The Taming of Titania

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is unlike my usual fare, in that there is no corruption of innocence or turns to evil, but there is a transformation of sorts towards the end. Also, this story does not take place in the more light/self-aware universe of the Morgana stories.

To make that difference more prominent, the faeries here are a mishmash of the Celtic/Germanic types that occupy ancient folklore, and thus more abrasive and cruel, as opposed to the ones in Dark Wood (which is a Morgana story), who are more kind, and Disney like.

Enjoy.

*

Prince Oberon of the Fae, stared into the early dawn sky, peering upon a star maiden. She floated and billowed with the currents of the wind, her body as black as night, her skin illuminated and draped with stars, nearly invisible against the cosmos, but for her impeccable feminine shape.

The soft, barely illuminated slopes of her heavy, ample breasts swayed to her flying motions, rising and falling with such incredible slowness it was if she were underwater. She arched her back in front of the waning moon, not only regaling Oberon on his private balcony, but all of the city as well, many of whom had counted the days for when a Daughter of the Gods would grace them with her presence.

The bright beams of the moon cast her in silhouette, though her body was a walking shadow to begin with, her dark form outlined with miniature stars and various nebulae. To so flaunt her charms in front of the lustful gaze of so many, prompted a piercing moan of arousal from her delicate throat, ringing out across the sky as bright red and violet light bloomed from within her sex, reaching out across her body like a shockwave of astral light.

Stunning fingers of color raced up her body, reaching up her soft, rounded hips, past her writhing belly before curving around the ripe plenty of her breasts. Vivid light poured into her luscious globes, exploding like fireworks of the gods, her shadowy form glowing like a dying star for just a moment, before retreating into darkness. With a slight curtsy and to the cacophony of satisfied hoots and hollers, she took her leave, floating back up into the upper reaches of the sky once more.

Oberon sighed as she blended into the stars, wishing nothing more to join them, that he may become one with her. He was a hunter at heart. The wilds called to him, not the velvet excesses of the palace.

He had work to do, armor to fasten and swords to sharpen, for today was the most important day of his life. Today, was the day he took a mate, a consort for his kingdom. Upon adulthood, each Fae man had to take a bride, having four years to do so, or else The Huntsmen of The Wild Hunt would come, taking the man for themselves, turning him into a spectre that was neither living or dead, cursed to hunt across the Underworld for all time.

It was Oberon's fourth year without a mate. There would not be another.

Oberon strapped the rest of his hunting regalia to his body, his blades, quiver and bow. As he marched down the palace's richly furnished hallways, other Fae gave him looks of encouragement, others looks of mourning, for what he hunted was little more than a shadow of a dream. A star maiden, the very one who showed herself an hour before. She was so elusive, so capricious and so quick that failure was all but guaranteed. He pushed their doubting glances away as he came into the throne room.

His father, King Merowech, sat on the throne, looking at his valiant son with equal parts pride and sadness. He wished his son would reconsider. There were other women, throwing themselves at his feet to be his bride. But no he said, that would be too easy. He needed a challenge. But if he failed...Merowech shuddered to think. A royal claimed by The Wild Hunt? He would never live it down.

"Mother, father." the young prince gave quick nods to his parents, before stepping forward. "On this fair morning, I go to finish the journey I began so long ago: the quest for the immortal and her love." Oberon bowed before the King and Queen, his bright green tunic standing out against the silken red carpet upon which he tread. His hair was dark brown, like the woods he so admired, his face refined and chiseled like a maiden's dream, and he sported the look of a man who was acutely aware of his own talent.

King Merowech sighed, supporting his face with his palm. "I...urge you, to reconsider my son. There are many beautiful ladies waiting in the wings who would make wonderful Queens! You risk too much for a father to bear."

"And a mother!" chimed in Queen Medb, every bit the regal image of her husband, her large fairy wings shimmering in a vivid array of colors by the torch light.

Oberon spared a look at the very women his father had spoke about. Only three of them stood near the balconies overlooking the court, no doubt hoping the prince would change his mind at the last minute. Highly exemplary of Fae allure, one crimson haired beauty wore a rosy dress that complemented her wings, translucent and fair like pink champagne, her round breasts displayed in a plunging neckline, revealing seductive, deep cleavage.

He shook his mind of such distractions as he returned back to the moment, hearing his father's voice.

"That too. I wish that you were...easier, more pliable to sense and practicality."

Oberon scoffed. "Hah! Dear father, were I so I would be no son of yours. Besides, I have not spent my past years wading in cushions and falling in the arms of chamber maids..."

"Far from it! We hardly see you these days!"

Oberon stood up, straightening his pants and adjusting his tunic. "Indeed. For I have been tracking the fairest prize of all, and once Titania is mine...our kingdom shall have a Queen of the Stars."

Merowech breathed deeply. His son was mad. "And you are sure you can...'retrieve' her? How do you know she has not joined with the rest of her kind, among the stars?"

"Absolutely. And I know she lingers still among the wood of The Fair Folk because it delights her so. It excites her to arouse the passions of those she would deny, the Fae, the Elves...the Trolls. It is her pride that chains her to this mortal realm...it is her pride that will keep her in this mortal realm."

King Merowech relented, clearly his son had a better idea of what he was doing than he did. He looked to his Queen, giving her a sympathetic nod. "Very well. It is with a heavy heart that we give our best wishes. Good luck, my son."

Oberon gave an exaggerated bow and flourish of the hands. "Thank you my King and Queen. When I am done, you will both be happy in-laws and grandparents by the deed." As he fluttered his cloak behind him and walked towards the castle doors, he saw someone he did not want to see. The High Priestess of the Star Goddess.

He suppressed a derisive laugh when she came into view. That so many could elevate a simple star maiden into goddess stature struck him as comedy, further reinforcing his view that the masses were all too easily swayed by pomp and circumstance. Fae, being innately beautiful, starved for something beyond them, to be unattainable, and would no doubt pedestalize a rainbow fish were it rare and vivid enough.

She was very attractive by Fae standards, not being burdened by the withering ravages of time such as the race of Men, but still just as mortal, and bound for a final end as anyone else. Like most in her cult, she dressed skimpy, her low cut dress black and studded with stars, in honor of their goddess. She did a glided skip with her wings and delicate feet, her ivory-white globes swaying gently to her graceful movements while her pert ass sat high, her soft cheeks bouncing delectably to her nimble walk, the sleek lines of her buttocks outlined in clinging silk.

The High Priestess's face was a mix unbridled rage and sorrow as she pointed a finger at Oberon. "Murderer! You would consort with our Goddess and take her as your own? The very act would make her mortal!"

Oberon stopped, if only to take in the bountiful swells of her chest, her dress hanging on only by the grace of her upturned nipples. "So?"

"You'll kill her! The moment you embrace her, her life will have an end! Are you so willing to send a Daughter of the Gods back into their heavenly abode?"

The young prince laughed. "Ah, let the Gods thank me then, for the girl is fitter for that place than earth!"

"You mock me!" The High Priestess moved suddenly, slapping the prince across the face, his smile leaving before her fingers had left his cheek.

Oberon had places to go, a maiden to catch, and his good humor had faded. Faster than the eye could see, he backhanded the High Priestess, sending her sprawling down the palace steps before sliding his blade to her neck. "Were you not born so high, I would make a fount of that throat. Do not trouble me."

The High Priestess looked on with horror and indignation, that he had the audacity to defend himself. Who did he think he was? "You...you would threaten a priestess of the Star Goddess!?"

Oberon sheathed his blade, walking over her body as he went for the doors. "I have seen your "Goddess", your grace, and I assure you, she is little more than a strumpet in goddess's clothing. Ponder not her impending mortality, ponder instead how such a being begat her own cult." And with that, the young prince walked out into the bright morning sun.

The High Priestess looked back to the King and Queen in disbelief, hoping the scene would move them to action.

King Merowech shrugged his shoulders. He had more pressing issues than an offended priestess.

***

Oberon held his hand out, letting a butterfly perch on his outstretched finger as he strode through the high grass, their tall, green blades, slicked with dew, lashing against his hide trousers. He was now thoroughly outside the city limits, and as he came into the grassy clearing, he saw his competition.

Other suitors for his fair lady's heart, two men, as young and as eager for her hand as him. One was stocky compared to the other, an actual man of the race of Men. Oberon snorted. So base a being had no business in the matters of a cosmic beauty. The other he regarded wearily. An Elf, and judging by his regalia, a prince too. His light hair and sharp, arrogant face marked him as hailing from Alfheim, and Oberon could not help but notice a little bit of himself in the fellow.

The man was the first to speak, though given his youth, he seemed little more than a boy, a thing much said about Elves and Fae alike. "Hail, Prince Oberon of the Fae!" he extended his hand first, his expression displaying an inappropriate amount of friendliness given their competition. "Welcome to the hunt, I am Gebson!"

Oberon forced a smile, not wishing to associate, much less touch those who were below him, but reciprocated the gesture anyway, figuring it was good practice for when he had to do it for his own people. "Pleasure to make your acquaintance..." he said, his voice saying the exact opposite, which went right over the man's head, but not the Elf, who snickered at the hidden mock. "Your accent...a man of the steppes?"

"Good ear noble prince! Though I was not always so, on my father's side we've got quite the proud history of sea and wetland...pioneering..." his voice trailed off as soon as it became obvious Oberon had lost interest, the prince's gaze now locked on his Elven counterpart. He admired the gregariousness of Men, their open and candid demeanor refreshing in comparison to his pompous and guarded people, but now he had more pressing matters than listening to the idle tales of a fishmonger, such as appraising his royal rival.

The Elf prince betrayed nothing, unfazed as Oberon's diaphanous wings fluttered into view, the morning sun shining through their translucence like living stained glass windows, throwing splashes of deep red light mixed with sapphire onto his earth toned garb. They stared at each other, their steely eyes locked, while Oberon's wings had become deadly still, but still fully extended, both looking like bulls about to lock horns.

Gebson looked at the two ethereal hunters with worry, uncertain if they were about to murder each other. Some dark part of him secretly hoped they would, making his hunt of the star maiden not necessarily easier, but at least at his own pace.

Oberon decided he had had enough tension, there would be plenty enough to go around later in the day. He straightened his posture and folded his wings, but did not extend the royal a hand. "We have not heard your name friend...."

The Elf surprised Oberon, throwing his head back with a hearty laugh before extending his hand. "Of course, where are my manners!? I am Torvil, a simple lord in service to the mighty King Alvor!" Oberon shook his hand, scanning for any traces of underhandedness in his face as Torvil did the same.

Interesting, he thought. A false humility ploy, something he had seen employed with great success among the lords of Men but seldom Elves. Lords were never 'simple', often by virtue of being lords, an Elven lord doubly so, and no Elf would apologize for a lack of anything, much less manners! Oberon couldn't remember the last time he apologized for anything, and then remembered it was because he was never wrong.

Some called him arrogant in the past, but the proud Fae prince simply thought he had a keen sense of self-worth. "I would of thought a lord of Alfheim would have had plenty of eager brides at your beck and call..." Oberon noticed out of the corner of his eye that Gebson had relaxed his tense posture, while Torvil maintained an artificial calm. "Report speaks goldenly of your women."

"As it does yours."

Gebson piped up, not to be outdone. "Hey what about our women!?" Oberon and Torvil both looked at him blankly, saying nothing before returning to their conversation.

"So why the star maiden?" said Oberon, now walking in pace with the Elf, towards the middle of the clearing. "She is as flighty as she is cunning and has led many a noble soul to their death."

Torvil stopped, taking in a sharp breath of the crisp morning air. "I could ask you much the same, knowing that this is your final chance for a mate..." Oberon glared at him. He did not like it when others knew of his affairs. Torvil kept his eyes in the sky, waiting for the moment they all were. "But we both know the answer, why we dance with death, why we buckle fortune on our backs for just one chance...for one woman, of infinite fickle and charm."

"Because she is beautiful." finished Oberon.

Torvil stroked his chin, his fingers in want of beard. "Quite right. 'Tis a curious thing, we higher races hold ourselves above mere Men...but we are more alike than not, we bleed the same, we die the same...whether it be seventy years or seven hundred...but most of all, we love the same, and the very beauty that inspires such love."

Oberon decided he liked this fellow. Perhaps they could have been friends in another life, if they weren't competing for the same woman. Shame the world would be bereft of his light by day's end. "Truly, I can't say I would be moved to such feats of valor were we competing for a loud, bloated harlot, whose beggarly looks matched not her haughty spirit."

Torvil smiled, his exhalation coming out in a puff of steam in the morning air. "Indeed. Let them be hollow so long as they are fair."

"There she is!" shouted Gebson, his muscular arm outstretched as he pointed towards the fading clouds.

In the air they looked, the faintest of silhouettes, and in the light they saw her, just as the last star of night faded before daylight. She was nearly invisible, but for the golden fire of the sun, catching itself in her succulent curves. High on her chest sat full, jutting breasts, reflecting yellowish light around their sleek slopes, currents of illumination outlining her wide hips as she floated down from the sky, while a coquettish smirk graced her face, her eyes like bright stars, with no pupils apparent.

She touched down in front of the three hunters, giving a slight curtsy before assuming a pose of supreme elegance and femininity, not unlike one that a muse would adopt before an adoring artist. She stepped towards them, dancing with inhuman grace in between her steps, as if walking was just another form of flying.

As Oberon was closest, she came up to him first. Her tempting gyrations made his hair stand on ends, his eyes drinking in of the soft, seductive orbs that swayed from her chest, not quite believing the sight of dew drops dripping off her almost invisible skin, the sunlight shining through the drops as easily as it did her. She came up to his ear, her vast, round breasts grazing him by the arm, sending a titillating chill through his body.

"Oooh a prince...Prince Oberon!" she moaned, running her gentle hands around his chest before kissing him on the neck. "Long have you chased me...Lord of the Fae...we shall see if the long years have taught you anything or if you are but another, destined to fall to The Wild Hunt..." she said without a hint of sorrow.

Oberon bristled at her remarks. No man, much less a woman, could question his prowess unscathed. It was a testament to her loveliness that she remained unchecked, while jealousy burned in his heart as she sauntered over to the other hunters.

He looked longingly at her, mesmerized by the twin swells of her round ass cheeks, the daylight outlining their supple curves exquisitely. She danced in front of Gebson, giggling as she bobbed her head in front of his concealed manhood, the imagined gesture having the desired effect of arousing the human while stirring envy in the other two.

Gebson felt helpless as her sexual aura numbed his body. She was far more beautiful than he could have imagined. He groaned when she rose up from her mock fellatio, feeling the irresistible softness of her enormous breasts skim against his chest, her hard nipples creating a pleasurable dragging sensation as she finally came up to his face.

Her eyes, despite being glowing orbs, still elicited emotions from the young man, his primal instinct to protect and hold a woman all but overpowering his ability to think rationally. "Ahh...you are so brave to have come to me...a Man of the East...to take me as your bride would be a feat for the ages!" Gebson could only sigh in agreement, hearing her chuckle as he was completely taken with the slow, rhythmic heaving of her luscious breasts, watching beads of moisture twist and stream around her sensual flesh.

"You are a speck to me, a mayfly to my dragon, competing against my multiple lifetimes of experience...and still you follow...even to your doom..." She put her hands around his head, giving him a gentle kiss on the lips. "Good luck my champion."

As she dropped her hands away and flitted over to Torvil, Gebson felt like he had just fallen from heaven. Oberon snickered at the dead stare Gebson exhibited. While Men were never taken for The Wild Hunt like the Fae or Elves, once being kissed by a star maiden, they were forever smitten. No pleasure could ever compare, often dedicating their lives for five minutes of bliss rather than a lifetime of contentment back home, most going mad or killing themselves in their eternal chase for beauty.

Titania was most generous with Torvil in her affections, letting the Elf prince hold her by the bottom as she reclined in his grasp, her thin waist accentuating the hefty globes of her glowing breasts. Oberon and Gebson both were tempted to take her down now, but until the sun reached its apex, she would be free to fly away. This was the one day where she would be forced to the ground.

Torvil had a hard time reconciling dream and reality as he held her, relishing the feeling of his hands sliding against her moist, silken skin, his fingers slowly gliding along the edges of her chest to the inviting opulence of her breasts. Just as his finger tips were about to sink into her ripe peaks she left his grasp, and wrapped one of her legs around him as she kissed him on the forehead.