Chapter 20: The End
By Emer.
"Do you understand?" asked Jareth.
Michael, still pale, but not in pain any more, nodded.
"Alright. I'm sending you to the Throne room."
"Okay," said Michael. He sounded subdued. Jareth supposed that the news he'd just delivered would subdue any child. Especially one as smart as Michael, who could understand the things he had not said as well.
Jareth blew a crystal at him, and then stared at the place he had been for a few moments, gathering his thoughts. Then he struck a commanding pose and looked upward.
"Speak, you annoying piece of stone," said Jareth.
"Why should I?" said a gravelly voice, gone petulant.
"Because I demand it."
"What would you like me to say?" it asked, now silky.
"I want to know what you're doing, turning my traps against me, whisking my magic out from under me. That's not the way things are supposed to work. We're supposed to be working together.
"I work for no one," said the voice. Gone was the silky, now it was stern and old and annoyed.
"Yes," said Jareth. "I work for you. We work to keep things as they should be."
"And how should they be?"
"How you need them to be, I suppose," said Jareth, sounding bored.
"I need something different now."
"Then couldn't you have just told me?" He touched the new-and-yet-old pendant around his neck.
"You weren't listening," The gravel was now patient.
Jareth was silent for a long moment. "I was busy," he said at last.
"Busy," sneered the voice. "With your challengers. Have you forgotten what they are for?"
"No," Jareth returned, shortly. "I remember. And I'm listening now. What is it you want besides what I've just gotten for you?"
"Nothing. That is the end I wanted. You've become bored. Your delight in your role has faded. I required a new Goblin King. Or Queen. I've never been picky about which. They were both suitable candidates.
"I know." Jareth was silent a moment. "You favored the boy."
"I favor no one. Including you."
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Mireia was sitting in a goblin house. It was small and messy, but very attractive just the same--like a tree fort was attractive, no matter how flimsy or ugly. She tried to decide how she should be feeling since she was feeling rather blank. Angry? She couldn't gather the energy to be angry. Sadness took more than she had, too, though she supposed there was a vague sadness in the back of her throat that refused to either go away or become actual tears.
In fact, the extranious thought that wouldn't leave her alone no matter how stupid under the current circumstances was that Jareth had lied to her. He'd said he couldn't just "magic" people to and fro, and yet he'd done just that to her, even when she was no longer the captive, even after Michael had set them both free. Just when Michael needed her.
"Hello, Mireia," said Jareth.
Mireia jerked around to see him leaning in a doorway that shouldn't have fit him, with his usual superior expression firmly in place.
"You told me you couldn't magic people!" she accused, first thing. She sounded a little hysterical even to herself, but it made her feel immediately more sane.
"I couldn't at that point. But I could in the Old Labyrinth. The rules are some what different, there."
"Are you going to tell me why?" she asked, exasperated.
"Probably not," he admitted.
Her stomach growled.
"Hungry?" Jareth asked. He rolled a crystal over his wrist and was suddenly holding a peach.
"Not that hungry!" she said. But she couldn't keep herself from looking at it and involuntarily salivating. It really did look good. She suddenly knew how snow white had felt about the fatal apple. Her stomach felt like a canyon.
"It won't hurt you," he said, as if reading her mind. "I promise."
"Well" said Mireia. "Okay." She took the proffered peach and bit into it. She'd taken three more bites before she started to wonder about the taste. It didn't taste bad and it certainly tasted of ripe, utterly wonderful peach, but there was a funny after taste so subtle that it almost wasn't a taste at all. It was a strange, low hum in her ears, as if she'd leaned against the washer. Or there was a plane going by over head.
She glared muzzily at Jareth. "You lied," she said.
"I never lie," he replied. "At least, not out right," he amended. "And nothing I give you will ever hurt you."
Mireia saw she should have paid more attention to his exact wording. But she'd been so hungry. At least that had gone away. Now she was just vague.
"You drugged me."
"For your own good. Now you're off to a wonderful dream."
"I don't want--" she started to protest. Then she forgot what she was protesting about and wondered how she'd gotten into a glass garden. Everywhere around her were colorful glass flowers and plants, decorating as far as she could see, which wasn't very.
"Where am I?" she almost giggled at her own B-movie line, but she couldn't work up the hilarity. Then she remembered that that was because Jareth had given her a drugged peach. Even that didn't sound very important. "Jareth?" she called out into the still, light-filled place. "Why did you trick me?"
"So that you would listen to me without getting upset," he said, appearing from behind a brilliant Bird-of-Paradise plant.
Mireia nodded calmly. "What did you want to say that was upsetting?"
"I can't cure Michael. Neither can anything in the Labyrinth except what carried that wolf off." Jareth paused, looking faintly grim. "Death."
That announcement nearly served to completely sober Mireia up. But Jareth held up one gloved hand for patience. "However, there is a way I can hold back the sickness and make sure he won't die for a very long time--a longer time than he would have ever lived aboveground."
"You mean--he would have to stay in the Labyrinth?"
"Yes. But not just that." Jareth's face was impassive. He regarded her from behind unfathomable eyes. "Staying in the Labyrinth alone wouldn't solve anything. He'd only become like what you met below--a rotting creature unable to die. Can you guess what I am going to do?"
Mireia tried to think about it, but her brain felt slow and her mouth loose. She shook her head.
"Michael will be my successor."
"But he can't be king! You are!" Mireia protested weakly.
"Right now I am. I don't want to be one forever, and forever is something I don't have anyway. I have lived a long time and will live even longer, but it's hardly eternity. He will be tied to the Labyrinth after me and the Labyrinth will keep him alive and healthy for as long as he wants it to, possibly even longer."
"What does Michael say?"
"He's a bit frightened--but he's a clear thinker, as you know. He's agreed."
"Oh," said Mireia, feeling at a loss. "Okay, I guess." Then something occurred to her that threatened to jog her out of her fragile calm again. The whole room shook and sounded of shifting, tinkling glass for a moment.
"Don't do that," ordered Jareth sternly. "This is one of the best dreams I've ever done. And you don't really want to be tossed on the junk heap with all the other broken dreams and crackpots, do you?"
"No," said Mireia impatiently, whose own problems were far away from junk heaps. "But what about my parents?"
Jareth looked briefly annoyed. "Michael has insisted on having them to the castle to explain. However, if they don't take it well, I've told him I'm going to make them think he's in a school for intelligent children in some small country aboveground. Austria, maybe."
Mireia breathed a little easier. Then another thought occurred to her. "What about visiting? Can I come and see him? Can they come and see him?"
"There are conditions, but yes," said Jareth. "You won't be able to see him for the first four years because he'll be getting bound to the Labyrinth in order to control the disease and become heir to the Goblin throne. After, there are certain times when you may visit."
They were both silent for a moment. Then Mireia fixed him with the firmest stare she could manage while dreaming and drugged.
"This is what you were trying to do from the beginning, isn't it? Get an heir, I mean" Jareth's impassive mask fell back into place and he carefully bent to examine a rose with a slight chip in it.
"In a manner of speaking, yes." His voice was oddly flat, where it was usually full and deep and mocking.
"What do you mean 'manner of speaking'? You got Michael here to be heir. Did you have him bitten, too?"
At this, he straightened, cocked one eyebrow up, and stalked towards her in a few intimidating strides. "Use your head, Mireia. It wasn't your brother who I had in my power for thirteen hours. I never intended to make him anything but a loser in my game."
A few thoughts snapped into place. "I--oh." It came out slightly high pitched. Jareth bent slightly and put his face near hers for maximum intimidation.
"I would have abdicated not to a King, but to a Goblin Queen. Does that appeal?"
"No!" she burst out quickly.
"Oh, ho. And why not?" the intimidation was tinged with amusement.
"I'd have to rule those filthy, annoying, stupid little creatures--and not just that, but have a title for it! Who would want to rule Goblins!" Then she realized what she'd said to whom. She sucked her breath back in as if she could suck the words back in, too.
Jareth, King of Goblins, burst into his first real laughter in years.
"How eloquently you put the thought that has been circling in my head since the beginning."
She slanted him a sideways look. "Though maybe Michael will let me kick one every so often."
Jareth threw back his head and shook with laughter.
Mireia's sobriety was returning in little increments and she stood still observing him. Here in this semi-dream, neither of them was disheveled or dirty--or in her case bloody from Michael--any longer. He was back in true Goblin King style and it disconcerted her. She suddenly felt funny in a way that had nothing to do with a drugged peach and everything to do with the way Jareth's elegant gloved hand held the broken glass rose.
Just then, as if sensing her stare, he turned back to her and met her eyes. A very slow, rather evil smile spread across his face, his pointy teeth making him look just slightly carnivorous.
"Definitely at least four years," he murmured in a low voice. She quickly looked away before she could do something so stupid as flush. "Er--yes. Four years will be a long time not to see Michael." He smiled wider and didn't answer.
"Why do you wear gloves?" she decided to change the subject.
"Also a topic for the future. The dream is fading. If you have any thing else you'd like to say, say it now. As you said--four years is a long time not to see...Michael."
"Then--thank you," said Mireia. Surprise flashed in his eyes. "How else would I have discovered I a sort of magic all along?"
"The same way you discovered how to walk," he replied. Was she imagining it or was everything getting blurry and vague? No, the plants were definitely on the transparent side. Ha ha. "I did nothing," Jareth continued, sounding further away. "But I like the way your gratitude feels, so I'll take it anyway." And then the dream was gone.
Mireia blinked her eyes at the greyish-white in front of them. Fog? She shifted her head. No, it was bedroom wall. Groaning, she shifted upright and found that she'd been sleeping curled up underneath the bedroom window, which was shut fast.
"It was not a dream," she told herself fiercely before that thought could take hold. She'd always wanted to hit Dorothy at that point in the Wizard of OZ. She heard a faint trumpeting in the direction of her mirror and stumbled over to it. She'd already jumped out of her skin before she realized it was only Mooreland staring out at her.
"Michael sent me to tell you hello," he greeted her. "He says not to worry because he's having a lot of fun. And he really is. Specifically, 'the castle is the best maze yet'."
"Thank you, Mooreland." She smiled.
"You're very welcome. Now I'm bound for home. I haven't seen good sand dunes in so long."
Mireia got the hint. "Don't let me keep you," she said. "I'm happy to be home, too." And she was. It would just take a little practice to ignore the small sadness of knowing that Michael would never be here with her again and that their games and pretending and secrets were over. Then she thought about a sort-of promise given to her in a glass jungle dream and felt better.
"I wonder how mom and dad took this?" she said, and went to find out.
SilverQuick: I finished it. Finally. I hope it satisfies. Thanks for sticking with it and liking it, through all the cliffhangers and long breaks. And me putting my world-class procrastination skills to use.
Rhiannon Berger: Thanks for the notes on the typos. I'll be fixing them shortly--wait--at some point. Heh. And I'll have some of them convienently pointed out to me. Glad you found, read, and enjoyed the story.
Queen's Own Fool: Well, bits of it probably should be confusing because the characters don't even know what's going on. But if it was actual description that stumped you, tell me what it was so I can see if I can make it better. The readers are the ones that I have to get clear on--I already know what's happening :) Anyway, thanks for reading it.
Jareth FOREVER. *girlish giggle*. Just kidding. I'm bad, but not that bad. I can quit any time.
My next story shall be from Jareth's perspective, spanning the Sarah Debacle and other intriguing Enquirer-worth Jareth background.