'These Are the Days of Our Lives'
Chapter One
* * * * * * * *
Sometimes I get to feelin'
I was back in the old days-long ago.
When we were kids,
When we were young
Things seemed so perfect-you know?
* * * * * * * *
There were days, many as a matter of fact, when life felt as if it was all a constant
struggle. To continue would be only torture, and to end it all, that would be the sublime
ecstasy that he had searched out for so long. However, to end one's existence was far
easier to think about, to allow the mind to dwell on the possibilities, than actually bring the
final stroke of that shimmering dagger.
Nonetheless, when days seemed so endless, and he was bothered by constant
problems and calls that drifted through the open windows and into the castle, he could
almost make himself pick up his dagger and shed this destructive existence.
Jareth glanced at the knife beside him, resting mockingly only inches from his
hand. Yet, it knew as well as the king himself, that there would be no bloodshed, at least
not his. Firstly, as far as Jareth knew, he was immortal, and so a simple dagger would not
kill him, nor would many other normally fatal things.
"What did I believe I could do, becoming king, tossing Cyria aside as if she were
useless?" Jareth questioned himself.
At the mere mention of the vile queen's name he shivered with an anger that still
raged within his entire being. Jareth's soul was blackened from the never-dying hate,
which burned as a wildfire, eating the remains of his humanity. Soon Jareth would be little
more than Cyria, cold and cruel.
At that time, on that day, and staring at the glint of the silver blade so very near to
his hand, Jareth felt nothing of his future emotionless years, but rather found himself so
lost in a position better suited for one of more experience. He was barely past his twenty
second year, and already was expected to govern the land as Cyria had.
A crowd of goblins that had been chasing a scroungy feline about the throne room,
stopped at the sound of a gentle female voice ringing through the entire castle. Their ugly
faces nearly beamed with happiness at the thought of the fun and games to come. It
always grew joyful in the castle, when a baby was about. It would mean that the king
would be occupied, and most would be safe from his vicious temper.
Jareth himself glanced out towards the warm Underground day, as if watching the
tender, youthful voice riding the wind currents through the sky. He knew very well what
the voice asked of him, and also understood that there was no denying such a call as this.
It was written in ancient Underground law, something he had only just learned about, and
could not be broken no matter what the circumstances.
With a great sigh, he rose with fluid grace from the throne he had since then
lounged upon. Jareth stretched, his immaculately white poet's shirt flowing about him as
it caught a breeze drifting in from the near-by window. The attire was all fine and well for
remaining in the castle, but there was much to do with the girl who had wished her sibling
away. So, the clothing would have to change before he took flight to the mortal world.
Jareth produced a crystal, something he had learned quickly when Cyria had first
taken him in. The magical orb had seemed so amazing the first few times, but quickly lost
their awe-striking quality when he had been forced to conjure thousands just to do the
most menial tricks. Surely all this was quite pointless, but it had been the way he was
taught, and Jareth doubted very much if there were any other sorceresses around who
cared to inform the great Goblin King of a more practical way to perform magic.
With a flash of brilliant white light that erupted throughout the entire room the
crystal exploded. A fine spray of crushed gems, sparkling like mad in the filtering rays of
sunlight that fought their way through the magical mist, cascaded down to the floor, and
immediately disappeared to nothingness the next moment.
"What a mistake you have made little girl," Jareth stated, smiling slyly as he
glanced at his reflection in the mirror.
His entire figure spoke of royalty and nothing more. Even his features, so very
handsome, and also wild beyond explanation, struck a noble appearance. He threw his
black leather cape over his shoulders and spun about; ready to venture to the human realm
and claim the baby that was now rightfully his. A smirk covered his thin lips as he strode
quickly over to the window in order to take flight.
With a resounding snap of his leather cape, he broke from the castle's stone floor.
Jareth's body morphed, molding in the snowy white form of the owl, which bore him
upwards and into the brilliant morning sky.
* * * * * * * *
Ah, when it was over and done, and he sat again in the throne, a new goblin his
only prize for conquering the feeble-minded girl, that was when the wandering of his
thoughts resumed. Jareth would gaze into the filtering light of day, as it broke from the
night cover, and remember how the sunrise and sunset had once been... how it had once
affected him so many years ago.
Those were the times when he felt most alone, and he wished only for human
companionship among the hordes of ugly cretins that crawled the dirty ground. Jareth
knew better than to venture to villages in his reign, for the utter fear that all had held
concerning the Goblin Queen, had just as quickly transferred as Jareth became ruler. He
would only create uneasiness, should he tour the countryside.
It was in that frame of mind when he also allowed himself to reminisce, to recall
just how events came about to lead him to this place, the old castle with useless followers
making a mess of everything, no matter how he struggled to keep order. He had been
used, had been tricked, and had had his youthful heart ripped from his chest and
completely crushed upon the cold, craggy rocks of reality.
But in his mind, and in his dreams, he could return to his love... his one true love.
It was true also that Jareth could have any woman he so pleased, mortal or otherwise, but
found none to his liking. Mortals lacked the interest of the regal inhabitants of
neighboring kingdoms, while those aforementioned nobilities were shallow and petty. He
was lost in a web of entangled rules, regulations, and found himself helpless to do anything
but find solace in fantasies.
"Shayna," he whispered the name of his beloved, the single woman to who he had
offered his heart....
... And she had died. At the hands of the jealous Goblin Queen. Shayna had been
brutally forced into her suicide, precluding the destruction of Jareth's entire village by only
a few scarce minutes. His rise to power and dismay had been signaled by the death of
hundreds.
But even with the souls of all those who had fallen due to his thoughtless actions,
Jareth could not dwell on the sorrow. He felt, instead, his wandering mind slowly slip into
waters of sweetest nectar, those that reflected the image of his once love... his most
beautiful lady, his Shayna.
The goblins stopped momentarily as they looked, their dulled eyes brightening only
slightly, at their King's far away gaze. All activity, and chaotic movements ceased, and a
silence of serenity ensued with the daydreams of Jareth's. In that heartbeat's of a moment
it seemed that the past could return.
Then the noise began, and the reality replaced that feeling of perfection and utter
magic. Those lost remained so, and those hurt stayed that way as well. It was only in
Jareth's mind, as vivid images began to unfold that he was young and happy again, and his
community thrived, and Shayna, his lovely Shayna, still lived...
* * * * * * * *
The music crescendoed as the dancers beneath the brightly lit lanterns increased
the momentum of the dance. Their feet moved in frenzy, and strangely enough, none
collided as they dashed about, seemingly in a chaotic stupor. However, in some disjointed
way, they were in unison, and moved like silken liquids in the pools of colors from the
illumination overhead.
He watched, separated from the festivities as he always was. The town rejoiced on
his behalf, in the center square, before the grand manor that he shared with his father,
mother and baby sister. Despite the joy that was found so evident in the faces of every
townsperson, Jareth could not share in their elation, not when his life... which he
considered governed only by himself... had been suddenly taken completely from his
control.
"Jareth, boy, join the celebration! Many more are here to wish you well with your
future wife," the gruff, stentorian voice from his father carried across the crowd and
through the blaring music.
Jareth merely nodded in the vague direction of his father, noting that he heard the
man very well and only chose to remain of his own accord. There was no fight, for his
parents could care less about their son, while they were mingling through the social circuit
of traveling nobles and fellow members of their quaint village.
He sighed deeply and jumped down from his perch atop a section of wall, which
enclosed his estate entirely, on all sides, save the arched entryway. He landed with the
grace of a cat, and slowly walked away from the noise, the gaiety, and the entire mob of
well-wishers altogether. There was no need for his presence.
His blonde locks of hair hung about his face, framing Jareth's noble, aquiline
features in a halo of strung gold. The contrasting shades of his eyes bore deeply through
the darkness of the night, as the light from the gathering decreased rapidly. He was a
nobleman, born and bred, from his stance, to his clothing, and his general atmosphere.
Still, it seemed that there was some other destiny to be wrought, aside from pre-arranged
marriages and inheritance of vast estate.
"Jareth!"
"The devil does not sleep well tonight," Jareth whispered to himself as he turned to
great the oncoming shape of a young woman.
He smiled benevolently enough, and bowed with a grand arc of his arm. He
remained that way for a brief moment and rose, his eyes flashing with the rainbow hues of
the lanterns not far in the distance, down the dirt path. His gaze was met by stunning
red-head, who would be quite the catch, had she had a shred of personality.
He offered her his arm, which she took with a smug grin upon her pursed lips. She
continued with him, silent, but brooding over the collar of his satin jacket, plucking stray
pieces of his flowing mane from the navy material. Jareth ignored it, to the best of his
ability, even as she swept her hand across his chest, smoothing any imperfections from his
clothing.
"Daddy will be most pleased by how you appear tonight, Jareth," she whispered,
turning her face up and towards his own.
He looked at her, and noted that her face was slightly too full, her eyes only a trace
too wide, and her nose scantly too broad. Her comment went unnoticed as he tracked
down vague reasons supporting his general dislike for his fiancée. Adriana waited
patiently, but soon realized that an answer to her statement would not come.
"I came to tell you that everyone is asking about you, Jareth. I only care about
you, about how others think.... about you," she finished, trying to make her dead voice
appear concerned, something Jareth himself was most certain she would never feel,
besides for herself.
He stopped walking and gestured back towards the celebration. Adriana did not
understand the reason for his pausing, and stepped away briefly, her eyes drilling into his,
almost overpowering in their accusatory appearance.
"Some are not worth saving, my dear. I feel ill, tell them what you will, but I must
be alone for now," Jareth remarked, and turned without another word to his miffed
betrothed.
She would have remained there a while, alone on the dirt path, beside the dimmed
houses, and stables that lined the road. However, before he even began to turn around the
bend, toward the stables, where he found few hours of solace in the horrid coarse of each
day, Adriana was heading back to the party, forming explanations for Jareth's departure in
her mind.
One could not look poorly.
He merely scoffed at such a shallow perspective. There was so much more to life
than... appearance, reputation, petty regulations concerning status of birth. He could not
name the countless other instances where the outcome was infinitely more consequential
than what another might think about some poor actions.
Jareth turned down the darkened path, which lead directly to his stables. He
would not ride, not in his current frame of mind. His tension would merely serve to
aggravate his mount. No, instead he came to find his peace among the gentle sounds of
the equine residents, as they ate their supper, and lay down in fresh bedding.
Yet, fate would not allow the disastrous night to end with such simplicity. Instead
the flash of whiteness around the corner of the wooden stable caught his eye. Surely it
was a child, wandering the streets, or youngsters playing a fruitful game of tag while their
parents spent time boring themselves.
Jareth nearly ignored the sight, but found his curiosity mounting. He rushed past
the double doors, which led into the stable, and raced around the corner, again only
receiving a fleeting glance at the pristine white train of some peasant's dress. A sly grin
touched his arced lips, and mischief flashed in his eyes.
Without hesitation, and though, Jareth raced back the way he had come.
However, he vaulted easily over the wall surrounding that half of the stable, and raced
across the green grass that served as pasture for their horses. He turned once more,
winding his way between houses of lower class members of their village, and at last burst
into the street.
The white apparition skidded to a halt, but for all her attempts at stopping, she still
collided with Jareth. He staggered backwards, and soon lost all balance, and fell to the
ground, the woman toppling atop him. She did not mutter some useless form of apology,
but rather beat upon his chest, as if Jareth was an attacker, and yelled at the top of her
lungs.
Jareth clapped his hand over her mouth, still unable to see who was lying upon
him. However, he could not be found in so compromising a situation with a young lady,
when his fiancée was only a few minutes from his current place.
"Hush, if you wish not to..." his words were abruptly cut off as her teeth sunk into
the flesh of his palm.
Jareth recoiled, fast enough to send her slipping entirely to the ground, as he leapt
to his feet. He gripped his injured hand to his chest, and watched in anger, as the vile
wench threw back her long, thick mane of hair. Her white dress was no longer so, for
now it had stained with the dirt of the road.
It was then that his heartbeat leapt into his throat, as their eyes met for the first
time. It was, perhaps, love at first sight, but neither would so admit it to the other, not
yet, in fear of what would be said. She was frozen, kneeling on the ground, and Jareth
remained poised, head cocked, and hand clutched tightly with his other.
She broke the awkwardness of the moment with a single shriek of horrifying
revelation. The lovely, breathtaking vision of a woman shook her head, tears streaming
down her perfect cheeks.
"I'm sorry my lord, forgive me, I did not know," she whispered, her voice hitching
as Jareth managed to approach her.
He said nothing, but rather offered his hand to aid her to her feet. He watched her
move, with the same grace that he had exhibited earlier. However, in the cloth so very
white (or what had once been the pristine color) she seemed more like a swan. Each
movement was perfection crafted into flesh.
"It is I, who should beg forgiveness, my lady. Tell me, I have never met you since
tonight, so what is your name?" he inquired, their gaze locked upon each other.
She paused for a moment, perhaps realizing what was happening, and the
repercussions of such a problem as was forming between them. Then, casting aside her
previous thought, she threw worries to the wind.
"I am Shayna O'Leary, my lord."
* * * * * * * * *
From his mesmerized state in the present, thinking back upon this meeting, the
Goblin King uttered a single sentence, which, once more, caught the goblins dwindling
attention.
"And you would have been my wife."