Chapter Twenty, part 2: Betrayal and Conviction
Then he had returned...
There had been much to handle according to royal affairs before throwing his
previous life to the wind. Jareth had hastened his way to the Underground, well aware of
the law that would be completely shattered when he at last joined Emily on the mortal
world. Great precautions had been taken, and he had used the utmost stealth in the careful
plans he had formulated.
It had, however, all been for naught. Jareth tore his frozen gaze away from the
aging painting and walked further into his chambers. A cold breeze touched his face, as it
snaked in from behind the heavy velvet curtains. With that, the Goblin King was reminded
of his precarious position, restrictions that had been placed upon him, and "their" watchful
gazes, forever fixated upon his life. He would have no privacy, not after what had
occurred with Emelia.
"And now you enter my life again, and do not think that I am not well aware of
your spies that hide among those dull-witted faces," Jareth sneered as he briefly cast the
curtain aside to look out into the clear sky.
One could easily take the Fae lord as being paranoid. Nonetheless, those eyes,
diligently watchful, and originating from the royal court itself, were felt in every dark
corner and behind each door left ajar. Jareth could feel the steady gaze upon his back, and
no matter how he turned, it was forever behind him. A shiver stole its way down his spine
at the revelation and he forced the thoughts from his mind.
Despite the perfect planning, the lovestruck stupor of youthful days was forever
gone. It had turned to dust, and taken the path of the wind. Time would never turn back,
although Jareth claimed control over the very clocks of the Labyrinth, he could never
change the past. It was as it was, and that was to be accepted.
No matter how much one wished it could be different...
* * * * * * * *
It had already broken into daylight when Jareth arrived back into the Underground.
He had yet to be granted the "enlightening" position as Goblin King, though the
"privilege" was not far off. Instead Jareth still had remained in his father's castle, awaiting
the day that he, as eldest in the family, would receive the rule of the fae kingdom.
He had traveled by form of the owl, hoping that the disguise would discourage
guards from recognizing the youthful prince and informing others of his truancy. He
lighted upon the windowsill, observing the goings on within his chamber through the
golden eyes of the owl.
A simple minded maid, whom he had toyed with countless times, was dutifully
changing a bed that had not been slept in. She would never dare to speak a word of the
young master's absence, in fear of punishment, or banishment, or perhaps death. There
would be no end for such blasphemy, when it was proved that Jareth had, in fact, remained
the night elsewhere in the expansive castle.
He beat his wings in anxious impatience, and watched as the doe-eyed maid looked
towards him. She bowed respectfully and, gathering the linen in her arms, hurried from
the room, never once glancing back. Such servants were difficult to find, but came in
quite handy when he was to sneak back in, unnoticed.
Jareth flew into the room amidst a fury of magical spectacles. He had never been
one for a mediocre entrance. Instantly, the handsome youth stood, where only moments
earlier had been the feathered form of the owl. Spent magic cascaded upon the pristine
floor in the form of shattered gems, which hastened to nothingness shortly later.
He paid no heed to anything, but instead strode quickly from his room, adjusting
his clothing as he left. It was not proper to be seen in such peasant attire when in the
company of his royal family. With a mere flick of his wrist he was clothed fittingly, an
ivory cloak draped over his shoulders, and matched perfectly with the pants and jacket of
the same perfect white. Golden tooling and embroidering adorned his jacket, and worked
its way along the arms and over the collar.
He burst into the corridor, startling several passing ladies, who instantly chirped
sweet laughter into the air. Jareth merely bowed, taking the hand of the young woman
closest, and kissed it tenderly. He turned his mismatched eyes upwards, meeting her
melting gaze, and then graced her with a striking smile. She fairly swooned into the
crowd of those behind her, but managed to compose herself.
"You are as lovely as the morning, milady," Jareth remarked, charm dripping from
his every word and movement.
More laughter followed that, as did bits of talk as the ladies walked towards the
stairs. Jareth merely smiled and then turned the opposite way, towards the chambers of
his brother. The reliable boy, four years his minor and already approaching the age of
seventeen, would do anything he asked, or so Jareth believed.
He paused at his brother's door, and poised his fist to strike the rich mahogany
wood. Sounds from within drew away any thoughts of a courteous entrance, and Jareth
instantly cast the door open. The young boy, whom had been standing near the balcony,
instantly leapt about, face flushed, hair wild, and the corners of his clothing were
noticeably worse for the wear.
The prince's dark, nearly ebony hair, laid in matted tangles upon his shoulders. In
contrast to that rich dark mane, his eyes burned in a crystalline faded blue shade, nearly
white in their pallor. His skin was alabaster, once more driving the outstanding nature of
his black locks to be the first feature one would notice. He was not as tall as Jareth, nor
as handsome, suave, graceful, nearly in every way the young prince did not quite match his
older sibling.
Jareth's mismatched eyes flashed in the morning sun as he approached his younger
brother. A look of menace graced his features, if only for a moment, before he placed the
mask of caring upon his face.
"Nicholas, what is this disturbance in which you have.... undertaken?" Jareth
paused in his inquiry as the lovely, pale face of some young woman, drifted into view from
behind the flowing curtains. Their thick, silken material dutifully hindered the view of the
balcony.
Nicholas instantly stepped to block the mystery lady from his elder brother, his
face set in a firm seriousness. Jareth cocked his head slightly at the odd goings on, and
then leant against the bedpost, crossing his arms over the pristine, white jacket. His
intense eyes captured his brother's, and held the younger prince's own determined gaze.
"She is of no concern to you, Jareth. Leave us be," Nicholas remarked with a
short air of stubbornness.
Jareth's eyebrow's raised in a questioning manner, and Nicholas stepped back,
visibly weakened by his brother's altered demeanor. Without a single moment of
hesitation, Jareth rushed forwards, sweeping past his brother and out to the balcony. He
cast aside the heavy curtains, and then beheld the remarkable woman, who jumped only
slightly from the genuine startle Jareth had invoked.
He swallowed, gaze taking in the fair woman's appearance in a sweeping glance.
She was slender, delicate, pale, with blonde -nearly silver- mane of hair that swept over
her shoulders and down to her waist. She wore a dress of the purest pastel pink, that
graced her youthful countenance to an extent that Jareth soon found himself beyond
words. Nicholas had found a woman who could actually compare to Jareth in her lovely
appearance.
"I am, quite sorry, milady," Jareth nearly purred as he knelt before her, taking her
shivering hand in his own and placing his soft lips to her pure flesh.
She withdrew it before he could rise, and turned his overwhelming eyes upwards
to her own. She had placed the hand over the swell of her breast, face more red than was
natural and a smile beginning to touch the rims of her full lips. Jareth rose to his feet, and
glanced back at his brother, whom had ground his teeth and set his jaw in anger.
"I have matters to discuss with my brother. Pardon me for this intrusion, my
dear," Jareth stated in a low seductive tone, which swept across the room like velvet
kisses.
Jareth watched as the walked silently from the room, head downturned and gaze
fixed firmly on the stone floor. She was quite a catch, and Jareth looked slyly at his
brother when the door at last shut closed. Nicholas was, obviously, quite disturbed by
that point and frowned at his older brother.
"Coming to steal another, Jareth?" Nicholas demanded, his eyes narrowed in
anger.
Jareth flipped his hand through the air, dismissing such questions as irrelevant. He
had nothing of the sort in mind. After all, there was fair Emelia awaiting his return in the
mortal realm. The mere thought of her lovely face, perfect figure, tender lips, drove
shivers along Jareth's flesh.
"Quite the opposite, dear brother. I wish to bestow upon you, the right to the
throne, as next heir. I am leaving this afternoon, and shall not return for quite some years.
You and this new lady, can have the kingdom, if you swear to never tell father of where I
go, or what I have done," Jareth paused, his words growing in intensity as he spoke, "Do
you swear it?"
Nicholas nodded vehemently, his mind far too much in shock to actually realize
what he had accepted. However, Jareth appeared pleased, as he clapped his young
brother on the back. Nicholas relented under the force and stumbled forward a bit.
"But where, Jareth? Surely you're not about to dwell with that mortal woman!"
Nicholas spat the words out.
At that Jareth drew his hand back, and Nicholas recoiled, his hands out to defend
against his brother's blow. Still, there was no harsh impact of a fist against his face, and
gradually the prince glanced towards his brother. Jareth appeared changed, as he allowed
his hand to drop to his side. He sighed deeply and then urged for his brother to come
forward, and not fear a violent outburst.
Nicholas did as he was gestured, nervous that it was all a well-orchestrated trick,
but obedient nonetheless. Jareth did not strike his brother, but grasped Nicholas'
shoulders firmly in a vice-like grip. The younger prince cringed and then looked into
Jareth's volatile eyes.
"You have never heard this, and shall tell no one that I have gone there. I swear
by the blood of ancient kings, that you will forever remember the day if you betray me!"
Jareth shook Nicholas as he made his demands.
"Your secret will die with me," Nicholas promised, once again wincing as a mild
pain flared up his aching arms.
Jareth allowed his grip to loosen and he patted his brother on the back, delighted
that everything had come about so easily. He then turned about, pausing a brief moment
at the door, perhaps contemplating what to say to his sibling, when this could very well be
the last time they would speak for many years.
Jareth turned, flashing a pleasant smile towards Nicholas and then offered his
brother a slight bow of respect. Nicholas appeared only shocked, and perhaps curious as
to why his brother should genuflect before him.
"I wish you only luck and happiness, Nicholas, as the future king," Jareth said, his
voice coated in a sugary sarcasm, which did not pass unnoticed by his brother. Nicholas
flinched noticeably and then allowed a slight frown to form upon his features as Jareth left
the room.
The remaining prince clenched his jaw, angered with his brother's actions,
infuriated at the way Jareth had spoken to his guest, and Nicholas had been unable to utter
a word of protest that his brother would listen to. It had been that way since Nicholas
could recall, and would remain so until Jareth took his early leave, to dwell with the
mortal wench amongst other lowly creatures.
"Shall die with me, Jareth, or with you," Nicholas remarked, and a brief smile lit
his serious face.
* * * * * * * *
In the distance the sun laid low on the horizon, signaling the approach of dusk and
the time to make his grand exit from the Underground. Jareth walked silently,
determination in every stride as he approached his chambers. There would be no turning
back, not after all the plans that had been made, those that could not be reversed.
"Son," came the hard, stentorian voice from the fae king, the high lord himself.
Jareth's blood ran cold at the sound of the single word echoing along the empty
passages. It seemed that even his heart, drumming away relentlessly within his chest,
could be heard as powerfully as his father's voice. He paused momentarily, seriously
debating the option of running at that moment, but rather chose to face the circumstance
that led his father to him.
"Yes, father?" Jareth questioned, as he turned to view his father's wizened face.
The king's stern appearance was doubled by the anger that had risen across his
cold, icy eyes. They were the shade of crystalline blue that Nicholas had received. The
same shade that had graced Jareth's right eye, but had not touched the copper fire in the
other. Jareth held his ground and waited, in silence, for his father to speak.
"Where are you off to? Dinner waits," the old king explained with a hint of
pleasantries in his voice. Still, the casual tone did not touch the look of death in his eyes.
"Very well," Jareth responded, knowing that his fate was soon to be decided and
dinner was not the reason for his father's appearance.
He merely followed the king, down the dimly lit passageway, which no longer held
the warmth of the dusk sun. Outside the sky was painted with hues of purples, reds and
glorious arrays of pinks. It seemed as if the heavens themselves had caught fire, and now
raged in those intense shades. The awe-striking view appeared rhythmical from the open
windows, and then disappeared as the gray-stoned walls broke rudely into his field of
vision.
Jareth nearly succeeded in colliding with his father, as he turned his downcast eyes
towards the king. He realized, halting a scant inch from the high King's back, that they
had stopped outside the broad wooden doors, leading into the throne room, not the dining
hall. Jareth had assumed as much when first relenting to his father's wishes.
"Come, son," the king stated as he watched the large doors swing open with the
help of the royal guards on the other side.
Jareth said nothing, but followed behind, prepared to face the brunt of his
punishment. All the while his mind spun, wondering where he had gone wrong, where he
had slipped in his well devised plan. It had all appeared as slick as clockwork, without a
single hitch to hinder his progressions to meet lovely Emily that night, to which he would
never show.
Then the entire crowd of royal advisors, and members of the court came into view.
Grim, silent expressions were evident on every pale face. Woman glanced away, unable to
look into the eyes of the fallen prince. Jareth found himself searching for his own mother,
whose presence could not be found amidst the others.
"You know why you are here," his father stated as he left Jareth's side to sit upon
his grand, golden throne.
"Yes," Jareth stated simply, holding his head high as he was made subject to the
countless accusing eyes.
Then, as if a snake slithering forth from beneath a shadowed crevice of a rock,
Nicholas appeared. His dark hair was pulled back into a white, silken ribbon, and his
powder-blue eyes were as cold as ice when he looked at his older brother.
Jareth's mind nearly exploded as revaluation collided with horror. His brother, a
bond of blood, had been the one to wrong him. Nicholas had told their father, had done
so merely to spite Jareth. Now the throne would be the younger prince's still, and Jareth
would be imprisoned, for life perhaps. A sentence terrifying to an immortal.
"Grave charges have been placed upon your head, Jareth. I would not believe until
speaking to your chamber maid, whom complied with all that had been presented to me.
Tell me truthfully, or lest your sentence be that much worse. Have you stolen away to the
mortal realm, engaging with a mortal woman, and this very night planned to leave to be
with her?!" the old King roared the accusal, and Jareth faltered noticeably. All the while
Nicholas glared, a smirk resting upon his thin lips.
Jareth turned to look into the crowd of spectators, who waited with baited breath
to hear if the horrifying charge was truthful. Young ladies blushed furiously as they
recalled the way Jareth had kissed their hands, that they had been attracted to such a
horrid criminal. The elder men bore the same expression as the king, and shook their
heads seriously as Jareth's gaze fell on them.
After long last he turned to face the king and nodded, keeping his face emotionless
in the process. A mask of indifference rested on his features, blocking out the pain that
surged through his soul at not being allowed to venture to Emelia that night. His father
would never be given the satisfaction of knowing how much it had hurt.
"Very well," his father muttered and then nodded towards the guards.
They rushed forwards, grabbing Jareth's arms in a vice-like grip. It was only then
that the prince realized what would occur, and that there would be no way to meet his
love, nor to live forever by her side. At that thought he exploded, thrashing about in the
guards' grips, and flailing like a madman to be free. He needed only enough time to fly
away, seek refuge in the mortal realm, and then....
Before his plan could even begin to take effect, a blunt object was hit upon his
head. Jareth's sight doubled, and pin-points of light broke out in wavering areas. Then
the entire crowd in the throne room began to fade, into blackness. He soon slumped over
and was dragged from the watchful eyes of those in attendance.
Then he had returned...
There had been much to handle according to royal affairs before throwing his
previous life to the wind. Jareth had hastened his way to the Underground, well aware of
the law that would be completely shattered when he at last joined Emily on the mortal
world. Great precautions had been taken, and he had used the utmost stealth in the careful
plans he had formulated.
It had, however, all been for naught. Jareth tore his frozen gaze away from the
aging painting and walked further into his chambers. A cold breeze touched his face, as it
snaked in from behind the heavy velvet curtains. With that, the Goblin King was reminded
of his precarious position, restrictions that had been placed upon him, and "their" watchful
gazes, forever fixated upon his life. He would have no privacy, not after what had
occurred with Emelia.
"And now you enter my life again, and do not think that I am not well aware of
your spies that hide among those dull-witted faces," Jareth sneered as he briefly cast the
curtain aside to look out into the clear sky.
One could easily take the Fae lord as being paranoid. Nonetheless, those eyes,
diligently watchful, and originating from the royal court itself, were felt in every dark
corner and behind each door left ajar. Jareth could feel the steady gaze upon his back, and
no matter how he turned, it was forever behind him. A shiver stole its way down his spine
at the revelation and he forced the thoughts from his mind.
Despite the perfect planning, the lovestruck stupor of youthful days was forever
gone. It had turned to dust, and taken the path of the wind. Time would never turn back,
although Jareth claimed control over the very clocks of the Labyrinth, he could never
change the past. It was as it was, and that was to be accepted.
No matter how much one wished it could be different...
* * * * * * * *
It had already broken into daylight when Jareth arrived back into the Underground.
He had yet to be granted the "enlightening" position as Goblin King, though the
"privilege" was not far off. Instead Jareth still had remained in his father's castle, awaiting
the day that he, as eldest in the family, would receive the rule of the fae kingdom.
He had traveled by form of the owl, hoping that the disguise would discourage
guards from recognizing the youthful prince and informing others of his truancy. He
lighted upon the windowsill, observing the goings on within his chamber through the
golden eyes of the owl.
A simple minded maid, whom he had toyed with countless times, was dutifully
changing a bed that had not been slept in. She would never dare to speak a word of the
young master's absence, in fear of punishment, or banishment, or perhaps death. There
would be no end for such blasphemy, when it was proved that Jareth had, in fact, remained
the night elsewhere in the expansive castle.
He beat his wings in anxious impatience, and watched as the doe-eyed maid looked
towards him. She bowed respectfully and, gathering the linen in her arms, hurried from
the room, never once glancing back. Such servants were difficult to find, but came in
quite handy when he was to sneak back in, unnoticed.
Jareth flew into the room amidst a fury of magical spectacles. He had never been
one for a mediocre entrance. Instantly, the handsome youth stood, where only moments
earlier had been the feathered form of the owl. Spent magic cascaded upon the pristine
floor in the form of shattered gems, which hastened to nothingness shortly later.
He paid no heed to anything, but instead strode quickly from his room, adjusting
his clothing as he left. It was not proper to be seen in such peasant attire when in the
company of his royal family. With a mere flick of his wrist he was clothed fittingly, an
ivory cloak draped over his shoulders, and matched perfectly with the pants and jacket of
the same perfect white. Golden tooling and embroidering adorned his jacket, and worked
its way along the arms and over the collar.
He burst into the corridor, startling several passing ladies, who instantly chirped
sweet laughter into the air. Jareth merely bowed, taking the hand of the young woman
closest, and kissed it tenderly. He turned his mismatched eyes upwards, meeting her
melting gaze, and then graced her with a striking smile. She fairly swooned into the
crowd of those behind her, but managed to compose herself.
"You are as lovely as the morning, milady," Jareth remarked, charm dripping from
his every word and movement.
More laughter followed that, as did bits of talk as the ladies walked towards the
stairs. Jareth merely smiled and then turned the opposite way, towards the chambers of
his brother. The reliable boy, four years his minor and already approaching the age of
seventeen, would do anything he asked, or so Jareth believed.
He paused at his brother's door, and poised his fist to strike the rich mahogany
wood. Sounds from within drew away any thoughts of a courteous entrance, and Jareth
instantly cast the door open. The young boy, whom had been standing near the balcony,
instantly leapt about, face flushed, hair wild, and the corners of his clothing were
noticeably worse for the wear.
The prince's dark, nearly ebony hair, laid in matted tangles upon his shoulders. In
contrast to that rich dark mane, his eyes burned in a crystalline faded blue shade, nearly
white in their pallor. His skin was alabaster, once more driving the outstanding nature of
his black locks to be the first feature one would notice. He was not as tall as Jareth, nor
as handsome, suave, graceful, nearly in every way the young prince did not quite match his
older sibling.
Jareth's mismatched eyes flashed in the morning sun as he approached his younger
brother. A look of menace graced his features, if only for a moment, before he placed the
mask of caring upon his face.
"Nicholas, what is this disturbance in which you have.... undertaken?" Jareth
paused in his inquiry as the lovely, pale face of some young woman, drifted into view from
behind the flowing curtains. Their thick, silken material dutifully hindered the view of the
balcony.
Nicholas instantly stepped to block the mystery lady from his elder brother, his
face set in a firm seriousness. Jareth cocked his head slightly at the odd goings on, and
then leant against the bedpost, crossing his arms over the pristine, white jacket. His
intense eyes captured his brother's, and held the younger prince's own determined gaze.
"She is of no concern to you, Jareth. Leave us be," Nicholas remarked with a
short air of stubbornness.
Jareth's eyebrow's raised in a questioning manner, and Nicholas stepped back,
visibly weakened by his brother's altered demeanor. Without a single moment of
hesitation, Jareth rushed forwards, sweeping past his brother and out to the balcony. He
cast aside the heavy curtains, and then beheld the remarkable woman, who jumped only
slightly from the genuine startle Jareth had invoked.
He swallowed, gaze taking in the fair woman's appearance in a sweeping glance.
She was slender, delicate, pale, with blonde -nearly silver- mane of hair that swept over
her shoulders and down to her waist. She wore a dress of the purest pastel pink, that
graced her youthful countenance to an extent that Jareth soon found himself beyond
words. Nicholas had found a woman who could actually compare to Jareth in her lovely
appearance.
"I am, quite sorry, milady," Jareth nearly purred as he knelt before her, taking her
shivering hand in his own and placing his soft lips to her pure flesh.
She withdrew it before he could rise, and turned his overwhelming eyes upwards
to her own. She had placed the hand over the swell of her breast, face more red than was
natural and a smile beginning to touch the rims of her full lips. Jareth rose to his feet, and
glanced back at his brother, whom had ground his teeth and set his jaw in anger.
"I have matters to discuss with my brother. Pardon me for this intrusion, my
dear," Jareth stated in a low seductive tone, which swept across the room like velvet
kisses.
Jareth watched as the walked silently from the room, head downturned and gaze
fixed firmly on the stone floor. She was quite a catch, and Jareth looked slyly at his
brother when the door at last shut closed. Nicholas was, obviously, quite disturbed by
that point and frowned at his older brother.
"Coming to steal another, Jareth?" Nicholas demanded, his eyes narrowed in
anger.
Jareth flipped his hand through the air, dismissing such questions as irrelevant. He
had nothing of the sort in mind. After all, there was fair Emelia awaiting his return in the
mortal realm. The mere thought of her lovely face, perfect figure, tender lips, drove
shivers along Jareth's flesh.
"Quite the opposite, dear brother. I wish to bestow upon you, the right to the
throne, as next heir. I am leaving this afternoon, and shall not return for quite some years.
You and this new lady, can have the kingdom, if you swear to never tell father of where I
go, or what I have done," Jareth paused, his words growing in intensity as he spoke, "Do
you swear it?"
Nicholas nodded vehemently, his mind far too much in shock to actually realize
what he had accepted. However, Jareth appeared pleased, as he clapped his young
brother on the back. Nicholas relented under the force and stumbled forward a bit.
"But where, Jareth? Surely you're not about to dwell with that mortal woman!"
Nicholas spat the words out.
At that Jareth drew his hand back, and Nicholas recoiled, his hands out to defend
against his brother's blow. Still, there was no harsh impact of a fist against his face, and
gradually the prince glanced towards his brother. Jareth appeared changed, as he allowed
his hand to drop to his side. He sighed deeply and then urged for his brother to come
forward, and not fear a violent outburst.
Nicholas did as he was gestured, nervous that it was all a well-orchestrated trick,
but obedient nonetheless. Jareth did not strike his brother, but grasped Nicholas'
shoulders firmly in a vice-like grip. The younger prince cringed and then looked into
Jareth's volatile eyes.
"You have never heard this, and shall tell no one that I have gone there. I swear
by the blood of ancient kings, that you will forever remember the day if you betray me!"
Jareth shook Nicholas as he made his demands.
"Your secret will die with me," Nicholas promised, once again wincing as a mild
pain flared up his aching arms.
Jareth allowed his grip to loosen and he patted his brother on the back, delighted
that everything had come about so easily. He then turned about, pausing a brief moment
at the door, perhaps contemplating what to say to his sibling, when this could very well be
the last time they would speak for many years.
Jareth turned, flashing a pleasant smile towards Nicholas and then offered his
brother a slight bow of respect. Nicholas appeared only shocked, and perhaps curious as
to why his brother should genuflect before him.
"I wish you only luck and happiness, Nicholas, as the future king," Jareth said, his
voice coated in a sugary sarcasm, which did not pass unnoticed by his brother. Nicholas
flinched noticeably and then allowed a slight frown to form upon his features as Jareth left
the room.
The remaining prince clenched his jaw, angered with his brother's actions,
infuriated at the way Jareth had spoken to his guest, and Nicholas had been unable to utter
a word of protest that his brother would listen to. It had been that way since Nicholas
could recall, and would remain so until Jareth took his early leave, to dwell with the
mortal wench amongst other lowly creatures.
"Shall die with me, Jareth, or with you," Nicholas remarked, and a brief smile lit
his serious face.
* * * * * * * *
In the distance the sun laid low on the horizon, signaling the approach of dusk and
the time to make his grand exit from the Underground. Jareth walked silently,
determination in every stride as he approached his chambers. There would be no turning
back, not after all the plans that had been made, those that could not be reversed.
"Son," came the hard, stentorian voice from the fae king, the high lord himself.
Jareth's blood ran cold at the sound of the single word echoing along the empty
passages. It seemed that even his heart, drumming away relentlessly within his chest,
could be heard as powerfully as his father's voice. He paused momentarily, seriously
debating the option of running at that moment, but rather chose to face the circumstance
that led his father to him.
"Yes, father?" Jareth questioned, as he turned to view his father's wizened face.
The king's stern appearance was doubled by the anger that had risen across his
cold, icy eyes. They were the shade of crystalline blue that Nicholas had received. The
same shade that had graced Jareth's right eye, but had not touched the copper fire in the
other. Jareth held his ground and waited, in silence, for his father to speak.
"Where are you off to? Dinner waits," the old king explained with a hint of
pleasantries in his voice. Still, the casual tone did not touch the look of death in his eyes.
"Very well," Jareth responded, knowing that his fate was soon to be decided and
dinner was not the reason for his father's appearance.
He merely followed the king, down the dimly lit passageway, which no longer held
the warmth of the dusk sun. Outside the sky was painted with hues of purples, reds and
glorious arrays of pinks. It seemed as if the heavens themselves had caught fire, and now
raged in those intense shades. The awe-striking view appeared rhythmical from the open
windows, and then disappeared as the gray-stoned walls broke rudely into his field of
vision.
Jareth nearly succeeded in colliding with his father, as he turned his downcast eyes
towards the king. He realized, halting a scant inch from the high King's back, that they
had stopped outside the broad wooden doors, leading into the throne room, not the dining
hall. Jareth had assumed as much when first relenting to his father's wishes.
"Come, son," the king stated as he watched the large doors swing open with the
help of the royal guards on the other side.
Jareth said nothing, but followed behind, prepared to face the brunt of his
punishment. All the while his mind spun, wondering where he had gone wrong, where he
had slipped in his well devised plan. It had all appeared as slick as clockwork, without a
single hitch to hinder his progressions to meet lovely Emily that night, to which he would
never show.
Then the entire crowd of royal advisors, and members of the court came into view.
Grim, silent expressions were evident on every pale face. Woman glanced away, unable to
look into the eyes of the fallen prince. Jareth found himself searching for his own mother,
whose presence could not be found amidst the others.
"You know why you are here," his father stated as he left Jareth's side to sit upon
his grand, golden throne.
"Yes," Jareth stated simply, holding his head high as he was made subject to the
countless accusing eyes.
Then, as if a snake slithering forth from beneath a shadowed crevice of a rock,
Nicholas appeared. His dark hair was pulled back into a white, silken ribbon, and his
powder-blue eyes were as cold as ice when he looked at his older brother.
Jareth's mind nearly exploded as revaluation collided with horror. His brother, a
bond of blood, had been the one to wrong him. Nicholas had told their father, had done
so merely to spite Jareth. Now the throne would be the younger prince's still, and Jareth
would be imprisoned, for life perhaps. A sentence terrifying to an immortal.
"Grave charges have been placed upon your head, Jareth. I would not believe until
speaking to your chamber maid, whom complied with all that had been presented to me.
Tell me truthfully, or lest your sentence be that much worse. Have you stolen away to the
mortal realm, engaging with a mortal woman, and this very night planned to leave to be
with her?!" the old King roared the accusal, and Jareth faltered noticeably. All the while
Nicholas glared, a smirk resting upon his thin lips.
Jareth turned to look into the crowd of spectators, who waited with baited breath
to hear if the horrifying charge was truthful. Young ladies blushed furiously as they
recalled the way Jareth had kissed their hands, that they had been attracted to such a
horrid criminal. The elder men bore the same expression as the king, and shook their
heads seriously as Jareth's gaze fell on them.
After long last he turned to face the king and nodded, keeping his face emotionless
in the process. A mask of indifference rested on his features, blocking out the pain that
surged through his soul at not being allowed to venture to Emelia that night. His father
would never be given the satisfaction of knowing how much it had hurt.
"Very well," his father muttered and then nodded towards the guards.
They rushed forwards, grabbing Jareth's arms in a vice-like grip. It was only then
that the prince realized what would occur, and that there would be no way to meet his
love, nor to live forever by her side. At that thought he exploded, thrashing about in the
guards' grips, and flailing like a madman to be free. He needed only enough time to fly
away, seek refuge in the mortal realm, and then....
Before his plan could even begin to take effect, a blunt object was hit upon his
head. Jareth's sight doubled, and pin-points of light broke out in wavering areas. Then
the entire crowd in the throne room began to fade, into blackness. He soon slumped over
and was dragged from the watchful eyes of those in attendance.
