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“Sound, music! Come, my queen, take hands with me, And rock the ground whereon these sleepers be.”
Oberon, A Midsummers Night Dream, Act 4 Scene 1


“An apple, picked at its peak for a maid as fair as our harvest moon.”
Oberon smiled at the young fairy who blushed as red as the fruit he summoned with a wave of his hand; a kitchen wench that had caught his wondering eye just the other day, who was sweet to look upon with heavy breasts that spilled out over her corset and thick hips hidden beneath layers of skirts.
“I thank you, Your Grace.” She took the apple from her prince, letting a finger run across his rough and calloused palm. “I shall cherish every bite.”
“As I shall cherish the tongue that tastes every bite.”
“My lord!”
“My lady.” She laughed, a rich and hearty and teasing sound that matched the well-endowed figure of the fairy it belonged to. Oberon reached forward and took hold of her hand, bringing it to his lips and kissing each knuckle. “I shall cherish thine lips, thine breasts, thine hands and all other parts that you would grant me the privilege of knowing.”
“So forward, my Liege.”
“Would my Lady prefer me coy?”
“Your Lady would prefer no such thing.”
“Well what would a Lady prefer?”
He watched her honey brown eyes dance with a craving the Lord of Autumn was more than willing to satisfy. “A Lady would prefer a kiss from her forward Liege.”
“Then who am I to deny a fair maiden's wishes and dreams? Am I not a prince?” he cooed to the young fairy. “Is it not my birthright and duty to lessen the burdens of my people’s lives?”
“It is indeed, my lord.”
“If you permit me, let me ease a ladies burden then.” He leaned forward and pressed his eager lips to hers.
“Oberon.”
The girl stood in a flurry, bowing low to the man who accompanied the voice. “Your Grace.”
Cronus, King of the Autumn Lands, Lord of the Last Harvest, husband to Her Grace Queen Demeter and father to Prince Oberon stood tall over the two young fairies. Wrinkles pulled at his disapproving brown eyes, and the frown he wore made him look much older than his one and fifty years. “I do believe you are needed in the kitchens, young Rosebud.”
“At once, Your Grace.”
She stumbled over her curtsy and scurried away. Oberon leaned back in his feather bed, and gazed up at his king. “Impeccable timing, Father.”
“I saved a young girl from losing her modesty and prevented the scandal of my son sireing a b*****d. I would say my timing was well without flaw.”
He snorted, and took a bite of the apple that the fairy wench had left behind. “If you believe Rosebud to have any modesty you are as blind as a bat and as naive as the babe you so worry about me fathering.”
“I do not presume to know your mistresses chamber habits, and I implore you not to know them either if she is as wanton as you say she is.” Cronus crossed the room and picked up a jacket that had been steamed and pressed until the creases were as sharp as the sword he wore on his hip. It was a fine mahogany colored velvet with burnt orange steel leaves decorating the shoulders and breast. “You leave for the Summer Solstice feast in less than an hour, the ball where you are to represent our kingdom and our people to Theros and Titania, and you have not begun to ready yourself. Instead you sit here,” he spat, disgusted. “Toying with the serving girls with hopes that they would play with your toy in return. Are you a prince of the Autumn Kingdom, or a peasant lush that would waste his seed and dignity on any fairy willing to have him?”
“My seed is of no concern to good King Cronus, nor is my dignity.” Oberon stood from his bed and with a wave of his hand the gifted apple disappeared. He frowned at the older man whose expression was rank with disappointment. “I will be a good king, Father, you need not have any fear of that. Rather I stay chaste or lay with a hundred serving girls and squires, I will do right by my kingdom, my people and you.”
“Of that I have no doubt, Oberon. Never before has a fairy been more committed to excelling in his royal duties.” He clapped him on his shoulder. “But to be a good king is to be a good man, and to be a good man is to be a good husband, and to be a good husband is to be a good father to the sons and daughters you make with love and admiration with their mother, rather than lust and lechery. You cannot be one without the other, just as autumn cannot exist without the summer's end and winters start.”
“I have not yet wed,” he laughed.
Cronus voice was sharp as a dagger. “Nor will you. You are but a child, Oberon, or at least that is what you would have me believe with your unwillingness to yield your promiscuous ways like you were a boy asked to put away his wooden sword in favor of his tutors lessons.” Cronus threw the jacket at Oberon who caught it easily. “Ready yourself, and hurry. The carriage leaves in an hour, and I would hate for the summer royalty to be met by nothing more than a footman.”
He bowed his head in a show of submission. “Yes, Father.”
Cronus clapped him on the shoulder again, and then, in a bright shimmer of dark red and golden orange, he disappeared in the same way he had come in unannounced.
Oberon stripped himself of his clothes and called for one of the servants to draw a bath where he scrubbed and washed the sweat and dirt and Rosebud off him, and afterwards he combed his dark brown hair and slicked it back until it shined. He scented himself with a subtle perfume of autumn spices; pumpkins and apples, cinnamon and cloves, then donned the fine outfit he picked out earlier in the week that the seamstress had tailored perfectly to highlight the trim form and athleticism earned from years of swinging swords.
He buckled his scabbard around his waist, armed with a blood red dagger and his sword, a sharp piece of russet colored steel with gorgeous leaves of golden-orange on the mahogany colored hilt. Oberon chose not to shave, deciding that the brown scruff on his face made him look older than his three and twenty years.
Besides; if a young summer fairy was lucky enough to catch the Lord of Autumn’s eye tonight who was he to begrudge her the pleasure of his sharp coarse hair scratching against her supple thigh?
After double checking himself in the looking glass he headed down to where his carriage awaited and his father and mother stood outside it. “Be safe,” Queen Demeter said, embracing her son. The fiery red of her long hair ruffled gently in the warm autumn breeze.
“Always, Mother.”
“Remember what I said; that you are a reflection of your kingdom and your people.” Cronus shook the young prince’s hand. “Behave yourself. It is an honor to be invited to the feast of the Summer Solstice.”
“I will, My Lord,” he promised. “I’ll be back on the moon's turn.”
With one last final bow Oberon climbed into the carriage and with a click of the drivers tongue and the sharp snap of the reins, he was off.
The way to the Summer Palace was an easy one. No fairy dare attack a royal carriage on a normal day, but with nearly every Lord and Lady in the province heading to the palace, and with guards patrolling the Seasons Road, the only road that linked all four of the mighty keeps from the awesome winter palace carved from ice and rock into the side of the mighty Grey Fang mountains, to his red stoned home beside the Western Wood, to the grand marble monolith where the summer fairies lived, and to small seaside castle of the spring lords, the robbers didn’t stand a chance.
The Summer Kingdom was beautiful. The warm colors of the Autumn lands gave way to bright greens and bold yellows, while apple orchards and fields littered with fallen gold and red leaves were replaced by white sandy shores, clear sapphire oceans and grassy meadows. Tall trees with sweet ripe juicy fruit you could pluck from the branches as you walked by lined the road, and the gentle rolling hills of the Jade Knolls lulled Oberon to a peaceful sleep that lasted well into his journey. When he awoke night had fallen, and the crickets were singing their symphony and not even an hour later his coachman pulled in behind another carriage and they slowly made their way to the summer kingdom's castle.
It was stunning; an astonishing feat of craftsmanship made entirely of white and blue marble with turrets and towers that seemed to reach out and touch the stars that littered the sky. Emerald colored ivy crawled up the smooth walls while roses, lilies, hibiscus, sunflowers and hundreds of other brightly colored flowers covered the grounds. Behind the palace was the Golden Cove, a clear blue ocean that stretched far beyond the horizon with gentle lapping waves that kissed the ivory shores.
Oberon thanked his footman when he was finally given freedom from the carriage, and nodded to a bowing servant who led him into the mighty keep. Even before they reached the Great Hall he heard the music of the players and the laughter and chattering of guests. Two stern faced men in guards uniforms opened the doors and, holding his head as high and proud as a fairy of his statue could, he stepped through.
“His Grace!” a criar announced to the group as he stood tall and proud before the rest of the gathered fairies. “Prince Oberon of the Autumn Kingdom, Lord of the Last Harvest, and Knight of the Western Wood!”
He bowed his head in acknowledgment of the applause, offered his arm to an elderly summer fairy who also arrived without an escort, and made his way down the grand marble staircase. His eyes gleamed with amusement as he glanced around the ballroom. So many beautiful fairies clad in the thin silks of summer attire, their pale faces already flushed red from the sweet peach wine that flowed as freely as the Tears of Mist, the great waterfalls of the Winter Kingdom.
The prince would eat and drink to his heart's content, dance to good music, laugh and make merry and when the night was over he would have a brave squire or a fair maiden on his arm that he would charm with silky words and woo with tales of his land. He would tell them of the great stags the Lords of Autumn rode into battle, of the heroic deeds he has amassed, of bloody skirmishes with the winter fairies who dared to cross into their border that left him scarred. Then when the night was over, and they had their fill of stories, they would have their fill of him as well.
Oberon grabbed a glass of wine from a passing serving tray and eyed the fairies around him. A pretty little maid flashed him a timid smile when he inclined his head towards her but even at a distance he could tell she was too meek for his tastes. An older woman he spoke with had not been shy, and instead had been rather eager and wanton for him. But her husband was a Lord of Spring, and as much as he might have wanted the tall fairy the prince was not in a hurry to lay with the wife of Spring nobility, not when there was finally a tentative peace between the two feuding kingdoms after a millennia of war thanks to Oberon’s father.
Just as he was about to go and see if a young serving girl was interested the criar announced a new arrival. Oberon turned, expecting some nameless lady or lord that he wouldn’t have given a second look but instead the light of summer itself stood at the top of the stairs, and all at once his world stopped.
“Her Grace; Princess Titania of the Summer Kingdom,” the servant called out to the audience. “Lady of the Dawn, and Empress of the Rose.”
The young Princess, no more then ten and nine, curtsied, then took the arm of a guard who led the fairy maid to the floor with one hand while picking up her long flowing skirts in the other. Her dress was bright green silk and decorated with lace flowers that matched her eyes; bright blue like the gentle waves outside the very palace she inhabited. Her pale blonde hair was curled perfectly with a braided bun on her head and the rest spilling past her shoulders and down her back. She was fair of face, lithe of limb and she was tall; near as tall as Oberon with only an inch or so difference between them. She did not look timid or shy as some kings might demand their wives or daughters be, but she stood proud and strong, her head held high and a commanding presence was made evident in every pointed step.
What was all the gold in the summer mines compared to the pale yellow of her glorious hair? How could one ask him to choose between every sapphire in the winter lands and spending eternity gazing into the deep blue of her eyes, despising every blink that wretched anatomy would force him to endure? Who could blame Dear Oberon if he was to choose Fair Titania’s face over the lights of the heavens? The awe of the stars, the sun, the moon was a farce compared to the true beauty that existed right before him in a silk gown and heels. Surely if he were to plunge the worlds into darkness men and fairies both would understand his reasonings if they could just catch but a single glimpse of her.
Titania clapped her hands in front of her gown and gazed out over the crowd. “My father, His Grace King Theros, and I welcome you to the Summer Palace.” Her voice was deep, and well meant for stirring songs and lovers sighs and loud laughs. “We are so pleased that you could join us. As many of you know, the solstice is one of our kingdoms most important holidays.” Titania smiled, warm and inviting. A soft fragrant breeze ruffling through the crisp leaves of Fall. “We are so fortunate to have fairies from all corners of the summer lands as well as our esteemed guests from the Autumn and Spring Kingdoms here with us to celebrate.” She raised her glass high in the air. “Eat, drink, and be merry, fairies. To the summer solstice!” The rest of the congregation mirrored her words and took a sip of their sweet reds and dry whites, but Oberon merely watched her, envious of the cup that had the privilege of touching her plump lips and resentful of the wine that got to dance over her tongue.
When the music resumed he made his way across the crowded dance floor to the princess. She was talking to a young woman and laughed at a joke her fellow made. The sound put the musicians and any other sound that you would consider pleasing to the ear to shame. He wondered how he would ever enjoy any other sound again when he had that melody to compare it to.
“Well met by moonlight, fair Titania,” he greeted her with a low bow. “Dance with me?” Oberon asked, taking the maiden’s outstretched hand to place a kiss on her pale skin. It seemed to glow in the moonlight, highlighting her elegant frame.
“Might I have the courtesy of your name, good fairy?” she asked, a small smile playing on her lips as her eyes twinkled.
“My name is Oberon, Prince of Autumn.”
“Well met yourself then; Oberon, Prince of Autumn.”
She stepped closer to him, bringing their attached hands up between them before picking up her skirt with her other hand. “Ah, a wicked Titania to have cursed the world just now,” he responded with a grin as he led her to the dance floor. “For now that she has said my name in her lustrous voice, no other man or maid could have any hope of saying it with as much adoration as she has spoken it with. I would look to the stars and moons itself whispering my name and laugh at their hopeless attempts to compare to the lithe of her voice.”
His maiden laughed, curtsying at the start of the dance.
“Are you always this well spoken and forward, dear Oberon?”
Their hands met between them and they walked in a circle to the rhythm of the music. “Yes, I am. I hope that does not trouble you, my lady.”
“It doesn’t,” she answered as he spun her in a gentle circle. Their eyes met when she came round to face him again. “Though I rebel against your claim that I have cursed the world simply by uttering Oberon’s name. If I have made fairies and men and the moon and stars reluctant to speak it aloud, then I myself would never hear such a glorious sound that would bring such a smile to my lips. Would it not be then that I have cursed myself? What a foolish woman would I be at that, and I am reluctant to agree that Oberon would think his Titania foolish.”
“I think many things about Titania.” He waited for the sheepish blush, for her eyes to avert his but she held his gaze. “Foolish is the least of them.” Oberon twirled her in his arms, swaying her to the music. “Ah Titania… Titania, Titania, Titania; your name is magnificent. Your name is a melody on my tongue; no other name sounds better to my ears.”
Her eyes glinted mischievously. “Ah. A poet, is that what you are?”
“I also play the lyre,” Oberon whispered in her ear from behind, and she flushed at the close proximity of their bodies.
“Oh, a liar and a player, too,” she purred, white teeth showing when she smiled at him after spinning around to face him. “I’ve met many a man like you. What makes you different from them?”
“I am the only Oberon in all the land of the world, my lady. By that right, I am different from other men who have vied for your favor. And there were many, of that I am sure.”
Titania raised an eyebrow as they continued to dance. “What makes you so sure that I haven’t given my favor to anyone? I may be betrothed, or in an amorous affair with any number of suitors here in this very hall.”
Beneath their feet, grass began to grow, a bright green as seen in the early morning sun. “I simply know. A fair lady such as you would never accept a marriage proposal from someone other than her equal.”
He hadn’t meant to offer her his hand. He did not know her from any other fairy but the words were sweet falling from his lips. Oberon wanted none but her, he wanted no one's kisses, he wanted no one else to moan his name, he wanted none other to hold fast to his heart, and he would have no other woman but her.
She laughed. “You would propose marriage? After one dance and one sip of wine?”
“I would.”
“I shudder to think of what you would offer after a single night spent together.”
“Gold, silver, emeralds, rubies, every fish in the sea, every bird in the skies… I would give my Lady everything she desires. I would give her the world, I would give her the sun and the moon, I would throw myself off the tallest cliffs into the rocky shores below if she only willed it.”
“And deny me my Lord's silky promises of seas and skies? I perish the thought, fairy prince,” she said as Oberon wrapped an arm around her waist to spin them around. “But I’m afraid I need more convincing. You are unique, you are my equal, you know how to woo me with honeyed words and…?”
He raised one hand, waved it, and a plumeria appeared, its petals going from white to yellow at its center in the light. He tucked it into her hair behind her ear, stepping close so they pressed against each other. “I can make you feel alive,” he responded softly, meeting her gaze with his own.
The polite applause and break in the music brought them back to their reality. Now a faint blush painted her fair cheeks as she curtsied and they bowed at one another before the players began a new song. “I’m afraid I have other guests to attend to,” she said, frowning at the prospect of leaving.
Oberon gave her a nod of his head, already seeing one of the older Lords making their way over to beg a dance of her as well. “Understood, your Grace.”
Titania leaned forward and pressed her lips to his cheek. No other kiss had ever been as sweet. “Don’t leave.”
“I would kill any man who suggests such a criminal act.”
The princess curtsied before she turned and made her way to some Lord he did not know the name of. Already he missed the feel of her soft hand, her sweet floral scent, her gentle voice, the brightness of her eyes and the light of her smile.
How could he look at any other woman again? When he had seen the sun and stars shine in her eyes, to settle for another would be cruelty to him and his mistress. To lay with one who was not his Lady of summer and be false when he said he desired them when it was fair Titania who he wished to taste and touch and lick the sweetness from between her legs would be an insult to them both.
Oberon would marry her, he decided, as firm a decision as he had ever made before. He would marry her before the sacred tree in the Western Woods and then again in the ancient mirror pool of the summer lands, he would claim her maiden title as just she claimed his heart, he would lay with her a thousand times and give her a hundred sons. And when Cronus had passed and Theros had gone on to the heavens of their people and they were left to rule, he would not walk before her as her King and Lord but beside her.
As equals.