Nine
Jareth couldn't understand how his plans had backfired so severely. He retraced his though process, trying to understand what could have gone wrong. He would create a fantasy dimension, where a legendary King had been wished away to the Labyrinth. He would breathe life into the world, make it real for Sarah, so that she would come to the Underground. That part had worked: she loved fantasy, he had known that she would come. He would give her another chance to see the beauty and wonder of his kingdom, and he would give himself another chance to show her that he loved, needed her, and would do everything for her. If she would only consent to stay with him. He had tried to do that.
And yet she still refused to acknowledge him. What was he doing wrong? He could only assume, from what he knew of Sarah, that if there was one thing she would want him to be, it was a character from a legend. A King out of myth. Able, he thought with a slight frown, to turn the world upside down. But he had tried to act that part for her before, but to no avail. What could he possibly do? He supposed he would simply have to resort to trial and error before he would be able to get through to her.
And I would be anything for her, he thought.
Jareth paced back and forth across the floor of his bedroom, his heeled boots clicking against the stone flags. He groaned suddenly, clasping his hands behind his neck, and called a goblin servant. He needed some sort of food to ponder this matter.
The goblin entered, ridiculous in a red and purple tunic and patched leather breeches. He bowed deeply, his spear clattering against the floor as he dropped it. "Y-yes? Your Majesty?"
"Bring me something to eat. Anything. And some wine."
"Right away, your highness!" the goblin squeaked, terrified. It picked up its spear and scurried away to carry Jareth's orders out.
Jareth sighed and slumped into a chair. Taking out a crystal, he transferred it from hand to hand, watching the light play off its surface. An image appeared inside the sphere, coalesced and focused to reveal Sarah and Arthur talking cheerily as they wound their way along a forest trail. A wave of inexplicable jealously surged through him, even though he could see nothing other than words going back and forth between them. But in his mind, he saw them exchanging glances, laughing at him between kisses. He frowned. So even his thoughts were betraying him now?
He slammed his fist against the chair, sending up a small cloud of dust, which surprised him for a moment. Dust? In his room? Wasn't someone supposed to clean this room every day or so? By the time the goblin he had sent to get food returned, Jareth was in a foul mood, and the goblin received a kick for his trouble.
Jareth set the tray down on his bed and inspected the food that the goblin had brought. Well, there was a goblet of wine. That was good; goblins couldn't do anything to wine. He picked up the goblet and sipped lazily as he lifted the silver dome covering the plate.
Chicken. Small pieces of chicken. In his mind's eye, Jareth saw the chicken that the goblins had been cooking only hours before. He pictured it being thrown around the room and ripped into…he looked down at his plate. Very small pieces.
His stomach gurgling unpleasantly, Jareth sighed and replaced the dome, all his appetite gone. Why, he thought, am I having such a hard time eating today? Every time I try to have dinner, I lose my appetite. "It's not fair!"
Eyes widening in shock as he realized what he had just said, he clamped a hand over his mouth and screamed into his palm. This was all Sarah's fault. All of it, her fault. He would see her in the Bog for this. Relax, relax, he told himself frantically. Goblin Kings did not behave in such a frivolous manner. They did not. Jareth repeated this over and over until he had brought himself to the point where he could sit still in a chair and finish his wine.
He threw a leg over the arm of the chair and reclined in the cushioned seat. Draining his wine, he tossed the jeweled goblet aside. It hit the floor on the other side of the room with a dull clink, and then silence descended. Jareth tilted his head back and rested it on the back of the chair. He watched with no real interest as a small insect trundled along the ceiling. Idly sending a burst of magic in its direction, he fried it to a crunchy crisp and smiled grimly as it fell towards the floor. He reached up and ran his fingers distractedly through his hair.
"What to do, what to do," he thought aloud. He felt like he was walking in mental circles. He had to find out why Sarah continually rejected him.
"What I need," he thought at last, "is someone who knows love. Someone who can decipher it whims and caprices. I wonder…who could I ask?" He ran through a list of all his goblins, none of which would have been able to answer his questions. He started pacing back and forth, bootless feet padding on the stone. He needed someone who could not only tell him exactly what in him disgusted Sarah, but what she wanted him to be.
Gods, he needed an analyst.
No! he thought frantically. No analysts! The last one had told him that he needed to get rid of all the goblins in order to feel completely at ease with himself and his power. Then he has said that Jareth was suffering from long-repressed childhood traumas, which was why he felt the urge to turn small children into short, fat, drooling goblins. Jareth had thought blackly that there really wasn't much difference, but wisely hadn't said anything.
He could always, of course, go Aboveground. But that would mean leaving Sarah and Arthur alone, possibly for a period of time that would extend beyond their thirteen-hour limit. On the other hand, there was no way he would let Sarah escape him this time. Gods and Goblins, this was a dilemma. Perhaps he could call someone, and order them to find him a good adviser.
He looked at the clock. Only five hours left. There just wasn't time. What to do, what to do?
Jareth couldn't understand how his plans had backfired so severely. He retraced his though process, trying to understand what could have gone wrong. He would create a fantasy dimension, where a legendary King had been wished away to the Labyrinth. He would breathe life into the world, make it real for Sarah, so that she would come to the Underground. That part had worked: she loved fantasy, he had known that she would come. He would give her another chance to see the beauty and wonder of his kingdom, and he would give himself another chance to show her that he loved, needed her, and would do everything for her. If she would only consent to stay with him. He had tried to do that.
And yet she still refused to acknowledge him. What was he doing wrong? He could only assume, from what he knew of Sarah, that if there was one thing she would want him to be, it was a character from a legend. A King out of myth. Able, he thought with a slight frown, to turn the world upside down. But he had tried to act that part for her before, but to no avail. What could he possibly do? He supposed he would simply have to resort to trial and error before he would be able to get through to her.
And I would be anything for her, he thought.
Jareth paced back and forth across the floor of his bedroom, his heeled boots clicking against the stone flags. He groaned suddenly, clasping his hands behind his neck, and called a goblin servant. He needed some sort of food to ponder this matter.
The goblin entered, ridiculous in a red and purple tunic and patched leather breeches. He bowed deeply, his spear clattering against the floor as he dropped it. "Y-yes? Your Majesty?"
"Bring me something to eat. Anything. And some wine."
"Right away, your highness!" the goblin squeaked, terrified. It picked up its spear and scurried away to carry Jareth's orders out.
Jareth sighed and slumped into a chair. Taking out a crystal, he transferred it from hand to hand, watching the light play off its surface. An image appeared inside the sphere, coalesced and focused to reveal Sarah and Arthur talking cheerily as they wound their way along a forest trail. A wave of inexplicable jealously surged through him, even though he could see nothing other than words going back and forth between them. But in his mind, he saw them exchanging glances, laughing at him between kisses. He frowned. So even his thoughts were betraying him now?
He slammed his fist against the chair, sending up a small cloud of dust, which surprised him for a moment. Dust? In his room? Wasn't someone supposed to clean this room every day or so? By the time the goblin he had sent to get food returned, Jareth was in a foul mood, and the goblin received a kick for his trouble.
Jareth set the tray down on his bed and inspected the food that the goblin had brought. Well, there was a goblet of wine. That was good; goblins couldn't do anything to wine. He picked up the goblet and sipped lazily as he lifted the silver dome covering the plate.
Chicken. Small pieces of chicken. In his mind's eye, Jareth saw the chicken that the goblins had been cooking only hours before. He pictured it being thrown around the room and ripped into…he looked down at his plate. Very small pieces.
His stomach gurgling unpleasantly, Jareth sighed and replaced the dome, all his appetite gone. Why, he thought, am I having such a hard time eating today? Every time I try to have dinner, I lose my appetite. "It's not fair!"
Eyes widening in shock as he realized what he had just said, he clamped a hand over his mouth and screamed into his palm. This was all Sarah's fault. All of it, her fault. He would see her in the Bog for this. Relax, relax, he told himself frantically. Goblin Kings did not behave in such a frivolous manner. They did not. Jareth repeated this over and over until he had brought himself to the point where he could sit still in a chair and finish his wine.
He threw a leg over the arm of the chair and reclined in the cushioned seat. Draining his wine, he tossed the jeweled goblet aside. It hit the floor on the other side of the room with a dull clink, and then silence descended. Jareth tilted his head back and rested it on the back of the chair. He watched with no real interest as a small insect trundled along the ceiling. Idly sending a burst of magic in its direction, he fried it to a crunchy crisp and smiled grimly as it fell towards the floor. He reached up and ran his fingers distractedly through his hair.
"What to do, what to do," he thought aloud. He felt like he was walking in mental circles. He had to find out why Sarah continually rejected him.
"What I need," he thought at last, "is someone who knows love. Someone who can decipher it whims and caprices. I wonder…who could I ask?" He ran through a list of all his goblins, none of which would have been able to answer his questions. He started pacing back and forth, bootless feet padding on the stone. He needed someone who could not only tell him exactly what in him disgusted Sarah, but what she wanted him to be.
Gods, he needed an analyst.
No! he thought frantically. No analysts! The last one had told him that he needed to get rid of all the goblins in order to feel completely at ease with himself and his power. Then he has said that Jareth was suffering from long-repressed childhood traumas, which was why he felt the urge to turn small children into short, fat, drooling goblins. Jareth had thought blackly that there really wasn't much difference, but wisely hadn't said anything.
He could always, of course, go Aboveground. But that would mean leaving Sarah and Arthur alone, possibly for a period of time that would extend beyond their thirteen-hour limit. On the other hand, there was no way he would let Sarah escape him this time. Gods and Goblins, this was a dilemma. Perhaps he could call someone, and order them to find him a good adviser.
He looked at the clock. Only five hours left. There just wasn't time. What to do, what to do?