Chapter Three

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Jareth awoke in the middle of the night to the sound of weeping.

He and Erik had shared a quiet supper, the child still obviously upset by his mother's cruelest and final mistreatment. Jareth wanted to give him some time to think, so he hadn't pushed him to talk.

Now, though, Jareth longed to comfort the boy. Rising from the large canopied bed, the Goblin King donned his robe of dark green velvet and tied it securely around his waist. He padded outside his bedchamber and to the door adjacent to his, slipping quietly inside. It would do no good to just appear in the boy's room as Jareth had no wish to frighten him.

Erik sat on the stone floor in the corner rocking back and forth, weeping, his face buried in his knees. Jareth's brow furrowed and he shivered at the goosebumps that formed on his arms and legs at the child's melodic cries. There was so much pain in this room and nothing felt untouched by it. The floor was made of hard, cold stone, most uncomfortable and it certainly wasn't meant to be sat on like this. The cushioned rug wasn't big enough to reach the corners of the bedchamber. At least the fire in the fireplace was still burning brightly, warming the air as Jareth had instructed when he created it mere hours ago.

Erik was not aware of Jareth's presence within the room until he stood before him. Jareth bent slowly and picked the child up into his arms. Erik little legs wound around Jareth's waist and he wrapped his arms around Jareth's neck tightly, continuing to sob uncontrollably. The constant stream of tears dampened the Goblin King's collar, but he scarcely took notice. Not when this small child was clearly hurting.

Jareth sat on the bed he had made for Erik and patted him on the back consoling, drawing comforting circles over and over to soothe him.

"Shhh, Erik. It's alright. You're alright. Hush now. I'm here. Shhh…" Jareth soothed over Erik's sobs for many long minutes until finally the boy grew quiet and limp, only a few hiccoughs here and there.

Jareth pulled back to look at him. He hadn't realized the boy must have taken his mask off sometime before he went to bed, if he did in fact, go to bed at all. Jareth mentally kicked himself for not noticing before that the bed was still neatly made, not having been touched at all. I should have put him to bed myself! I should have known better!

It was just as the Goblin King had thought; the boy bore a rather grotesque facial deformity. His golden eyes were sunken deep into their sockets, heavy purple circles surrounded them, almost black in the light of the room, casting a macabre shadow to their bright intelligent depths. The skin of his cheeks were stretched and sallow, so thin the veins were clearly visible beneath, as were parts of his skull. His nose was nonexistent, instead there were two holes in the middle of his face where a nose should have been. It was a sorry sight indeed. Jareth looked upon the boy and felt a deep sadness well within his soul for the boy's affliction. No magic could fix it. No wonder he wore a mask… a gift from his own mother, no doubt.

Erik felt uneasy as the Goblin King observed him for a few moments, and then he realized… the mask! He had taken it off! Erik's eyes widened and his little hands flew to his face, covering it as much as he could. He desperately scrambled from Jareth's lap and ran to the wall.

"I'm sorry, Monsieur!" the boy cried. "I forgot I'm not wearing my mask! Please, p-please don't hurt me! I'll never do it again! I promise I won't! Just, please don't hit me!"

Jareth's heart broke. Erik's desperate pleas rang in his ears and tied a tight knot in his core. It disgusted him, this poor child brought to such desperation that he should plead for pardon when there was no error. That he should beg to be spared physical harm for any wrongdoing at all…

"Hush, Erik. You need not wear your mask any longer. It does not bother me. You will never be punished for going without it so long as you're here with me."

At Jareth's quiet reassurance, Erik hesitantly turned to face him, hands still covering his face. He peeked through his fingers but remained standing by the wall of the bedchamber, clearly distrustful of such a promise.

Jareth rose from the bed slowly and went to him. The boy cowered, still frightened of punishment. His mother would have already slapped him viciously across the face, screaming curses at him to never go without his mask again. He never understood why she insisted he wear it. He was going to ask her when he came down for his birthday dinner, but then, that had never happened. One moment, he was standing in his attic bedroom, the next, he was here, in this castle.

Erik watched Jareth with uncertainty as he gestured for him to lower his hands.

"Go on," encouraged Jareth. "I promise I won't hurt you."

After a moment, Erik reluctantly dropped his hands to his sides.

"There, you see? That wasn't so hard now, was it?"

Erik shook his head slowly, still wary and mistrustful of the king standing before him.

"Come, Erik. You need rest. It's much past bedtime for you."

Erik crawled into the bed without a word, but he couldn't help the pleasured sigh that escaped from him at the softness of the sheets and mattress. He had never had anything so nice to sleep on before. Erik felt so safe and warm he thought he might start crying again.

Jareth sat on the edge of the bed.

"Monsieur?"

"Yes?"

"My… my mother never told me why I had to wear a mask. I was going to ask her about it but we came here instead… Do you know why?"

Jareth's eyes widened a little in surprise. He hadn't expected the boy to ask him that, and Jareth certainly wasn't prepared to give him the answer. He wondered whether it was the right time. Maybe he should wait until the boy was older, more mature and able to handle such shock. Then again, perhaps Erik's youthful resilience and time would help him cope better than any gained maturity could. Yes, perhaps the sooner the better. But not right this second, especially not in the middle of the night. Erik's question did tell the Goblin King one very important detail about the boy though, he had never seen his own face.

"I do know the reason, Erik. But I'm not going to tell you right now. I promise that, if you still wish to know, I will tell you tomorrow. Right now, though, I need you to go to sleep. Can you do that for me?"

He nodded sleepily. "Oui, Monsieur."

"Call me 'Jareth', Erik. There is no need for such formalities here," he said, rising from the bed.

"Goodnight, Erik."

The small boy looked up at Jareth in awe, eyes wide with wonder. "Goodnight, Jareth."

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The next morning, as Jareth had assumed much to his chagrin, Erik still wished to know why his mother made him wear the black cloth over his face.

He had donned it every day for as long as he could remember. He couldn't recall the first time his mother had demanded he never be without it in her presence, but he thought it to be a very, very long time ago. He had never seen his face in a mirror either. Madeleine only had one, oval shaped with a silver handle that matched her hairbrush and comb. They were gifts from her husband, Charles, before they were married. But Erik was never allowed in her room where she'd secreted them in her vanity, which she kept locked. Besides, he never cared enough to pick the lock open and snoop inside.

After breakfast, Jareth took Erik out into the blossoming rose garden. Everything was in bloom, filling the breeze with a fresh, sweet scent. Erik had never seen many of the flowers that grew in clusters along the castle's exterior but he recognized roses of every color and kind mixed in among the foreign blooms. Vines climbed high up the walls and framed the windows with rose-like blossoms of deep blue, soft lavender, and light peach. Deep red ones, Erik thought, were the prettiest things he'd ever seen. They were so delicate and yet so strong, to be able to grow to such heights. He longed to pick a few for his mother, she would have thought they were beautiful too. But then he remembered he would never see her again, and the longing ebbed away leaving behind a tiny ache in his little heart. She probably would have thrown them away, as she did with all the gifts he thought to give her. One time, he had drawn her likeness and given it to her. He was so proud of it and thought she would be too. But all she had done was yell at him. She'd crumpled the paper and threw it on the floor of the parlor and stormed into the kitchen, leaving him standing there with tears running down his face. Madame Perrault had stopped by shortly after and, upon picking up the crumpled drawing from the floor and smoothing it out as best she could, had gasped in astonishment.

"Oh, Erik," she said, "this is magnificent. Why, it looks just like her! How did you learn to draw so well?"

Erik, his tears long dried up, had simply shrugged in apathy and walked up stairs, closing himself in the attic room where he slept. He'd never given his mother anything again after that.

Jareth observed Erik's expression change from one of awe to one of bitter resentment a mere second later. He wondered what had made the boy's mood shift so abruptly but decided it was best to focus on the task at hand. He was nervous, and he hated the feeling. The Goblin King had always found honesty to be easy, to simply tell people the truth was his way of getting things done. It never made sense to him to lie or to be subtle, he was blunt and straightforward. He wasn't going to back out now, but he knew that above all else, he would need to be gentle.

Jareth led them to a bench in the middle of the garden. It was a small clearing covered by an arced ceiling of worked metal wrapped in vines and flowers but you could still see the ever-changing sky peeking through in spots. In the center of the small clearing was a white marble fountain. Its steady flow of water provided a pleasant noise to the greenery, making it one of Jareth's favorite places to sit and think. Or in this case, talk.

They sat in silence for a few minutes before Jareth began.

"Would you like to tell me what you were so upset about last night, Erik?"

The boy looked down at his hands. He was too short for the bench and his feet dangled a good foot from the grass beneath. Jareth thought it was endearing.

"Not really," Erik whispered.

"Come now, my boy. You can tell me. It's what I'm here for."

"I was… angry."

"At your mother."

"Yes."

"Because she wished you here?"

"No, not exactly. I-I was angry because she didn't even say goodbye. I thought that… that she would at least say goodbye to me…"

Jareth nodded. He had offered that very thing to Madeleine, but she had refused. She was a coward of a woman, unable to even say goodbye to her own son. It made the Goblin King's blood boil.

"That must hurt," Jareth said, trying his best to keep his own anger at the woman under control.

Erik shrugged. "It's no different than when she leaves for church on Sundays. She just goes. I suppose this time though, she won't be coming back." Erik swung his feet out in front of him and stared at the fountain, lost in thought. "Are… are you going to tell me now? Why she made me wear the mask?"

Jareth swallowed. "Yes, I am. I'll try my best to explain it to you. You've uh, never seen you face before, have you, Erik." His words came out more like a statement than a question.

"No."

"Well. You look different than most people, Erik. That's all. But your mother, she… she couldn't deal with you being so different. It made her… uncomfortable to be around you. She was afraid for you too. You see, people don't uh…" Jareth gritted his teeth, why was this so hard? "People tend not to understand others who are different from themselves. And when people don't understand something, it scares them, and they can lash out. Does that make sense?"

"But, if you don't understand something, shouldn't you try to learn about it so you can understand it?"

Jareth smiled slightly. The boy was clever for his age.

"Yes! There are people like you and I who feel that way. But many people are just afraid, even to try. Sometimes it makes others nervous when we're so different from them. And people who refuse to understand or accept those differences can not only hurt themselves by missing out on knowing a great person, but also others because they make them outcasts."

Erik glanced at Jareth, brow furrowed. "What's an outcast?"

Jareth took a deep breath, so far so good. "An outcast is when a person isn't accepted by people in a society; often due to their differences."

"So… I'm an outcast-?"

"No! Uh, that is to say, not exactly," Jareth floundered. "What I'm trying to say is that your mother was someone who was afraid of what she failed to understand. She didn't understand you, Erik. Your face is different from hers, you have untold talents and intelligence and… well, she didn't know how to handle that."

"So, there's something different about my face. That's why she made me wear a mask?"

"Yes."

"Are… are you going to show me what my face looks like?"

"Yes, but Erik, I need you to listen very carefully. It is quite different than what I think you are expecting. It may be very surprising to you… it may scare you because you haven't seen this difference before. Do you hear me?" Erik nodded. "I want you to know that your face doesn't bother me at all. It is a part of you but it isn't who you are. Your mother tried to make it so, but she was wrong! She didn't understand that your face doesn't define you as a human being."

"O-okay." Erik said quietly, eyes a little wide.

Jareth hadn't realized his hands were gripping the boy's shoulders as he was talking. He eased their pressure but kept them in place. Resigned, Jareth asked, "What if what I show you frightens you, Erik?"

Erik stared forward, considering the question deeply, before he looked back up at Jareth. "It's my face. I want to know what it looks like. I need to… Please?"

Jareth sighed. He hoped his explanation would be enough for the boy not to go into a panic upon beholding his visage for the first time. Jareth knew the boy was smart enough to comprehend all he had told him, but he was still just a child, and this was going to be day he would probably never forget. It hurt Jareth, knowing what he had to do. Thank the gods it was he who was to show the boy his face and not the cruel hand of his mother who, no doubt, would have done it out of anger and by force, remorselessly, and without any comfort at all to her child.

Steeling himself, Jareth flicked his wrists and revealed a mirror. Reluctantly, he grabbed Erik's hand and placed it around the handle, not saying another word.

He expected the scream that would issue from Erik's mouth but its severity was what plunged the knife into his already tender heart. It twisted and scraped and made him bleed for the pain the child was surely feeling.

Erik had begun to cry out, "Get it away from me! It's a monster! A monster!" His little hands pushed the mirror back at Jareth ferociously and he scrambled from the bench. Jareth caught him by the arm before he could get away and pulled the child into his arms. Erik fought only a brief moment before stiffening at the contact.

"Calm yourself, boy. It was not a monster you saw…"

"Yes, it was! You played a trick on me! You showed me a horrible monster!"

Jareth pushed Erik slightly away from him and gave him a little shake to calm him. "No. You saw yourself, Erik. That is what you look like…. Like I said, it is different than you are used to."

Erik shook his head in disbelief. "No, no, no, no, no! -"

"Yes! Now calm down. This is not the end of the world. Your face doesn't matter, Erik. Do you remember what I said? About it just being a small part of you? That it doesn't make you who you are?"

The boy blinked hot tears away and nodded slowly. Jareth slowly lifted a hand and placed it upon the boy's marred cheek and Erik let out a surprised yelp. No one had ever touched his face before. It felt wrong somehow.

"A face is just a face, lad. You're no monster… just different. It is up to you how it will affect your life, and no one can take that choice away from you. You can allow it to embitter you so that it festers within your heart and darkens your soul, or you can overcome it; you can be brave and show people that it makes no difference what you look like on the outside, but that it's who are on the inside that is most important. Make them see, Erik! Make them see how beautiful you really are…"

The boy had now calmed somewhat, and was staring into Jareth's mismatched blue eyes, mesmerized by his words. Erik found himself agreeing with Jareth, logic and common sense beyond his years winning out over his childish emotional outburst. He understood what the Goblin King was saying, what he was asking him to do. He was asking him to be brave – to have courage – and he knew that with help, he could do it. But he wondered if he would ever be able to look upon his face without fear. Surely it would haunt him in his dreams, and frighten him awake for many nights to come. Erik hoped that with time, he'd be able to be brave enough to face it on his own.

Jareth opened his arms to the small boy, giving him the choice as to whether or not he wanted comfort. Erik looked at his outstretched arms with uncertainty, but also with more determination than ever not to shy away from what he had longed for from others all his life, and stepped tentatively into the Goblin King's embrace. His mother had never held him like this, only ever touched him with a violent hand often followed by loud reprimands. Erik reveled in the feeling of being held of his own volition for the first time. Last night, he had hardly noticed the Goblin King had held him as he bitterly wept upon the realization of just how much his mother truly must have hated him. She didn't want him anymore. Erik didn't know how it made him feel to be held. It was all new to him and he couldn't quite match words to what he felt at the moment, but he knew he wasn't scared at all, or upset, so it must be something good. Jareth seemed to like him, almost like the way Marie Perrault did, who was always nice and kind to him. She never uttered a harsh word toward him, and sometimes he would overhear her tell Madeleine she was being too hard on him, that the way she treated him was wrong and she knew it. But Erik had never quite understood that… didn't all mothers treat their children this way? He didn't know it could be any different… though he'd wished.

"You're a good boy, Erik - you really are. I think your mother knew that too, but she just didn't know how to say it… she wasn't strong enough to give you what you truly needed…"

Erik, mind still in a whirlwind of shock, whispered in awe, "No one has ever touched my face before…"

It was all he could think of to say.

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