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"It is, of course, utterly disgusting!" exclaimed the Gentleman with the thistle-down hair.
"Auberon has never been known for taste," said his companion, a dark-skinned fairy gentleman with green feathers for hair that shimmered in the light of the forlorn candle in Lost Hope's sitting room.
The Gentleman grimaced. "Auberon."
"He married Titania," said the Feather-haired gentleman, "that's proof enough of his poor taste. And think of the robes he wore for his last ball!"
"Oh!" The Gentleman with the thistle-down hair shuddered. "Don't remind me of them, I've never seen such poor taste in a king!"
"It's not so much of a surprise then," concluded the Feather-haired gentleman and squashed a cockroach that had just climbed up his leg. He looked at the gooey mass between his fingers and started to lick it off.
"You'll want some wine with that," said the Gentleman with the thistle-down hair and waved for his serving boy who was waiting at the door. The boy immediately hurried forward and poured wine from a huge, dusty bottle into a dirty crystal glass.
"It's from my northern vineyard," said the Gentleman, "from the year when we defeated the Yellow Giant."
"Ah," said the Feather-haired gentleman, "as usual, you're the most perfect host." He rose his glass to a toast and drank. "So, what will we do?"
"Do?" The Gentleman with the thistle-down hair frowned. "What do you mean - do? About what?"
"Surely you will not allow this insult to go on? A Christian behaving like one of us?"
The Gentleman smiled. "Oh, THAT. Why, I'll attend a ball, of course."
Auberon's yearly solstice ball took place a few days later. The two fairy gentlemen had gotten up early in the morning to prepare for the big event. They had worn out three human slaves, whom they had forced to run around so much with various errands, changes and punishments that the poor fellows had simply dropped into fainting fits.
But it had been worth the effort. As they entered the ball room, heads turned to look at them. The Gentleman with the thistle-down hair was very pleased with his companion. They made a nice pair with their masses of contrasting hair. Together they walked through the crowd, greeting people left and right, snatching a dance every now and then.
At midnight, the big castle bell began to toll, and then the door at the far end of the ball room opened. King Auberon walked through, accompanied by his current mistress. There was no sign of Queen Titania anywhere in the castle, and the fairies had spent all evening with delighted gossip about her leaving Auberon for a human slave boy.
But it was another human boy all eyes focussed on now, the boy that entered the ball room behind Auberon. He followed the king to his throne and waited until he was seated, then he sat down at his feet.
"Who's that?" asked the Gentleman with the thistle-down hair. The Feather-haired man shrugged.
"It's him, of course!" hissed a fairy next to them.
"Who?"
"HIM! The English boy Auberon treats like a prince, of course."
The two gentleman exchanged looks, then the Gentleman with the thistle-down hair shook his head. "No, you must be mistaken. I've heard a lot about this famous atrocity of Auberon's household, but none of the rumours ever said anything about him being HANDSOME!" He spit out the last word as if it was insulting his tongue. And then he wondered why he had chosen that one word of all the possible ones.
The Gentleman with the thistle-down hair looked at the boy sitting beside Auberon's feet. He could be not much older than maybe ten human years. He was rather skinny, and although his black hair had been combed out for the ball it was starting to become tangled already. He looked out of place in the precious fairy clothing Auberon had chosen for him - precious, yes, but black! How insulting to all of Auberon's guests, who had spent days, weeks, months thinking about what colours they should wear at the solstice ball. Black!
Yet the Gentleman with the thistle-down hair had to admit that there was something intriguing about the boy. Maybe it was the way how the black clothes fit the black hair so well and contrasted so nicely with the fair skin. Maybe it was the way his dark eyes glittered as they looked up at Auberon, then flickering across the ball room to examine the dancers.
They stopped when they met the gaze of the Gentleman.
For a few moments, they simply looked at each other. Then the Gentleman with the thistle-down hair let out a hiss, turned on his heel and walked out of the ball room. The Feather-haired gentleman stared after him in confusion. He felt betrayed. There was no way now he could properly show off his hair without the Gentleman with the thistle-down hair! How selfish of him!
Determined to teach his friend some manners, he bowed to Auberon and excused himself from the conversation he was having with some fairies, then he followed the Gentleman with the thistle-down hair.
"What was this all about?" he exclaimed when he reached him. "How can you just leave like that? We haven't even eaten! I've only danced six times!"
"I will not stay in the same room as that boy," exclaimed the Gentleman with the thistle-down hair. "How bold he is! How insulting! He conjured up a picture in my mind, cunning little beast, of some millstone or something. How can he dare to do so? Such a common image! As if I cared about millers, as if I knew anyone who does any kind of work, as if I had the slightest interest in the ways of Christians!"
The Feather-haired gentleman thought about this for a moment. "Well," he mused, "I see your point. But don't you think it is a bit drastic to leave because of this?"
"Ah!" The Gentleman with the thistle-down hair smiled darkly. He didn't seem to have heard his friend's words. "How dare he, I wonder? He transferred to me a very strong sense of death, the little thing. Didn't he give you the impression of a raven? As we all know, the raven is the bird of Death, eating up the corpses left on battlefields."
"Must be his black hair, I suppose," said the Feather-haired gentleman and shrugged. "But I simply do not see why you should leave the ball because the boy conjured up a picture you didn't like along with a sense of death. Death is very fashionable these days, after all. Maybe he was flattering you."
"Oh, gather your wits if you have any!" The Gentleman with the thistle-down hair stared at his compantion with utmost contempt. "Do you think I left because of that? Are you utterly blind? Didn't you look at him?"
The Feather-haired gentleman stared at him, confused.
"Impossible, he is," growled the Gentleman with the thistle-down hair. "Black hair, fair skin, black clothes, and those hideous eyes! I've never seen a Christian with such eyes. Why, he should be ugly looking like that, shouldn't he?"
"Yes, I suppose."
"THEN HOW COME HE ISN'T?" bellowed the Gentleman. "Auberon did this to insult me! Oh, I know he did! He only took this boy along to humiliate me, to lessen my beauty, to ruin what should have been my great night of this year! But he has gone too far this time, oh yes, he has! This means war, my friend. You'd better make up your mind which side you want to be on, because Auberon will pay for insulting me through this boy’s beauty!"
"Auberon will not pay," the clear voice of a child said behind them suddenly. Both gentlemen jumped slightly and stared at Auberon's boy. Just how long he had been standing there listening to them neither of them knew.
"Auberon will not pay," the boy repeated, his voice calm and cold. "There won't be any war. You'll go home to Lost Hope and pray that I'll let you keep it. You'll have your weapons and your men ready in case I should request your aid in the war that I am planning against my enemies. You will assist me, or you will join my enemies. And believe me, you do not want to be one of them. A raven am I, you say? I shall be your raven. I will pluck out your eyes and devour them before I start opening your body. I will dig my claws into your flesh. I will eat until there are only sorry bones left of you. One of the bones I'll carry home to my lair to feed my young. Another bone will be stolen by a pair of crows. They'll quarrel over it until they let it drop to the ground, where a dog will snatch it and carry it away. The rest of your bones will lie on the earth and rot away until not even the worms remember you."
The boy stared at the two gentlemen, unblinking, just like a cunning bird.
"You do not want to be my enemies," he said with the faintest trace of a smile on his face. "They will not last. In a few years I will be the king of several countries. Lost Hope will either be an ally or a subject. And,“ he added looking at the Feather-haired gentleman, „so will Forgotten Pleasure. It's yours to choose."
The boy bowed and went back into the ball room. The Feather-haired gentleman cleared his throat, coughed and finally excused himself to hurry after the boy.
The Gentleman with the thistle-down hair remained behind for a long moment, staring at the door to the ball room.
"Death and destruction," he mused, "or the presence of a boy who is more handsome than me. Oh, what an evil choice! What an impossible choice! I will never forgive Auberon for forcing it upon me!"
But in the end, he walked through the door and back into the crowd of dancers where he spent a splendid night. But whenever he looked at Auberon's throne, he saw the boy sitting at the king's feet, his eyes following every one of the Gentleman's motions.