I want to take a moment to thank all the people who have reviewed my story. I really appreciate all the comments, ideas, and opinions. I won't name names because every time I do I unintentionally forget someone and fell terrible, besides you know who you are. This is my first fan fiction and I still learning the ropes so I appreciate all the encouragement that people are willing to give me. Oh well I'll stop babbling incessantly and get to the good stuff.
Disclaimers: No really I own Jareth! (laughs manically) You can't have him back Henson Inc. He's mine!
A dark room stood silent. A dark room that emanated the evil that lived there. Dark burgundy tapestries hung from the large windows. Large bookstores stood about the room weighed down with books whose titles had long ago faded away to time. An oversized bureau stood in one corner. It was black with silver etching on the doors. Upon closer inspection, one could make out the portrait of a bloody battle. Both trolls and goblins littered the landscape. Some lay on the ground disemboweled or with various weapons hanging limply from their bodies as testimony to their demise. Others who were still alive and able to fight where locked in combat over the bodies of their fallen companions. Both trolls and goblins howled in silent screams. The portrait was a reminder and memento to a long ago battle.
The room was dimly lit with candles. They were strung haphazardly across tables and bookcases or hung from the walls in twisted and black candleholders. The light given off by these few candles showed little movement in the room and even less light. The light that was tangible shined dimly across the frame of a man who stood silent in the room. He was motionless except for his rhythmic breathing that created the only sound in the room next to the crackling of the candle flames.
He stood solemnly staring at the design of the bureau. He stared at it in vague disinterest. He had seen worse, he had done worse. He shifted his weight and turned to face the large window. He was clad in all black; black knee high leather boots, black leather pants, black poet's shirt, and black leather vest over it. The vest had silver trimming that glinted softly in the candlelight.
He walked over to the window and stared out at the desolate landscape. It was nearing dawn and the sun was slowly lighting the eastern sky. Stars still dotted the sky and mixed seamlessly with the oncoming purple and pink of day. He stared at this with the same disinterest that he had with the portrait. To him it was another sunrise, another day, nothing more. Besides he had work to do, he had only to wait for his mistress to return to begin.
He turned back to face the room and noticed that slowly but surly negative energies were slowly building up in the room. Suddenly in a shower of ash and glitter Mortiana appeared. Her look would have humbled the bravest of her warriors but he was use to it. He looked up at her and softly but coldly spoke, "Hello, mother."
Mortiana turned to face her son. "Hello, my darling, I trust you slept well."
"I never do, mother, you know that", he coldly replied.
Mortiana's face in this interlude never waived from its cold scowl. She mutely held out her arms and Tristen walked into them and embraced his mother.
"How did things go with the Goblin King, you are without a child, so I can assume badly."
Her expression darkened even more and she quietly walked over to a chair facing out the window. She exhaled loudly, "No my dear, it did not go well, he knew he had another week."
Tristen walked over and sat down on the large window ledge across from his mother. He looked out the window and replied, "He will not fall without a fight".
Mortiana looked out the window as well, surveying her vast and desolate kingdom. "No he won't but he will have no choice. Even if he does decide to take it before the Council our contract is binding, he cannot win."
Tristen studied his mother's cold expression. You want him to fight you don't you?"
"Of course my dear, I have a score to settle and I will see Jareth fall before we are done. He has for too long been a throne in my side and the courts too tolerant of his aloof attitude to their authority."
"I would very much like to met the woman who tamed the Goblin King's heart."
"Don't worry, my son, you soon will. You and his wife will have a great deal of time to get acquainted when this is all over," purred Mortiana.
"Patience is a virtue in you mother. I've never seen anyone like you wait for the perfect time."
"Patience is something I've learned to accept. I've waited 500 years, what is another week."
Tristen stood and offered his arm to his mother. She stood and took it.
"Come mother, new prisoners have come in from the outer regions, they need to be trained," he whispered seductively.
She smiled back at him, a smile that was cold, cruel, and vicious. He always did know how to cheer her up. She was to have an enjoyable evening.
As they left the dark room, she replied to her son. "Dinner first, then the training." Their footsteps echoed down the stairs as the candles once again were left to their silent burning.
Disclaimers: No really I own Jareth! (laughs manically) You can't have him back Henson Inc. He's mine!
A dark room stood silent. A dark room that emanated the evil that lived there. Dark burgundy tapestries hung from the large windows. Large bookstores stood about the room weighed down with books whose titles had long ago faded away to time. An oversized bureau stood in one corner. It was black with silver etching on the doors. Upon closer inspection, one could make out the portrait of a bloody battle. Both trolls and goblins littered the landscape. Some lay on the ground disemboweled or with various weapons hanging limply from their bodies as testimony to their demise. Others who were still alive and able to fight where locked in combat over the bodies of their fallen companions. Both trolls and goblins howled in silent screams. The portrait was a reminder and memento to a long ago battle.
The room was dimly lit with candles. They were strung haphazardly across tables and bookcases or hung from the walls in twisted and black candleholders. The light given off by these few candles showed little movement in the room and even less light. The light that was tangible shined dimly across the frame of a man who stood silent in the room. He was motionless except for his rhythmic breathing that created the only sound in the room next to the crackling of the candle flames.
He stood solemnly staring at the design of the bureau. He stared at it in vague disinterest. He had seen worse, he had done worse. He shifted his weight and turned to face the large window. He was clad in all black; black knee high leather boots, black leather pants, black poet's shirt, and black leather vest over it. The vest had silver trimming that glinted softly in the candlelight.
He walked over to the window and stared out at the desolate landscape. It was nearing dawn and the sun was slowly lighting the eastern sky. Stars still dotted the sky and mixed seamlessly with the oncoming purple and pink of day. He stared at this with the same disinterest that he had with the portrait. To him it was another sunrise, another day, nothing more. Besides he had work to do, he had only to wait for his mistress to return to begin.
He turned back to face the room and noticed that slowly but surly negative energies were slowly building up in the room. Suddenly in a shower of ash and glitter Mortiana appeared. Her look would have humbled the bravest of her warriors but he was use to it. He looked up at her and softly but coldly spoke, "Hello, mother."
Mortiana turned to face her son. "Hello, my darling, I trust you slept well."
"I never do, mother, you know that", he coldly replied.
Mortiana's face in this interlude never waived from its cold scowl. She mutely held out her arms and Tristen walked into them and embraced his mother.
"How did things go with the Goblin King, you are without a child, so I can assume badly."
Her expression darkened even more and she quietly walked over to a chair facing out the window. She exhaled loudly, "No my dear, it did not go well, he knew he had another week."
Tristen walked over and sat down on the large window ledge across from his mother. He looked out the window and replied, "He will not fall without a fight".
Mortiana looked out the window as well, surveying her vast and desolate kingdom. "No he won't but he will have no choice. Even if he does decide to take it before the Council our contract is binding, he cannot win."
Tristen studied his mother's cold expression. You want him to fight you don't you?"
"Of course my dear, I have a score to settle and I will see Jareth fall before we are done. He has for too long been a throne in my side and the courts too tolerant of his aloof attitude to their authority."
"I would very much like to met the woman who tamed the Goblin King's heart."
"Don't worry, my son, you soon will. You and his wife will have a great deal of time to get acquainted when this is all over," purred Mortiana.
"Patience is a virtue in you mother. I've never seen anyone like you wait for the perfect time."
"Patience is something I've learned to accept. I've waited 500 years, what is another week."
Tristen stood and offered his arm to his mother. She stood and took it.
"Come mother, new prisoners have come in from the outer regions, they need to be trained," he whispered seductively.
She smiled back at him, a smile that was cold, cruel, and vicious. He always did know how to cheer her up. She was to have an enjoyable evening.
As they left the dark room, she replied to her son. "Dinner first, then the training." Their footsteps echoed down the stairs as the candles once again were left to their silent burning.
