Once upon a time,
before the girl ate the peach and toppled a kingdom,
before the fearsome maze was built,
there lived a prince who wanted a child.
This is his story.
Jareth, High Prince of the Badlands and expecting father paced restlessly in the stone corridor as another agonizing feminine scream ripped through the air. He kept his hands clasped firmly behind his back to prevent himself from doing something irrational. If the pose also happened to keep his hands from shaking, well, that was all the better. After all of those years of heartbreak and desperation, he was finally going to be a father.
When he had first been betrothed to his cousin Anais, he had been naïve and over-confident. The match was a smart one in many ways; the marriage strengthened the alliance between their somewhat strained respective kingdoms, he and his bride-to-be were friendly enough that assassination attempts were relatively unlikely, and the union of their fair features and formidable powers was sure to produce strong heirs.
He had been so certain that they would be compatible, that the first child would be produced within a matter of months following the binding ceremony. Surely long lines of intermarried noble blood from each parent would only increase the power of the child, even more with royal blood, comprised of only the purest lineage. He had been wrong. The years following the binding dragged on, marked not in months but in miscarriages. Each new flowerbed in his garden tore a matching hole in his battered heart.
This child, though, had survived. For the first time in half a century, he began to hope.
"Please," he whispered fervently to any God who would listen. "Please let this child live."
Another hair-raising scream gave way to the most beautiful sound the prince had ever heard; the squalling of an infant. Immediately, he bolted to the huge oak door, pressing his ear against it in earnest. Had he imagined it? No, there it was again, the sound of his newborn heir taking his or her first breaths and announcing their presence to the world.
He sprang back as one of the haggard looking midwives opened the door to the birthing chamber with a tired look and a murmured, "Your Majesty," as he nearly shoved her in his haste to see his wife and child.
Truthfully, Jareth had to fight back a gag as the odors of blood and sweat assaulted him, amplified by the fire blazing cheerfully in the corner, lit to chase away harmful energies in the room. Childbirth was a messy business, but thankfully his bride looked well. Exhausted, but she would survive; a second miracle bestowed upon him that day. She smiled up at him and he stroked tangled hair back from her sweat slicked forehead before placing a tender kiss upon it. "You did very well, my dear," he said affectionately.
Another midwife presented him with a wriggling bundle and the High Prince hesitated. Though he tried very hard not to show it, he was nervous to hold this fragile new life. After all of the struggles that they had been through to get to this point, what if he did something wrong? Thankfully, the midwife understood his situation, having seen many a new father behave in the same way. Gently, she instructed his arms into the proper position before placing his heir in them with a murmured encouragement. A pink face that looked squished in distaste peeked through the blankets and looked at him blankly. It was at that moment that Jareth fell in love for the very first time.
"A son, my Prince," the midwife said. "Congratulations." Jareth nodded regally, pressing a kiss to the baby's warm forehead. "My son, my heir, my Bartholomew."
The fae are, on the whole, a capricious lot afflicted with an unparalleled sense of vanity. Jareth was both of these things, most of the time. He took pride in his meticulous grooming, his hair long and shining like the sun, with nary a blemish on his fair skin. The prince knew he was beautiful, and had always assumed his perfection would pass on to his children. Bartholomew was perfect, too…in his own way. With each passing day, Jareth loved his son more and more. In almost equal measure, his wife's resentment of the babe grew as well.
Magic could work a great many miracles, but no matter the potions, spells or charms the High Prince worked, even he in all his great power could not change the fact that his beloved heir, his miracle child, had simply been born different.
He was a beautiful baby, having inherited his parent's looks. He sported wild tufts of blonde hair and wide blue eyes that while lovely, would never carry that cunning spark. His legs had also been deformed; thin, weak and unable to carry his weight. His little Bartholomew was special. Jareth adored him, accepting his son's unique circumstances and understanding the depths of unconditional love. Anais, however, did not.
Bartholomew scooted along happily on the magically enhanced walking device Jareth had fashioned for him when it had become apparent that the heir would never support his own body entirely. A tricky piece of magic, the walker had a harness that wrapped around the boy's waist and supported his weight just enough that Bartholomew could walk while still requiring the muscle groups to propel him along and prevent them from wasting away. It was connected to a larger frame that both prevented him from falling or running into things and gave him a source of balance.
Bartholomew made his way over to the chair that his mother sat upon, reaching for her with one arm extended, the other planted firmly on his walker, swaying only slightly. "Mama," he called out happily.
Anais slapped his hand away smartly. "Get away from me, you little beast," she snapped. Her young son may not have fully understood the words, but he had gotten the message loud and clear. At four years old, he may not have possessed the same mental capacity of others his age, but he knew when he was unwanted. His wide blue eyes pooled with tears and he began to cry great heaving sobs.
Jareth reached for him, plucking his son out of his walker and cuddling his small body close. "It's all right, my darling, Daddy's here." When Bartholomew quieted, Jareth turned a poisonous look to his wife.
"He is your son, Anais: our son. At least pretend you have a heart."
Anais looked bored. "He will never be king. You should have let me drown him the moment we knew he was simple. That stupid little… goblin is not my son." She looked at him appraisingly. "You know, we could always steal a beautiful mortal baby and leave him as a changeling." Her eyes glittered with want and her mouth curved up at the edges in a smile she had never spared for her only child. "It would be so easy. So much better to have a beautiful human boy than a disfigured idiot for a son."
The High Prince swallowed his rage with effort. He would not shout with Bartholomew in his arms, but it was a near thing. He took a long breath to compose himself as best he could. "You are a shallow, useless trollop whose only use to me was begetting an heir. Do not forget your place here," he said, his voice soft and deadly. "Strike my son again and you will regret it, Anais," he vowed.
She laughed. "Jareth, you can't be serious. I'm your wife; surely you aren't suggesting that the child is worth more to you than I?" The tightening of her eyes as she asked meant that she already suspected the answer. Jareth said nothing, merely kissed Bartholomew's cheek as he glared at Anais.
She pursed her lips, gave them both a long look, and stormed out of the room.
Later that night, Anais came into Jareth's bedchamber wearing nothing but a thin bit of silk. For the past several months they had been sleeping in separate chambers. Out of respect for their marriage (albeit strained) he had declined from taking other lovers, though he had never been certain that his wife had observed the same restraint. To see her in his bedroom after such a large fight over Bartholomew made Jareth suspicious. Anais had never been the "forgive and forget" kind, and her vengeance was usually terrible. Unfortunately, she was still his wife.
"May I be of service to you, my prince?" she purred, sashaying towards him with heat in her eyes.
"Anais, what are you doing?" Jareth asked bluntly. His frank question seemed to throw her off base slightly as she frowned at him. Quickly, she masked it once more with her most seductive look.
"I have grown lonely these long months without you, my prince," she said. "I have come to make amends and rekindle our love." She crawled on the bed, distracting Jareth momentarily as she kissed him fiercely.
She was unbuttoning his shirt when he grabbed her hands and held them still. He sighed. "I know what you're trying to do, Anais, but I won't give you another child to abuse like you do Bartholomew."
She looked up at him sharply and frowned deeply. "You know he can't rule, Jareth," she said reasonably. "Even if he made his way to a throne, he would never survive. You need an heir."
He tightened his grip on her hands and clenched his jaw. Secretly, he knew she was right, but that didn't stop him from wanting her to understand that Bartholomew deserved her love just as much as any other child he may give her. "I won't lay with you, Anais," he said firmly.
He expected anger. He expected threats. What he hadn't expected was for Anais to look at him with tears in her eyes. "Why not?" she asked softly. "Am I not desirable enough for you? Have I not been a good wife to you? Why do I not deserve the love you give to freely to Bartholomew, and instead receive only your scorn?" Her bottom lip trembled, but no tears had fallen yet. "If it is as you say and I am nothing to you but a vessel to carry your heirs, then why do you deny me the only thing that can earn me back your affection?"
Looking into those eyes so like his son's, Jareth felt an uncomfortable twinge of remorse in his chest. He enfolded her in his arms and pulled her into a tight embrace. "Anais, you are my wife, not a brood mare." He couldn't tell her he loved her, because his kind couldn't lie, so instead he rubbed soothing circles into her back. "I care for you, Anais, but I cannot abide the way you treat our son. I will not try for a second child until the first has a proper mother."
She shoved away from him, her face pinched in anger. "What a selfish thing to do," she spat. "Bartholomew has plenty of caretakers; let one of them be his mother and give me the child that I want!" She was getting agitated now, her magic beginning to stir. "It's not like he would even know the difference! HE IS NOT MY SON! GIVE ME A PROPER BABY!" she screeched.
It happened so fast, Jareth hardly registered what he had done until it was too late. First there was the soft thud of a body hitting the floor and a feminine gasp. Anais glared at him from the floor, her hand cradling the side of her face that was rapidly darkening and blossoming into a bruise. He had just struck his wife. His gloved hand was still raised, and he withdrew it as if he had been burned. Immediately contrite, Jareth reached for her, "Anais, I'm so sorry, please—"
"Don't come near me." Her tone was deadly. As gracefully as she could manage, she stood, letting her hand fall to her side and letting him see the damage he had inflicted on his own wife. Her eye was beginning to swell as the imprint of the back of his hand stood out in stark relief to her pale skin. Shame engulfed him and he felt his stomach plummet.
"Anais, I—"
Before he could even finish his sentence, she had disappeared, leaving him alone with his guilt. How had they come to this?
The sound of his bedroom doors crashing open startled the prince from sleep as a wide-eyed nanny burst into his room. "Your majesty," she gasped. "Come quick, it's the little prince!"
Immediately, Jareth bolted from his bed. "What happened?" he demanded as he loomed over the quaking young woman. She pointed towards the nursery, but couldn't seem to get her words out fast enough. He pushed past her and raced to his son's side, only to find the nursery's ornate doors locked tightly shut.
Inside, he heard Bartholomew's crying mixed with the growls of what sounded like a wild animal. Jareth pounded on the door. "Bartholomew! Stand back," he yelled. Taking a small step back, he threw a crystal at the door in an attempt to unlock it without effect. The second crystal exploded the door into a pile of splinters at his feet. He rushed in, only to stop dead in his tracks.
There, sitting on their son's small bed, was Anais, looking unaffected as she looked up at him, the bruise he had given her the night before covering nearly half of her face. On the floor, whimpering piteously, was a creature with dark brown leathery skin, gnarled horns and ugly yellow claws instead of hands. The creature's ears were oversized for it's head and pointed like that of a horse, sticking directly outward. Little fangs poked from its small mouth, but when Jareth saw those wide blue eyes, his heart dropped.
Jareth found that he could not breathe. Helplessly, and through tear filled eyes, he looked down to the small creature's legs, which, sure enough, were too small and underdeveloped for its body. His hands trembled and he looked at his wife. "What have you done?" he asked, ignoring the hysterical edge to his voice.
She brushed away imaginary dust on her dress. "Isn't it obvious? I cursed him. Turned him into the beastly little goblin he is. You have no choice but to give me another child, a true heir."
Jareth was shaking with rage. "Turn him back this instant, Anais, or I will have you executed, treaty or no."
His wife looked up at him with a wicked glint in the blue eyes she had given Bartholomew. "You can't kill me; I'm the only one who knows how to turn him back. I won't do anything until you give me a real child."
He lunged for her, wrapping his hands around her neck. "Tell me," he demanded. She smiled and Jareth squeezed her neck viciously, until her face was a mottled red color, the bruise almost unnoticeable against the frightening color.
At the last moment, Jareth's resolve broke. He released her. "Get out of my sight, Anais," he said with barely disguised hatred before snapping his fingers and transporting her to the dungeons.
Suddenly exhausted, Jareth slumped off the bed and onto the floor of the nursery. Bartholomew half-crawled, half-dragged himself over to his father, reaching out for comfort as he tried to speak through his new body. The voice that did come out was rough, but familiar. "Dada?"
Jareth scooped his son up and cradled him close, tears falling down his cheeks as he cried bitterly. He ignored the painful pricks of his son's new claws, and the way his tough, leathery skin felt so different from the soft baby skin he was used to. "Oh Bartholomew, Daddy loves you very much," he said softly. "We will fix this, my darling, I promise."
"Son, I'm so sorry, but there's nothing I can do," the High King said.
"But, Father," Jareth protested, "surely you can't be suggesting that I give in to her demands?" The High Prince had come to his parents' court in the hope that his father would be able to give him counsel on what to do with his treacherous wife and their afflicted son.
"Jareth, despite her behavior towards Bartholomew, Anais is correct. He cannot assume the throne; you need a true heir. As your wife, it is her right and responsibility to give you one."
Jareth spoke through gritted teeth. "What she did goes beyond 'bad behavior,' Father, she cursed my son. He is a goblin because of her." Finding no mercy from his father, he looked to his mother for help.
The Queen sighed, placing one hand to her temple in a display of weary resignation. "Jareth, perhaps it's for the best. Every healer in the kingdom has done everything they could think of to help poor Bartholomew and nothing has helped. Anais said she would be happy with a changeling. After all of the heartbreak you went through to have Bartholomew, perhaps a new baby is exactly what you need to fix things with your wife."
Jareth could hardly believe what he was hearing. "Neither of you even care if Bartholomew lives or dies, do you?" he asked incredulously. "He is my son. No matter what he looks like, no matter how he was born, that does not change the fact that he is mine and I love him."
The High King and Queen shared a look. "Jareth, we wish there was something we could do for Bartholomew, but there isn't," the King said firmly. "You will be King one day, and you need an heir. Bartholomew will never be a suitable replacement to rule our people. I know you are upset with her right now, but Anais is your wife and our kingdom cannot afford the fallout if the two of you dissolve the treaty your marriage sealed. You need to do what is best for our people."
Jareth looked as though his father had just slapped him. "Father…"
The King was resolute. "That is my final word, boy."
The Prince pursed his lips but said nothing, disappearing in a cloud of magic, appearing outside of Anais's cell with stormclouds in his eyes.
She looked terrible after weeks in the dungeons. She was as vain as her husband, so Jareth was certain that the knowledge that he had seen her in this state had stung almost as badly as being put down here in the first place. Her skin and dress were dirty, and her face had begun to look gaunt. Her long blonde hair that usually shined was now matted and tangled. Anais curled forward and hid her face in her filthy hands.
Her voice was muffled from her position. "Jareth, please, don't look at me."
"Anais," he said, his voice colored with glamor "tell me how to change back our son," he offered her a crystal, "and I will let you out." He watched as, almost against her will, she inched forward until her face was illuminated by the brightness of the crystal. She reached for it and Jareth neatly lifted it out of her grasp.
Her resolve returned once the bait was out of sight. "Not until you give me a child. You can't keep me here forever; my father will know and send his vast armies to kill you."
He gave her a measured look, rolling his wrist and causing the crystal to disappear. Carefully, he adjusted his long gloves. A thought came to him then, and he gave his wife a chilling smile. "We shall see."
Hello my dear readers! I hope you enjoyed this little piece. There will likely be two more installments, though I can't promise how soon.
As always, please tell me what you thought! Loved it? Hated it? Concrit is welcome, as are questions, remarks, and just about anything else you would like to contribute.
Until next time,
Chaotic-Masterpiece