Anam Cara

The Champion Becomes a Matchmaker

Jareth paced his room like a caged animal. Rain fell in heavy streams against the windows of his room, thwarting his plans for a long flight. To clear his head. To gather his wits and restore order in his world.

Instead, he stared at his hands in disgust. What had he done? Defiling himself in such a manner. His fingernails were cut and newly manicured. Short and clean. A symbol of his own self-betrayal all over a scratch on a mere mortal.

There was a time, even just a few days ago, when he would have rejoiced in the blood he spilled. The pain and suffering of humans who had it coming was something he took great pride in causing. He excelled in making them regret all their sins. But what sin had Ivy committed?

None. She refused to cow-tow to him which was irksome but not a crime. Her lack of fear may signal superficial intelligence, but stupidity was, unfortunately, also not a crime.

He pulled on a pair of black leather gloves to mask his shame and weakness. He was no better than Rowan. Bending over backward for the sake of a human.

It had been over twelve hours since he had seen her. Rowan had swooped in and carried his little lambs back to his rooms for dinner to allow Ivy to finish healing. Resentment had festered within him ever since.

And now, he had been cordially invited to join Rowan, Ivy, and Daisy in an intimate afternoon respite. The notion of being invited as though they were all bosom companions was laughable. He should have sent that prettily rolled scroll back in a million tiny shredded pieces. Should have told them all to be damned with their detestable salons, all false manners and thin veneers. And yet, he had accepted. His curiosity and desire greater than his contempt.

He wanted to hurt something. To destroy everything in the room. To hear the shatter of glass as he threw figurines against the walls. To feel the splintering of wood as he broke chairs and tables. To see the fraying of fabric as he sliced into the upholstery. But he did not.

His entire world felt like it was falling down around him. Nothing made sense anymore. He wasn't himself. What was worse was he had no idea how to conduct himself. If he was not tormenting or torturing, what did he do? If he was not the terrifying Goblin King, then who was he?

Rowan sat in his private parlor watching the rain fall outside. The ladies were in deep conversation while Daisy taught Ivy something with needles and yarn. Ivy watched and asked questions eagerly and sweet Daisy had the patience of a saint while she gently corrected the other's hand placement and motion for the fourth time.

Though his mother, the Queen, demanded temperate weather, it did not stop the occasional storm. Even her gardens needed rain. The morning was supposed to be filled with games and picnicking on the lawns. All of that came to an end with the Fae not wanting to ruin their carefully crafted coiffures and elegant ensembles.

Though the castle was open to guests, it was far too vast to keep an eye on both his charges with one frightened of all other Fae and the other with no self-preservation at all. He felt that sequestering them away from the crowds was best for this morning. Where better to hide from other guests than his own private wing? No one would seek them out here in the rooms designated for the family of the High King himself.

In fact, he had hoped that Jareth would not seek them out. However, Ivy would not allow such peace to exist. She pestered him incessantly about extending an invitation to Jareth to join them. Rowan was reluctant to do so, albeit he had to admit that he was curious to see if Jareth would accept. The Goblin King was as ever aloof and malcontent. Although, seeing him yesterday with Ivy was the first time he had seen him engaging with another since their childhood.