Chapter Twenty, part 3: King of the Goblins
The sensation of a dull searing pain, in the foremost region of his head was the first
thing Jareth experienced when the world began to return. Secondly he felt the cool metal
cuffs, restraining both his wrists and ankles against the damp brick wall of the castle
dungeon.
He opened his eyes, slowly growing accustomed to the darkness that surrounded
him. Time was completely lost, and he couldn't even begin to guess at how long he had
remained chained to the wall, in the dark. Already he was certain that the time to meet
Emelia had come and gone, without his presence being made known. She would be
utterly heartbroken, and their relationship shattered beyond repair.
"Father," Jareth called, his exotic, velveteen voice reduced to a series of struggled
rasps.
Still, there was no doubt in the denounced Prince's mind that the grand King
would hear. His father had succeeded on the throne through his watchful character and
careful observation of everything going on in his kingdom.
A brief explosion of cold blue light exploded before Jareth's physically drained
body. He squinted, having finally found himself used to the darkness, and turned his eyes
to the ground. A series of short-echoed footsteps upon the moss-covered ground,
approached the prisoner, and Jareth turned his emotionless gaze upwards.
"Awake, my son?" the king asked, his silver hair riding a stray breeze, as if a
molten liquid.
Jareth allowed the slightest grin to grace his paled lips. His face, however,
remained in the mask that had been set prior to his imprisonment. Everything was already
lost, to make a fool of himself at that point, would be only playing into his father's hands.
Jareth chose to stay above these games, and casually gestured towards the shackles.
"Is this really necessary?" he implored, cracking the heavy metal against the wall
several times, to emphasize the overused restraint.
The king walked nearer, staring his son with those eyes that seemed nearly as pale
as the sclera itself. Jareth returned the stony stare, and refused to avert his glare for
anything. If his father wished this to be a contest, then so be it. There was nothing left to
lose, save his innermost pride and dignity, which was wavering in and out as he remained
bonded to the wall.
"I suppose that time has passed enough. I will not let you lose before I bestow
your true punishment, Jareth. You are to be King," he stated, quite flatly as well.
The old king turned and coughed, and for the first time Jareth noticed just how
haggard he appeared. His skin hung just a bit about his face, and had turned to a more
ashen shade of gray. Those eyes, which burned with icy intensity, now were almost
drained, and lacked the conviction of the once vehement king. Even his stature, which had
been so noble for so long, was slightly drooped, depleted.
Jareth remained silent, and did not offer his father the chance of raising hopes.
There was always a catch, and this was a punishment, not a speech from king to heir.
Nicholas was to rule the kingdom, perhaps with the lovely young gem by his side, that had
been in the chambers earlier in the day.
"I bow to you, Jareth, Keeper of the Labyrinth, and King of the Goblins," the king
bit out viciously and then erupted into bales of powerful laughter, which racked his entire
ailing body.
Jareth's being leapt in anger, his body raged with fury, and the magic which
coursed through his veins became electric in a moment. Blue sparks of shocking power
covered his palms, cascading around the metal cuffs in bracelets of pure energy. He
clenched his jaw, watching the man whom he had called "Father" laughing at Jareth's
expense.
In a burst of magical power the shanks were destroyed, and Jareth stood free.
Instantly any and all laughter subsided, and silence reigned supreme in the dank dungeon.
Jareth strode defiantly from his prison, and towards his father, a look of determination set
upon his features.
Death could have easily occurred at that moment, when Jareth found himself in
control. He nearly reached out with those powerful magical incantations, to grip the life
from his father's dying soul, but stopped. The king withered noticeably, shrinking away as
if a weasel retreating to a hole. Jareth stopped, and watched his father back away, bowing
in mock respect to his son.
"You sicken me, as does this entire falsified kingdom. There is nothing here I wish
to take, and would rather make my home ruling cretins that roll in the mud and have not a
brain between the mass of them, than remain here a moment longer," Jareth declared, his
voice powerful, and reverberating throughout the enclosed prison.
"Son, you would never harm your father?!" the old king demanded, shrinking
farther away, and towards the rickety stairs which led to freedom.
Jareth shook his head, his golden locks flowing in a halo about his head. He
stopped advancing towards the old king and crossed his arms over his chest. Now was
not the time to demand apologies, but rather he would search it out from his brother at a
later date. Now was the time to retreat, lick wounds that would never truly heal, and find
a way to return to Emelia.
In a shock of brilliant white light, Jareth left the dungeon, and the kingdom for his
own. His father watched, half in awe and half in utter horror. For his son had powers
beyond anyone's comprehension. Never would the fae kingdom lose track of the
infamous Goblin King, never...
* * * * * * * *
"I wish the Goblins would come and take me away, right now...."
That voice, so horridly familiar, and so riddled with deathly overtones, had drifted
to his every watchful presence. It could have been mistaken for another witless reader of
his story... one who wanted their child or sibling taken from their sight, but it was not of
that sort. It was, instead, spoken by someone who wanted their problems replaced with
fantasy dreams, those that he could no longer offer.
He had seen the familiar landscape passing beneath his traveling form. Had
witnessed their private place, in which they met for a rendezvous of forbidden sorts. To
taste the fruit of passion, or so he could put it. The woods followed, and he could easily
spot the ancient ruins, where they had planned their future, and the lonely decrepit bridge,
where she had been, but he had never arrived.
"Emelia," even her name held such bittersweet memories that it pained him to even
think it.
He had tossed any part of her from his mind. She was not meant to be with him,
and so deserved to go on with her life, at least having a chance at a normal existence.
Obviously that too was not meant to be.
Jareth swooped downwards, circling overhead the dismal, dark mansion, which
had once appeared so bright, merely from her presence dwelling within. All was black
inside, save a single orange glow, emanating from which also appeared to be his final
destination. Heavy curls of thick smoke seeped from the open window.... and Jareth's
heart leapt into his throat.
"No," he thought, diving downwards and then nearly being overcome by the
agitating smoke.
He swept backwards, as flames licked from the window, traveling along the lovely
white-laced curtains. Inside he could hear sobs, and moans of such utter pain that he
could never begin to describe it. Jareth circled, unable to do a thing, as his mind traveled
over a thousand different possibilities.
Then, not able to take the horror any longer, a spell burst from his wings, covering
the flames in magic. The smoke died instantly, leaving nothing but burned furniture, walls,
and cloth to show the fact that a fire had been raging only moments earlier. With the
danger cleared he flew inside the open window, instantly taking his human shape.
Shattered glass laid scattered upon the floor, crackling beneath the heals of his tall,
black boots. Jareth quickly took in the scene of destruction, mismatched eyes tracing the
path the fire had taken from the overturned lamp, and onwards to consume the majority of
the room.
That was when he saw the shape, writhing only slightly in pain that could never be
explained in proper proportions. A sad, weak gurgling noise came from the burned throat
of the poor victim, sending Jareth a wave of guilt and pity for this mortal who had suffered
in the flames. Alas, his power could not bring the mortal back to health. It was there that
he was limited.
He strode towards the figure, but paused. The shock of chestnut hair, partially
burned, told him clearly whom laid upon the ground, draped partially with a charred white
sheet. She convulsed suddenly, and that face, half blackened, turned towards him. Only a
single chocolate eye remained open, and it rolled about the socket as death throws began
to take over her youthful body.
"Emily," Jareth whispered, a strange overwhelming lump forming in his throat as
he spoke her name once more.
She seemed almost to realize whom was there, and she stopped moving about in
agony. Her moribund state did not cease, however, and Jareth knew all too well that
death was near at hand. She had not a minute left in this world, and he knew, somehow,
that this was all his fault. Jareth dropped to his knees by her side and cringed at the
amount of burns ranging over her entire body.
She swallowed, perhaps trying to talk. Emelia managed only a shivering smile and
then dropped a leather bond book from her claw-like hand. Jareth looked towards it,
shock overcoming his grief as he realized just what it was. "Labyrinth" the cover read,
despite the smears of black soot from her hands, he knew very well that this was the novel
he had given her upon their first meeting.
She had read it, and had called upon the Goblin King in the story, to take her from
her life. Yet, she had not known that he was the Goblin King, for when he had given her
the book, Jareth had yet to be granted the most unsuitable title. Still, he had not come in
time, for Emelia had set the fire, trying to rid herself of the pain Jareth, himself, had
caused. Now there was no way to right the wrongs, for she would die at this young age, a
broken heart as her only company in the afterlife.
"I.... k-new you w-ere him," she whispered, her voice cracked, raspy, nothing like
the musical thing it had once been.
She gasped for air, hand clutching out into nothingness, and at last circling about
Jareth jacket. With this final movement he could take it no longer. He simply could not
allow her death, and so produced a crystal from the thin air and spun it about in his hands,
as Emelia watched with a blurred eye.
"Your soul shall live, Emelia, forever on this earth," Jareth stated and then placed
the magical orb on her dying body.
He backed away, loosening her grip on his jacket in the process. Emelia watched,
horror, or some form of emotion near that, overtook her features in those last moments
when she remained with her dying body. Then the sphere burst, and the incantation
dropped over her, like a soothing blanket. Her body died in that moment, but her essence,
her true being was not to leave.
The lovely whiteness that seeped from her body was the true inner soul of his love.
Jareth's eyes widened, as that perfection slipped out the window, and towards the grounds
of the grand mansion. It swirled about, taking a shape that Jareth had decided would suit
his love for all time. A form that would bring forth her true beauty, and make life bearable
enough.
Her legs grow long, ending in hooves, and her arms formed into forelegs. A
slender, sleek body became present next, leading on to a long arched neck, with a wild
fury of silver hair that rode the wind as some luxuriant liquid. Her large head was noble
and majestic, with great chestnut eyes that held the same love and innocence as they had
when Jareth first saw Emelia.
She pawed the ground, flicking an equally luxurious tale through the air as she
realized what had become of her. That finely detailed head looked upwards, and into the
window where she had been dying moments earlier. Jareth looked down towards her, his
appearance striking chords of sadness in her soul.
He had changed her from a human into a horse, a silver spirit horse, which existed,
but also did not exist at the same time. She was real, and then was not. Emelia tore her
gaze from her once lover and raced into the forest. The only human sound that she could
still make were her eternal sobs. They followed her into the woods, where they never
ceased....
Emelia, in the form of that lovely silver steed, cried for the life she had lost, and
the life she was forced to lead.
* * * * * * * *
A harsh knock upon the door drove Jareth from his melancholy reveries. He
prepared himself and then turned to face the doorway. There was no need to show poor
form, especially when his guest could be of some importance. The letters generally
prelude the visitation of some formal dignitary from the royal courts.
"Enter," Jareth allowed, his stature straight and tall, even proud, though there was
little to be proud about.
The door swung open to the grand appearance of the high king himself, whom
Jareth had nearly expected. There was no shock upon the Goblin King's continence, but
rather a smirk towards the dark-haired weakling whom walked into the chambers with a
sort of apprehension. A rat in disguise as a King.
"To what do I owe the pleasure, Nicholas?" Jareth questioned as he turned and
walked further within his room.
"You are not a fool, brother, and so I myself cannot understand why you have
placed yourself in this situation once more," Nicholas replied.
Jareth was silent for some time as he contemplated a suitable response for what his
brother has said. True, he knew about the consequences his current actions could create.
He was equally aware that, should he cast aside Sarah to dwell forever in the mortal
world, she would face the same fate as his lovely Emelia. That would not happen, if he
would be forced to face the executioner, he would do anything to prevent another instance
as had occurred nearly two hundred years earlier.
"It is all done, Nicholas...," Jareth paused as he produced a crystal which now
showed Sarah in startling reality, and presented it to his brother's questioning gaze, "To
right a wrong I never believed I could remedy. Now, I shall set things right, and save her
as well."
The sensation of a dull searing pain, in the foremost region of his head was the first
thing Jareth experienced when the world began to return. Secondly he felt the cool metal
cuffs, restraining both his wrists and ankles against the damp brick wall of the castle
dungeon.
He opened his eyes, slowly growing accustomed to the darkness that surrounded
him. Time was completely lost, and he couldn't even begin to guess at how long he had
remained chained to the wall, in the dark. Already he was certain that the time to meet
Emelia had come and gone, without his presence being made known. She would be
utterly heartbroken, and their relationship shattered beyond repair.
"Father," Jareth called, his exotic, velveteen voice reduced to a series of struggled
rasps.
Still, there was no doubt in the denounced Prince's mind that the grand King
would hear. His father had succeeded on the throne through his watchful character and
careful observation of everything going on in his kingdom.
A brief explosion of cold blue light exploded before Jareth's physically drained
body. He squinted, having finally found himself used to the darkness, and turned his eyes
to the ground. A series of short-echoed footsteps upon the moss-covered ground,
approached the prisoner, and Jareth turned his emotionless gaze upwards.
"Awake, my son?" the king asked, his silver hair riding a stray breeze, as if a
molten liquid.
Jareth allowed the slightest grin to grace his paled lips. His face, however,
remained in the mask that had been set prior to his imprisonment. Everything was already
lost, to make a fool of himself at that point, would be only playing into his father's hands.
Jareth chose to stay above these games, and casually gestured towards the shackles.
"Is this really necessary?" he implored, cracking the heavy metal against the wall
several times, to emphasize the overused restraint.
The king walked nearer, staring his son with those eyes that seemed nearly as pale
as the sclera itself. Jareth returned the stony stare, and refused to avert his glare for
anything. If his father wished this to be a contest, then so be it. There was nothing left to
lose, save his innermost pride and dignity, which was wavering in and out as he remained
bonded to the wall.
"I suppose that time has passed enough. I will not let you lose before I bestow
your true punishment, Jareth. You are to be King," he stated, quite flatly as well.
The old king turned and coughed, and for the first time Jareth noticed just how
haggard he appeared. His skin hung just a bit about his face, and had turned to a more
ashen shade of gray. Those eyes, which burned with icy intensity, now were almost
drained, and lacked the conviction of the once vehement king. Even his stature, which had
been so noble for so long, was slightly drooped, depleted.
Jareth remained silent, and did not offer his father the chance of raising hopes.
There was always a catch, and this was a punishment, not a speech from king to heir.
Nicholas was to rule the kingdom, perhaps with the lovely young gem by his side, that had
been in the chambers earlier in the day.
"I bow to you, Jareth, Keeper of the Labyrinth, and King of the Goblins," the king
bit out viciously and then erupted into bales of powerful laughter, which racked his entire
ailing body.
Jareth's being leapt in anger, his body raged with fury, and the magic which
coursed through his veins became electric in a moment. Blue sparks of shocking power
covered his palms, cascading around the metal cuffs in bracelets of pure energy. He
clenched his jaw, watching the man whom he had called "Father" laughing at Jareth's
expense.
In a burst of magical power the shanks were destroyed, and Jareth stood free.
Instantly any and all laughter subsided, and silence reigned supreme in the dank dungeon.
Jareth strode defiantly from his prison, and towards his father, a look of determination set
upon his features.
Death could have easily occurred at that moment, when Jareth found himself in
control. He nearly reached out with those powerful magical incantations, to grip the life
from his father's dying soul, but stopped. The king withered noticeably, shrinking away as
if a weasel retreating to a hole. Jareth stopped, and watched his father back away, bowing
in mock respect to his son.
"You sicken me, as does this entire falsified kingdom. There is nothing here I wish
to take, and would rather make my home ruling cretins that roll in the mud and have not a
brain between the mass of them, than remain here a moment longer," Jareth declared, his
voice powerful, and reverberating throughout the enclosed prison.
"Son, you would never harm your father?!" the old king demanded, shrinking
farther away, and towards the rickety stairs which led to freedom.
Jareth shook his head, his golden locks flowing in a halo about his head. He
stopped advancing towards the old king and crossed his arms over his chest. Now was
not the time to demand apologies, but rather he would search it out from his brother at a
later date. Now was the time to retreat, lick wounds that would never truly heal, and find
a way to return to Emelia.
In a shock of brilliant white light, Jareth left the dungeon, and the kingdom for his
own. His father watched, half in awe and half in utter horror. For his son had powers
beyond anyone's comprehension. Never would the fae kingdom lose track of the
infamous Goblin King, never...
* * * * * * * *
"I wish the Goblins would come and take me away, right now...."
That voice, so horridly familiar, and so riddled with deathly overtones, had drifted
to his every watchful presence. It could have been mistaken for another witless reader of
his story... one who wanted their child or sibling taken from their sight, but it was not of
that sort. It was, instead, spoken by someone who wanted their problems replaced with
fantasy dreams, those that he could no longer offer.
He had seen the familiar landscape passing beneath his traveling form. Had
witnessed their private place, in which they met for a rendezvous of forbidden sorts. To
taste the fruit of passion, or so he could put it. The woods followed, and he could easily
spot the ancient ruins, where they had planned their future, and the lonely decrepit bridge,
where she had been, but he had never arrived.
"Emelia," even her name held such bittersweet memories that it pained him to even
think it.
He had tossed any part of her from his mind. She was not meant to be with him,
and so deserved to go on with her life, at least having a chance at a normal existence.
Obviously that too was not meant to be.
Jareth swooped downwards, circling overhead the dismal, dark mansion, which
had once appeared so bright, merely from her presence dwelling within. All was black
inside, save a single orange glow, emanating from which also appeared to be his final
destination. Heavy curls of thick smoke seeped from the open window.... and Jareth's
heart leapt into his throat.
"No," he thought, diving downwards and then nearly being overcome by the
agitating smoke.
He swept backwards, as flames licked from the window, traveling along the lovely
white-laced curtains. Inside he could hear sobs, and moans of such utter pain that he
could never begin to describe it. Jareth circled, unable to do a thing, as his mind traveled
over a thousand different possibilities.
Then, not able to take the horror any longer, a spell burst from his wings, covering
the flames in magic. The smoke died instantly, leaving nothing but burned furniture, walls,
and cloth to show the fact that a fire had been raging only moments earlier. With the
danger cleared he flew inside the open window, instantly taking his human shape.
Shattered glass laid scattered upon the floor, crackling beneath the heals of his tall,
black boots. Jareth quickly took in the scene of destruction, mismatched eyes tracing the
path the fire had taken from the overturned lamp, and onwards to consume the majority of
the room.
That was when he saw the shape, writhing only slightly in pain that could never be
explained in proper proportions. A sad, weak gurgling noise came from the burned throat
of the poor victim, sending Jareth a wave of guilt and pity for this mortal who had suffered
in the flames. Alas, his power could not bring the mortal back to health. It was there that
he was limited.
He strode towards the figure, but paused. The shock of chestnut hair, partially
burned, told him clearly whom laid upon the ground, draped partially with a charred white
sheet. She convulsed suddenly, and that face, half blackened, turned towards him. Only a
single chocolate eye remained open, and it rolled about the socket as death throws began
to take over her youthful body.
"Emily," Jareth whispered, a strange overwhelming lump forming in his throat as
he spoke her name once more.
She seemed almost to realize whom was there, and she stopped moving about in
agony. Her moribund state did not cease, however, and Jareth knew all too well that
death was near at hand. She had not a minute left in this world, and he knew, somehow,
that this was all his fault. Jareth dropped to his knees by her side and cringed at the
amount of burns ranging over her entire body.
She swallowed, perhaps trying to talk. Emelia managed only a shivering smile and
then dropped a leather bond book from her claw-like hand. Jareth looked towards it,
shock overcoming his grief as he realized just what it was. "Labyrinth" the cover read,
despite the smears of black soot from her hands, he knew very well that this was the novel
he had given her upon their first meeting.
She had read it, and had called upon the Goblin King in the story, to take her from
her life. Yet, she had not known that he was the Goblin King, for when he had given her
the book, Jareth had yet to be granted the most unsuitable title. Still, he had not come in
time, for Emelia had set the fire, trying to rid herself of the pain Jareth, himself, had
caused. Now there was no way to right the wrongs, for she would die at this young age, a
broken heart as her only company in the afterlife.
"I.... k-new you w-ere him," she whispered, her voice cracked, raspy, nothing like
the musical thing it had once been.
She gasped for air, hand clutching out into nothingness, and at last circling about
Jareth jacket. With this final movement he could take it no longer. He simply could not
allow her death, and so produced a crystal from the thin air and spun it about in his hands,
as Emelia watched with a blurred eye.
"Your soul shall live, Emelia, forever on this earth," Jareth stated and then placed
the magical orb on her dying body.
He backed away, loosening her grip on his jacket in the process. Emelia watched,
horror, or some form of emotion near that, overtook her features in those last moments
when she remained with her dying body. Then the sphere burst, and the incantation
dropped over her, like a soothing blanket. Her body died in that moment, but her essence,
her true being was not to leave.
The lovely whiteness that seeped from her body was the true inner soul of his love.
Jareth's eyes widened, as that perfection slipped out the window, and towards the grounds
of the grand mansion. It swirled about, taking a shape that Jareth had decided would suit
his love for all time. A form that would bring forth her true beauty, and make life bearable
enough.
Her legs grow long, ending in hooves, and her arms formed into forelegs. A
slender, sleek body became present next, leading on to a long arched neck, with a wild
fury of silver hair that rode the wind as some luxuriant liquid. Her large head was noble
and majestic, with great chestnut eyes that held the same love and innocence as they had
when Jareth first saw Emelia.
She pawed the ground, flicking an equally luxurious tale through the air as she
realized what had become of her. That finely detailed head looked upwards, and into the
window where she had been dying moments earlier. Jareth looked down towards her, his
appearance striking chords of sadness in her soul.
He had changed her from a human into a horse, a silver spirit horse, which existed,
but also did not exist at the same time. She was real, and then was not. Emelia tore her
gaze from her once lover and raced into the forest. The only human sound that she could
still make were her eternal sobs. They followed her into the woods, where they never
ceased....
Emelia, in the form of that lovely silver steed, cried for the life she had lost, and
the life she was forced to lead.
* * * * * * * *
A harsh knock upon the door drove Jareth from his melancholy reveries. He
prepared himself and then turned to face the doorway. There was no need to show poor
form, especially when his guest could be of some importance. The letters generally
prelude the visitation of some formal dignitary from the royal courts.
"Enter," Jareth allowed, his stature straight and tall, even proud, though there was
little to be proud about.
The door swung open to the grand appearance of the high king himself, whom
Jareth had nearly expected. There was no shock upon the Goblin King's continence, but
rather a smirk towards the dark-haired weakling whom walked into the chambers with a
sort of apprehension. A rat in disguise as a King.
"To what do I owe the pleasure, Nicholas?" Jareth questioned as he turned and
walked further within his room.
"You are not a fool, brother, and so I myself cannot understand why you have
placed yourself in this situation once more," Nicholas replied.
Jareth was silent for some time as he contemplated a suitable response for what his
brother has said. True, he knew about the consequences his current actions could create.
He was equally aware that, should he cast aside Sarah to dwell forever in the mortal
world, she would face the same fate as his lovely Emelia. That would not happen, if he
would be forced to face the executioner, he would do anything to prevent another instance
as had occurred nearly two hundred years earlier.
"It is all done, Nicholas...," Jareth paused as he produced a crystal which now
showed Sarah in startling reality, and presented it to his brother's questioning gaze, "To
right a wrong I never believed I could remedy. Now, I shall set things right, and save her
as well."
