The Scribes' Lament

By Telcontarian

For JetRedGirl: rest in stardust.

Written in response to the March/April writing challenge in LFFL. The ending is inspired by a meme posted by BFerg.

A massive thank you to tmwillson3 for beta reading, and for all of her support while writing this fic. As ever, a massive thank you to LFFL for the love and support in a time of grief, and to my online dysfunctional family.

A heavy downpour of rain began to fall from the sky, and a wordless cry of grief echoed throughout the Castle Beyond the Goblin City, tearing the Goblin King from his deep rest. A grief unlike any that he had ever felt before in time immemorial seized his heart, and such a soul-wrenching sadness had not been heard in any living memory for countless lonely years. A light sheen of sweat gathered on his forehead, his hands fisting in the sweat-soaked sheets when another shard of pain lanced through his heart, and he gasped for breath as he clutched his chest.

Another mournful howl reverberated through the silent streets, causing the hair on the back of his neck to stand on end, and the Goblin King could not fathom such a boundless, endless anguish. For how could any of his citizens have loved so deeply when it sounded as if their very souls were being torn asunder in their heartbreak?

He started as a soft, almost hesitant knock sounded on the heavy mantle of his chamber door. When he bade his visitor enter, Westlelton hesitated on the threshold, his head bowed in sorrow and his hat clutched between his gnarled fingers. "Your Scribes have suffered a great loss today, Sire; JetRedGirl has departed from this world. The Scribes have laid down their quills, and they have stopped writing."

Jareth's heart was seized in a vise-like grip, and a low moan, filled with the pain of eternal ages, escaped from his lips. In JetRedGirl's capable hands, she moulded him into the Goblin King of Rock'n'Roll. He would occasionally find himself humming along absentmindedly to "Pour Some Sugar on Me," only to stop himself with a shake of his head and an amused smile—thinking of JetRedGirl all the while. She was gone from this world, and her work would remain unfinished. With a snap of his fingers, his loose sleeping trousers were replaced by mourning attire as befitting his status: knee-high riding boots pulled over black, skin-tight breeches; a fine, silk, black shirt peeking out from under a beautifully embroidered waistcoat and a billowing, fur-lined black cape. "Take me to them at once, Weasletown," said the Goblin King softly, and his goblin aide did not have the heart to correct His Majesty, not when his tone lacked neither malice nor venom.

Deep within the Castle Beyond the Goblin City overlooking the Goblin King's private orchard lay the Chamber of the Scribes: a beautiful, cathedral-like room lined from floor to ceiling with many windows that bathed the Scribes' dwelling in a natural light. Unlike his last visit, there was no laughter now; instead, a heavy grief lay upon the Chamber, the air around him thick with mourning and loss.

To his great surprise, the door opened almost instantly when he knocked respectfully upon the frame, and he was greeted by Tyasha, one of the current spokespersons of the Scribes of the Goblin Court. He barely had time to register the woman's puffy, red-rimmed eyes and the tear stains that littered Tyasha's rosy cheeks before she sobbed loudly. His heart clenched in sympathy when the young woman threw her arms around his middle, crying out her pain and anguish into his chest, and he brought his own arms up to wrap hesitantly around his Scribe.

"I'm sorry for your loss," the Goblin King murmured, his gloved hand stroking gently through the dark skein of her hair. He followed Tyasha into the somber room, his eyes glancing over his subdued Scribes, caught somewhere between the harrowed and the haunted. Many of his Scribes huddled together for comfort, supporting each other in their grief while they wept in each other's arms. Some sat silently against a wall, their arms wrapped around their knees and staring blankly into space, lost for words for the first time in their lives. Another Scribe had attempted to describe her loss on thick, parchment paper, and their tears silently tumbled down her cheeks while they ripped their work into two pieces. And it was only then that Jareth understood their predicament: you cannot read loss, only feel it.

Jareth was quiet when he approached the overturned table at the head of the room, and his gaze fell heavily upon Catie as she sat on the floor amongst the carnage, her eyes hollow and her hair in disarray. "Have you seen Trash?" she whispered to Tyasha, her voice thick with unshed tears.

Tyasha gestured out into the courtyard where a tiny goblin grieved alone under the shade of a magnificent peach tree, even though its branches lay barren and refused to bear fruit. "Trash does not understand," she replied sadly. "She has been screaming her anger and grief to the skies for several hours now, Sire. She hasn't even started any dumpster fires today."

"We are lost, Your Majesty," said Catie, dabbing at her tears with her handkerchief. She leaned heavily against Tyasha when the other Scribe sank to the floor beside her, throwing an arm around her friend's shoulders. "Our inspiration has been taken from us, and we cannot write today. Maybe, we will pick up our quills again one day, but not now. Perhaps not ever."

"When the time is right, you will honour her memory. One day, you will tell of her story, and of her greatness; you will shroud JetRedGirl in legend. I only wish that I had but the power to reverse death, even for you, my dear Scribes." Jareth swallowed heavily as he glanced out at his peach tree, its blossoms waiting hopefully for the day that his absent Queen would return to his side to finally accept his hand. His eyes fell on the small goblin who kept her lonely vigil in the orchard, her clothes torn in her grief. "We shall hold a candlelight ceremony for our fallen comrade," he decided at length, and his Scribes held his gaze with a hopeful hunger, relying on their King to set the world to rights. "Watch for me by moonlight."

As the waning moon rose into the star-strewn sky, dressed warmly in their finest cloaks, the Scribes and their beloved King gathered under the boughs of the peach tree. Each member of the Goblin Court held a lit candle clutched tightly in the palm of their hand to say goodbye to their beloved friend. A hush fell over the gathered crowd, broken only by quiet tears and soft words of comfort, the flickering candlelight illuminating the Scribes' grief-stricken faces. Each of them was lost in their own thoughts, lost in the memories of their dear friend.

One of the Scribes tugged gently on Jareth's sleeve, and the Goblin King bent his head to listen, his fingers curling around the young woman's waist. "JetRedGirl worshipped the land, Sire. It is only right that we send her to her rest with a fitting tribute."

Though his tongue lay thick and heavy in his parched mouth, Jareth swallowed back the bitter pang of his own grief as the flickering candlelight ghosted over the angular lines of his face. "We all come from the Goddess, and to her we shall return, like a drop of rain flowing to the ocean. JetRedGirl was a kind and gentle soul, and she touched the lives of many. She will always hold a special place in my kingdom, and her legacy shall live eternal in the hearts of her fellow Scribes."

"May we say a few words, Your Majesty?" murmured Catie, her dark eyes glistening in the soft candlelight as she glanced up at the Goblin King before turning her gaze heavenward. "You are stardust, my friend. The sky is a little brighter because of you, even if we all feel a little darker tonight."

As she stepped aside, Tyasha came forward hesitantly to take her place, and Catie squeezed her friend's hand in silent support. "She was the glue that held us all together and—" She paused, her voice breaking, and Jareth lay his hand on Tyasha's shoulder to offer his silent encouragement. "—And even in the deepest, darkest realms of our nightmares, none of us could have ever imagined that she would lay down her quill for the final time."

"Not only have we lost a friend, we have also lost one of our family," said another Scribe quietly, and the Goblin King beckoned the woman to his side to deliver her eulogy. "Death is not the greatest loss in life; the greatest loss is what dies inside us while we live."

"May the stars speed you on your journey home, my dear JetRedGirl," said Jareth quietly, and a gentle wind blew through the orchard, brushing ghostly fingers through the tousled strands of his hair. "And wait for us, we who follow after." His cloak vanished, and the Goblin King shivered as the evening's chill bit briefly into his back, before a gentle weight settled around his shoulders. Jareth glanced down to find JetRedGirl's emerald green cloak wrapped around his body in a gentle embrace: a final gift from the recently departed Scribe to her King.

Each of their cloaks fluttered softly in the unseen breeze. Loving hands brushed against their faces to wipe away their tears, and phantom lips pressed a farewell kiss against each of their foreheads. With the soft sigh of a whispered goodbye, JetRedGirl finally departed to her eternal rest. The candlelight flickered once, and the gathered crowd were plunged into darkness as the soul of their most beloved friend vanished from the world.

As the Scribes and their King huddled together underneath the boughs of the peach tree to ward off Winter's deadly chill, each of them lost deeply within the realms of their own sadness, the stars overhead kept their own silent vigil. A soft gasp disturbed the still night air. Jareth turned in time to see one of the Scribes pointing up into the overhanging branches of the peach tree that they sheltered beneath, and her eyes were wide with wonder. "Look, Sire, the tree!"

His brow furrowed in confusion and his eyes narrowed, the Goblin King glanced upwards at the once barren tree, and his lips parted wordlessly when his gaze fell on the single peach that had blossomed overhead. For the first time in countless lonely years, Jareth finally allowed himself to hope, even as his eyes burned with unshed tears.

Tearing his gaze away from the peach tree, Jareth turned to the Scribes once more. "I will not say do not weep, for not all tears are an evil. Grief is the last act of love we have to give to those we loved. Where there is deep grief, there was deep love." With a clever twist of his fingers, the Goblin King summoned a crystal ball into existence. Jareth closed his eyes briefly and blew gently on the glass orb nestled in the palm of his gloved hands. A soft smile curled at the corners of his mouth as he examined his creation, before he beckoned Tyasha to his side. "You will write of JetRedGirl's greatness, and your quills will weave tales of your love for her," he said gently, tipping the crystal ball into her waiting hands, and he placed a comforting hand on the young woman's shoulders. "Though she is far, she will never be gone; not while she lives on in the hearts of those she has left behind." The Goblin King vanished into the night on silent wings, and he screeched a mournful cry as he took to the skies, the starlight casting a soft light over his avian form.

And Tyasha laughed through her tears, holding out the crystal ball for the Scribes as they gathered around their friend. Reflected in the polished glass surface of the orb, a crystal ballroom shimmered into existence, and the recently departed JetRedGirl danced in the arms of her beloved King for all eternity. "It's only forever," Tyasha whispered, "It's not long at all."

This has been quite possibly the hardest piece that I have written. I have borrowed the following quotes, and I have credited them to the best of my ability:

"You cannot read loss, only feel it" is a line from the incredible Memoirs of a Geisha by Arthur Golden.

"We all come from the Goddess and to her we shall return, like a drop of rain flowing to the ocean" is a line from a Pagan chant, and has been covered in the song "We All Come From the Goddess" by Moving Breath.

"Death is not the greatest loss in life; the greatest loss is what dies inside us while we live" is a quote by Norman Cousins.

"Grief is the last act of love we have to give to those we loved. Where there is deep grief, there was deep love." Author Unknown.

"I will not say do not weep, for not all tears are an evil" from J.R.R Tolkien.