I know it's been awhile and I know I unexpectedly changed the previous chapter, but I realized I jumped ahead of myself with the order of events. This story was never abandoned, it was just on hold. Ok, back to the story!


"Never give your opponent an opening," the King ordered as he slashed his sword forward, forcing the young Prince to step back, blocking the strikes. "If you do," he knocked the sword of Jareth's hand, pointing the tip at his face, "you die." He swished the blade aside, stepping back. "Pick up your weapon."

Silently, the teenager obeyed and looked back at the King with an arched brow. "Certainly there might be a time where you will know when to surrender?" he wondered.

A yellow gaze stared deeply into him. "Only if you have to and if, for whatever happens, you do lose in battle, die with honor. Know that you died with honor. It may… make things easier. Honor."

Jareth nodded, putting those words into memory.

"Now." The large goblin readied his stance as a professional fencer. "Again."

He prepared himself with his left hand curled up for balance.

The two began to slash at each other, but the King always bested the apprentice. The Prince had agility, but the King had speed and sharpness. He knew not to hesitate and many times had an opening to kill if it was a true duel.

After an hour of winning, the King laughed. "You'll beat me eventua–" He hunched over and began coughing.

Jareth dropped the sword and hurried to the King's side, placing a hand over his back when he did not cease. "Your Highness?" he frightfully asked.

The King waved a large hand and within a moment, he stood up straight, deeply inhaling, trying to compose him with watering eyes.

"Are you alright?" Jareth asked with large eyes. "What happened?"

"Nothing," he smiled with glassy eyes. "Lessons are over for today." He handed him his sword. "Be a good lad and put this away for me, please."

He took the sword, watching the King walk to the large doors of the castle. When he was gone, the Prince hurried to put the swords away in the armory behind him across the courtyard. Once done, he jogged to the throne room, but it was empty. He turned around and went down the corridors to the a small, wooden door of the alchemy room and heard voices of the healer and the King, but couldn't make out what they were saying. He knew it wasn't good. He leaned against the wall by the door with crossed arms. The King was ill. He knew that much.

Within a minute, the door opened to the King and the two made eye contact.

The Goblin King heavily sighed. "Walk with me, son." He took the lead to the throne room.

Jareth silently followed.

They went through the throne room to the other staircase that spiral up and opened to the top of the maze of staircases.

The King walked to the edge, waved a hand, and summoned a crystal ball in his furry fingers with an amused chuckle. "I remember you used to come here all the time when you were younger. Now you wonder through the Labyrinth as if trying to memorize it." He tossed him the crystal with a smile. "You've grown to a fine young man. You're not a boy anymore." It was like he was telling himself that more that to Jareth.

The Prince caught the crystal with one hand and brought it close to his thin chest, listening.

"You're getting better with the crystals," he mused.

"You're ill," he stated without taking his multi-colored gaze off the crystal.

"I am," he heavily admitted. "The same illness that took my wife decades ago," he lamely chuckled. "Can you believe it?" He returned to the wonder of the staircases. "Gods, she would be proud of you. I know she would. She would trust you like I do."

"How long?" he quietly asked with a heavy heart.

"Four years at least. It's a lung disease that goblins tend to get when they get older. It's called Maven's Lung. Eventually, the lungs will cease to inhale. It is… inevitable. Even with medicine."

Jareth dropped the crystal ball with a sharp click and his chin fell to his chest. His chin-length, blond hair covered his eyes and he hoped his tears if he could not fight them.

"Son," the King strongly said, approaching him. "I didn't know how I was going to tell you this. Symptoms started to show six months ago. Altha is trying her best–"

"You're going to die," he whispered.

"Jareth." He went to place a firm hand on the boy's shoulder, but only reached to his elbow. He sadly chuckled. "It felt like yesterday you were my height. Now you're almost six feet, it seems like." He patted his arm and slowly withdrew his hand. "Don't worry about me, son."

The boy forced himself to look at the King and his heart was in his sad, loving, yellow eyes. His black mane was still healthy like a lion's as his black robes glimmered with silver lining. He looked healthy, but his lungs were slowly killing him.

"I can't… fence like I used to," the Goblin King continued. "I can still teach you, but not like before." He hopefully smiled. "I'm not going to go any time soon."

He deeply inhaled, trying to shake the grim cloud away. "Just in four years," he murmured. He quickly and silently threw his thin arms around the King's neck, fighting the tears that on the brink of escaping and his throat began to tighten from forcing back a choke.

The King carefully and firmly hugged him back. "I love you, son," he whispered. "And I am so proud of you."

The Prince closed his eyes tight as if it was a bad dream.