A/N: Ugh, I'm so sorry for the lateness of this chapter but I've been trying to create long chapters. I had wrote this chapter down in my writing pad and I've only just finished the draft because of a little someone going through teething- because of this I had about two hours a day to write and do menial things around the house.
From now on I will be letting my readers guess the song that featured in the previous chapter. All songs will be from prior to 1995, to in keep with the timeline so American readers I would appreciate song choices from you (since some songs don't come over here from the US).
The song Gareth was humming/singing was 'One by Metallica', dated 1988. I would advice readers to listen to the track. Songs reflect on the mood of the chapter, something I work on, I listen to selected songs while writing the chapter and hopefully people can tell it reflects in my writing.
Now on with the story!
Additional Note: I have re-published this chapter with additional scenes to the end of the chapter that needed to be in there to flow nicely with the next chapter.
I'm not dead, I've just moved and have a full chapter ready to type up. I have not abandoned this story but I find it difficult to write these earlier chapters when I'm hung up with muse for later more exciting chapters.
Chapter VIIII
He was perfect. He was a harmonious balance between himself and his mother, he could admit that. Just by being near the child in his base animal form where intellectual thoughts were over shadowed by predatory instincts and the reluctance of being out in the day, he could still feel the child's pull, his inner magic calling out to him and it saddened him that it was only faint. The silky tendrils enveloping him, coiling around him and calling for him like a siren's call to a sailor, if he could have frowned in this form he would have done so. The misty blue tendrils clung to him, beseeching him to stay but he knew he could not- or face the same fate that befell any creature of magic that dwelled in the Above for far too long but it seemed it's clutches were already around the core of the child, the soft blue light he could see within the child's chest, waned and spasm trying to fight off an unseen force that only allowed more tendrils to drift away and disperse into nothingness
He couldn't hear what the child was saying but the childish actions, the smile spread wide and agape that he presumed to be laughter. Oh how he wished to hear the rich roles of laughter; was his laugh like his mothers, innocent and infectious or like his own. He could see Gareth jump to his feet and mount the chair and use it like a pedestal for his 'defiant heroic' pose, he felt his chest swell, ruffling his feathers he let out a hoot – it was his only outlet for his chuckle.
But the foreboding feeling returned, his avian heart flittered away in his chest as his molten amber eyes trained on the boy that rushed about the room in glee, he was busy rifling through a rather tatty cardboard box in the far corner of the room, his back turned to the window as he stood and raised the toy that looked to be a beaten sword tight within his clutches. Jareth couldn't see his face but he felt it, the saddened pulse rippled the air of the room and he could feel it to his very bones and tried to repress the rolling shiver as he fluffed up his feathers to gain much needed heat. That child went through as many mood swings like someone suffering from bi-polar or a menopausal middle-aged woman – both which he had to deal with as runners of his Labyrinth over the years and he was rather glad that these acquaintances were few and far between.
Has his child been like this throughout his short life? Jareth mentally frowned, he remembered the warnings of the Aboveground when he was a child, no one with magic could stay in the Above for far too long or run the risk of losing their magic and slowly become mortal – the time for one of magic to become mortal varied between species, age and the potency of their magic. He remembered accounts of elves leaving the Underground to dwell within the Above, the accounts were somewhat long winded because of the age and language used, the community of elves had lasted on average about five centuries before succumbing to mortality but that factored in that they were all virile adults with powerful magical ties. On all accounts his son was lacking, his son was born within the magic barren world and even at a tender age he was fighting it's effects0 it was only his strong blood that kept his magic alive while he was still within the womb and to last into childhood was a feat that made Jareth's heart swell with pride but he knew that Gareth's inner magic wouldn't last forever, it would lose the battle someday unless he intervened. He couldn't let his heir succumb to an existence below his birth right even if it meant stripping him from his mother. Sarah, oh Sarah, he had yet to see her but he knew that she was still as selfish as her childish self, letting her son suffer while she remained ignorant. He felt his heart beat into a quicker tempo, the mere thought of her allowed anger to consume his very being; his talons clung to the branch, his claws biting into the spring green bark of the delicate supple branch. She had hurt him for the last time, a wicked smile graced his face, he shall hurt her while reclaiming the product of his issue – it did not matter that Gareth was not of a legitimate issue, no Fae would voice their damning thoughts since every child was precious. There had been no births for the Fae in roughly four hundred years give or take a few decades, not even coupling with other magical beings such as elves, nymphs or humans from their grown changeling stock bared fruit. None. This made him all the more precious.
Jareth was broken from his revelry when he felt the pull, the edges of this world morphed and rippled very close to him; his sharp avian eyes scanned the area then fixed back on Gareth- there! He could see it, the air within the room rippled and figures pressed into this reality, transparent figures that warped their surroundings like refraction of objects in water. As quick as the shapes appeared and pressed within the veil they were there within the room, two little figures with green light dwelling within them marked them as ones of the Goblinfolk. A scowl marred his inner humanoid facial features. Why were his goblins visiting his son?
As he studied them he could tell by their body language and how they were reacting to one another they had met before but that begged the question – where had they met before?
He looked on with half heart as Gareth used the plastic sword to fence off with Squabble, Squilch or was it Squelch? He wasn't sure about the he-goblin's name but he had seen the sorry excuse for a soldier often within the Goblin throne room, with that observation he flew away with a reeling mind full of questions.
The breeze fluttered through his wings, his feathered tips stretched out as he effortlessly used the uplift to support his slight weight with ease until he had to beat his broad wings soundlessly to send him on his way. The calming effect of flying helped him ease the worries that played on his mind somewhat but he knew that when he shifted into his humanoid form they would return tenfold.
Anaraward sighed, he seemed to be doing that more so now than before but of course, always in his private chambers with his most trusted servants about him or alone in mind and body as he tried to make sense of it all. He knew that his son would have had a child at some stage in his life, that he was sure of even with the fertility crisis, he had to keep up the Royal Line or the Fae community would be pulled asunder fighting for their rights to the throne – be them twice removed or not related at all. But with the realisation that he had a grandson he knew that stability would last for another generation.
"I beg your pardon, Anaraward."
At the mention of his name he raised his head from absentmindedly gazing at the writing slope of his desk, his quill still resting within the glass inkwell, the nib drowning in the black substance, his hazel eyes stared at the quill, his large hand gently grasped the shaft of his quill and removing the plain brown barred feather, the silky hairs were uniformed and curved into a loose point, this quill was made from a large outer flight feather indicated with the lack of fuss running along the shaft from point to tip. The feather was large and it was needless to say it was too large to be from any mortal bird alive today. A small wistful smile graced his pale lips, it had been so long since he had transformed into his avian self. Glancing down at the ink laden tip he lowered it to an off cut of course paper to the right of the failed attempt at a summons for his son, with practised ease and unfathomable tenderness he glided the tip of the excess ink onto his blotting paper. With the job done, and most importantly the tip had not split with the pressure he replaced it on its rack on his desk ink-well, the pure silver stand in the shape of a coiling dragon, it's claws suspending its body from the desk, the two glass ink-wells fit snugly between an infinity coil of the serpentine dragons body. Its chest rising up, mouth agape with delicate teeth, the quill resting within the depths of its throat, the burning brown plumage of the feature flashed from burnt orange and raging brown-reds to smouldering browns in the imitation of live flames in the setting sun as it eased into the room.
Anaraward didn't turn around, not just yet, he let out another sigh as he tried to cleanse himself of his own thoughts and with that he turned around to see the floating orb of blue energy, swaying from left to right and bobbing up and down, a small chuckle escaped the High King, the delicious rolls of laughter lightened his heart somewhat.
"I see you're impatient as always, Spirit," he joked, his hazel eyes danced in merriment, the flecks of orange, green and slight hint of lavender swirled within his iris.
"We don't have much time, Anaraward. I feel the boy's magic dwindle with each passing day, it has been his contact with me that his magic has not dwindled into nothingness upon his birth," The Spirit countered, the feminine twin to the dominant voice had disappeared within the seriousness of the situation.
Anaraward processed this information with his stoic court mask within place; he couldn't let his biased mind affect his judgement.
"For that I and my son are grateful, Spirit," Anaraward replied, the tone of his voice kept the Spirit silent, how the words flowed from the High King's lips let himself open to continue so the Spirit of the Labyrinth let the Fae King continue.
"But you know that his day would come and the boy would have to be returned to the Underground where he belongs –," Anaraward began but the consuming voice of the Spirit interrupted him.
"He cannot be stripped from his Mother, I will not allow it!"
"If it has to be done, then it shall be done, it will be easier for the child to accustom to our ways than his Mother- she is a mortal and has only been touched by the magic of the Fae only once within her life. She is no changeling, remember that Spirit," the High King countered, a hard edge cutting through the warm calm tones of his voice. Anaraward thinned his lips in anger and concentration, he knew that child had to be taken from the Aboveground soon but he didn't want the child to grieve the loss of his Mother. The Seelie might be mischievous and tricksters to the mortals but rarely wanted to actually intend harm upon the magic-barren children of the Aboveground.
"As your past protector I implore you to see reason, a child's hatred is one thing you and the Goblin King would regret receiving and that hatred will grow as he grows and will remain until your dying days, do you, Anaraward, want to treasure that side of your grandchild and change him to an Unseelie?" the Spirit of the Labyrinth drawled, its voice was light with hope but sharp as it cut into Anaraward's defences.
Anaraward mentally and physically flinched at the Spirit's words, his stoic mask crumbled to show shock that quickly changed to sadness as the corners of his lips curled downwards and his eyes softened. The Spirit of the Labyrinth spoke of wise words and in a way that was effectively to the point that Anaraward was reconsidering. The Spirit of the Labyrinth was the protector of the Child of the Labyrinth, the second in succession for the High Throne of the Underground and the Fae King. Anaraward remembered when he was a mere babe that grew into a child, he was always accompanied by the Spirit like an ever present personal bodyguard, to protect and to be of council for the childish worries or fantasies- to this day the ageless Spirit remained his confidant even though he had grown into a Goblin King and in turn became the High King of the Underground as he was now.
"I don't want to rip the Child from his Mother unless it's necessary but I find that will come to that if my Son had his way.
"The mortal has kept his son's existence from him for the entirety of his short life. I for one would seek something akin to revenge for these grievances the Champion of the Labyrinth has made upon my Son." Anaraward mused out loud, leaning back into his chair, his fingertips tracing the brass tacks that kept the padding on the arms in place.
The Spirit was silent for moments at a time, contemplating its answers before it spoke out to the High King.
"I fear that the Goblin King is already seeking to steal the child as we speak, King Anaraward, King Jareth is more intense and impulsive than yourself.
"I wanted the Child's mother involved from the beginning but Gareth has found his way into the Underground without being guided by myself and found himself within this very castle- this cannot be a coincidence," The Spirit spoke out, it knew it shouldn't go against the Royal Family but it couldn't just announce their was a Child of the Labyrinth born in the Aboveground by the mortal Champion of the Labyrinth when the Goblin King was still nursing his wounds of rejection. No, he kept the child's existence hidden because it knew that the Goblin King would steal the babe and leave it without it's mother but now Gareth had grown into a child and could decide where he wanted to be and who he wanted to be with but- there's always a but – the pull of magic could be too strong to let Gareth make the decision with a clear mind without being guided by magic that he would be instinctually drawn to.
"I see you're taken with the boy," Anaraward chuckled, the rich sound bubbling up through his throat, deep and hearty.
"I protect the Child of the Labyrinth, as I have for many generations and it takes nought to get attached to a child that has such life, something I remember from my days guiding yourself, Anaraward,"
"Ah Ha, I see you still have your quick tongue and you still drop all formalities in private," Anaraward playfully countered pushing himself up to stand from his seat, his deep red robe flittered with the sudden movement but settled down with little fuss.
The echoing laugh of the Spirit engulfed the room.
"You know me all too well, Anaraward, I know you too well for all those boring formalities,"
Anaraward's lips quirked into a small warm smile as he gazed out of the lead paned window, the warm hues of the sunset casting long shadows and purpled hued clouds drifted lazily in the sky. The smile slowly left his face.
"Watch over him, Spirit, I know you will do a great job as always."
"Of Course, Anaraward," The Spirit replied humbly and the blue orb vanished without a trace, the Spirit knew a dismissal when one came about.
The fun was short lived, he didn't want Bubbles and Squelch to leave but he knew they had to, if their pleas about not wanting the wrath of their Master and something about the Bog of Eternal Stench- whatever that was – was something to go by. A small smile tugged on his lips at the memories of the cheers and mock deaths by Bubbles and Squelch, a wistful smile graced his lips. He didn't know when they would come back or if they could come back but he knew that he didn't want to get them into trouble with the Goblin King, he could be rather frightening and he had only just me the man. What did he say... oh yes, that 'You're her Son', he didn't know what he was implying but he couldn't deny he was Sarah Williams' son. He could remember the shake of the Goblin King's voice and his eyes – they were so intense!
"Gareth, Your Mother's here!"
The sound o f Karen's voice flooded his senses and brought him out of his musings, his eyes snapped to the bedroom door, it was slightly ajar so he raised his voice.
"Coming Karen!" he called out.
He pulled out his backpack from underneath the desk and began to pile his exercise and textbooks into his back in haste, pulling the zipper closed he slung the Thundercat backpack over his shoulders. He raced downstairs and was greeted by the sight of his Mother and Karen standing in the kitchen with a cuppa in their hands, cautiously he approached, his sneakers making little sound as he lightly stepped on the carpet but he knew his element of surprise was gone by the way he bolted it down the stairs like a heavy footed Rhino.
Both of the women looked over to the open doorway to see lil' Gareth there wearing his summer jumper, it was red with a band running through his upper arm, continuing to his torso and into the other arm and diamond running from the top to the bottom of the beige band, the diamonds were varying in shade from crimson to dark brown.
"Hello Sweetie, I hope you've been good for Karen," Sarah beamed; a small smile graced her lips as she gazed lovingly at her son. Karen let out a little giggle which made Gareth scrunch up his face.
"Oh he's been superb like he always is, Sarah, he's a good little boy," Karen said in her sweet voice, ugh, she was just too sweet and too full of herself. Gareth closed his eyes and grinned, he hoped it was convincing, but when he opened his eyes to see his mother staring at him but not actually looking at him set him on edge.
"Mom?" he meekly called out, the reaction he got from his mother was promising, she shook that cloudy look from her eyes and returned to the present.
"Yes Gareth?" she asked, her moss green eyes fixed on her son that still stood in the hallway.
"Are we going soon?" he simply asked.
"Oh, yes, yes we are," she said, tripping over her own words as she placed her empty mug on the counter.
"I guess we'll be seeing you at the weekend?" Sarah asked as she looked over her shoulder to Karen who kept that beaming smile on her face.
"Of Course," Was Karen's cryptic reply.
Something was going on here, he could feel it, Karen was never this smiley and all happy like. He glanced from his mother to Karen and back again, he didn't know what to call it but he had a sixth sense for figuring something was amiss.
"Come on Gareth, we want to get going before we hit the school run traffic," Sarah said, while rummaging through her handbag for her car keys, finally grasping them in her hands she slung the straps over her shoulder and clutched the bag to her side with her arm.
"Yes, Mom," was Gareth's reply as he edged towards the front door, he really didn't want to go through their 'lovey-dovey leaving ritual' he called it with dread.
"Where's my goodbye, Young Man?" Karen's high feminine voice made Gareth cringe and tense, great it doesn't matter how many times he tries to sneak out he never gets away with it, as he turned to face the devil-woman with a pout on his face. The look on his face must have looked amusing because Karen and his Mother started to lightly giggle.
"Oh come here you, "Karen fussed, walking over to him and lightly hissing him on the cheek which his promptly wiped off with the back of his hand while making an 'urgh' noise which made Karen lightly chuckle again.
With that display Sarah bid a hasty goodbye and left with Gareth in tow, the drive back to their apartment was rather dull.
"Mom, can I put the radio on?"
"Yes, sure sweetie," Sarah beamed without taking her eyes off the road she pressed the power button on the centre console and the silence in the car erupted into life. The radio was on Gareth's favourite station, it wasn't a channel with new rubbish, no, he loved the old stuff and the older presenters on the station, compared to others this channel played constant music most of the day.
"Hello Listeners! Now it's time for another song. This is Forever Autumn by Justin Hayward," the cheerful voice of the middle-aged presenter buzzed through the speakers. After this announcement the music gradually increased in volume as it was phased in. Gareth bounced in his seat as he recognised the melody.
"Gareth, sit still," Sarah chastised as she glanced at him through her windscreen mirror then back to the road in front of her.
"I don't know why their playing that at this time of year," she muttered to herself, it was the middle of spring.
The rest of the day was rather uneventful, to sum it all up, Gareth watched his cartoons while doodling with his sketch pad and crayons on the coffee table and Sarah used the time to relax and cook their evening dinner then sent her son off to bed after brushing his teeth. Sarah went through the routine of reading his favourite book to him before he went into the land of slumber.
Now that left Sarah curled up under her bed covers reading the dainty red leather bound book in her hands, her eyes scanning the pages with great intensity but the gaze nearly bore a hole within the page as furrowed her eyebrows in the fashion she saw her son. "What no one knew that the Goblin King had fallen in love with the Princess and had given her special powers," she mumbled, her eyes stilling over that said passage, her mind reeled as she reread that line over and over again within her head repeatedly, hot tears prickled her eyes as she willed them not to spill. Oh, what was she doing. She'd been asking that for the past eight years- what are you doing keeping the baby, Sarah? What are you doing moving out, Sarah, Dad and Karen really want to help? What are you doing keeping the baby from him, Sarah? All these questions had different subjects but the construction of the question was always the same. She was so cruel, Jareth's past words haunted her even now because she knew deep down that she was cruel, smiling at her son with a smile she used to reassure him but more so reassure herself. The first silent tears slid down her cheeks leaving glistening trails down her cheeks. The hot tears began to drip on the pages of the book and only then did she urgently wipe her cheeks and eyes as she tried to rid herself of her sadness, she glanced down at her damp hand with surprise, why was she crying? Her thoughts were clouded and numerous to the point of distraction that she couldn't pin-point a single thought that made her react so passionately.
"Oh Jareth," she mumbled as she tried to dry her damp cheeks. "I'm sorry, so, so, sorry," she continued as her hand caressed the open pages of the book that she kept deep within her heart.
A/N:
Please, send me feed back in the form of reviews or PMs, it keeps me motivated.
And as for the plot hinted at an earlier chapter – who do you think is a main supporting role?
I would like to hear your opinions.