t seen him dance once all night and it was not for lack of beautiful fey women who had attempted to catch his eye. “Take a wife Corwyn,” he instructed. “This mighty castle is just stone and mortar without a bride to share it with.”
“Someday,” Corwyn had promised his father. “For now I must worry that I am deserving of being king. Someday I shall worry that I am deserving enough of being a husband.”
Oberon smiled at his son’s ever present selflessness. Sunrise was coming up and the Triumvirate had sent a carriage to pick up Gwendolyn and Oberon to take them to their new home, a cabin in the southwestern section of the kingdom. Shortly after the former king and queen departed, so did the Triumvirate. Shortly after that the guests took their leave. When it had dwindled to just Corwyn, Darien and the younger fey’s conquest for the evening, the new king finally took his throne. “Best get yourself a woman here with you brother. What a pity it would be to see you someday die alone.” Darien spat at his sibling before he left draped upon the shoulders of a young fey woman who Corwyn did not recognize.
For 62 years, Corwyn had ruled the Underground with much the same diplomacy as his father had for hundreds of years before. He had gained respect of the community. Even the unruly goblins obeyed him. Time had come for Corwyn to consider taking a bride. The eve of his 700th birthday found him alone in the palace game room, playing chess with his brother. Several bottles of mead into their celebration they’d begun discussing women. Darien told all his lewd stories of conquest and domination of course. Corwyn rather wanted to find someone who, like himself, favored other’s happiness above their own and who wanted all the same positive things for the Underground that he did. Darien rose to his feet and overturned the table on which they had been playing. “Brother you dream dreams that can never be.” Picking up a chess piece from the floor, Darien continued. “Fey women are like this pawn, meant only for our pleasure. Maybe we hold them for an hour,” he glared down his nose at the still seated Corwyn, “others for a minute, but eventually they are discarded and forgotten.”
Wherever Darien had learned to think of woman this way stumped Corwyn. Their father had not treated woman this way, certainly not their mother. The king began to extol the virtues of their father “Father was a fool. A damned old fool who gave away everything to his favorite son, who has no idea how to use power.” Darien spat at his brother’s mention of their father.
“Leave,” Corwyn insisted. “Leave and do not return until you can speak to your king with respect and of your former king with the same.” Darien gave his brother a glance, one eyebrow raised high into his forehead. It was the first time in all their years as brothers Corwyn had proven himself worthy of at least an ounce of his respect.
Night’s shadows hid Darien as he devised a plan as evil as he was. He knew Corwyn was alone. He’d given the servants a night off. His gift for the kindness they’d shown in best wishes for his birthday. Made slow and tired by the mead that traveled in his veins, he would retire quickly. Darien returned several hours after his departure from the castle. He waited below the tower which lead to the king’s bed chamber until he had seen that Corwyn had extinguished the wall torches. “If only he hadn’t decided to start talking about taking a bride.” Darien whispered at the stars he saw reflected in the iron blade, “Then I wouldn’t have to concern myself with some heir coming along to steal my throne.”
Beneath Corwyn’s window, he enchanted the castle walls. It was a simple spell designed to fool gravity into thinking the castle ran parallel to the ground rather than perpendicular. Then he grasped his grandfather’s sword using it as a cane to walk up the outside of the castle wall. Half way up, the iron in the sword began to weaken his magic and he bent to his knees, using his free hand to help him crawl the rest of the way. Once he reached the window, Darien easily swung his legs inside the ledge and touched down lightly to the stone floor. Corwyn lie sleeping in his bed, intoxication made his restless sleep a heavy one. High above his head, Darien held the sword, point down and prepared to plunge it into his brother’s stomach. A second before the sharp iron blade met his skin, Corwyn opened his eyes and met them with his sibling’s. “Someday, I knew...” was all he was able to utter, before the iron that touched his blood struck his heart.
Darien withdrew the sword and sheathed it. He sat in the lower deck of his brother’s bed chamber, Corwyn’s body just a few feet away. He had been so moved by the passion of his hate, he had forgotten to think himself up an alibi. Sweaty hands cradled his throbbing head. Then it came to him. Working feverishly, Darien conjured up another species of fey footprints outside the window. He lowered the open glass through which he had entered and broke it free of its pane, taking careful measure to cast the glass back in upon himself. He gladly allowed the glass to cut his flesh. Lastly, he manifested a silver dagger and plunged it into the back of his thigh.
Out the door Darien did his best to run. The pain in his leg was searing. It ran both down to his toes and up into his stomach. He knew he wouldn’t die, but he had no idea he would be so uncomfortable. “Help!” Darien cried into the night. “Someone has slain the king.”
When morning came, Gwendolyn and Oberon were brought back to the castle where they had once lived. Both looked much older than they should have given their retirement. Gwendolyn’s frail hand lie wrapped inside her husband’s palm. Darien approached his mother. He knelt before her taking her free hand into his own and kissing it tenderly below the wrist. “Mother,” he cried as crocodile tears traversed his cheeks, “I did as you had intended. I tried to defend my brother’s home.” The former Queen’s eyes did not change from the emotionless orbs of glass they had become upon her arrival. “But I must confess one thing.” At the mention of a confession, Oberon laid critical eyes upon his child. “When I could not protect my family, I avenged the death instead.” Darien then rose to meet his father’s skeptical gaze. “Are you not proud that I was able to kill whatever did this to your beloved son?”
Oberon had grown old indeed, but at the same time he had grown wise. “They never found any body but Corwyn’s. What is it you claim happened to the remains of whatever did this to him?” The way his eyes narrowed as he stressed ‘whatever’ infuriated Darien.
“It fell out the window. Others of its kind must have come and taken it away.” Refocusing on his mother who had never truly been able to come to terms with her son’s cruelty, the murderous fey continued, “I was too upset about my brother. The weapon used must have been at least part iron.” Was that a tear falling from his eye? “There was nothing I could do for him.”
As it were, the Triumvirate was never able to prove that Darien was responsible for Corwyn’s death. By their law, he would assume the thrown. The Sage offered him one week’s time to grieve for his brother, after which time they would swear him in as king. “Kind counsel, I have already been forced to watch my brother suffer at the hands of madness. I refuse to subject my kingdom to the same.” Rolling off his forked tongue, like water over a stone, the words sounded almost genuine.
It was settled. After a brief ceremony was performed by the Cleric to commit the former king to sacred ground. Darien was sworn in as the third king of the Underground. Beneath the cheers of the on-looking crowd, Oberon whispered, “Blessed be the Underground.”
The new king was presented with his brother’s medallion, as the Triumvirate found it insulting to bury medals of honor. Quickly he donned the necklace and dismissed those in his presence claiming he wished to grieve. Darien spread out in the throne as though it were some sort of chaise. No less than five fey woman joined him in the castle that night to help ‘ease his suffering’. The Underground was about to change forever, but not even Darien could anticipate how much.
Two days had passed and the new king had done little more than spend his time enjoying the benefits of royalty. Everything was prepared for him from his food to his baths. He entertained countless strings of women. The drink flowed as freely as it had at Corwyn’s festival. But chaos brewed in the Underground. No one respected the new king and he certainly didn’t enforce his rule, not well anyway. By noon of the third day the Triumvirate had arrived. They had thought up a few things to help Darien stay safe. If attackers were about to descend on the realms, they would not want to lose another king.
Darien answered the door, greeting all three men. After explain their purpose, the Triumvirate joined hands and began to cast a spell. Though it was not the immediate result that a short spell tended to have. A profound effect was being felt throughout the realm. Darien steadied himself in the doorway as the mountain ranges which had once made up the border to the realm shifted until they separated the Underground from all the other kingdoms of the realm. Beyond the Goblin City a great maze rose up from the ground. “Never again,” announced the Gavel, “shall it be so easy for someone or something to enter the home of the king. This is a great and ever changing Labyrinth. Any and all who seek entrance to the castle, must first complete the riddles which lie inside. The number of Goblin’s in the city was allowed to double.
Once the Underearth ceased it’s steady rocking and adjusted to the wishes of the Triumvirate, they told Darien he would be required, at least for some time, to seek their approval on all decisions made involving the Underground. Even if it was merely his request that lamb not be served for dinner. Darien was greatly disappointed. In order to turn this, as he did with every scenario, to his advantage, the king allowed the Triumvirate to essentially rule the Underground, so that he could continue to spend his time drinking, carousing and spending the realm’s riches.
This went on for quite sometime. The Triumvirate was virtually ruling the Underground again. Unfortunately Darien decided to take a wife not long after the three fey had mentioned their desire to dethrone Darien and replace him with someone more acceptable. In a hurried ceremony by the lake, the two were married outside in a gazebo, in the Northwest. Despite the number of women Darien had shared his bed with temporarily, that day he pledged his life and soul to Arianna. Though she wasn’t particularly beautiful, she made a fine queen. Her heart was good and, though she waited until after the marriage to reveal this, her will was strong. She allowed Darien to do very little. This pleased the Triumvirate and once more they were able to relax their presence in the Underground.
She conceived his child several months after their wedding. During her pregnancy Arianna allowed her husband to take lovers so that his appetites could not harm her child. The Queen had a difficult pregnancy, but delivered a healthy baby girl nonetheless. They named the girl Leanan Sidhe. Their daughter was not yet 300 when Darien was given the option to rescind his throne. Arianna made it clear, that he was to pass the throne to Leanan Sidhe or she would no longer permit his scandalous affairs. Darien had taken many women to his bed and odds were that Leanan Sidhe was not his oldest child, nor was it likely that no males had come before her. Still, as his only legitimate heir, she was made queen of the Underground regardless.
Leanan Sidhe was an amazing combination of Darien and Arianna. She had incredible strength both physically and spiritually. She had been blessed with Darien’s good looks, but her mother’s iron will. Her heart was kind, but her head light and she often fluttered from issue to issue in the Underground. While nothing ever got solved, it was still never allowed to run completely out of control. Her closest friends encouraged her to marry. A king to run her kingdom and she would be free to flutter as she pleased without worry or concern for the consequences. But immortal men bored Leanan Sidhe. They were ordinary to her and she was far from ordinary.
The Queen daydreamed lazily about her trips to the Aboveground. It was an incredibly fascinating place and she got to spend so little time there. Just long enough to explain the rules to whomever it was wishing away their children, or the children in their care. A time or two, when she had been particularly fortunate Leanan Sidhe managed to seduce a mortal man while in the Aboveground. Her tastes had been forever changed. It was just a matter of finding a man she couldn’t leave. Sadly, Leanan Sidhe knew little of just how much power she had over men. The Leanan Sidhe could entice any man. Her beauty inspired them artistically. An occasional poet could produce epic works. Someone who before her could hardly whistle suddenly sang like a bird. Of course, in exchange, the spark she ignited in their hearts consumed them until their unusually earlier deaths. But of course, by the time the Sidhe’s effects could be seen she had already returned to her world completely unaware of the devastation she left in her wake.
She had been on holiday the summer of her 416th year when she met Ian. Ian was a writer for a magazine. He had chosen to vacation at the same beach where Leanan Sidhe had gone. It was a topless beach in the French Riviera. Naturally the Queen had been engaging in the local customs and the mortal became smitten with her. By the end of their week together, he had shown her all the wonder of the mortal world. With him she had known more than just physical love. He had shown her what came the next morning, the day after that and the day after that. Walks in the moonlight. Dancing to music that played only in her head. Long conversations that ended in laughter. Only all this time Aboveground was weakening her magic. At the end of their holiday together, Leanan Sidhe asked Ian to return home with her; however she gave him very few specifics about exactly where home was. The mortal was obviously overwhelmed with her world, but there was no question that he could not be without her.
Ian took to the Underground with relative ease and made a good king in the scheme of things. The Triumvirate was less than pleased. Mortals were still rather questionable in their eyes and while it was too late to forbid her marriage to Ian, they insisted that all future mortals entering the kingdom be christened and converted to immortals so that their world would not be overrun. The decision came to late for Ian, who died suddenly in the arms of his wife before he reached the age of 45. Shortly after his death the Leanan Sidhe discovered that she was with child. Torn between joy and pain, she cried for weeks. Her hormones began to balance and she was accepting the permanency of the situation. She began to think of the child as a way to keep her husband alive. Closer to the end of her term, she hired an elf to nanny the child.
Fearful that her curse would effect any man she chose to love, Leanan Sidhe shuddered when her midwife told her the child was a male. For one brief minute, Leanan Sidhe held the child. Coldly she told the midwife, “I name him Jareth.” She handed away her child. “Take him from me,” her eyes pleaded with the woman, an urgency growing in her voice. She did not want to bond with the baby, “now!”
The elf nanny raised the baby. She gave him love and exhibited great patience with his hijinks, but Jareth was always well aware that she was not his real mother. Once he was no longer a minor, the Leanan Sidhe left the Underground. She left behind a picture of her and Ian as well as the medallion which her father had given her, asking that someday when the Jareth was old enough, he be told about his true parents. In the Aboveground, Leanan Sidhe was able to hide away from mortal men who found her irresistible. Slowly she lost her magic. Finally she was not able to survive Aboveground.
When word spread to the Triumvirate that Leanan Sidhe’s journey was far more than a holiday, they began the process of making Jareth king. He had inherited his mother’s beauty and his father’s knack for ruling the kingdom. He was filled with charm and could sing even a nightingale to sleep. This fey was arrogant, controlling and he would serve the Underground well. By his 81st birthday Jareth ruled nearly unsupervised, except for the occasional christening. They only hoped that he would not meet the same disastrous fate the noblemen and women before him had.
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