And so it begins. The poem he recites is called The Prince of Love by William Blake, I'm pretty sure. Correct me if I'm wrong. Anyway, this chapter and the next one are pretty rubbish, in my opinion, but still necessary. So, enjoy! Review, and the next chapter will come quickly.


Chapter One

Jareth sat languidly on a red velvet chaise, placing purple grapes lazily into his mouth. Shimmering curtains of gold and silver gauze hung above him, and moss formed a rich emerald carpet beneath his seat. Bluebells covered the ground like pieces of misty sky, and a stream tinkled merrily somewhere in the background. Beautiful beings, human in appearance and yet obviously of magical ilk, sat around under the gauze canopy, talking laughing, drinking. Large gold platters laden with ripe fruit were scattered amongst the group, along with silver pitchers containing wine as red as lust or golden liquid sweet as honey. The entire scene was a study in decadence.

The beings in the clearing were more beautiful than any mortal could ever hope to be; their hair was spun gold, black silk, silver starlight. Their skin was fresh cream and peaches, their bodies thin and supple. The women were fair and the men handsome, all with proud, noble bearings. Their every movement was grace itself, watching them being equal to watching the most complicated of ballet. Their voices were pure, their laughter like the tinkling of bells or wind in the leaves.

The most beautiful of their gathering was a black-haired youth, a strong male with eyes the colour of oak leaves in autumn and hair like ebony silk. He was taller than his companions, lithe and lightly muscled. One glance from him was enough to provide a lifetime of longing. The others looked to him with reverence, for not only was he beautiful, but he was also first in line to their throne. His name was Caleb.

His sister, second in line to the throne, was also the second most beautiful of the gathering. Her hair and eyes were the same as her brothers, for they were twins. She had high cheekbones and a sweet mouth that smiled easily. Her voice was soft as a doves', and to see her was to love her. Her name was Kyra.

Third in line to the throne, and third most attractive, was Jareth. While his siblings were dark of hair and light of spirit, Jareth's hair was golden and his nature dark. While he was beautiful, with hair like a halo of gold and a face handsome enough to make any mortal woman weak at the knees, his brother was the one whom the ladies of his company sought after. While he was a prince, he was only third in line to the throne, while his brother would be king. He was an afterthought, a royal in title only. His people saw him as arrogant, dark and surly. They had little time for him. Even in that beautiful place, where all were merry, he was subtly avoided. The Fae had little time for troubled beings. The one time he ever had their full and willing attention was when he sang; Jareth had a voice unrivalled in his kingdom. That was the one area in which his elder siblings could never compete.

"Brother!" Caleb called across the clearing. "Jareth, my brother, I grow weary of idle talk. Sing us a song."

"I am not your songbird, Caleb. Sing your own." Jareth replied coolly.

"Come! Do not be so cruel. You know you have the best voice of any of us!" Caleb got down on his hands and knees, making mock-begging motions. "Sing for us, Jareth!"

"Yes Jareth, sing for us!" The gathering chorused.

Jareth pinched the bridge of his nose. He sighed heavily, then stood to rapturous applause.

"What shall you have me sing today, hm? A ditty, a ballad?" Jareth enquired sardonically. "Shall I perform a sonnet?"

"Oh, something jolly!" Kyra enthused. "Something about love."

"Very well." Jareth sighed. He tapped the bridge of his nose as he tried to think of something appropriate. One of his companions pulled out a flute, another, a small harp. "Alright, I think I have one."

The flute and harp played a simple, sweet tune as Jareth's velvety voice filled the clearing.

"How sweet I roamed from field to field,
And tasted all the summer's pride,
Till I the Prince of Love beheld
Who in the sunny beams did glide.

He showed me lilies for my hair,
And blushing roses for my brow;
He led me through his gardens fair
Where all his golden pleasures grow.

With sweet May-dews my wings were wet,
And Phoebus fired my vocal rage;
He caught me in his silken net,
And shut me in his golden cage.

He loves to sit and hear me sing,
Then, laughing, sports and plays with me:
Then stretches out my golden wing,
And mocks my loss of liberty."

"Oh, Jareth!" Kyra cried. "Your voice is so sweet, but your songs so sombre! Speak not of cages! Pray, a happy song!"

Jareth sighed, rolling his eyes. "I will sing for you but once more, sister. Then I shall leave."

"Very well. But pray do make it something jolly!"

Jareth sung a brief song, a jolly ditty about love to please his sister. Then he took his leave of the small party, striding into the woods. The trees were tall and thin, with snow-white bark. The ground was covered in thick ferns, with leaves so dark they were almost black. Sun shone through the thin canopy in golden beams, highlighting the flight of small rabbits or the fluttering of delicate butterflies. It was a beautiful place, but Jareth found it haunting. He wandered among the ghostly trunks for what seemed like an age, resentment bubbling in his veins. He hated the way he was forgotten whenever his siblings were around. He hated how when they weren't, everybody feigned politeness, talking to him only because he was prince. He hated that even though he would never be king, he still had to perform duties and have responsibilities. More than anything, Jareth wished to be free; not to have to be prince one minute and nobody the next. To start afresh, with people who did not know his face, or the face he could have had, had he only been the first-born.

A plan began to form in Jareth's mind; it was an idea that had been floating in the back of his head for a while now, but for the first time he brought it to the surface. A way that he could leave the Kingdom of the Fae, become an unknown and wonder freely, without the responsibility of a title and the weight of being the youngest sibling. He could be invisible when he wanted, not at the whim of his peers.

Jareth transformed mid-step, becoming a graceful barn owl. He swooped through the trees, sending small creatures running for cover with his shadow. He headed back to the palace to execute his escape.

...

Jareth knelt before the King and Queen- his parents. They both had hair the colour of starlight and eyes that sparkled with merriment. Their age was shown only through the smallest of wrinkles at the corners of their eyes and mouth. They were both dressed in burgundy velvet, sitting upon marble thrones carved into bowers of white branches. The room was also of white marble, with bright flames in gold filigree holders dangling from the high ceiling. Arched windows on one side gave view to a glittering cobalt sea, beautiful woodlands on the other.

"Mother, Father, I seek you blessing. I wish to travel the kingdoms, gathering knowledge so that I may aid my brother well when he is King." Jareth spoke the words with bowed head, raising it slightly to see their reactions to his request. His manner was humble, but his lips quirked with a barely-contained smirk.

"What has brought this about, my son?" The King cried.

"Do you refuse to give your blessing, Majesty?" Jareth asked.

"I merely wonder why my blessing has been asked for." The King steepled his fingers, regarding Jareth solemnly.

"As I have said, I wish to aid my brother in his sovereignty. I have come to the realisation that it is my duty to do so, and this is the best way I feel I can do it."

"I feel it is a noble quest." The Queen said, eyes crinkling with a warm smile. "You have my blessing."

The King sat silent for a moment, contemplating his young son with a thoughtful expression. He was not suspicious of his son's motives, merely startled at the request. Then he sighed, smiling also.

"I give you my blessing, Jareth. Do with it as you will." He gestured towards the door. "Go now, that you may return as soon as possible to our halls."

"Thankyou, Mother, Father. I shall not disappoint." Jareth rose slowly, backing out of the hall with his head bowed. He closed the doors behind him, the smirk finally released unto his face; his mismatched eyes lit up with mischievous glee and the points of his teeth glittered. He was filled with a sudden sense of freedom, hope and joy crashing over him in waves. In that moment, he was every bit as beautiful as his siblings. He strode to his chambers with new confidence, those in his path shrinking back at this new side of their prince.

In his chambers, Jareth gathered together the few belongings he wished to take with him and changed into some plainer clothes: black gloves, a poet shirt and black waistcoat, tight brown breeches, black boots and a soft woollen cloak with a hood. Into a leather pouch he placed a notebook, a quill and a small pot of black ink, a small flute he had carved from bone and a clear crystal. He then regarded himself briefly in the mirror: would he fit into mortal society? With a quick wave of his fingers, his eyebrows lost their peculiar Fae shape. Jareth nodded briefly at his reflection, pulling up the hood of his cloak to cover his golden hair. Then with a small flourish, he disappeared, leaving the Fae Kingdom behind.

...

A figure in a brown hooded cloak made its way to the castle doors early in the morning. The guard at the gate at first mistook him for a monk with his brown robe, but as he figure drew nearer it became clear he was far from it. The fabric of his clothes was far richer than that worn by any member of the clergy, for a start. He held himself in a way that suggested noble blood, but he was on foot. His features were far too fine to be those of a peasant, yet his clothes, despite the fabric, were of simple design, with evidence of wear.

"Wot's your biz-ness 'ere?" The guard enquired loudly.

"My 'business' is music, good sir." The stranger smiled, an expression the guard found strangely chilling. "I am a minstrel come to offer my services to the court."

"We've already go' a jester, mate." The guard replied warily.

"I am no jester, sir, I assure you." The stranger curled his lip in disdain. "I possess talents your 'jester' could never even dream of."

The guard considered for a moment; this man, with his haughty stance and beautiful features, could be a lord playing some strange game. If he refused him entry, it could be his hide on the line. However, something about him made the guard nervous and distrusting.

Still, he was not hired for his instincts.

"Alrigh' then. But if yoo cause any trouble, I'll 'ave your 'ead." The guard warned, stepping aside and yelling for the gates to be opened. The stranger smiled, revealing slightly pointed teeth.

"There's a good chap." He pulled his cloak about him and entered the castle, leaving the guard very worried about his job security.

...

Back in the oubliette, Jareth the Goblin King moaned. Walking through those gates would be the most important decision of his life. It would change everything for him. It would lead to incredible bliss, followed by utter devastation. It would haunt him, follow him for the rest of his days. His whole world was about to be tipped on its axis.

It was in that castle that he first met Sarah.