Here we go again.
Monotony
It was another one of those days.
The newer goblins were absolutely terrified - they had never seen their king act in such a way - and they ran about around the castle, up and down the stairs, periodically yelping, or hitting themselves on the head (a goblin custom to express alarm, and, some say, a biological instinct awakened in times of fear).
The older goblins went about their business, trying to avoid getting in the way of mayhem. They knew all too well that the king had these little...'moods' of his on a regular basis.
Firstly, the king was not asleep in the morning, and so did not need to be woken. He was fully dressed, and stomped about the bedroom to and fro. Secondly, the king had not come to breakfast. Thirdly, he did not order them to polish his boots. He did not, in fact, go through any of his kingly duties, and this upset the new goblins very much. He did not even shout at them. They felt abandoned.
The older goblins knew that the king had spent the night in the library, and that were they to go up to the tower and peer through the doors, they would see books, papers, maps, in great disarray, on the floor and chairs, anywhere, but the shelves. They also knew that come tomorrow, at least two representatives of goblinhood were going to be severely punished for the disorganisation of the library, as well as for getting candle wax on the pages, for which none other than the king was responsible. Fairness-shmareness, the king's memory miraculously omitted days like these.
Presently, the king was in his office. He admitted no visitors. Rumours spread that he had not shaved, or eaten anything, the details varied. While the young goblins, those who had been bold enough to eavesdrop, and now lay shaking and cowering at the foot of the great door, jumped at the sounds of breaking glass, the older goblins, who quite openly attempted to listen in for the chance to hear something interesting, merely shook their heads: they would be the ones made to sweep up the mess and their little feet would surely be cut.
Jareth was alone, barricaded away from all other beings. He was using this me-time productively, leaning back on the heavy chair, balancing on its two rear wooden legs, creating crystal after crystal with his left hand, and hurling them at the door, one after another, with his right.
"Sure, I'll do it," he muttered, "Sure, I'll stay here, be a king, of the what you say? Goblins. Goblins, doesn't sound so great. King though. Forever you say? Sure, I'll do it; it's not that long, is it?"
And another crystal sphere shattered spectacularly on the wood of the door.
"Endless magic, great, endless power and awe-inspiring splendour, great, neat wardrobe, wonderful, wonderful, a castle to boot, the castle beyond the labyrinth, great, whoopee, dream come frigging true..."
He swung back on the chair, rather precariously.
"She got out though, didn't she? Got in, got out, thirteen hours, give or take, and bam."
He launched another crystal at his target.
"Got the baby too. Bonus."
The pile of glass shards at the bottom of the door sparkled.
"Made it look so easy too," he grimaced, "Tra la la, you have no power over me. Piece of frigging cake."
He fell silent for a moment, inspected a newly-formed crystal that had come into being from somebody's dreams, rolled it around on the palm of his hand, and its dreams rolled with it, round and round, along the great walls of the Labyrinth, turning this way and that...
He sighed, and glared at the pile of papers he had taken from the library, those which seemed promising, but which, upon closer inspection, gave no answers, only nonsensical words and meaningless pictures, swept them onto the floor, rolled the crystal onto the floor.
Tomorrow he will forget, or pretend to forget, for he can no longer tell the difference. He will receive his appointments, and deal with his paperwork, and his goblins will, with some prodding, get the castle into order. And he will go on, as he had done, carry on and on, and on, across the universe.