Jareth stood beside the table covered with books that lay strewn about in disarray. He leaned over the table and stared at a small cube, his brow furrowed in concentration. After what seemed to him like hours of watching the object in complete silence, it began to transform. Its sides elongated and became more rounded, but just as he thought he had it, his concentration broke and the cube snapped back to its original shape.
"It's not working, Tyran. This is impossible!" the man standing beside Jareth sighed in frustration.
"I agree, young master Jareth. It is most assuredly impossible…as long as you continue to break concentration. You become too over-confident."
The schoolmaster had been trying to teach the 6-year-old prince transformations for weeks now, but the boy just couldn't seem to grasp it. It didn't help that he was a little terror. All Fae were naturally mischievous, but Prince Jareth put all the others to shame with his antics. It seemed the child would much rather be hiding spiders in palace visitors' bedsheets than learn the basics of magic. And nothing the schoolmaster said or did to discipline him ever seemed to help. The only person Jareth would behave for was his father and mother, High King Orrin and Queen Alessandra. The boy loved his mother and would often show her affection by bringing her flowers or presents he had made. But his father he obeyed out of fear, and even that was beginning to dwindle. Prince Jareth was still a young child, but he was already beginning to rebel against his father's orders.
"Can I take a break? I've been here all day," Jareth whined.
"No, you may not, your highness. You had a break not twenty minutes ago. Now, you will concentrate as I have taught you, and you will transform this cube into a daisy. Try again."
Jareth gave a dramatic sigh and turned back to the cube. But once again, his efforts were fruitless. After several minutes of trying, he finally picked up the cube and threw it across the room before turning to Tyran with a look of arrogance that hid his frustration.
"I refuse to practice any longer. I'm going outside."
The schoolmaster was fuming. He took the boy by the arm and began to pull him towards the library door.
"Your father will not be pleased to hear of your behavior, your highness."
"Unhand me, right now!" Jareth yelled, his anger turning to rage at being forced to move against his will.
"I'll unhand you when we reach the King's study," Tyran said.
Jareth tugged against the schoolmaster's grip with all his might, but couldn't break free.
"If you had just put some effort into your task and /tried/ you /could/ be playing outside right now. All you had to do was make a transformation, your highness."
Jareth stomped his foot in rage as he continued to try to break free.
"You want me to make a transformation? Fine! I'll make a transformation." With that, the schoolmaster's silver hair turned into a cat…a very angry cat. Jareth took advantage of Tyran's loosened grip to break free and run down the hall and out of the palace, leaving the man to deal with his new hat.
The young prince was so distracted, he didn't know where he was going, and before long he found himself at the top of a hill outside the city. He had unconsciously come to his favorite place. He dropped to the ground and leaned against the lone tree on the hill, fuming at the unfairness of it all.
After a while, he began to calm down. He sighed as he lay on the ground and looked up at the darkening sky. He would have to go back soon and face his father's wrath, but for just a bit longer, he would stay here in the calm twilight.
Meanwhile, Tyran had finally removed the cat's sharp claws from his head, but the foul thing had run off through the castle and out of sight. The schoolmaster made his way to the nearest mirror to assess the damage. He had several scratches covering his now bare head. Once again the boy had let his emotions get the better of him. Tyran did not relish having to tell the King of his son's latest infraction.
He sighed in defeat. The prince had hurt both his head and his pride, and his hair had just scampered away in search of the nearest mouse. But at least Jareth had accomplished a transformation, and Tyran counted that as a small victory.