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Chapter Text

“I wish the goblins would come take you away! Right. Now!”

As soon as the lights went out with an eerie familiarity and his baby sister’s cries abruptly cut off, seventeen-year-old Toby Williams’ first thought was a valid one:

Sarah’s gonna kill me.

She was downstairs on the phone with her stupid ex, once again leaving him to take care of five-month-old Isabelle alone for the entire night. He was a teenager! He didn’t know how to take care of a screaming baby! Out of everyone, Toby thought she’d be the one to understand considering the tale she always spun for him as a child. He supposed adulthood had changed her that way, turning her from his best buddy into a younger, somehow more irritating version of his parents. Well, little good her support would do now as it was her story that had gotten him into this mess.

And oh boy, it was as real as the gust of wind at his back, the sound of a window slamming open, of wings beating the air, and the vacant crib at his side. A restless rustling could also be heard throughout the room, cackles and laughter, scurrying and scraping, mysterious shadows: Goblins. Damn, he was screwed. Completely, utterly doomed.

He almost didn’t want to turn around and face the face behind his consequences. The Goblin King. Surely, he was the one who had opened the window of the nursery. That’s how it always happened in Sarah’s story—the story he was only just now realizing was actually a historical account—and the picture she’d painted of the villain had been terrible and great. Please, no. No, no! He hadn’t meant it, not really. But Toby wasn’t naive and such a plea hadn’t worked for the heroine, besides. What’s said is said and all that.

With a grimace, he turned. Faintly, he could hear footsteps on the stairs and Sarah’s worried voice getting louder, saying something about the sudden storm and power outage, but that was hardly a blip on his radar.

No, his full attention was on the being poised in front of him.

“Hello, Tobias.”

A woman. It was a woman. A beautiful, bird-like, and inhuman woman. With the moonlit window and flashes of lightning acting as a dramatic backdrop combined with the sheer magnitude of her otherworldly presence, Toby was nothing short of terrified. And admittedly a little aroused.

Feathers, there were feathers everywhere. Her whole body was covered in them, blending into an exotic slip of a dress whose hem and sleeves ended in fine strands of furs. He noted the infamous horned crest hanging between her breasts, the only thing that was familiar thus far. A crown of wings graced her temples, only serving to add to her lithe stature. Yellow jewels winked at him from under downy lashes and harsh brows enhanced with what seemed to be kohl markings. Even worse, a quicksilver flash of white revealed a sharp-toothed smirk. Glitter hung in the air, suspended, and that was what finally snapped Toby out of his fear/arousal haze. Sarah had spoken of glitter, of the medallion, but not of…her.

“You’re….you’re not him,” he choked out, trying not to cower.

If climactic music had been playing before, it record scratched, crashed, and burned. Whatever bravado this being had been channeling faltered, briefly, but Toby caught it and latched on like a leech.

“Him?” Her voice was hypnotizing.

Toby raised a brow, feigning a confidence not unlike his sister’s. “You know, the Goblin King? I’m pretty sure the title of king goes to the guys…not girls…And if it’s all the same to you, I’d like my baby sister back. I wished her to the King not...whatever you are.”

Oops.

“Oh, you didn’t?” A dark miasma obliterated the glitter remaining and suddenly there was a crystal orb in this woman’s gloved hands. All it took was an elegant flick of her wrist and she was moving it around like gravity didn’t exist, effortlessly mesmerizing. Toby sucked in a breath. There was no way. This wasn’t adding up. And where was Sarah? She should’ve been up here backing him up by now.

“And here I’d brought you a gift,” crooned the woman, who Toby was now referring to mentally as the Goblin Queen because who else could it possibly be? If he got out of this with Isabelle and himself intact, Sarah wasn’t going to like that. Even at five years old he could tell she had a crush on His Majesty and after seeing his presumed wife, yeah he couldn’t really blame her. Focus! Sister stolen. Your fault.

“Oh, yeah,” he drawled. “What is it?”

“It’s a crystal. Nothing more,” answered the Goblin Queen (maybe.) She said it robotically, like an bad actor reading straight from a script or something. Odd, but Toby would play the game if it got him his sister. “But if you turn it this way and look into it, it will show you your dreams.”

Yeah, yeah, he thought. I’ve heard this one before, for sure.

“Oh, but this is not a gift for an ordinary boy who takes care of a screaming baby.”

“It isn’t?” Toby grinned. “Then why do you act as if you’re going to offer it to me?”

Once again, the charade flickered for a moment before sloughing off completely. Her hands, one holding the crystal, dropped to her sides and the storm outside appeared to calm a degree. The wannabe Goblin Queen made a super weird noise, a very bird-like screech of frustration, closely followed behind by irate chirps. Finally, she spoke in words he could understand.

“Look, as it stands I have the baby, your sister, who is rightly mine now per your request.” He opened his mouth to interrupt, but was swiftly silenced by an amber glare. “My intent was to be generous, I could’ve taken her and left it at that, but here I am offering you your dreams. Isn’t that generous? Come now, forget about the baby.”

“I can’t,” Toby said. “Don’t you understand I can’t?” Glancing at the floor in thought, he couldn’t even comprehend it. Izzy hadn’t been around long, and she was irritating as all get out, but he finally understood all of the feelings that the girl in the story, Sarah, had felt when she’d wished him away.

Stirring up an iron determination, Toby stepped into the moon’s light and looked the Goblin Queen straight in the eyes. It was unfairly graceful, her movements as she stumbled back with wide eyes. So strange, but no time to dwell on it.

“There’s an alternative to my dreams, though, if I choose to fight and not forget the baby. Isn’t there?”

“There is,” she bit out. “However, it is not wise to defy me, Tobias. You will have to face hardships unnumbered in order to win back the baby.”

He squared up his shoulders. “I know.”

Pursing her lips, she gestured to the window, removing the world as he knew it and replacing it with the blasted landscape he recognized despite having never seen it in truth. The Labyrinth loomed and its creatures boomed, and Toby could’ve sworn his bones ached with an odd sort of awareness.

He stood on the hill his sister had described and tried to pause and think about what he was about to do. Who had stood in this spot once before and had ultimately won. This time the tale had a different hero and a new villain. Here’s to betting the outcome remained the same.

“Turn back, Tobias. Turn back before it’s too late.” Warm breath stirred the blond hair around his ears and he startled. Over his shoulder, their eyes met and Toby swallowed, masking his reaction with a scoff.

“It was too late the moment I spoke the right words. The least I can do now is the right thing.”

“Very well,” the Goblin Queen remarked. “You have thirteen hours in which to solve the Labyrinth, before your baby sister becomes one of us…forever. And don’t bother claiming it doesn’t look that far.” A grin, toothy and wickedly amused. “I’ve heard it’s farther than it looks. Isn’t that such a pity?”

A burst of glitter and feathers, and Toby was alone.

“Well,” he huffed before beginning to make his way to the outer Labyrinth. “What was that phrase Sarah always said? Oh yeah. C’mon feet!”

———————

Unbeknownst the challenger and the challenged, thanks to the human obliviousness of one and the pure inexperience of the other, a former Champion had lingered and listened to the deal being struck undetected.

“Toby, you idiot,” was hissed into the night to the amusement of the remaining goblins. A sigh was heard and then the frantic cleaning of a surface, something glass, perhaps a mirror and then:

“Hoggle, I need you.”

Chapter Text

Little Keeva of the Britlands was born not as a child, but as an asset. A bargaining chip, if you will.

As the firstborn daughter of a Fae prince and court duchess, granddaughter of a king and great-granddaughter of the High King himself, she was not a birthright-earning son as was hoped but her value could be seen in political betrothals abounding. She was once told that even before her birth eligible bachelors many centuries her senior had been all but shoving each other in their haste to sign the papers for her infant hand.

And perhaps that would’ve been her fate still, had she been a normal Fae babe.

All of the Fae had their familiars. Even those of lowest rank held communion with their animal counterparts, though most could not claim to have any affinity beyond a preternatural understanding. Creatures like livestock and common household pets were the norm in poorer areas and anything more was considered an interesting outlier.

For those of royal descent, the manifestation of both the language and natural magic of their familiars was an object of severe pride and prestige. The shackles of poverty, of livestock and pets, could not be seen and would not be seen at any esteemed ball or elaborate function as in their veins ran the blood of elegant predators only. If the telltale traits of their familiar could be gleaned from their outward appearance—such as a fox’s russet coat shining crimson from the trimmed beard of a lord or the leopard’s unchanging spots delicately freckling the cheekbones of a countess—it was not seen as undesirable, in fact sometimes arousing, so long as the features were teasing rather than outright ghastly.

It made for an ironic tale, that in their efforts to increase their power yet temper their animal, the nobility lost the very skill that set them apart: Shapeshifting.

They messed with the laws of nature, using dark forces to switch out the familiars of their concubines and paramours for ones considered ‘worthy’, in the hopes that any child born of the union would still hold the characteristics desired of royalty without having to resort to inbreeding. The results were considered a success, with Fae children bearing the weight of aristocratic attributes despite having a parent who was once without. With that, the fear of blood dilution abated and many believed in the solution.

It did not come without sacrifice, however. Soon it was found that offspring born of such unions could not transform into their familiar as was once expected and great outrage arose from the courts. Nevertheless, it was determined by physicians to be an irreversible side effect and the wicked practice continued as if the obstacle had never been such.

The loss would prove to not be an obstacle, but instead a warning of things to come. Oberon’s thirteenth son was the harbinger; Jareth of the Underground. Mother Nature, scorned by Her progeny and rightly furious, showed Her hand finally in the birth of His High Majesty’s final babe.

He would be blessed with the ability to shift into his familiar’s feathery form and more enviable powers but cursed with the monstrous visage of an avian-like man: Taloness claws crowning the tips of his small fingers, downy brown and white fluff intermingling with his bright locks and traversing the line of his spine and soon to be broad shoulders, a nose that would grow beak-ish and mismatched blue eyes topped with swooping owl markings, all lending a distinctly unnerving beastie quality to the infant. He would grow up to be the symbol of the High King’s transgressions, reviled and pitied at once by many, abused and ultimately banished—so as to be forgotten—to the backwater kingdom of the goblins for the simple act of being irrevocably different.

For years after the infamous birth and later forced coronation, it was quiet and the royal seed continued to flourish as they dictated and desired. Until once again, Mother Nature warned them of the true harvest they sowed with the second birth of a deformed Fae babe.

Keeva. Daughter of Tierney, Duchess of Britland, Great-granddaughter of Oberon…Great-niece of Jareth the Goblin King.

She was the second omen.

The courts were scandalized, the poor girl’s parents horrified and the High King disturbed, and so little Keeva had lost her worth to all who thought it would matter, save for one. Jareth was alone in his imperfection no longer.

There was a strange amalgamation of comfort and calamity in that.

————————

The details of the child’s abnormalities were hidden from prying eyes and listening ears. Not even the Goblin King, who sought out all the information he could using impish spies and dwarf intel, was able to find out what exactly set his little great-niece apart from their peers.

And he was desperate, for in the few decades since she was born an event had occurred in his kingdom that had him feeling his loneliness more acutely than ever before.

As it was, their first meeting occurred by accident. Or fate, it was hard to tell sometimes.

Jareth was only allowed access to the Grand Central Palace of his father on two occasions: Samhain and the winter solstice. He may have been the most bastardized version of a king with an ugly step-child of a kingdom, but he was a monarch owed the dignity of ceremony participation nonetheless. And such an important aspect of those ceremonies he was, as the Weaver of Dreams and Keeper of Children, two side epithets that came with his major title.

They never made it a pleasant experience besides, which is how he found himself wandering into his mother’s prized courtyard garden as a means of escaping the consequences of yet another screaming match with his father. The afternoon was fading into evening and the next day he would have to pointlessly earn his place at the Samhain ceremony/celebration for the millionth time.

After using his favorite charm to add a sparkle of life to the droll Underground flowers his mother favored—lots of blinding glittery additions, some garish Aboveground cacti here and there—Jareth brushed off a stone bench before sitting down with a sigh. No one wanted to be where they did not belong and he supposed that was the point of their treatment. Oh, how was his little great-niece fairing, being raised amongst all this?

A sound seemed to punctuate that thought. A distressed squawk coming from a nearby evergreen, which hid the creature from the Goblin King’s curious gaze.

Intrigued, Jareth got to his feet and made his way toward the source of the noise. The branches were full and thick, and if this was who he felt it was, the Goblin King was impressed by her use of coverage. Excitement surged in his gut, feeding elation, and he eagerly pushed aside the foliage. Frightened chirps increased in volume and frequency as he neared.

“Shhh, little one,” he whispered, trying to console the creature before he happened upon it. Judging by the indignant shriek that followed, she had heard that one before and wasn’t swayed.

One final branch and ah, there she was. Two bright eyes glowered at him suspiciously from the depths of the evergreen and Danu, wasn’t she a beauty. And much wilder than he, if such a thing was possible. A branch had snagged her fluffy plumage and she watched him gently attempt to free her.

“Hello, dearest,” Jareth said, unable to hide the ecstatic grin he’d made only one other time in his life. “I’m your Great-Uncle Jareth and I’ve been positively dying to meet you.”

The baby merlin falcon ruffled her fledgling feathers, trying to appear bigger, but otherwise did not react to his introduction.

In this state he’d confused her. Well, perhaps a test of their similarities was in order. Jareth did something he had never dared try with anyone else and allowed an owl’s hoot to burst forth from his humanoid lips.

Hello: was what he said in the language of feathers.

What the heck: or rather the toddler equivalent, was what she said in the language of baby feathers.

Oh, little love. He cooed. Please come out to greet your great-uncle, who is like you. Lost and lonely.

Why? Asked the merlin, and Jareth had to stifle a laugh.

Because! Jareth answered. I know all the best hiding spots and this one won’t do since I found you.

True. Said the merlin, shifting on her perch. Are you really my uncle?

Great-uncle. He corrected. But yes, and it’s wonderful because I, too, can fly and bother the ton. I used to drive my siblings mad with my shed feathers.

The merlin chirruped at that, and Jareth could hear the chiming tinkle of a baby girl’s laugh in the back of his mind. That’s silly.

It is silly. Jareth agreed.

You’re like me, said the merlin. She hopped forward on the branch.

Yes. Jareth’s mirth sobered, but the twinkle in his eyes remained. I’m like you.

That was all it took for the Goblin King to have an armful of toddler and feathers and he clutched his little niece to his breast like he would never let go, shut eyes clenched tight like a fist. Finally, he thought. Finally.

Eventually, the little one squirmed to be let down and Jareth reluctantly acquiesced to her demands. There was only one good thing to come from her leaving the safe circle of his arms and that was his clearer view of her. His little great-niece. Literally little. Barely reaching his knee, he would have estimated her age to be about five years old to the humans of the Aboveground.

Right away, with only a single cursory glance, he could see why his father and nephew had chosen to hide her. Dark, grey, brown, and white fluffy infant’s plumage sprouted around her neck and collarbone like a dappled bib, and her dark head of hair was shot through with an imposing headdress of feathers that made him almost jealous, himself having a sparse crest since youth. Every area of skin that wasn’t covered by the ridiculous gown she wore, save for her face and hands, was feathered. Like him, her hands were taloned and he suspected her little toes were as well. Similarly, her face was marked by shadows extending up from her eyes, an uncanny twin to his. Her eyes were what worried him, for they would be the biggest sign and so the hardest to hide.

Doe-like despite their predatory connotation, her eyes glowed yellow in the setting sun and were piercing in their clarity. Jareth held no such reservations, but he knew his nephew and his wife must feel a great deal of dread looking into those eyes. The thought would’ve been satisfying had he not known the cruelty that resulted from fear.

He could see that too and bile rose to coat his mouth. His niece’s crest had been pruned thoughtlessly, too short—and he knew from experience, it was not painless. What they could not cut they tied back severely into no particular fashion if one did not count submission. Her talons showed evidence of having once been filed down, though they seemed to have grown out since. Her feet were shoved into slippers several sizes to small, likely on purpose. And when the little one looked up at him and smiled, revealing a sharp-toothed grin, the Goblin King nearly shed a tear.

“Keeva,” he said around the stone in his throat. “That is your name, yes?”

The Fae toddler nodded, swaying to music no one else could hear. Oh, he adored her.

Smiling, he crouched down to her level and gently reached to untie or at least loosen her uncomfortable doo only to be shocked when a small hand smacked his away with an angry cluck.

Well, he mused. She can certainly defend herself. Feisty little merlin. Almost reminds me of…

He shook his head. “Doesn’t it hurt, sweet thing? Allow me to help.”

Keeva backed away and didn’t meet his eyes.

Jareth frowned but dropped his hand. “Alright. Could you at least tell your great-uncle why he cannot help?”

Hurts, the child chirped, still speaking in feathers. The Goblin King’s frown spread to furrow his eyebrows. But if I take it down, they make it hurt more. And other places. Like here…and here.

She held out her hands and gestured to her cheek.

Jareth was not known for much outside his frightful looks. However, his fiery temper was equally, if not more notorious. He was not slow to anger, his fuse short, yet his wrath burned long and withstanding. It was boiling up now, thrashing in his stomach and heating up his blood. The singular reminder that it might scare Keeva kept his biting ire at bay for the moment.

“I see,” he murmured, and he did. He slowly reached out a gloved hand, only this time to caress her fair cheek. “I’m sorry, dearest.” For not coming to rescue you sooner, damn the consequences. For abandoning you to my fate.

Keeva leaned into his touch and that stray tear of his finally fell.

‘S not your fault, she warbled softly. Her eyes were a softening, sleepy amber. Oh. Noting the darkened skies, Jareth realized it must be past her bedtime.

“Where in the Underground are your attendants, sweet thing?” He muttered, gathering the tuckered child into his arms before standing up. She didn’t fight him, by now sensing his kindred spirit, and even curled a small fist around his coat lapel.

Cut my nails again. The little coo was so tiny Jareth’s heightened senses still struggled to hear it. Hurt, so I hid.

“So smart, dearest,” he murmured into the down of her head. “I didn’t like mine cut either, but be careful. Be safe in your rebellion.”

Try, was all the toddler could manage. It was enough. But what could he do for her? He would have to leave eventually, and would undoubtedly have trouble getting an invitation back, let alone be able to see her if he did. Adjusting Keeva in his hold, one of his crystal cuff links winked at him and…

A brilliant idea took shape in him. Channeling every ounce of emotion—fear, affection, hope— into one of his crystals made the creation of a difficult spell as easy as breathing. It held a pink-orange hue and when he turned it a certain way it—

“Little one, before you dream, please listen.”

The child stiffened in his hold, blearily opening her eyes. He had her attention and he could not be more grateful.

“See this?” He held the crystal bauble up for her in his free hand. “This is not a crystal for any ordinary girl, but for a little merlin falcon. And, when you turn it this way and ask for Great-Uncle Jareth, it will allow me to come to you or talk to you. Is that something you wish for, sweet thing?”

A tired smile lit up her face and she nodded.

Jareth tsked. “Ah, ah. Use your right words, dearest.”

“Yes, I wish.”

The little voice, previously unheard, startled a laugh out of him. Her hands made grabby motions for the crystal, pulling him from his shock.

“Alright, little love. Here you are. A reward for letting me hear your beautiful voice.” He tucked the bauble into her dress pocket. She let out a wordless croon of distress that he correctly interpreted. “Worry not, for it will follow you no matter where you go. Land or sea, sky or realm.” He poked her stomach, tickling her. “Or Evergreen tree.”

“Keeva! Where are you, blasted child!?”

The pair’s unusual but relatively tranquil evening was shattered by the enraged bellow of a male used to getting his way. Feathery hackles rose from the two bird-like Fae, a purely protective defense that would do little more than remind the male aristocrat barreling into the courtyard of their wilder nature. Entered a Fae male whose pale face was locked in a permanent sneer, and any emotion juxtaposed upon it was consequently twisted beyond mundane recognition. As it was, Prince Tierney’s scowling maw tensed further as he came upon his wayward freak of an offspring in the arms of his black sheep uncle. If anyone saw him shudder at the way the two acknowledged him in birdlike synchrony, they would’ve been smart to keep their mouth shut lest they end up like the servant who had last treated the small duchess fairly.

It was Jareth who spoke first, seeing that his nephew’s jaw was far too clenched to open at all save to let out a feline hiss.

“Nephew, every century that passes finds you appearing ever more like your father,” Jareth clicked his tongue disparagingly around a sneer. “It is such a pity.”

In his arms, Keeva was burrowing into his chest and making an obvious effort not to look into her father’s eyes.

It set him on edge to do so, but Tierney ignored the jab and vowed to avenge his besmirched honor another day. There were important tasks to be done. “Goblin King,” the prince spat. “Return to me the child you have stolen.”

“Stolen?” Jareth chuckled darkly. “Must you lot have this habit of making me the villain?”

“The child would never have let you near her of her own accord, let alone run out from her room as she did. She knows better than that,” Tierney’s piercing blue eyes moved to implore his child. “Don’t you, child?”

Jareth felt the girl tense in his arms but remain otherwise silent, which was just as well. He had enough words for the both of them.

“This babe is yours, is she not?” Asked the Goblin King, arching a winged brow. “Why should I return her when it appears you can’t even address her by her given name? Hmm, you must not know it. Perhaps she isn’t yours, perhaps the rumors, those flighty things, are false. Or,” he paused, the silence deafening. “Perhaps they are all. Too. True. Which one is it nephew? Is she yours, even in her queerness, or is she mine, under my jurisdiction as an unwanted and so like me in her neglect?”

“Neither, now go. You have overstayed your welcome.”

“Mm, it is not your place to dictate where I am welcome, nephew-mine.” Jareth sneered, petting Keeva’s dark head absently.

“We both know your place here is perfunctory and your authority null. Give back the child, remove the spell you’ve undoubtedly cast over her, and begone!” Such bravado, too bad the Goblin King knew nightmares alongside dreams and could smell fear acutely as a result. It was tangy, and stung not unlike ammonia. The scent hung around his nephew like a cowardly cloak.

There was a moment of silence, in which Jareth watched the prince attempt to manufacture himself a spine on such short notice and the King knew he could not make off with his great-niece like he so wished.

“Alright,” he said finally. “I will remove the spell I have cast to summon her to me.” Keeva made a confused noise at his breast and he cooed under his breath, quieting her. He addressed Tierney’s, smirking. “Poor thing, tried to fight her way back to you with little success. Such a pity.”

The prince let out a low caterwaul, clearly agitated enough so as to loosen his hold on his animal. Courtly males like him were sure to keep it on a tight leash. “You will not harm her further. She is needed here.”

“Oh?” Curious, Jareth urged Keeva to sleep, knowing she would struggle the moment he had to return her. He made as if to hand her over before pulling back with a wicked grin that failed to reach his eyes. “And pray tell, how is she needed, deformed as she is? You’ve made her up in this farce of a dress, done up her hair despite its irregularities, and yet it has done little to hide what she is. What is your game?” Then he gasped, mocking. “Don’t tell me! You intend to work dark magic in order to conceal her nature?”

“Hand her to me!” Tierney hissed.

“Do not bother lying. I sense the spells you have already tried.” Jareth carried on as if oblivious, his face shadowed.

“What fools you all continue to be! It has all been done before, take it from one who knows. Such a spell is taxing on both the maker and its intended. Even if one can survive for a long time under it, it will hide our feathers, our claws, and our birdsong. But every time it will fail to obscure the windows to the soul. Look at me. My eyes reveal more than a mere Fae’s essence, and I’ve seen the same in hers, nephew. We have the eyes of Mother Nature Herself, and She will not allow them to be hidden. Every avenue you decide not to spare leads to death.”

He took a step toward Tierney, who took one back.

“Be still, nephew-mine.” Satisfied, he placed the sleeping Keeva in her father’s arms. His fingers twitched, as if urging him to act on his desire to steal her back. Discipline and knowledge rightly held him in place. It didn’t help that the fool held his daughter like a noble would a loaf of a bread, without care or sense of its value to another, and it irked the Goblin King. Soon, he told himself. Soon.

He watched with hawkish eyes as his nephew warily turned his back on him to flee, but wasn’t done yet.

“Oh, but Tierney.”

The feline Fae turned his head, the barest acknowledgement.

“Count yourself lucky I’ve given her back to you this night, nephew-mine. I know not why your plans seem to differ so much from the ones your lot had for myself in the past, though I can say for certain it is no cause for a miraculous heart change. Rest assured I will find out and I will act accordingly. And if your efforts to change her into the tool you had hoped fail, and she perishes—consider it the moment tonight’s luck has run out. Do me a favor and relay this to your father and his father.”

The prince said nothing, but he didn’t have to. Jareth could smell the terror and he inhaled it with relish.

————————

As the Samhain celebration commenced, the Goblin King would perform the due rites and the necessary prose.

Meanwhile, he would look for a kindred feathered head amongst the few children present. No such luck, though it came as no surprise.

He felt, as sure as he breathed, that his crystal was flourishing under her possession. The charm he had cast was complicated, one that required an nurturing period in which it could grow. His great-niece could only communicate vague feelings to him, and perhaps in a few weeks time those feelings would translate into thoughts, which would translate into words, which would translate into projections, which would…Allow him to see her beyond simple dreams. He could be the friend to her that he had always longed to have.

Yes, to everyone else he would be the villain. But to her, he would be the hero.