A/N - I found a snippet of poetry on Pinterest that reminded me of a Fanfiction I wrote a very long time ago for Labyrinth. I've got a soft spot for The Goblin King, always have. This one-shot carries sentimental value for me because it reminds me that I've always been passionate about writing even though I haven't always been proficient at it. To that end, this little blast from the past has been through the car wash, so it's nice and shiny now. Enjoy.
Victory comes late—
And is held low to freezing lips—
Too rapt with frost
To take it—
How sweet it would have tasted—
Just a Drop—
Emily Dickinson
A full, pale moon shone in the cloud-smattered sky as the white owl glided over the kingdom, thunder rolling overhead. Far below him lay a magically complex ever-changing magical maze. The Labyrinth. No stars would shine this night, despite how hard they tried to twinkle through the thickening cloud cover. The atmosphere was thick with the scent of oncoming rain.
A screech echoed through the air, carried on the wind, echoing in every corner of the kingdom, before the elegant creature dropped into a deadly dive, headed straight for the highest tower of the castle, as slow, heavy rain started to drip through the skies, landing on his taut feathered wingtips.
The night had begun like many more before it, a crying babe, an almost-wish, but alas – it was not to be. The Goblin King had taken flight to the Aboveground at the first inkling, the whispers carried on the winds to his ears. Whispers of malcontent, dark magic waiting for the right words that never came, but he made the trip anyway. Just in case. It was better than the sound of his boots against paved stone as he paced through an empty castle.
As if the humiliation of defeat were not enough, as if rejection's sting didn't still hold its sway – then coming home to a depressingly empty castle reached the crest of his disappointment, battering his fragile emotions with relentless cruelty. Goblin Kings have feelings too, you know.
Still, he endured it. Relished it, almost. A fitting punishment, for a fitting failure.
As he flew elegantly through the open window of his chambers, feathers melted into leather, white into black, and he strode purposefully towards the floor-length mirror that occupied an entire corner of his bedroom. Removing one glove, touching a bare finger to the cold, smooth surface, an image rippled into view. A brightly lit room, a fox, a dwarf, a great hairy beast, a large multitude of his goblin horde, a game of scrabble, a pile of brown cardboard boxes, and… Sarah.
She was wearing pink pyjama pants, a white singlet and her long brown hair was pulled away from her face, into a neat braid. He hated her hair like that, tame and boring.
"Sarah, it's bedtime," he heard a female voice call from somewhere beyond the room. Moments later, a woman, also dressed in pyjamas, tentatively entered Sarah's room, with a soft knock. He would know her voice anywhere, for it echoed in Sarah's dreamscape. Her stepmother.
"I'm sorry, I lost track of the time," Sarah insisted. The unseen goblins were enamoured by the woman's fluffy slippers.
"Are you playing scrabble by yourself?" the woman asked.
"I'm brushing up on my skills, so I can destroy Dad when we play at Thanksgiving," Sarah lied.
"Oh, all right then," the woman said with a smile. "Go to bed, dear. It's a big day tomorrow. Your first day of high school."
"Yeah," Sarah responded dejectedly, offering a sad smile to… Froggle? Grovel? That damn dwarf who grew a conscience and sought to betray his King because the pretty girl smiled at him and gave him a worthless, plastic bracelet.
The unseen creatures moaned softly in disappointment, and with a flick of his wrist, the embittered Goblin King sent them all flying through Sarah's dresser mirror and straight into the Bog of Eternal Stench.
Their cries were music to his hears. Summoning a crystal, he witnessed them fall into the festering swamp. The great beast, Ludo, landed on the foreshore, making a perfect soft landing for Sir Didymus, the noblest creature of the Underground. In hindsight, Jareth was pleased to have not physically harmed him, for the crafty fox had served his family for three generations. Sentiment aside, Sir Didymus still helped lead Sarah to the castle during her Labyrinth run, and he could not forgive that betrayal. Not for some time, at least.
Perhaps another century of bog banishment could do wonders for his sense of mercy and forgiveness.
Back in the Aboveground, Sarah's stepmother left the room, that previously bustling space now devoid of life. The moment that door closed, Sarah turned to her dresser mirror, the portal that stole her friends away. Jareth found himself staring at her for longer than he would have liked, relishing the emotions flickering across her face. Shock, disappointment, then a steely resolve settled on her features. "Your eyes can be so cruel," he whispered in a sing-song voice, to himself.
She suspected him to be responsible for breaking up her party.
Jareth wanted to step through the mirror himself and tell her to grow up, to forget about her mutinous friends, to stop calling his subjects into her world – if he couldn't have her, then why should they?
But he could not come unless called, and clever Sarah had been guarded with her words. He imagined her perfect pink lips wrapped around those syllables, her lilted voice full of utter surety as she spoke his name and called him into her bedroom for a verbal reprimand. He found himself wanting it. He missed her fiery outbursts.
In that moment, he realised that his sour infatuation would need to cease, as would her little parties.
Before he broke contact, his attention was drawn once more to the brown boxes in the corner of the room. Within them he could see a variety of toys, books, board games, costumes, and puzzles, and on the side of the box, in thick, black text was that magical word - 'Goodwill'. He smiled knowingly.
Sarah was growing up, giving up her toys and costumes; where once her bedroom had been filled with fairy tales and youthful splendour, her toy shelves were empty and her room decisively bare.
Sarah's stepmother… Iris? Erin? She had used the right words. Magic words. Pretty words. First day of high school.
He wouldn't need to intervene at all, only wait. Soon she would forget about her friends, the Labyrinth, and him. They would fade into a distant memory, a childhood fantasy, and slip away like a forgotten dream on wakening.
He would relish that day, when she stopped calling on her Underground friends, and he would take great pleasure in explaining why, to the treasonous dwarf who claimed to be her friend.
His fingertips left the cool glass surface, and Sarah rippled away – just as the sky outside his chambers broke in a white flash and rain began to fall mercilessly outside. At least the rain would wash away some of that bog-stench before the goblin horde returned to the city.
Until then, he could enjoy some peace and quiet for his contemplation for a little while. With a wave of his hand, the castle doors melted into walls, leaving the building inaccessible from the outside – and he made his way downstairs to his throne room, seating himself on the rounded, menacing chair, tossing one leg over the edge, and brandishing his leather crop, tapping it habitually on his boot leg.
One lone goblin snored softly beneath a dripping barrel of ale, and a pair of chickens clucked and cooed nearby. The skies cracked once more, in unison with the rumbling thunder. The storm was right above the Goblin City – as if the weather itself reflected his sombre mood.
"Is it too much to ask for someone to wish a child away?" he shouted to the ceiling.
One of the chickens cocked its head to the side, as if it were listening to him, and if only the poultry population could suddenly understand speech.
"I've never been so BORED!" he bellowed to the chicken, who stood up, evidently enamoured by the Jareth's words. "What good is a Goblin King who takes, if no one wishes anything away?" the chicken started to walk around the throne room slowly, eyes trained on the ground, pecking at things. "I'd take anything at this point. A goat! Surely there's a frustrated farmer somewhere who wants to wish away an insubordinate goat!" he shouted once more to the ceiling.
"What? What have I missed?" the sleepy goblin mumbled, rolling into a seated position. "Oh, your majesty!" hiccup "You're back."
"Hello Juggle," he sneered.
"It's Jinx."
"Whatever."
"Where did everyone go?"
"To Sarah," Jareth hissed.
"Lady Sarah nice." Hiccup.
"And then I bogged the lot of them."
BURP! "The… the bog!" the goblin stared wide-eyed at the Jareth. "Lady Sarah terrible, and smelly, and wears funny clothes."
Jareth laughed heartily.
"And her hair is stupid and flat," the goblin added.
"Yes, it is, isn't it?" Jareth smirked, with a satisfied wriggle as he settled himself more comfortably upon his throne, tossing his own magnificent hair.
Jinx grumbled in agreement, before retrieving an unusual, white cake from his pocket. He began to nibble on it.
Jareth sprang to his feet and crossed the distance between him and the drunken goblin, grabbing him by the scruff of his dirty shirt. "Jingle-"
"Jinx!"
"Yes. What is that thing you're chewing on?"
"It's cake," the goblin said, wide-eyed, "Want some?" he held it up to present it to a seething Jareth.
"It's soap you imbecile," Jareth spat. "Where did you get it?"
"From… from…" hiccup
"From Sarah, perhaps?"
"It smells good, she lets me have it- AARRRRGGGH!"
Jareth tossed Jinx from the nearest window and listened carefully for the eventual crash as the drunk goblin hit the pavement outside. Another flash of lightning and he heard the drunk goblin whimper. Goblins were such sturdy creatures with high pain thresholds – you couldn't inflict much bodily harm, not with rolling boulders or cannon fire, and not being tossed from a castle window.
So, why would Jareth do it? Because he wanted to, because he could, because it scared a goblin's socks off – but mostly, because it was fun.
No real infliction could shake their loyalty in their King.
Except, perhaps where Sarah was concerned.