Disclaimer: not mine, copyright Labyrinth Enterprises (at least, that's what it says on my copy of the movie). I guess the Jim Henson Company owns "The Storyteller", please correct me if I am wrong. No copyright infringement intended. Not making money of this.
Thank you Mr. Jim Henson way up high for creating such loveliness.
Diamond Tears
Chapter 8 Once upon a time, not even very long ago
"Magnificent, isn't she."
The little man opened his arms wide, almost to embrace the sky-castle. He turned to Sarah, warming her with his genial smile.
"And here she is. My word, I would have looked for you the world over, my dear. But I knew if I were just that little bit more patient the story would present itself to me. The young lady that is so much of interest to our King."
With a natural flourish and feel for drama the man presented Sarah with the crystal he was holding. To her astonishment, she saw herself mirrored, on the beach taking the crystal from the stranger.
"Oh my god- he uses these to watch me!"
"Watch you, watch over you, whatever. A few hours ago the King stood here, appalled by the sight of this wreck, annoyed by the fact he could not find you, in the crystal that is, and discarded them both as so much rubbish. That is why I was able to retrieve it. I saw him take his owl shape and take flight, presumably to search for you between here and wherever the cart came from. I take it he has much mileage to cover and will not return here until the morrow. And after he left, the castle came. And after that came, you came, flopping out of thin air. This is the stuff that makes for a great tale! But come, you all. I have made myself a dismal little shelter and a roaring warm fire. I have some bread to break and wine to share. And if you like, we could share some stories too."
"At least we knows the spell of the Gnomes is working," mused Hoggle. "He must have been looking for us when we were with them." Suddenly realizing what he had said, the dwarf pulled up his shoulders, rubbed his brow and sighed: "Oh my- he's looking for us! We shoulds move in with the Gnomes, that's what we shoulds do!"
"But- who are you?" asked Sarah, clutching the crystal with two hands to her chest.
Didymus glanced at the man with his one good eye. He could not help but feel a certain kinship, for it was clear both he and the stranger had known better days. The man talked as if he were used to talk and to do so for audiences. Oh how Didymus missed life at a court sometimes.
"Thee art a storyteller, art thee not?"
"-A- storyteller, sir knight? I am -the- Storyteller! I know all off everything and could amuse you for a year with each day a different tale without repeating myself and -still- have more to come. I have been showered with riches in the loftiest castles and embraced in the family warmth of the lowest shack. I know all the peoples of the nine worlds, and then some. I-"
Hoggle sneezed. "And I ams getting cold!"
The shaggy dog sniggered and the Storyteller put his hands in his sides and frowned.
"Ah well, perhaps you are right. There is a definite chill in the air-" with that remark, he glanced up at the castle.
"Come then!" He turned on his heels and Sarah followed him, Sir Didymus behind her and Hoggle closing their small parade.
The Storyteller led the way to a hollow in the dunes, in which he had built a driftwood shelter of three uneven wooden walls and an old torn once white sail for a roof. It gave dry shelter out of the wind, but no more. For one night, it would be enough and the sight of the fire at the edge of the shack seemed a beacon of welcome to the weary.
Sharing his supplies with his guests, poking the fire and all smiles and gentleness, the Storyteller spoke of a bet he once made with a king, a human king, to tell him a story each and every evening for a year. If he could, fame and fortune would be his share. He was even married for that year. But on the last day The Storyteller found himself with one story short and only some quick thinking and a lot of imagination had saved his life. But not his marriage and not his fortune. Forced to flee still, he had ended up in an old forgotten ruin of a castle and inhabited the one hall where he could burn a fire. There he sat, telling the stray that already inhabited the place before him all of his tales. When spring came, they both decided to be on their way, ending up traveling together in search of new tales and old ones he didn't knew yet. And so their journey had taken Storyteller and Dog to this place. Instinct had told the little man to wait, rabbits had filled their bellies and droplets of dew and rainwater had clenched their thirst. After a week, the cart with the Aughiskies had found it's way onto the beach and a few hours later so had the Goblin King. And the rest the travelers knew.
Frequently interrupted by Sir Didymus and sometimes by Hoggle, Sarah told her story of her first visit to the Labyrinth, giving a somewhat abbreviated version of what had transpired after she ate the poisoned peach. Dog had fallen asleep a long time ago, Didymus and Hoggle did not seem to notice but Storyteller smiled at the girl knowingly and made her blush.
Then Sarah told Storyteller of her illicit visits to the Labyrinth and the quest the Goblin King had given her. By the time she had finished, both Sir Didymus and Hoggle had drifted to sleep and the storyteller had grown pensive.
"Storyteller, this whole adventure is becoming such a mystery. There are so many things I do not understand."
"Like what?"
Sarah stared into the flames, pensively.
"Like- what is it with that flower the Gnomes think so much of? Why did it disappear three hundred years ago. Why did things here change so much three hundred years ago? What really happened to Jareth's father? And why does nobody like him? My friends told me some pretty heroic stuff about him- And he could have really hurt me when I was here first. But I won. And he let me leave."
She looked up at the Storyteller.
"Storyteller, why did he let me leave?"
Again the Storyteller smiled a bit oddly, as if he understood things Sarah could not know.
"My name," he said, "is John."
He said it like a confession. Sarah suppressed the urge to say 'hi John!' in a loud voice and waited.
"I was not born here, in this world. I was born were you were born. In the year of our Lord 1422. If there was some significance to that number it was lost to me. With these ears people must have held me for some devils spawn for my mother left me on the steps of a church and my caretakers ensured me I was evil. Than one night, in the summer of my eight undated birthday, I understood that nobody wanted me and I had better rid the world of my presence. I decided to jump the river. So I climbed out of a window and over the wall and found myself in the fields surrounding the city. The moon was full, the lake was near and I felt like walking before I died."
The Storyteller took a stick and poked the fire some more. Sparks flew for a moment like fireflies, then settled for being ashes. John's eyes had been rekindled with a memory that seemed so unhappy but made his face lit up with wonder and joy.
"When I neared the lake, I heard music so beautiful the sound of a singing angel paled. No church-bell, no choir in evensong, no lullaby of a loving mother could compare. And moving with the music, swaying on the summer's breeze under the pale moonlight at the side of the lake and over the lake half seen figures danced and danced and danced. Pale and slender, bright and passionate they shimmered in and out of my vision. Some looked like you and I, dressed in the finest of silk, the loveliest of velvet, jewels glittering, gems sparkling. Others were grotesque. Tree-trunks with faces and legs, but no arms. Creatures smaller than my hand, others as tall as the willows at the lakeside. Green creatures, earth creatures. Dwarves like your friend. Gnomes in scarlet and gray, laughing. Red fire beings knocking sticks together and even tossing each other their heads! All of a sudden I was found out and pulled into the dance, one of them! I could not stop, they would not let me. Hand in hand with the most beautiful of winged ladies and the ugliest of hunched hags I danced until I felt my hart would burst and my legs gave out.
The sun came up, they all vanished in the morning mists and I fell asleep. When I woke, I was still a lonely boy, but the world had turned for a hundred years and al I had known were forgotten. When I came to the back to the city gate and told my story, the guards laughed at me and called me a rover and a rambler. Then they gave me bread and beer and allowed me in to join the 'other gypsies' that were performing on the market square that day. And on that market I found my spot, told my tale and earned myself more money than I had ever seen together. The gypsies with their traveling circus of acrobats and the dancing bear took me in and taught me much. Touched by the Fay I was, they told me. Lucky I was, they said. For forty odd years they gave me a job and a home and a family. Then I stopped aging. And the people who visited the fairs started to remember me. And they started to whisper witch and they started to throw stones and all of us gypsies and ramblers and rovers knew how things would end. Cursed I was, they said. With luck turned bad, they told me. But I believed them not. I left them, before the regular folk, the good burgers of any town would come with prayer and fire to cast me out of their existence and all I held dear with me. I went back to the lake and waited until the moon was full and the dance would be danced again. But this time when morning came and the mists claimed the dancers I held on tight and when I came to I found myself lying in a four-poster bed in a wonderfully rich bedroom. The walls of large gray stones were hung with priceless tapestries, bear rugs covered the floor and on a chair near the bed new brightly colored clothes had been laid out for me. Above the fireplace the coat of armor of a noble family had been carved into the stone and before the roaring fire, poking it, sat a goblin. It told me with much disdain, that my bath was ready."
Sarah chuckled. What a life this man had led. "That must have been a sight to wake up to."
John smiled and scratched his head. "Well, it was something else, I won't deny it. And after that wonderful bath and me dressing myself, I was led to a king's breakfast. Literally. It was the first time I got aquatinted with the royal Fay who rule this part of the lands of Myth. Or the Underground or whatever man whishes to name these realms. There they were. Lovely, wonderful regal and tall Queen Azurmandi. Hair like silken moonlight, golden brown eyes that sparkled with love and mischief. A pale pink gown that reminded me of spring and a smile to die for. And that King! His name was Erkon. A bit smaller than his lady and the handsomest male I had ever seen, slender of frame and a fine boned face with a vulnerable quality. He had short ginger hair, striped like a tabby tomcat and the gentles, warmest and wisest blue eyes I had or have ever seen. For his attire he could have been one of my gypsy friends or a pirate, although his clothes shimmered with diamonds and magic.
They were wonderful. And desperate. All around the room goblins, small fairies of all sorts and four children were creating havoc and chaos and could not care less about the breakfast served, the kingly duties their parents had to go about or the lessons they had to learn that day.
I was introduced as someone interesting from earth with a lot of amusing tales to tell and before I knew it, I was drafted as a royal baby-sitter for two adolescent Fay princes and their siblings, a Fay boy and girl twin. Time is something quite malleable for the Goblin King of whatever generation and his kin. When first I saw the fairies dance as a child, they had seen me, with all my qualities as a storyteller. Even if I myself had no idea. They knew what I now know, that my great-great-great-great-grandfather on my mothers side had been an elf himself, responsible for my looks and silver tongue. They had ensured me the life I had lived and brought me to what they considered as my true home when they judged the time right for me."
Sarah frowned. "They must have been really something. But it doesn't sound very nice to me."
"Nice? No, they were not nice. They were manipulative, egocentric, arrogant and selfish. And you know what? They were also right! I had enjoyed my life as a gypsy storyteller and I ensure you, I would have liked none better. If it was the choice again to drown at eight or to live as I did, I would have chosen my life a thousand times over. I have been happy. And lucky. My elfin blood keeps me ageless, my nature keeps me young. Although I grayed a bit keeping those princely brats happy!"
"Jareth gave you trouble?"
"No. Jareth was the silent one. The brooding one. No one could ever find him. He was always wandering the Labyrinth. Never to be found to learn his lessons to control his magic. The boy hated his schooling. But he knew the land, no doubt about that. He knew it because he walked it and his knowledge was better than that found in any book. Even if those books teach you their lessons by reciting them."
"I wish I had schoolbooks like that. They could really teach you by putting them under your pillow."
"You may not have liked their teachers. There was only one Jareth truly related to, the only person in the Underground he still may call friend. She is Nicnivin, Queen of the Bad Fairies, never seen by daylight. And -she- was the one from whom he was taught right from wrong!
"The eldest of the princes was Bertron. He could not wait until he was old enough to explore the rest of the nine worlds. He was truly a wanderer and an explorer. Dandilyon was the artistic one. Always making things. Painting like his mother. Composing and singing like his father. He too was not satisfied in the Underground. All Fay can sing. He was exceptionally good, but no one took exemption- he was too experimental for most. But brilliant. Truly brilliant. Sometimes Dandilyon and Bertron could be seen with a very odd boy. A cousin of some sort by the name of Zirimayn. The boy must have had a truly gross facial distortion, even for a fairy, for he never went anywhere without masking himself. But I do believe the three had great fun together.
Jareth's twin, Enalkyrah showed the most talent for both magic and politics. She was born first, Jareth second. And there starts the trouble that sprouted your questions. All of them.
You see, it is tradition for the child that will succeed the king to be the third one, the youngest one. The elder two will set out to prove themselves to be worthy and never return. Usually because they find some fair princess in another kingdom to marry and rule there. Or the both find lodgings in the same inn and have their feasts until the final prince has succeeded. Bertron and Dandilyon went to earth, never to be seen in the Kingdom again.
Now because Enalkyrah was born the first twin and therefore the third child, Erkon maintained she should be queen after him. Azurmandi however held the opinion that since Jareth was youngest, he should be king. Between the royal couple, this difference was only jest. You see, Azurmandi and Erkon loved each other. They loved each other with the once in a lifetime love only soul mates find. It was the kind of love that forgives all and holds the world together. The kind of love that heals the broken, stills the violent and gives life to the soil.
Oh how they loved. Flowers grew in their footprints, birds sang when they passed and stars fell from the sky, simply to be near that love. When the Goblin King brought back a babe, they both decided whether or no the child should go back, be a Goblin, or be trusted to the one of the human communities. Usually it was the latter.
The King was happy and the land thrived. And -that- was the magic that showed itself in the pristine white flower you saw with the Gnomes. I have not seen it yet anywhere. But its meaning is crystal clear. Today's King has finally fallen in love."
Sarah lowered her head. She had to be sleepy, for her cheeks burned and she felt very warm all of a sudden. Yeah, that had to be it.
"And may all the gods that are come to the aid of the poor soul he has chosen."
Sarah's head jerked up and she gazed fiercely at the Storyteller.
"What!"
"All of those flowers withered and died. Disappeared. They did so the very day Jareth came to power. When the twins had grown and finally their day had come to prove themselves worthy of the throne, they elected to go their journey together. I do not know why exactly. My dear, dear child-"
Again the storyteller poked the fire. He also put some more wood upon it.
"What was a mild discussion between wife and husband had grown into a full scale war between brother and sister. I had long since left royal service and was happily making my own way through the Underground. I still love these lands so very much. But I was not telling you of love anymore- I was telling you of hate.
No one really knew what went on in Jareth's mind. The silent one. The subtle one. But Enalkyra was a happy bubbly child. Always laughing and dancing. A treasure indeed.
Jareth never showed the will to rule. Enalkyrah was responsible. She had a mean streak, no doubt about that, and the Goblins feared her. But the same could be said of all the princes.
Somewhere during their journey, they turned against each other. Jareth tried to get hold of the magical sword Tyrfing."
"Oh my god no-" Sarah whispered.
"Then you know it. He got it too. But before he could make use of it against his sister, she imprisoned him inside a mountain and went home, with the cursed blade, to inform her parents about what he had done. To rid themselves of the blade Enalkyra and Erkon made a spell that would keep the sword imprisoned in stone forever. But before they could finish and say what needed to be said, Jareth stormed the castle."
"Jareth -stormed- the castle?"
"Oh yes. And he got in to. Ruined the spell and set free powers that would change the Kingdom forever. The spell broke out in flame and Azurmandi and Erkon, try as they might, were not able to put it out. While the parents fought to save, the children fought to destroy. In the garden behind the castle, brother and sister faced each other, turning day to night with their magic, poisoning the place forever. It is said Erkon tried to separate them. It is said that is when he died."
Sarah could not believe it. Not from Jareth. He could be mean and he could be cruel. But he had been mean and cruel in the eyes of the spoiled brat she had been a year ago. The Jareth she knew was soft-spoken, subtle towards her and threatening. But he did not fight- he let his incompetent Goblins do the dirty work. He used peaches and crystals, not swords and spells. The Jareth she knew had bullied her- but he had given her the impression he'd rather seduce those around him to comply than push them into submission. She knew John the Storyteller was true and sincere and he had moved her deeply with his personal history. What he was relating to her now sounded twisted. But if they had been awake, Sarah realized, both Hoggle and Didymus would have believed John's every word. Just like he himself believed every word.
"When all was over and done with, Enalkyrah had been beaten, the garden had died, the Castle Beyond the Goblin City lay in ruins and both twins -and- Erkon had disappeared.
Azurmandi was in no state to rule. Dandylion and Berton both could not be reached, they were effectively banished from the Underground, left with no means to return. For the powers unleashed that day blocked the way to the aboveground forever. Only Jareth could keep the way open now. And he could only cross when somebody made a wish and the magic of both world were combined for this small effort. And it must be a mortal that wishes it cannot be done by Fay. Enalkyrah was forbidden ever to set foot in the Underground again."
The storyteller pointed at the sky.
"So she made her castle in the clouds and resides there. Tattered and torn and scarred. Hiding. She doesn't dare to go and meet with her mother for Jareth blocks the way. And the same the other way round. But I am getting ahead of myself. Jareth had disappeared and the Underground cannot survive without a ruler. He represents the Kingdom. His powers fuel the Kingdom and the Kingdom gives its power to him. He is its defender, the one that keeps it sacred and secret. When the King is foul, the land is foul. When the King is happy, the land thrives. They represent each other, need each other. He is the focus of the power of the land and without him, the magic drains away. That means that no king is far worse than a bad king. That is why when the old ruler goes the new one must arrive immediately. But Jareth had disappeared. And Azurmandi, unable to reach any other of her children, was forced to -beg- him to take the crown. He even pretended to be reluctant to take it. And so Jareth became our King. And although we need him and sometimes admire him, most of us despise him."
"No."
Sarah looked up at the Storyteller, whose kind face now was set in grim lines. Sarah had balled her hands into fists and nearly cried.
"I don't believe you."
"Can't you see the obvious. The true love of Azurmandi and Erkon was broken and died that night- no Flower of Life remained."
"If that flower bloomed because they were a pair, would it not be -logical- it disappeared when one of them died! That does not mean Jareth destroyed them. Your story was so certain up until Jareth and his sister left the castle. From there you are only guessing!"
"True. But there are preciously few who believe different."
"Hoggle told me Jareth defends his people. Didymus said Jareth nearly died while taking out a Minotaur."
"A beast that never belonged here. That was brought here."
"So? You think Jareth did that as well?"
The storyteller sat back and looked away, frowning.
"No, actually, I don't. That would be more like one of Lepran's tricks."
"Didymus told me about him. Or Hoggle, I'm not sure."
"You should get some rest. You look very tired- we both are."
"I did not mean to argue with you-"
The Storyteller chuckled. "I had forgotten about humans and their logic. You are making me doubt and that is giving me a headache. There is however one other question you must find an answer to before you face the King again."
"Which is?"
The Storyteller regarded her curiously over the fire.
"He has tricked you, twice. He stole your brother, stole you from your family, who are probably quite worried about you by now. He is making you travel all over the Underground.
He is endangering you, and your friends."
"Yes he is." Sarah nodded. She looked pale and tired. She felt tired. And very angry and sad. But she did not know if she was angry at Jareth, or for him.
"What's the question."
"Why are you defending him?"
Thank you Mr. Jim Henson way up high for creating such loveliness.
Diamond Tears
Chapter 8 Once upon a time, not even very long ago
"Magnificent, isn't she."
The little man opened his arms wide, almost to embrace the sky-castle. He turned to Sarah, warming her with his genial smile.
"And here she is. My word, I would have looked for you the world over, my dear. But I knew if I were just that little bit more patient the story would present itself to me. The young lady that is so much of interest to our King."
With a natural flourish and feel for drama the man presented Sarah with the crystal he was holding. To her astonishment, she saw herself mirrored, on the beach taking the crystal from the stranger.
"Oh my god- he uses these to watch me!"
"Watch you, watch over you, whatever. A few hours ago the King stood here, appalled by the sight of this wreck, annoyed by the fact he could not find you, in the crystal that is, and discarded them both as so much rubbish. That is why I was able to retrieve it. I saw him take his owl shape and take flight, presumably to search for you between here and wherever the cart came from. I take it he has much mileage to cover and will not return here until the morrow. And after he left, the castle came. And after that came, you came, flopping out of thin air. This is the stuff that makes for a great tale! But come, you all. I have made myself a dismal little shelter and a roaring warm fire. I have some bread to break and wine to share. And if you like, we could share some stories too."
"At least we knows the spell of the Gnomes is working," mused Hoggle. "He must have been looking for us when we were with them." Suddenly realizing what he had said, the dwarf pulled up his shoulders, rubbed his brow and sighed: "Oh my- he's looking for us! We shoulds move in with the Gnomes, that's what we shoulds do!"
"But- who are you?" asked Sarah, clutching the crystal with two hands to her chest.
Didymus glanced at the man with his one good eye. He could not help but feel a certain kinship, for it was clear both he and the stranger had known better days. The man talked as if he were used to talk and to do so for audiences. Oh how Didymus missed life at a court sometimes.
"Thee art a storyteller, art thee not?"
"-A- storyteller, sir knight? I am -the- Storyteller! I know all off everything and could amuse you for a year with each day a different tale without repeating myself and -still- have more to come. I have been showered with riches in the loftiest castles and embraced in the family warmth of the lowest shack. I know all the peoples of the nine worlds, and then some. I-"
Hoggle sneezed. "And I ams getting cold!"
The shaggy dog sniggered and the Storyteller put his hands in his sides and frowned.
"Ah well, perhaps you are right. There is a definite chill in the air-" with that remark, he glanced up at the castle.
"Come then!" He turned on his heels and Sarah followed him, Sir Didymus behind her and Hoggle closing their small parade.
The Storyteller led the way to a hollow in the dunes, in which he had built a driftwood shelter of three uneven wooden walls and an old torn once white sail for a roof. It gave dry shelter out of the wind, but no more. For one night, it would be enough and the sight of the fire at the edge of the shack seemed a beacon of welcome to the weary.
Sharing his supplies with his guests, poking the fire and all smiles and gentleness, the Storyteller spoke of a bet he once made with a king, a human king, to tell him a story each and every evening for a year. If he could, fame and fortune would be his share. He was even married for that year. But on the last day The Storyteller found himself with one story short and only some quick thinking and a lot of imagination had saved his life. But not his marriage and not his fortune. Forced to flee still, he had ended up in an old forgotten ruin of a castle and inhabited the one hall where he could burn a fire. There he sat, telling the stray that already inhabited the place before him all of his tales. When spring came, they both decided to be on their way, ending up traveling together in search of new tales and old ones he didn't knew yet. And so their journey had taken Storyteller and Dog to this place. Instinct had told the little man to wait, rabbits had filled their bellies and droplets of dew and rainwater had clenched their thirst. After a week, the cart with the Aughiskies had found it's way onto the beach and a few hours later so had the Goblin King. And the rest the travelers knew.
Frequently interrupted by Sir Didymus and sometimes by Hoggle, Sarah told her story of her first visit to the Labyrinth, giving a somewhat abbreviated version of what had transpired after she ate the poisoned peach. Dog had fallen asleep a long time ago, Didymus and Hoggle did not seem to notice but Storyteller smiled at the girl knowingly and made her blush.
Then Sarah told Storyteller of her illicit visits to the Labyrinth and the quest the Goblin King had given her. By the time she had finished, both Sir Didymus and Hoggle had drifted to sleep and the storyteller had grown pensive.
"Storyteller, this whole adventure is becoming such a mystery. There are so many things I do not understand."
"Like what?"
Sarah stared into the flames, pensively.
"Like- what is it with that flower the Gnomes think so much of? Why did it disappear three hundred years ago. Why did things here change so much three hundred years ago? What really happened to Jareth's father? And why does nobody like him? My friends told me some pretty heroic stuff about him- And he could have really hurt me when I was here first. But I won. And he let me leave."
She looked up at the Storyteller.
"Storyteller, why did he let me leave?"
Again the Storyteller smiled a bit oddly, as if he understood things Sarah could not know.
"My name," he said, "is John."
He said it like a confession. Sarah suppressed the urge to say 'hi John!' in a loud voice and waited.
"I was not born here, in this world. I was born were you were born. In the year of our Lord 1422. If there was some significance to that number it was lost to me. With these ears people must have held me for some devils spawn for my mother left me on the steps of a church and my caretakers ensured me I was evil. Than one night, in the summer of my eight undated birthday, I understood that nobody wanted me and I had better rid the world of my presence. I decided to jump the river. So I climbed out of a window and over the wall and found myself in the fields surrounding the city. The moon was full, the lake was near and I felt like walking before I died."
The Storyteller took a stick and poked the fire some more. Sparks flew for a moment like fireflies, then settled for being ashes. John's eyes had been rekindled with a memory that seemed so unhappy but made his face lit up with wonder and joy.
"When I neared the lake, I heard music so beautiful the sound of a singing angel paled. No church-bell, no choir in evensong, no lullaby of a loving mother could compare. And moving with the music, swaying on the summer's breeze under the pale moonlight at the side of the lake and over the lake half seen figures danced and danced and danced. Pale and slender, bright and passionate they shimmered in and out of my vision. Some looked like you and I, dressed in the finest of silk, the loveliest of velvet, jewels glittering, gems sparkling. Others were grotesque. Tree-trunks with faces and legs, but no arms. Creatures smaller than my hand, others as tall as the willows at the lakeside. Green creatures, earth creatures. Dwarves like your friend. Gnomes in scarlet and gray, laughing. Red fire beings knocking sticks together and even tossing each other their heads! All of a sudden I was found out and pulled into the dance, one of them! I could not stop, they would not let me. Hand in hand with the most beautiful of winged ladies and the ugliest of hunched hags I danced until I felt my hart would burst and my legs gave out.
The sun came up, they all vanished in the morning mists and I fell asleep. When I woke, I was still a lonely boy, but the world had turned for a hundred years and al I had known were forgotten. When I came to the back to the city gate and told my story, the guards laughed at me and called me a rover and a rambler. Then they gave me bread and beer and allowed me in to join the 'other gypsies' that were performing on the market square that day. And on that market I found my spot, told my tale and earned myself more money than I had ever seen together. The gypsies with their traveling circus of acrobats and the dancing bear took me in and taught me much. Touched by the Fay I was, they told me. Lucky I was, they said. For forty odd years they gave me a job and a home and a family. Then I stopped aging. And the people who visited the fairs started to remember me. And they started to whisper witch and they started to throw stones and all of us gypsies and ramblers and rovers knew how things would end. Cursed I was, they said. With luck turned bad, they told me. But I believed them not. I left them, before the regular folk, the good burgers of any town would come with prayer and fire to cast me out of their existence and all I held dear with me. I went back to the lake and waited until the moon was full and the dance would be danced again. But this time when morning came and the mists claimed the dancers I held on tight and when I came to I found myself lying in a four-poster bed in a wonderfully rich bedroom. The walls of large gray stones were hung with priceless tapestries, bear rugs covered the floor and on a chair near the bed new brightly colored clothes had been laid out for me. Above the fireplace the coat of armor of a noble family had been carved into the stone and before the roaring fire, poking it, sat a goblin. It told me with much disdain, that my bath was ready."
Sarah chuckled. What a life this man had led. "That must have been a sight to wake up to."
John smiled and scratched his head. "Well, it was something else, I won't deny it. And after that wonderful bath and me dressing myself, I was led to a king's breakfast. Literally. It was the first time I got aquatinted with the royal Fay who rule this part of the lands of Myth. Or the Underground or whatever man whishes to name these realms. There they were. Lovely, wonderful regal and tall Queen Azurmandi. Hair like silken moonlight, golden brown eyes that sparkled with love and mischief. A pale pink gown that reminded me of spring and a smile to die for. And that King! His name was Erkon. A bit smaller than his lady and the handsomest male I had ever seen, slender of frame and a fine boned face with a vulnerable quality. He had short ginger hair, striped like a tabby tomcat and the gentles, warmest and wisest blue eyes I had or have ever seen. For his attire he could have been one of my gypsy friends or a pirate, although his clothes shimmered with diamonds and magic.
They were wonderful. And desperate. All around the room goblins, small fairies of all sorts and four children were creating havoc and chaos and could not care less about the breakfast served, the kingly duties their parents had to go about or the lessons they had to learn that day.
I was introduced as someone interesting from earth with a lot of amusing tales to tell and before I knew it, I was drafted as a royal baby-sitter for two adolescent Fay princes and their siblings, a Fay boy and girl twin. Time is something quite malleable for the Goblin King of whatever generation and his kin. When first I saw the fairies dance as a child, they had seen me, with all my qualities as a storyteller. Even if I myself had no idea. They knew what I now know, that my great-great-great-great-grandfather on my mothers side had been an elf himself, responsible for my looks and silver tongue. They had ensured me the life I had lived and brought me to what they considered as my true home when they judged the time right for me."
Sarah frowned. "They must have been really something. But it doesn't sound very nice to me."
"Nice? No, they were not nice. They were manipulative, egocentric, arrogant and selfish. And you know what? They were also right! I had enjoyed my life as a gypsy storyteller and I ensure you, I would have liked none better. If it was the choice again to drown at eight or to live as I did, I would have chosen my life a thousand times over. I have been happy. And lucky. My elfin blood keeps me ageless, my nature keeps me young. Although I grayed a bit keeping those princely brats happy!"
"Jareth gave you trouble?"
"No. Jareth was the silent one. The brooding one. No one could ever find him. He was always wandering the Labyrinth. Never to be found to learn his lessons to control his magic. The boy hated his schooling. But he knew the land, no doubt about that. He knew it because he walked it and his knowledge was better than that found in any book. Even if those books teach you their lessons by reciting them."
"I wish I had schoolbooks like that. They could really teach you by putting them under your pillow."
"You may not have liked their teachers. There was only one Jareth truly related to, the only person in the Underground he still may call friend. She is Nicnivin, Queen of the Bad Fairies, never seen by daylight. And -she- was the one from whom he was taught right from wrong!
"The eldest of the princes was Bertron. He could not wait until he was old enough to explore the rest of the nine worlds. He was truly a wanderer and an explorer. Dandilyon was the artistic one. Always making things. Painting like his mother. Composing and singing like his father. He too was not satisfied in the Underground. All Fay can sing. He was exceptionally good, but no one took exemption- he was too experimental for most. But brilliant. Truly brilliant. Sometimes Dandilyon and Bertron could be seen with a very odd boy. A cousin of some sort by the name of Zirimayn. The boy must have had a truly gross facial distortion, even for a fairy, for he never went anywhere without masking himself. But I do believe the three had great fun together.
Jareth's twin, Enalkyrah showed the most talent for both magic and politics. She was born first, Jareth second. And there starts the trouble that sprouted your questions. All of them.
You see, it is tradition for the child that will succeed the king to be the third one, the youngest one. The elder two will set out to prove themselves to be worthy and never return. Usually because they find some fair princess in another kingdom to marry and rule there. Or the both find lodgings in the same inn and have their feasts until the final prince has succeeded. Bertron and Dandilyon went to earth, never to be seen in the Kingdom again.
Now because Enalkyrah was born the first twin and therefore the third child, Erkon maintained she should be queen after him. Azurmandi however held the opinion that since Jareth was youngest, he should be king. Between the royal couple, this difference was only jest. You see, Azurmandi and Erkon loved each other. They loved each other with the once in a lifetime love only soul mates find. It was the kind of love that forgives all and holds the world together. The kind of love that heals the broken, stills the violent and gives life to the soil.
Oh how they loved. Flowers grew in their footprints, birds sang when they passed and stars fell from the sky, simply to be near that love. When the Goblin King brought back a babe, they both decided whether or no the child should go back, be a Goblin, or be trusted to the one of the human communities. Usually it was the latter.
The King was happy and the land thrived. And -that- was the magic that showed itself in the pristine white flower you saw with the Gnomes. I have not seen it yet anywhere. But its meaning is crystal clear. Today's King has finally fallen in love."
Sarah lowered her head. She had to be sleepy, for her cheeks burned and she felt very warm all of a sudden. Yeah, that had to be it.
"And may all the gods that are come to the aid of the poor soul he has chosen."
Sarah's head jerked up and she gazed fiercely at the Storyteller.
"What!"
"All of those flowers withered and died. Disappeared. They did so the very day Jareth came to power. When the twins had grown and finally their day had come to prove themselves worthy of the throne, they elected to go their journey together. I do not know why exactly. My dear, dear child-"
Again the storyteller poked the fire. He also put some more wood upon it.
"What was a mild discussion between wife and husband had grown into a full scale war between brother and sister. I had long since left royal service and was happily making my own way through the Underground. I still love these lands so very much. But I was not telling you of love anymore- I was telling you of hate.
No one really knew what went on in Jareth's mind. The silent one. The subtle one. But Enalkyra was a happy bubbly child. Always laughing and dancing. A treasure indeed.
Jareth never showed the will to rule. Enalkyrah was responsible. She had a mean streak, no doubt about that, and the Goblins feared her. But the same could be said of all the princes.
Somewhere during their journey, they turned against each other. Jareth tried to get hold of the magical sword Tyrfing."
"Oh my god no-" Sarah whispered.
"Then you know it. He got it too. But before he could make use of it against his sister, she imprisoned him inside a mountain and went home, with the cursed blade, to inform her parents about what he had done. To rid themselves of the blade Enalkyra and Erkon made a spell that would keep the sword imprisoned in stone forever. But before they could finish and say what needed to be said, Jareth stormed the castle."
"Jareth -stormed- the castle?"
"Oh yes. And he got in to. Ruined the spell and set free powers that would change the Kingdom forever. The spell broke out in flame and Azurmandi and Erkon, try as they might, were not able to put it out. While the parents fought to save, the children fought to destroy. In the garden behind the castle, brother and sister faced each other, turning day to night with their magic, poisoning the place forever. It is said Erkon tried to separate them. It is said that is when he died."
Sarah could not believe it. Not from Jareth. He could be mean and he could be cruel. But he had been mean and cruel in the eyes of the spoiled brat she had been a year ago. The Jareth she knew was soft-spoken, subtle towards her and threatening. But he did not fight- he let his incompetent Goblins do the dirty work. He used peaches and crystals, not swords and spells. The Jareth she knew had bullied her- but he had given her the impression he'd rather seduce those around him to comply than push them into submission. She knew John the Storyteller was true and sincere and he had moved her deeply with his personal history. What he was relating to her now sounded twisted. But if they had been awake, Sarah realized, both Hoggle and Didymus would have believed John's every word. Just like he himself believed every word.
"When all was over and done with, Enalkyrah had been beaten, the garden had died, the Castle Beyond the Goblin City lay in ruins and both twins -and- Erkon had disappeared.
Azurmandi was in no state to rule. Dandylion and Berton both could not be reached, they were effectively banished from the Underground, left with no means to return. For the powers unleashed that day blocked the way to the aboveground forever. Only Jareth could keep the way open now. And he could only cross when somebody made a wish and the magic of both world were combined for this small effort. And it must be a mortal that wishes it cannot be done by Fay. Enalkyrah was forbidden ever to set foot in the Underground again."
The storyteller pointed at the sky.
"So she made her castle in the clouds and resides there. Tattered and torn and scarred. Hiding. She doesn't dare to go and meet with her mother for Jareth blocks the way. And the same the other way round. But I am getting ahead of myself. Jareth had disappeared and the Underground cannot survive without a ruler. He represents the Kingdom. His powers fuel the Kingdom and the Kingdom gives its power to him. He is its defender, the one that keeps it sacred and secret. When the King is foul, the land is foul. When the King is happy, the land thrives. They represent each other, need each other. He is the focus of the power of the land and without him, the magic drains away. That means that no king is far worse than a bad king. That is why when the old ruler goes the new one must arrive immediately. But Jareth had disappeared. And Azurmandi, unable to reach any other of her children, was forced to -beg- him to take the crown. He even pretended to be reluctant to take it. And so Jareth became our King. And although we need him and sometimes admire him, most of us despise him."
"No."
Sarah looked up at the Storyteller, whose kind face now was set in grim lines. Sarah had balled her hands into fists and nearly cried.
"I don't believe you."
"Can't you see the obvious. The true love of Azurmandi and Erkon was broken and died that night- no Flower of Life remained."
"If that flower bloomed because they were a pair, would it not be -logical- it disappeared when one of them died! That does not mean Jareth destroyed them. Your story was so certain up until Jareth and his sister left the castle. From there you are only guessing!"
"True. But there are preciously few who believe different."
"Hoggle told me Jareth defends his people. Didymus said Jareth nearly died while taking out a Minotaur."
"A beast that never belonged here. That was brought here."
"So? You think Jareth did that as well?"
The storyteller sat back and looked away, frowning.
"No, actually, I don't. That would be more like one of Lepran's tricks."
"Didymus told me about him. Or Hoggle, I'm not sure."
"You should get some rest. You look very tired- we both are."
"I did not mean to argue with you-"
The Storyteller chuckled. "I had forgotten about humans and their logic. You are making me doubt and that is giving me a headache. There is however one other question you must find an answer to before you face the King again."
"Which is?"
The Storyteller regarded her curiously over the fire.
"He has tricked you, twice. He stole your brother, stole you from your family, who are probably quite worried about you by now. He is making you travel all over the Underground.
He is endangering you, and your friends."
"Yes he is." Sarah nodded. She looked pale and tired. She felt tired. And very angry and sad. But she did not know if she was angry at Jareth, or for him.
"What's the question."
"Why are you defending him?"