My apologies: to you dear literates. It's Midterm Season and we students are the targets. Surely you know that feeling of being chased by your GPA while simultaneously trying to reach it.
I'm still dancing around the Fae thing; waiting for the best time to introduce my idea. This chapter was difficult but so much fun! I listened to "My Horse Must Lose" by The Sounds of Animal Fighting, Modest Mouse, and this song from the Chronicles of Narnia soundtrack to get into the mood I wanted. Okay, no more advertisements. Read on!
An Offer Given Twice
Chapter Four: A Perfect Love
If any one creature were to take the time to think of a gathering of perfection, this creature would unknowingly be thinking of The Court. An assorted collection of success and prestige; they are the ideals of each wistful thought anyone would have for itself. The talented, the dangerous, the beautiful, and most importantly, the best. There was no greater honor than to be a Court affiliate; except for perhaps being the Emperor or Empress of Under. However, this truth was often overlooked since it was only a two-seater exception.
Now imagine even further what it meant to be perfect. Unrivaled. Flawless. Incontestable. Compared to the imperfect—otherwise known as damn near everybody—it is strange and clean. Perfection is never questioned, not from fear or ignorance, but what creature in its right mind would interrogate perfection?
Continue the thought and wonder what would happen if perfect met its match and failed to gain whatever it wished to achieve. For those lucky enough to glimpse upon The Court, they could not possibly conceive of such a notion. As for everyone else, try to stretch your functioning brain around an irritated Goblin King and you have just pictured what happens when a perfect fails.
Jareth pushed aside another set of thick doors on his way to the one room he wasn't allowed to enter with magic. Now that he has descended from his wings of excellence, he had to suffer doors. It was a most humiliating process and it grew all the more aggravating with each new set of carved pearl. Despite his current situation, on his way to face down his failure, his mind still whirled of Sarah. His heart quivered in remembrance of those wide green eyes. He recalled the connection they held together as they mouthed his words together; he shivered at the thrill. But an altogether different emotion saturated his heart when. . . Brian? . . thought to put his hands on Sarah. His Sarah. What idiot in his right mind places hands on his intended? Jareth dented an exquisite set of river stone doors at the thought.
It was this distraction that allowed him to walk upright beneath the weight of disappointment. He forced the last set of doors open with a spread of his hands. He noticed the room and its inhabitants were as pristine as ever, something that Jareth was only attracted to fifty percent of the time. Personally, a little chaos is pleasing—as anyone could tell by his choice of hair style. His tall boots clipped and jingled across the thick slab of diamond. He preferred stone as a more suitable material for floors, but reason is never important to fashion. That is, aside from the flaunting—the most natural reason in the universe. Which was fine; his fitted maroon pants could attest to that.
The eyes of The Court watched with surprise upon their fallen comrade. They all knew he should no longer be here without an invitation. As an imperfect, his presence was highly questionable; but as a Goblin King, telling Jareth where to and not to be was extremely hazardous. For now, they watched him from their respective perches with disapproval.
Out of habit, the Goblin King walked towards his place among the esteemed until he realized his chair had been removed. 'That was quick,' he frowned, but pushed onward to walk up five little stairs and onto a pedestal from which announcements were made. He rested his forearms on the top comfortably as if he always deserved to be there. This irritated some, but left others tsk'ing at how the great can sometimes fall, yet refuse to do so gracefully. The Court had high hopes for Jareth, they thought he would be the one to survive and rule Labyrinth and many were fond of him. As in not anymore.
He gazed upon each face devoid of desperation or hope. Jareth's certainty was absolute in the knowledge that someone would return his chair to where it once rested. They waited for him to say his farewell speech or plead to be let back in. But there the Goblin King stood, comfortable and silent. He grinned down at them, and enchanted, they smiled in return. But he did nothing else to justify someone physically throwing him out, aside from everyone wanting him gone.
The Court shifted in small ways. Some patted down their sleeves; others craned their necks to see if everyone else's reaction was the same: none wanted to believe what they were seeing and no one wanted to correct it either. Granted, a Goblin King may be a dangerous adversary, but an imperfect had to be addressed.
An elf with impossible golden eyes, stood from a pile of lush feather pillows. He calmly set down a goblet of plum merlot next to a stunning silver elf. He held steady to bear the responsibility of putting the rouge element in its place—or just anywhere but here. "Goblin King, you are not—"
"No."
The room stiffened and the elf frowned, having never been interrupted by its inferior before. He started again, "Goblin King—"
Jareth finally leveled upon the room more than his confidence, but his cruelty. He slapped away the pedestal, sending it flying across the distance in pieces. "No."
A hostile aura hinted the possibility of violence, thickening the air to the point where it was difficult to breathe. The Goblin King engaged in a battle of wills and after a time, the elf began to shake beneath Jareth's strength. It wasn't until two more elves stood in favor of perfection that Jareth felt pressured to surrender. An infamous warlord and a handful of royals later and his was no longer the dominant presence.
"Step down with dignity, Goblin King," the warlord advised, hand on the hilt of his sword.
"Zhain. It is because of my dignity that I stand among you." Jareth countered, taking notice of his ex-companion's use of formality.
"Even the perfect fail, Jareth," he retorted, "let it go."
Fail. What a poor choice of words. Jareth set and reset his jaw as the nasty flavor stung his mouth for the first time. It traveled from his belly and spread like a cold rage. The word thrashed its way into his resting heart, for which it did not twitch in anger as his fists were now. His heart only remembered the magnificent creature that taught him how to fail. That perfect smile she never graced his way. The method she rejected him made his blue and brown gaze seethe of want and wrath. He looked upon his opponents and decided he had had enough of their opposition. After all, they weren't Sarah; why should he have to tolerate this? In his left hand he twisted a crystal and in his fingers, the crystal danced. The crowd flinched at the sight of it. "Oh," he teased, "Did I forget to mention?"
He brought out another crystal just for the satisfaction of seeing them squirm.
The Elves immediately sat down at the sight of it, the royals followed after. The tension lifted from the room as if bloodshed was not a breath away. He knew crystals changed everything though he had not meant to present them with his temper. But it got the desired effect.
Jareth was perfect again; and those that didn't think so left the room, as was their right. He made a careful note of each Court member that refused to acknowledge his achievement; remembering the number of enemies he made this day. As everyone was silenced expectantly, waiting for a little speech he owed The Court, the warlord interrupted. As a battle veteran, Zhain was not so easily intimidated by a handful of crystals. "And just how long have you forgotten?"
Jareth pulled mismatched eyes from the doorway that allowed passage to three new enemies. He smirked, "Labyrinth gave them to me, the little darling. She's so affectionate; always kissing me with glitter."
He didn't answer the question, but it was common knowledge to never seek an answer twice from a Goblin King. It did address the question if anyone would be able to tame the Labyrinth and its goblins. So casually Jareth talked about the Legend of the Labyrinth, as if it wasn't one of the most impossible accomplishments known Below.
Though a great self-sustaining and abundant power, the Labyrinth wasn't one to offer the gift to every power-hungry smirk that came its way. In fact, it was the only royal station in which lineage meant nothing; no one inherited the power or the gift of crystals automatically. Before Jareth's entry, there were few titles more abhorred than that of a Goblin King's. It is a position eventually filled by the unwillingly desperate; usually spoiled Baron's sons that could not succeed in The Courts or battle. No one wanted to govern a land of trickery and right questions leading to strange answers. It was impossibly dirty, chaotic, and disrespectful to proper conduct.
Of all the ranks in the Underworld, Goblin Kings have the highest failure-death rate and with ugly style. Provided that one survives in the first place, many return with their souls maimed.
To make the situation worse, the King's Under Lords were unruly and spiteful, the inhabitants were unseemly, the Labyrinth fickle, and if the wind sways one way, the smell of the Bog of Eternal Stench will waft right into the King's bedchamber. Those with the ability to avoid the Labyrinth's Kingship do so with zest; hence everyone agreed it was the equivalent to being slowly condemned to death. Then on a colorful fall morning, a young Jareth announced to Below his insistence to be the Goblin King. Many wondered for his mental health as they probably continue to even now, but it seems that granting his wish was everyone's greatest mistake.
Zhain only had one concern, making his thumb rub against the sword's hilt in thought. He observed how naturally the crystals played into Jareth's gloved palm, so he must have gained them years before this announcement. In all the time Zhain had known the trickster, he never showed this much ambition publicly. He would happily flaunt his looks and confidence with the ladies, but never his power. Jareth remained cautious, indirect, and seemingly content with Kingship so never involved himself in politics or power struggles.
The warlord remembered many occasions he and Jareth would spar to the point of exhaustion and broken bones. Of all those times, Jareth lost more than he had won. It disgruntled Zhain to know that each "graceful loss" the Goblin King mocked, he was smirking not in Zhain's triumph, but in the knowledge he had let it happen.
So what had caused Jareth to give up his secrets now? Loosing a baby to a little human girl?
'No,' Zhain shook his head, someone this upset surely lost something more important than pride. But what could it be? The warlord's tongue tingled with the need to ask these questions, but knew better than to do so with an audience.
Of course, not everyone had the warlord's foresight.
"King Jareth, if I may ask. . ." began a winged prince in the far corner.
The trickster raised his eyebrow in curious approval and it was too late for Zhain to warn the avian to stop. Everyone's attention turned to the new member as they also predicted disaster from the prince's question. He was too young to know about Jareth's temper, or the full impact a crystal could have on such flammable wings.
". . . you've had these gifts for awhile now?"
"That would be correct." The room stirred at Jareth's open words and cool exterior.
The prince's beaded hair clicked together as he readjusted his ashen white wings. "Then how could you loose to a human?"
The room grew tense. They shared an "it was nice knowing you" sentiment for the prince.
Jareth's mysterious laughter was the last thing anyone expected to hear. "What makes you think Sarah is human?"
What? The Court stared at the King with dumb looks on their faces.
"Then what is she?" asked the curious prince.
"My love." The Labyrinth's glitter swirled around his body and he disappeared before The Court could express their shock and outrage.
There was one last. . thing that should be mentioned about being perfect. It was not a consequence, exception, or drawback; since there could be no disadvantages to perfection. It existed nonetheless as something. Perhaps best expressed as a truth: perfects do not find real love. They know affection, caring, sensuality, and everything close but never love itself. They experience eminence and pleasures most could never fathom, but not love. This joy was only for those capable of having equals and compromises; and since The Court is about constant superiority, they were fatally incompatible with love.
A perfect claiming to have love and be loved is the target of much distain and envy as the Goblin King would experience. Crystals be damned, love was unforgivable.
- - - - - - DAYLO'S SYMBOLIC DIVIDING DASH LINES - - - - - -
Jareth glittered into his throne room chuckling to himself. He slipped off his dark blood red cloak and hung it on a stone piece protruding from the wall. He was still grinning at the absurdity of Sarah's "humanity" as he sat sideways on his throne, throwing his legs across the arm. He played with the broach resting on his ribs, "You won't believe what I heard today, Souay. Come inside, let us share my mirth."
I am already in a disbelieving mood, Your Majesty. The snow owl ambled from the outside window sill into view. He always knew where she was hiding.
Jareth's face brightened in delight and question, "Oh, you have something to share?"
Word has traveled of your. . the uproar you caused in The Court's lounge. She flapped her wings and glided to the perch at the head of the throne's chair. Her dark eyes stared at him and Jareth knew that in a private corner of her mind, she was chiding her master with profanities.
"It only took me four seconds to get from there to here."
The speed of gossip is instantaneous. Much like your temper.
Jareth smirked, "Apparently."
The owl openly glared her honesty upon her king; That is not something to be proud about.
". . Apparently."
The master and servant engaged in a staring contest. Jareth playfully drummed his fingers against his royal crest until Souay relented. All right, what is it you wanted to tell me?
The Goblin King pulled into a sitting position, "So this boy across the room—"
Which boy?
"—it doesn't matter who; so he asked me—"
If he wasn't significant then you would not have mentioned him.
Jareth rolled his eyes, "—he's only important to the story."
Then who is he? Souay insisted.
He waved his hand in negligence, "Some prince."
When Jareth opened his mouth to continue the story—Which prince?
The Goblin King jingled the bells on his boots impatiently, "Souay, must you taunt and interrupt me? Show some respect when we're alone just as you do when we're not."
What did he look like?
Jareth sighed, "Wings, silver crown, small in height."
The snow owl hooted in reprimand; What a Goblin King! That was the Prince of the Skies! The first heir to my original king. How could my master forget such a name? she asked the ceiling.
"Quite easily," Jareth retorted, "now if you'll pay attention to—"
But why? Souay teased in question.
Jareth thrummed his fingers against his crest in annoyance, regardless of how much he enjoyed banter and conflict, he would much rather share his mirth while it lasted. "It is my royal imperative as a Goblin King to be careless and impudent to the ways of politics and conduct. Are you done?"
An owl is never 'done', my liege. But since you are busy, I will relent for the day.
Jareth frowned, "What—"
Three goblins burst into the throne room. One of them was his scribe carrying a bundle of scrolls. "Your Majesty! Your Majesty!"
The Goblin King sent a glare at the retreating figure of his familiar flying into the horizon before turning his attention to stately matters. "What is it?"
Another goblin, dressed as a soldier, stepped forward, "Some bloke rally'n an army on our east'n border, Your Majesty. We suspect trolls, that we do."
Trolls were an uncompromisingly ugly race; very distant cousins to the dwarves. They ranged from four to five feet in height, with long limbs, tough leathery skin, and a fierce disposition ideal for battle. Trolls hungered for any kind of raw meat—including goblins—and often haunted mountains and underground caves. Not clever in mind, but they horde in large masses to over-whelm their enemies. Jareth gave a look of disgust, remembering the first and what he had hoped to be the last time he dealt with the stupid creatures, "How fares our army?"
The scribe fumbled with his papers, "Still scattered; most are working with the carpenters to repair the city."
The Goblin King wondered which enemy would hate him enough to ally himself with trolls. He grabbed his cloak from the stone wall, "I shall go and see for myself."
"Your Majesty?"
He pointed to his subjects, "You wait here and rally the goblins to defend all our borders but the Labyrinth entrance; have them place hoses in the Bog of Eternal Stench that connect to the outside. Prepare the cannons, and get my Under Lords here now."
They all bowed and mumbled, "Aye Your Majesty," as their king disappeared in a snowfall of glitter.
End of Chapter
Thank you all for reading (and enjoying)!
Dear. . .
Solea: Oh, haha, I did not mean that to you or the others that previously reviewed and supported me. I suppose that was just a small ploy on my part to hike up the reviews. I was promised a box of chocolates if I achieve sixty reviews. Ignore the part where I can afford my own chocolate. I have a thing for gifts; but then again, who doesn't?
Anji: "Daylo's Dividing Line" huh? That your favorite? I'll repeat that in every now and again as I'm trying to think up as many different little phrases as possible. I'm glad I changed it, too. Though it's more important what the readers think I guess, since if I was just writing for myself, I wouldn't be posting it on the internet.
Amunett: Awww, you added me? Hug for you.
notwritten: Thank you; may you continue to think so. Or is it, may I continue to write well so you will continue to think so? Whichever.
Maat: Awww, hug for you too. Or, should I say, evil hug for you?
RagamuffinSundrop: Thank you, I will.