Chapter Four.

After that day in the garden, things slowly got better and easier for Erik. He began to smile, rare and slight at first, when Jareth said something amusing, or showed him a new trick. Erik was especially pleased when Jareth would sit him down for his lessons. Each day was something new and exciting to learn, a skill to hone. He learned advanced mathematics, the arts, languages, and their nuances. Jareth taught him to play every instrument imaginable, and Erik read almost every book contained within the library.

But, most importantly, he eventually learned what it meant to be loved.

As the years passed, Jareth increasingly grew to love the boy as if he were his very own flesh and blood. By all rights, the boy should have been born to him. Erik would never have had to suffer during those first fragile years of life he spent with his horrid mother. Madeleine was young and selfish, too closed-minded to realize her own son's infinite potential. His genius had frightened her, and she had made him out to be her own personal devil, sent to torture her the rest of her days all because of his face. In her eyes, he was no innocent child, he was a curse brought upon her for no reason she could fathom. It never occurred to her that maybe his face was simply accidental; no, that reasoning was too logical for her delicate mind to accept.

Erik, for his part, saw Jareth as the father he'd never known. He saw how very lucky he was to have been brought to the Underground, to a king who cherished him, took care of him, and told him how much he loved him and was proud of him each day. Sometimes, Jareth didn't need to say anything at all. His face would beam with paternal pride as Erik would perform a particularly difficult score, or solve a problem in his head within seconds, or stump Jareth with a question he didn't readily have an answer to.

The Goblin King watched as Erik grew into a young man, still possessing so much untapped potential, capable of such greatness, and coming to possess more knowledge than Jareth could ever hope to have. He took much pride in Erik's accomplishments and was well-pleased to call him his son. But before any of those things had come to fruition, they both had much work to do. The earliest years were spent in mere friendship and mutual admiration. Jareth, a king to be respected and served and his own right, expected nothing of Erik in that sense. After all, that was what the goblins were for. And Erik, well, he just didn't know what he was to the enigmatic Goblin King. What place had he in his glorious kingdom?

The first-time Erik had asked what exactly Jareth was to him was a moment the Goblin King would never forget. Because time affected humans much slower in the Underground as compared to the Aboveground, Erik still resembled a small boy, even though he had been there for over ten years. He had asked Jareth how long it had been since he came to be there and when Jareth had answered him, Erik was shocked.

"I've been here for years?" he'd asked incredulously. "But… I still have the body of a child!"

Jareth looked up from one of the many massive tomes he had been re-reading from the dusty old shelves. "Yes, well, you see time affects your body differently here in the Underground, Erik. It's about a ten to one ratio. So, when ten years have passed aboveground, your body will have only aged about a year here." Jareth responded matter-of-factly.

Erik shook his head, astonished. He was sitting at a deep mahogany writing desk beside the fireplace studying the elven books of music theory. It astounded him that the elves had been the creators of all song and he longed to visit them one day to learn more from them.

"So, you're telling me that it is the year of our lord 1676 in the Aboveground?"

Jareth nodded.

"If it is a ten to one ratio – and it's been about ten years – then that means…" Erik trailed off, thinking. Then, his eyes widened, "my god! It will take another thirty years until my body is even just ten years old!"

"Yes, Erik. Very good," Jareth eyes sparkled with amusement, and he laughed heartily. "Just think how long it will take for you to reach twenty!"

"That's not funny! Why didn't you tell me this before?"

Jareth shrugged. "It never came up… besides, is it really so important?"

Erik sighed. "No, I suppose not. It does not appear to affect my mind. I only wish my hands would grow. I can't play to my fullest potential with children's hands."

Jareth chuckled, then each went back to his quiet activity for a time, the only sound to fill the room was the crackling of tinder.

"My mother must be about thirty-five years old now…" Erik murmured.

"Erik…"

"I'm fine, Jareth. Really… It's just, well…"

"What is it?" Jareth asked softly.

"I never knew my father, as you know. He died before I was born… You've taken care of me… done all the things I believe a father does for a son. I suppose I wonder… what exactly am I to you? You are a king, and yet I am no servant. You are a teacher, and I your willing student. You are a friend, yet I can only hope I provide adequate companionship… but is that all?"

Jareth pondered for a moment over the boy's words, and though mentally Erik was nearly fifteen years old, the question he posed was laced with ill-concealed childish fear, and for that, Jareth was sad. He hated the look in Erik's eyes, as if he were again the lonely, frightened child he had been the first time they'd met. It had been a long time before Erik had ceased playing and singing melodies that wrung the body of its tears every time he sat down to practice. Jareth saw that this talk truly was long over-due. How had he yet to tell Erik that he was like a son to him? That the Goblin King wanted nothing more than to be his father? He thought over his answer carefully.

"Dear boy," he began slowly, "you are so much more to me than you could ever imagine. You ask if you are anything but a student and companion, and the answer is yes… To me, you are my son… that is, if you wish to be. I know that I…" he paused, swallowing past the lump of emotion that had suddenly welled up from inside him. "I would like it very much, indeed, if you would call me your father."

Erik's heart pounded in his chest and tears threatened to choke him. "I want to, but…" He hardly knew what to say, he had never had a father before! And judging from his past with his mother, he seriously doubted he knew how to be a son. But he no longer wanted to cower like the child he had once been, so he decided to give voice to his fears. "What if I disappoint you? I wouldn't want you to be ashamed of me…"

Jareth placed his book on the end table beside him and strode over to the boy, crouching in front of him. "Oh, Erik. I don't think you could ever disappoint me. I rather think that someday you'll surpass me in just about everything."

Erik sat up a little taller at the faith Jareth so openly displayed in him. Jareth had taught him it was okay to ask for what he wanted, and he so badly wanted a father. "I want to be your son," he stated determinedly.

The Goblin King smiled. "You already are. And do you know what else?"

"What?"

"I love you more than anything in existence. I love you, Erik – my son – and I am proud beyond words to be your father."

Erik hadn't cried in a long, long time, but he freely did so now. Though he had come to know it later than most, he had learned what love was. And he knew he loved this man who had taken him under his protective wing with all his heart. He would gladly give his life for his father. And so, it was easier than he thought, really, to say he loved him too.

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Tim continued to wind its strange eager path through the ever-changing yet unchangeable Underground. Father and son grew ever closer together, their bond strong. Jareth, a fiercely protective father, and benevolent ruler; and Erik, a son loyal and deeply devoted to his father and king.

As music morphed and new instruments were invented in the Aboveground, Jareth continually made sure to supply them for Erik. Within one minute of Erik having sat at the pianoforte for the first time he had simply exclaimed, "It has a greater range and dynamic response than a harpsichord. Brilliant!" and proceeded to play upon it expertly as if he'd done it all his life. It quickly replaced the harpsichord as his most favored instrument.

They visited the Aboveground as much as Jareth would permit. Erik was always eager to travel its lands and they went to many places. Across Europe Erik explored and studied the architecture, the people, and the culture of the land, ever under the watchful eyes of his father who preferred his owl form in the world above. It drained Jareth of his energy too quickly to keep his human form for extended periods of time. However much he longed to walk by Erik's side, he did so only rarely.

The visits above were also the only times Erik wore a mask. Jareth had created one for him that to any human looked to be an ordinary, unmemorable face. Besides, Erik was quick to pass by, and easy to ignore; he preferred it that way.

Erik fell in love with the vast palaces and buildings he discovered everywhere he went. It fascinated his ever-growing mind and he harnessed masonry quickly and deftly when he had asked Jareth for the information and supplies he would need in order to hone its difficult techniques. Whereas Jareth would usually use magic to change or repair his palace, Erik grew so adept at design and building that Jareth allowed him to make repairs and changes to his castle manually. These projects occupied Erik for months on end, and when he completed certain things, he excitedly revealed them to his father who soon understood that his son did most things exceedingly better than any magic could have ever achieved.

Opera quickly became another one of Erik's loves. He adored its prose, its scores, and its genius ability to move one across the spectrum of emotion within a single musical phrase. He often attended performances and sat, glued to the theater seat, unable to take his eyes away from the stage for even a moment. The arias thoroughly enraptured him; the scores brilliant to the point he would unthinkingly press his fingers to his thighs as if there were keys laid across them. It was an automatic response to the beauty presented before him and he couldn't control it. For days after each performance, all he would do was play the operas from beginning to end, each word and note already memorized and stored within his mind. Erik had long ago lost the need to look at staves or sheets of score anymore.

There were composers whom he loved that triumphed the world's stage, and those he loved who were never rightly appreciated for their work. Bach was one such triumphant giant. His organ pieces lulled Erik into a trancelike stupor he was loathe to wake from, and though he liked the organ well enough, he felt he couldn't quite live up to that level of greatness yet, no matter how hard he tried.

Erik also took much interest in the arts of healing. Jareth gave him both tomes from the Underground, and tomes from the many cultures above that taught him everything he could possibly want to know about herbs and plants that had healing properties, among other methods that held curative powers. When a goblin or another creature from the labyrinth fell ill, Erik would ask Jareth if he could exercise his knowledge rather than heal them with the magic concoctions so often conjured for such purposes. The Faé rarely thought of new ways to go about things that had been done one way for thousands of years, especially if it worked well. Jareth most often would agree, and Erik would immediately get to work collecting from his stash the various plants and herbs, of which he had from both worlds, that he would need. He mixed them together expertly to make medicines that worked like a charm. No one was ill for long in the Goblin Kingdom and Jareth came to realize that, more often than not, there is more than one right way to achieve the same outcome.

One day, Erik and Jareth visited Paris. Erik had avoided going anywhere near his mother country for many years, the pain of the past still too raw to bear. But he was nearly a man now, his body almost aged sixteen years, and he suddenly missed hearing others speak his mother tongue. Jareth still spoke to him in French some of the time, Erik having excelled at all other languages, of course, but for some reason it wasn't quite the same. Erik wanted to feel the language of his heart again. He had not known how much he had missed it.

He calculated in his mind the year it must be in the world above. 1733, he could hardly believe it. The world had changed so much since he was a child, not that he had seen much of it anyway. Upon walking the streets of Paris, he reveled in the richness of the language. The eloquence of the words and the genteel phrases soothed a soul long deprived of its native tongue. Though some things were different than he remembered, it was still his glorious French! A dearly departed piece of himself had been found again and put back where it belonged. He wandered for hours until he almost became too overwhelmed with the barrage of memories the city brought to his mind, even though he had lived nowhere near Paris as a child.

The excitement and rhythm of life – coupled with being lost in his own morbid thoughts – so distracted Erik that he suddenly stumbled into an alleyway without realizing it. Jareth had perched on the rooftop above and glanced down at him curiously. Erik shrugged his shoulders at him and leaned against the heavy brick building behind him, closing his eyes briefly. He listened to the now slightly muffled sounds of people living their lives mere footsteps away from him.

Something brushed against his legs.

Erik gasped in surprise, opening his eyes, and glancing down to see what had disturbed his moment of peace.

A young cat, a mere kitten really, sat regally next to his foot and stared up at him with large emerald-green eyes. Immediately Erik knew it was a female feline, her delicate feminine facial features and tiny bone structure giving her away. Erik bent down and picked her up gently, cupping her within his large hands and double-checked. Yes, most definitely a female. The poor thing looked nearly starved to death, rib bones clearly visible on her sides even through the dark grey and black spotted fur. Her belly and paws were stark white except for a few tiny dark grey patches. She was beautiful.

The kitten mewled softly and nudged her damp little nose into Erik's hand, and he gave her a scratch behind the ears in response. The feline melted instantly in pleasure. Erik glanced up at Jareth and shrugged again, pleading with his eyes for permission to bring her home with them. Jareth's owl eyes sparkled with mirth, there was no way he could deny Erik such a simple request.

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"Look at the way she sits, almost as if she were a queen," said Erik as he, along with dozens of other creatures who seemed quite pensive in comparison, watched the kitten perch on Jareth's throne. They were standing in the throne room; Erik having decided to introduce the goblins to the newest member of the castle.

"Perhaps she is the lost heir to a feline throne," Jareth mused.

"Oh now, don't be ridiculous, Father! You know what I meant. Isn't she beautiful?"

"Yes, I daresay she is a rather pretty specimen."

"Will time affect her here the way it affects me?"

"Yes, she will age the same as you. Ten years in the world above will only age her physically one year – so long as she stays in the Underground, that is."

Erik nodded, satisfied with his father's reply. Then his brow furrowed in question. "Do you think I spend too much time Aboveground? I mean, the time I've spent up there must amount to a few years by now. Am I not aging faster because of it?"

"No," Jareth replied curtly.

Erik cocked his head and regarded his father. "How is that possible?"

"I've been protecting you from the effects of being Aboveground. So long as I am with you, I can protect you from the passage of time above."

"Oh…" Erik frowned. "I had no idea..."

"Would you like me to stop?"

"No! No – that's not what I meant. I – thank you, Father. It's just… well, I can't believe I never thought of it until now. I still have so much to learn from you…" Erik bowed his head slightly in frustrated deference.

Jareth placed a hand on his son's shoulder and offered a reassuring smile when their eyes met. "I fear that someday soon, that will no longer be the case. And when that day arrives, you will not have need of me anymore," Jareth said sadly.

"That's not true! I love you. I should like to think I'll always need you. Please, don't speak of such things."

Jareth wandered over to the window, staring off into the distance far beyond the labyrinth. "You're growing up much faster than I had anticipated. Even if it is taking many, many years, that fact seems to be weighing on me as of late."

"But… why now?"

Jareth sighed wistfully. "I just passed my seven-thousandth year… I suppose I am simply growing weary in my young age. A children's fairy-tale is what I've become. A story to scare children into obedience to their parents lest they be wished away to me and turned into a goblin forever! Humph! As if Iever turned a babe into a goblin! How absurd! Anyway, hardly a soul wishes away a child anymore, and really, I should be happy about that, but you know me," he said winking, "I need to exercise my mischief and tricks on someone, and the goblins only provide so much entertainment."

"I can't believe you're seven-thousand years old. I'm about eighty-two… and I have very conflicting feelings about that in and of itself," Erik added, muttering under his breath.

Jareth smirked and clapped Erik on the back with a chuckle. "Yes, I suppose you would, dear boy."

After a few months, Erik decided on a name for the delicate feline. Her eyes reminded him so much of the Persian jewels he so admired upon his recent "visit" to the Shah's palace in Tehran that he found the land's name suited her quite well. That and the fact that she simply walked around as if she were royalty. So, they aptly called her Persia.

She would sit and watch from atop the piano while Erik played for hours on end, lulled to sleep from the softer melodies he would play for her and the accompanying vibrations that issued from the grand instrument. Sometimes, when she was feeling ignored, she would plop herself down onto the keys disrupting Erik with the discordant tones, tail raised high with petulance and feminine annoyance. Erik would simply laugh adoringly and scoop her up into his arms, nuzzling her soft fur with his non-existent nose and place a soft kiss upon her head. She'd look at him and purr contentedly for a few minutes before he apologized and placed her lightly on the floor. Then she would saunter out of the room, most likely in search of a mouse to chase.

One day after he watched Persia exit the library, he wondered strangely if an actual girl could ever love him too.