The King's Scribe




I don't own it, never did, never will.

Brian Henson and his family inherited it from Daddy Jim.

But he gave it to us, the children of the world.

And the King orders me to put pen to paper

Gods and Goddesses know I obey my King.


Author's note

One year ago today I published Crystal Dreams.

Today I give you two anniversary gifts to enjoy.

This is the first of my gifts to you today.


It was early Saturday morning; no one in the family was yet awake; no one, save the scribe. She rose long before the cock crow, leaving her warm bed, and passing the artificial Christmas tree that now took up residence in her formal parlor. She smiled and was glad she didn't have to trim the tree that was not her job. Moving toward the kitchen she could smell the fresh brewed coffee that was waiting for her thanks to the thoughtful gift of her children, the timer set coffee maker. Pouring herself a cup of coffee, and cutting a slice of panettone. She portioned out the medications taken daily by herself and her husband. After drinking down the glass of icy water to wash down the medication and looking out the window at the wintery predawn, she picked up her mug of steaming coffee and the plate with the cake-like bread. One last look about the kitchen, making note that she should start her holiday baking later today, she then moved down to the basement.

Placing her coffee mug down gingerly on the coaster she kept on the desk, she then turned on the light over her work space. One by one she turned on the equipment on her desk, the scanner, and the speakers to her audio setup, the monitor, the computer and then lastly the external hard drive. While she waited for the computer to finish the morning initial set up, she started the first load of what seemed to be endless laundry laundry. Returning to the desk she went to the list of music she had on her hard drive and brought up her "mood" music for the morning's writing session, Seasonal music today. Only then did she take a sip of coffee and a bite of the fruity bread. Bringing up the word program while she took her first bites, she also went to check her email while the word processer warmed up.

A smile crossed her lips as she read the praises of her loyal readers. She laughed aloud at the remarks of some, and shook her head at the remarks of others. It was always a thrill to see that so many readers felt about her work the way she did. Going to the another sip of coffee she went to the word program, called up the last chapter file she'd been working on and stared at the last paragraph. "What do I do with you today?" She asked. "How in the world do I get you out of the mess you got yourself into this time?" She muttered.

"Scribe," a voice behind her sounded irritated, but then of late he was always irritated with her. "A word if you would."

Turning, not even trying to pull her robe closed she smiled at the being that graced her basement with his Fae presence. "Good morning to you too, Sire."

"Don't be cheeky," he warned. "I'm in no mood for it." In his hand was a piece of parchment scroll, he refused to use the electronics that the scribe used. "We need to discuss this!" He held the scroll out to her.

"Which tale is it this time?" She asked in a weary voice.

"It's this Revenge thing you wrote." He snapped. "It's indecent, no, make that obscene."

"I was in a foul mood." She said, not even trying to excuse the work.

"Scribe," another voice called out as another appeared out of nowhere, "Good morrow to you my dear lady."

"Miles," She greeted the handsome older character she'd dreamed up one day. "How's it going?"

"My life could not be better," He purred as he spoke pausing only when he heard a voice in the distance. "With the exception of-" he pointed to the wall where a female Goblin with a deadly sword came hastening through.

"Where is he? I'll cut his balls off and wear them for ear-rings. His entrails will make garters!" She growled.

"Daisy," the Scribe warned. "Don't you be cutting off body parts in my office, its way too chaotic and damned unpleasant."

The Goblin female shot a look at the Fae man and sniffed loudly. "You're lucky she likes you." She walked over and began to read over the Scribe's shoulder. "I see you're working on this again, any luck?"

The Scribe shook her head; "No I'm waiting for some inspiration."

"Did someone call for inspiration?" Asked a cocky voice that sounded very much like the King's, but was clearly belonging to someone else. The King groaned as the individual belonging to the dulcet tones materialized. "Good morning Scribe," he said ignoring the King and moving forward to bow to the lady sitting at the computer station.

"Go away," the King ordered.

"Be nice," a pretty female voice cautioned. Everyone who had arrived turned to look at the pretty young woman with long dark hair, and heavenly green eyes. "Good morning Scribe!"

"Sarah." The woman sipped her coffee. "I suppose you have a complaint?"

"No," Sarah said taking a seat across from the scribe. "Not a one." On her face was only what could be referred to as a shit eating grin.

"Well good," the Scribe yawned. "I'm barely awake guys." She looked at Miles, "I promise not to allow Daisy to geld you, now go home. I'm not working on you today. I haven't begun the outline for Crystal Truth, so go, Miles… go." She looked at the frowning Goblin woman. "Daisy, I've an idea to use you in another tale, but I need you to not be so willing to cut every man to shreds."

"Not every man," protested the Goblin Guard. "I have never wished to cut the King."

"Not to my face," He snapped. "I suspect there are times…"

"Enough." Ordered the Scribe; "Daisy I'll call upon you later."

"You can leave as well," Jareth looked at Quinn.

Quinn rolled his eyes, "I don't wish to leave, I rather like being near our scribe, should she need me."

"My Scribe!" snapped the King. "And she doesn't need you! She has me."

"Quinn, stop teasing your brother." A voice, very male, very powerful and cultured filled the space.

"Now you've done it," whispered the King in a snipe; "You went and drew the attention of his nibs."

"I didn't do it, you did." Quinn sniped right back.

The Scribe shook her head, and looked at where the vision of how she saw the High King was forming. "Boys, you're giving our Scribe a headache." He held out his royal hands to the mortal who was still seated. "My dear, don't rise, you look very comfy and I'd hate to be the one to cause you any distress."

"The wife mad at you again?" She teased.

He snickered, "No, she's mad at you. She says you're far too sympathetic to me, and much too harsh on her." He sat lightly on the edge of the desk, looking at the pagan items that sat above the woman's work space on her private altar; "Ah a new shell, one from the North Sea; by the look of it."

"My circle sister sent it for my birthday." The Scribe fingered the object.

"And that?" The High King of the Fae pointed to a crystal spider that sat in her offering bowl full of gemstones and holy herbs.

"My new protection totem," she offered as explanation.

Quinn beamed a smile and Jareth rolled his eyes, Oberon observed the reactions of his offspring. He snickered. "I see." He motioned to the boys to look at the space behind the Scribe. Above her on the shelf that held some of her most often used books of research, sat a paper and wood shavings replica of a barn owl. Quinn shrugged, and Jareth looked placated. The High King then pointed to the little figurine of a courtly dressed foxy looking creature. Jareth now smiled broadly, and Quinn sighed.

The Scribe looked up with admiration at the High King. "Someday," she promised him solemnly. "I'm going to write a great story just for you."

"Oh sweet girl," he said lightly to the woman. "You already have." He then stood, bowed before he exited.

"Now that's style," the Scribe sighed happily.

Quinn and Jareth both looked at her with amusement. "I think she's really got a crush on the old man." Quinn joshed.

"Oh yeah," Jareth agreed. "She'd give the High Queen a good run for her money, given half a chance. Isn't that right, Scribe?"

"Pipe down you two, I'm trying to think." She had turned back to the blank page on her monitor screen. "What to do?" she raked fingers though her hair. "I want to get at least four pages done before the family gets up."

"Only four?" Another voice filled her space.

The Scribe turned from the screen to greet the Bard and his Sprite wife. "My Lord Bard," She smiled in greeting. "Any suggestions would be appreciated."

"Write from your heart, and you won't go wrong." Cairbre suggested wisely.

Solea looked at him with adoring eyes, "I just love when he does that." She said looking like she wanted to find a nice dark corner and be alone with her husband. "He's so prudent and sensible."

"And dead sexy," growled the Scribe wriggling her eyebrows up and down.

Solea giggled; "That he is." Softly she and the Bard vanished just as softly as they had appeared.

The Scribe looked over her shoulder and the two forms of the Goblin King still remained. "Okay boys, what is up?"

Quinn looked at Jareth, "I'll give you and her a few moments." He said in a courtly manner.

Jareth watched him move away, waiting until he and the Scribe were alone. "Did you think I would forget?"

Her lips trembled softly, "I was not sure. I mean you've got no reason to remember."

Jareth moved closer, pulling up the other office chair, taking the hands of the scribe into his own leather clad hands. "No reason? In twelve short months you've put out an endless supply of words that have kept me, and mine alive. No reason? Hardly."

She bowed her head, "I had a fertile plot of ground to work with." She peered up again slowly. "Sorry about the rape scene."

He looked about, making sure they were not over heard, "I'm not." He winked. "It was rather seductive and not in the least brutal. I'm glad you've never written me that way."

"Not towards the girl." The Scribe stated clearly. "Never towards the girl."

"Keep that promise, and I shall consider us even." He stood up, straightening his armor. "As it is, I will but say, happy anniversary."

"Thank you and happy anniversary to you too, Sire." She watched as he moved to leave. "Sire, a favor."

Intrigued he turned and looked at the woman. "Ask."

"When my time comes…" she paused looking at the belongings of her earthly home and all its trappings. "When I go to pass the veil, promise me a place in the Goblin realm."

Jareth was taken aback and looked at her. "Are you not well, Scribe?" The Goblin King showed concern.

"I'm fine." She whispered. "But I'm mortal, and this body ages each day."

Understanding, he showed recognition of her statement. "Ah, yes." He raised a finger to his nose and seemed to be giving the request consideration. "I'd have thought you'd have wanted to spend eternity in some nice heaven."

"Silly Goblin King," she quipped. "You're realm is my idea of Heaven."

Flamboyantly he motioned to her with a flourish. "Well of course you are always welcome Scribe." A serious expression came to his eyes; "Only not too soon."

"Deal," she said peacefully.

He looked at her with respect and friendship. "Have a happy day, Paisley."

"You too, Jareth," she started to turn to look at her screen.

"I will if you write me one." He said at her ear, "And time is short."

He was gone; she knew it even before she turned to look back; "Smart ass." She whispered.

"Yes he is;" Called a voice from the family room.

"Go home Quinn," the Scribe began pounding away at the keyboard. "I've got work to do."

Quinn looked about at the others gathered in the room just beyond where the Scribe was working. He smiled; none of them would ever truly leave her. He lounged in the chair that he'd taken up residence in and looked at the others, all the personalities that had spouted from Paisley's mind. He was part of an ever growing family. "Happy Anniversary, Scribe." He raised a goblet of mead in toast to his hostess, the King's Scribe, the Paisley Rose.