The Virgin and the Fae

Charlotte had had a few acting classes over the years, mostly in high school. She hadn’t been particularly good, but she had been better than most of the others.

They had thought acting to be about feeling and expression, and being so young, the students had had few deep emotions to draw on.

Charlotte, on the other hand, had thought of acting as a form of mimicry. It didn’t matter what she herself felt at that moment, but what she could make others believe she was feeling. Such an attitude meant she could never hope to be a truly great actor, but it did mean that—when the occasion called for it—she could be a pretty decent liar.

This was one such occasion.

Drawing herself up so as to appear more indignant—which was hard given her reddened face and half-naked state—Charlotte backtracked.

She thought of the best tone for the situation. Hyperbolic. Annoyed. Somewhat whiny.

“Finally I got to talk with someone prepared to say more to me than just an order. He told me all about himself and Florence and how they were to be married—“ her voice had a cadence reserved for checking things off of a list, as if somewhere in her mind existed an ordered memory of what had transpired and here she stood, merely recalling the events in their proper order. And thus, she gave them the truth, just not all of the truth. “It was quite romantic, really.”

The thunderous expressions on the faces of the two Fae sagged slightly with relief. Garrick, however, began to look at her thoughtfully.

“Then why did he attack you?”

Charlotte froze.

Her lying was only as good as the lies she could come up with, and at this crucial moment she felt like she was grasping desperately at thin air. She didn’t know why he’d lunged at her in the first place.

And then she knew her answer.

How simple it was really.

“I don’t know.” Again she wished her shoulder were well enough to shrug.

“You don’t know?” Garrick arched an eyebrow at her.

“I don’t know,” she repeated. “Everything was fine, we were talking about his…human”—perhaps using the same “lingo” would help matters?—“and then he just became…I don’t know, crazed.” Charlotte felt her pitch rise, leaving an upward lilt on the word ‘crazed.’ Her high school English teacher would have called it a prime example of “statement as query syndrome,” the classic affirmation seeking pattern of speech. And in many ways, it was affirmation she sought. And affirmation was given; just not in the way she’d anticipated.

“I’d heard he’d become unsettled following the human’s death,” Locke mentioned. The two Fae gave rather grim nods.

“How did she die?” Charlotte asked quietly.

“She got very sick. From the cold, they think,” Garrick said.

“Poor Florence…”

“But not poor Cronus,” Locke said, with a hint of appreciation.

“What’s that supposed to mean,” Charlotte asked, crossing her arms over her breasts.

Her shoulder still was sore, but seemed to have gained some mobility. Another day and four more Tylenol and she’d be back to full shrugging potential.

Given her track record in this new world, Charlotte wondered briefly if she should start rationing her pain medication.

“Cronus has only one child. For his son to marry the human, he’d have to abdicate the throne.” Charlotte nodded, a bit impatient. She knew all this already. Garrick began to nod now too.

“The North kingdom would have collapsed from succession battles,” Garrick finished for Locke, a look of wry comprehension on his face.

“With the human dead, the problem goes away.” Locke looked smug.

“And so Cronus killed her,” Charlotte declared, feeling a bit like Hercule Poirot working his ‘little grey cells.’

Perhaps the conclusion had been a bit premature as both Fae turned towards her with amusement.

“Humans,” Locke said, “ever dramatic.”

“It’s a perfectly reasonable possibility,” Charlotte cried, “just think how conveniently things then worked out for the King!”

“The human wouldn’t be worth killing. Your kind dies so easily that all Cronus would really have to do—if Jove was even serious—would be wait a little while and she’d die on her own.”

“What do you mean, ‘if’?” Charlotte asked Locke.

“The Fae have a tendency to lose their interest in specific humans rather quickly.”

“Does this mean you’ll send me home soon?” Charlotte asked breathlessly, turning her gaze intently on Garrick.

“No. No, Charlotte, I’m not like the others, I truly—“ But Charlotte didn’t wait for him to finish. She interjected, “Well, Jove wasn’t like them either! He planned to make himself mortal and live in my world with Florence.”

Garrick and Locke exchanged a rather significant look.

“How romantic,” Garrick said, with a dismissive coolness.

“Garrick, I think your human will probably be hungry at this point. I’ll see to ensuring the elves prepare a meal.” Locke bowed and disappeared. The air shimmering around where he had stood, only seconds ago.

Charlotte and Garrick stood, silently watching one another. She wanted to ask what the look meant. Even without her limited knowledge of Fae culture, it was apparent that giving up one’s virtual immortality would be a serious matter. Much more serious than the ‘how romantic’ implied. But instead she asked simply, “Why won’t you let me go home?”

“I have waited to claim you for years. Why would I send you away when I have only just claimed you.”

“Why me? Why would you have picked me?”

Garrick gave her a crude appraisal, his gaze lingering over her body before slowly dragging its way back to her face.

Charlotte crossed her arms tighter over her breasts, ignoring both the ache it caused in her shoulder and the way the gesture pushed her breasts together, creating a V of cleavage.

She blushed but otherwise stayed firm.

“I’m nothing special.”

“You know that’s not true,” Garrick corrected softly.

“I’m not. I’m attractive enough. But compared to…compared to the entire world, compared to the Fae women here, I’m nothing special.”

Garrick began to shake his head, but she continued. “How I look isn’t an answer, or at least it can’t be all of the answer. Please. Why won’t you tell me anything—about you, about this place, about the uni—Fae?”

Desperation. They both heard it in her voice. The need for an explanation, something that she could analyze and evaluate, integrate and derive.

“Locke told me that the Fae take humans in an attempt to make the human’s joy their own. But I was never happy. Not truly. I was so scared and lonely. I don’t have any joy to give to you. I have nothing to give to you.”

“I know,” Garrick said softly. “I said I wasn’t like the others. I didn’t want you to take away happiness. I wanted you so that I could make you happy.”

Charlotte let out a little strangled choke and even Garrick looked surprised at the admission.

“I saw you. I don’t know if it was chance or fate, but one day I looked upon the mortal world and I saw you. You were sitting, alone, by a tree—“

“The one in my back yard,” Charlotte added, feeling an odd sense of certainty.

Garrick nodded. “I could feel your pain lance me, even from such great distance. It rolled off of you in waves, each crashing down over me as I watched. I had never felt pain or sorrow or anything as strongly as I did in that moment. But you…It made me stagger…but you just sat there, as if far away from your pain. You stared into the distance, your body still and quiet. Everything about you was remote and isolated, your gaze, your stiffness, the way you held your head, tilted down just slightly—the only outer ward indication that you—some part of you—bowed beneath the weight of your pain.

"Your suffering made you more beautiful than anything I’d ever seen before. The perseverance, the determination with which you had constructed this barrier amazed me. And initially I watched you to see when it would break down and this pain that you hid yourself from would come tumbling in around you. But the more I watched you…it never happened. You simply built up more and more walls. I wanted you then for your strength. You had a fortitude that was unparalleled among the Fae and the humans I had seen.

"But then something changed. I still could see your suffering, etched on you in a way no one else seemed to notice. But the more I watched you, the more pain I felt. It was as if I not only shared your sorrow, but suffered from the knowledge that you were out there, hurting. Every time I watched you, I imagined taking you away from your world and your walls. But I gave you time.”

“Why?” Charlotte asked quietly.

“Because I wanted you in every sense of the word. I wanted you by my side and I wanted you in my bed. I do want you. But I wanted you do be ready. And when I first saw you—“

“When I was fourteen,” Charlotte added, remembering the conversation from the day before.

“When I first saw you, you would not have been able to withstand all that I wanted from you.”

“You mean the violence? The things that the Fae do to their humans?”

“No!” Garrick was near her in an instant. Her hands dropped from covering her breasts and instinctively moved to his chest as if to keep him at bay, even push against him if necessary. His voice softened. “Never. Don’t you understand yet? I will never do those things to you. You weren’t ready to be taken to my bed at that age. So I gave you time to mature—to experiment even, though the thought left me furious. But you never did. I watched you as you grew, becoming more beautiful each day. I watched the boys who watched you covetously. I watched the brave few who approached you, but you were an island unto yourself. Every caress, every promise of affection, every lewd remark went unheeded. I knew I should not take you here as you were, as a virgin. But it felt like you went untouched because I had already claimed you, and the idea was an appealing one.”

“That wasn’t why I didn’t…why I never…”

“What? Had sex? Made love? Fucked?” Charlotte winced at the way the consonants were hit, clear and sharp. Garrick looked down at her with soft amusement.

“I was busy.” Charlotte finished, rather lamely. What a terrible excuse. But it was a step towards reclaiming her autonomy. Sex had always been her choice to have or to not. It was not because of some “claim” that she had remained a virgin.

“Of course you were.” His breath skittered over her forehead and cheek and her skin tightened at the odd pleasure of it.

She ignored the patronizing tone of his voice.

Charlotte looked up at Garrick, a lazy look of contentment upon her face. His nearness felt oddly pleasant and her hands relaxed against his chest, allowing him to lean in closer.

“Now, tell me the truth about what Jove told you.” Charlotte tried to back away but collided with the wall quickly. She scooted away from him until her back was flush against the wall.

“Really Charlotte, did you think I’d believe that was all? That all the two of you did was stand around discussing long lost loves?”

“But we did!”

“No, Charlotte, this isn’t one of those moments where telling part of the truth amounts to telling the truth. What did he tell you.” It wasn’t a question.

“What will you do to me if I do tell you?” Visions of potential “punishments” ran through her mind. She did not wait for him to answer, instead she pressed on. “I will tell you what he said if you promise that you won’t harm me.”

“Harm you? Why would I do that?”

“Maybe the information I know puts me in a…position that you and Locke did not want.”

“The unicorns.” Garrick acknowledged grimly. “I would have thought he had better sense than to talk to you about such things.”

“I will tell you what he told me if you give me your word that…that…” That what? What did she need to him to promise? “Promise me that you won’t force yourself…that you won’t rape me.”

“I already told you I have no intention—“

“Your word. I want your word that you will not rape me.”

Each time she said ‘rape,’ Garrick tensed ever so slightly.

“I swear it.”

Charlotte nodded in acceptance. Her turn to honor their bargain.

“He told me that the unicorns are deadly to your kind. That they were used as a weapon during a long ago war between the humans and the Fae. And he told me that…that as a virgin, I can control them.”

The silence that hung in the air was palpable. Charlotte felt as if her very breath was stifled by it.

“So now you know,” Garrick said at last, stepping away from her.

With an audible whoosh, Charlotte exhaled a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding in.

“What happens to me now?”

“Were you expecting something to change?”

“I had just thought that now that I know the truth, you’d—“

“This doesn’t change anything,” Garrick interrupted sharply, unwilling to hear what she had believed he would do to her.

They stared at one another silently, an unfathomable abyss seeming to separate the two. Charlotte crossed her arms over her stomach, holding herself gently.

“Are you cold?” Garrick asked.

“A little.”

With infinite grace, Garrick removed his jacket, and placed it over her shoulders, letting the fabrics heavy folds drape over her, obscuring the bare skin.

The jacket was a severe black and Garrick noticed with a twinge of guilt that it brought out the shadows of fatigue on her face.

“I am sorry. When I brought you here, I never meant for you to be harmed like this. You seem to not go a day without some new injury.”

“I don’t mind.” And she didn’t. The truth struck her as an odd realization, but in the midst of the injuries—which were, all in all, rather minor—and the fear, was life. A life full of immediacy and vibrancy that she hadn’t known before. This strange new world made her want to live, made her want to fight to live.

Garrick looked at her oddly before focusing his eyes somewhere just above her head. There didn’t seem to be anything in particular that he was looking at, though.

“Locke was right. You must be hungry.”

He reached out for her hand to transpose them.

“Can I walk?” Charlotte asked quickly.

“Why?” Garrick looked as confused as when she had first requested this.

“I need to feel as if there is something, anything, that I can control. Even if it’s as simple as walking to dinner. Can I have that? Will you let me have that autonomy?”

“But you are mine, not your own.”

“You said that before and I escaped. The more freedom you deny me, the more intently I will seek a way out of here. You don’t want that, do you? To constantly wonder what I’m planning, to constantly need to have me watched.”

Again, Garrick saw Charlotte as a bird in a cage. He wanted her to sing happily, forgetting completely that she could never leave, not smash herself against the bars until she either died or escaped.

And she would never escape.

“No.”

“Then let me walk.” Charlotte finished, reigning in the tone of triumph that threatened to sneak in.

“You don’t know the way.”

“Then walk with me.” Charlotte gave a small smile. And Garrick felt something deep within him warm, as if basking in the sun.


A/N: Hi everyone, a few quick notes--I am halfway done with the next chapter so hopefully that will get posted later this week if I am good about writing. Much thanks to mdevries08 (thanks so much for your kind words!!), SightSoBlind (I actually have written this chapter and the next one on the basis of that suggestion! I think its working, outlines be damned lol--I hope your friend likes the story as well!) and Lilu (I'm trying not to stop, I promise! :) for their lovely reviews.

And as always, the usual begging: reviews only take a second to write but are a huge encouragement for me! So if you have something that you really like, don't like, a suggestion, a question etc, I'd love to hear about it. Thanks guys!