Chapter One:
Never Open Closed Doors
Hreidmar was a reasonable Fae. He never asked for more than he was given, nor did he ever take that which was not his. He never complained when he was told to do something that he didn't want to, but rarely did he speak up when he was severely against it. As far as his parents were concerned, these statements were true.
The King of the Dwarfs had a lot planned for his future and he didn't want some mortal girl to be apart of it. He was happy in his kingdom, far from the other Fae. He liked his solitude. Hreidmar didn't want to marry this "champion of the labyrinth". If he had his way, he would grow old without being under the ever watchful eyes of the Fae courts.
The tall dark Fae walked down the long hallway of the Goblin King's home, his mind racing.
'The book was placed perfectly' Hreidmar thought, his black hair bobbing as he rushed up a flight of stairs. While she was destined to run the labyrinth, the King of the Dwarfs had made it so she was prepared, able to fight and win. He had gone through scores of law books looking for the right phrases, and rules to send her back to the Aboveground. Jareth had no power over her.
A few innocent goblins passed their King's brother, bowing and moved swiftly out of his way. In their hands were boxes full of gems and candles. Hreidmar's anger flared slightly. He had forgotten all about Samhain when he wrote the book. The cursed celebration throwing all his work away in an instant. If Jareth went to the Above and tricked her on that night, nothing could be done. He had free rein between both worlds, to take who he pleased.
Hreidmar finally made it to a large mahogany door. Carved in it were vines tangled around a large emblem that was the Goblin King's crest that Jareth was so fond of. He had it put on everything; his chairs, eating utensils and even on every keyhole. Everything. He loved his property but loved showing it off even more. Hreidmar hand moved to knock yet stopped at the sound of a scream, a woman's scream. He placed his hand on the golden handle and rushed into the room.
To his surprise there wasn't a woman being beaten or harmed like he might have guessed, quite the opposite. All the screaming and noise was coming from not one, but three women. They had, since his entrance, all ceased. That quickly ended as the room was soon swept into a flurry of scantly clad nymphs. A blush rose to his cheeks before he swiftly shut the large door.
Jareth tossed the covers off of his bare body and let out an obnoxious groan of frustration as he stood up and noticed all of his playthings that had just been in his arms had now disappeared. He slowly moved to a dark cabinet taking out a pair of tight gray pants, a white poet's shirt and a pair of leather gloves.
"You always were one to take away my toys." Jareth yelled at the door, knowing full well his brother was waiting there for him. "You jealous?" He teased, fastening his pants. Of course there was no answer. Hreidmar was as saintly as they come. If he had to be honest with himself, the Goblin King had never seen his brother even look at a girl let alone touch one. 'Must be waiting for that champion. Celebate twit.' He thought, laughing quietly at the remark only he had heard.
He shuffled over to a deep burgundy couch that matched the rest of his room's decor and began to slide on a pair of boots that sat next to it. "Enter." He called out. By the time Hreidmar opened the door and made it over to where his brother was, Jareth was dressed enough to have company and had now reclined, his eyes closed and fingers pinching the bridge of his nose.
"Jareth." Hreidmar began. His voice was dark, strangely sensual. Were there any mortals nearby, they would have easily fallen under a supernatural spell of both looks, sounds and even the smell both these two seemed to emit into the room.
Jareth threw his arms above his head and stood, walking over to his brother. "Why such formality? Please call me brother!"
Hreidmar looked on in confusion as his brother stood there, motioning him to forward, a broad smile plastered on his face. Cautiously, the youngest did what he was told, moving his arms out as if to be welcomed in an embrace. 'Surely this isn't the real Jareth.' It was after that thought that a sharp pain surged through the Dwarf King's right arm which had been pulled around, twisted and pushed against his back.
Jareth leaned close to his brother's ear. "My dear Hreidmar, the next time you enter my chambers... it would be wise for you to remember that I am the law here, whether you are blood or not, you don't barge into any room with a closed door that belongs a King. You being one yourself, I thought you would have known better." With that the Goblin King released his kin and fell back onto the couch, his hands sliding across his face. "Now," He straightened up a bit and crossed his arms across his chest. "What can I do for you on this, the eve of Samhain?"
"Don't go to the Aboveground." The words flew out of his mouth before he had a chance at rephrasing them. Jareth leaned forward, obviously intrigued as to why his little brother had no interest on bring back his soon to be wife and, in essence, the title of 'High King.'
"Don't go to the Aboveground?" Jareth stood once more. "Why the sudden distaste for tradition?" The blonde Fae began circling Hreidmar like a vulture.
"Listen, promise me you won't go? For the sake of the Underground you will not go through with this?"
It was then that Jareth stopped. He removed the hand that had made it's way up to his chin in thought and walked over to a rather large desk at the other end of the room. Hreidmar's brow furrowed in confusion as he watched the Goblin King take out a piece of parchment, quill and begin writing furiously.
The King of the Dwarfs had already interrupted his brother once today, he wasn't about to do such a thing a second time. He rubbed his arm at the still fresh memory. There was a screech of agony from the floor boards as Jareth pushed the chair he had been sitting on away from him.
"Hreidmar," He took the piece of parchment and the quill from the table and walked over to his confused brother. "If you do not wish me to go to the the Above, I need you to sign this." A pair of gloved hands took it and two dark eyes skimmed over the words.
"What's this?" Hreidmar's eyes then shot to his brother's. "A contract?"
"An agreement." Jareth lazily fell back onto his couch. "You agree to free me from my punishment and in turn, take it upon yourself. That, and what ever the court see's fit to do to you after not speaking to them about it first. I believe it is three years in the desert of lost dreams? Truly a small price to pay for such a lovely prize." A wicked smile crossed his face.
"Why must I take on the punishment and even more for something you lost? It wasn't I who gave her the book. Betrayed my own kingdom. My own family." He lied. He knew every word from his mouth was a lie, but he stayed true to his statement. Jareth's once blue, mismatched eyes now seemed to be a raging storm of fury and yet, he simply sat there. He seemed to be waiting for more hurtful words, but none came.
"So, you won't be signing it then?" He stood calmly with a sigh."In that case, I must be getting ready for my journey in just a few hours time then. If you will excuse-"
"I do not want that mortal here." Hreidmar's eyes glazed over as Jareth's mouth dropped. After a moment of silence a small laugh escaped the Goblin King's lungs.
"My, my, my little brother, why the sudden hatred for your soon to be bride? Surly you wish to be High King?"
"Jareth, I must tell you something," He paused, gathering his wits as his brother sat down once more on his couch, conjuring a crystal and rolling it around playfully.
Sarah Williams sat at the back of her English class, her ears burning with every word the boy by the name of Eli spoke. How could someone in a college which took more pride in their art programs than football or baseball butcher Shakespeare? She ran her fingers through her long dark hair. Every phrase he mispronounced was like a stab in the heart.
It wasn't that Shakespeare was her favorite writer. Far from it! She was hurting more for the fact that such a well known story as Romeo and Juliet was being torn to pieces in front of her eyes and no one was stopping the massacre.
"Cap-you-let. Not Cape-you-let." Her voice itched to be heard. Finally, the teacher, Miss Stanton closed her book.
"Very good Eli." She smiled and walked around her desk to the podium at the head of the class. "The rest of you, I would like a five page essay tracing how fate brought the two star-crossed lovers together. It will be due on Monday." She reached under her podium and pulled out an orange plastic jack-o-lantern. "For now, candy!"
It was then that Sarah realized how kindergarten sophomores in college could be. Instead of jumping up for a fun-sized snickers, she quietly packed up her things and exited the classroom, hoping to be unnoticed.
"Sarah!" A familiar voice called out. The same familiar voice that murdered a classic piece of literature. A familiar voice that she could go a few days without. She sighed and turned with a fake smile.
"Eli! What a surprise!"
The boy laughed somewhat nervously. "Yeah, um, now that I got your attention," He fumbled for a moment with his satchel before opening the small cover and pulling out a green piece of paper, handing it to Sarah. "I was wondering if you wanted to go to this Halloween thing my frat is throwing."
Sarah took the paper and looked it over. No doubt just another excuse for people to get wasted. She closed her eyes to stop them from rolling in disgust then placed the paper in her bag.
"Thanks Eli but, I don't usually do these things. I will think about it though." She began to walk away when his arm reached out for hers. His warm hand wrapped around her cool skin, dragging her back.
"Could you also take into account that I will be all alone in a house full of couples?" Her eyes widened. He was trying to guilt trip her. This nervous wreck was trying to guilt her into going.
"I told you I would think about it." She said sternly. "So please let go of my arm." He obliged.
"I'll hold ya to it Sarah Williams. Just, keep thinkin' about it." He smiled and turned happily. Clearly he could not take a hint.
But how could he know she never went to parties? How could a poor innocent boy like that know Sarah had become a recluse? Her only friends were dead poets and novelists from long ago. Perhaps she should go, just to meet with people her own age, people who weren't just words on a page.
She pulled out her car keys and made her way to the parking lot.
'What's a few harmless drunks anyway? I'm sure Jane Austin won't mind one night alone...'
Well, I hope that wasn't too confusing. If it was, I'm sorry. Haha I am just a small time writer in a novelist's world.
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With that, I bid you a pleasant next few days!
Yours, LorraineJane
