A/N: Just a quick note - thank you to everyone who has taken the time to review this story so far. It's really encouraging to think people are enjoying my story, so without further ado, onto the next chapter...
Chapter 3 - The End Of Innocence
The fate of the wished away children no longer had such a resounding impact on Jareth; he had frequented the Labyrinth regularly, at the behest of his father, and time moved swiftly, until months became years, and he (more or less) gained his maturity. During that time, countless humans appeared to try their luck in the Labyrinth. Apparently people remained neglectfully dismissive when it came to hasty wishes regarding their siblings, and the Labyrinth reaped the results.
It happened so often that he'd conditioned himself to face it with a granite-like, immovable expression; inwardly the still-young prince imagined himself elsewhere.
Besides, the portrait - that constant torment - was almost complete. What more of his soul could be eked out? He pulled aside the cover, dirty and stained grey (it would never come clean, rather like he himself), and gazed upon it with apathy.
Once upon a time the forming portrait of the young prince - he still couldn't bare to think of it as himself - had troubled him, and seemed master of him. Those were the days he still held on to the last vestige of innocence.
Now the prince was a benign effigy of someone that the future Goblin King used to know. Those eyes no longer offered silent judgement, and the half shadow no longer bothered him, for he had become accustomed to darkness in real life. In fact, when he looked closely, those eyes appeared slightly bland, as though there was something vital missing.
Dismissive, Jareth tossed the cover back over the portrait and hid the still-ominous thing away, for even in the depths of indifference he experienced fleeting moments of shame and revulsion, however brief. The tiresome game of the Labyrinth was on again, and he headed to the throne room, as was expected.
o~o~O~o~o
The child was female; a little girl with deep greeny-blue eyes and dark hair, which fell in tiny curls around her face. She had chubby cheeks and a smiling expression. Over the years Jareth had observed - first in confusion, then in wonder - all these small humans. Generally very unfinished, he didn't understand their appeal, or the reason why their fully grown counterparts endured the trial of the Labyrinth to win back what they so carelessly wished away. It mystified him.
Until this child.
The girl was inquisitive and cheeky. She turned those huge eyes upon Jareth without fear or suspicion, and giggled loudly, gurgling noises issuing forth. She overbalanced on the little cushion and, quick as a flash, Jareth was beside her to break her fall. It wasn't planned, it was pure impulse.
Undeterred, she grasped at his shirt, hauling herself towards his face, where she took great delight in enfolding tufts of his fair hair in her small but strong fists, until he cried aloud in mock pain. This made the girl laugh all the more, and something stirred within the recently-hollowed out recesses of his soul.
He devoted the next moments to making the girl laugh, capers which continued until the clock struck twelve.
One hour to go.
He grew cold, thinking of the fate which awaited the girl. His magic was more capable now, and he conjured a crystal, searching for her runner - her brother, he suspected. Jareth groaned aloud as he caught sight of the lanky young man. Mired in the Bog of Eternal Stench, hopelessly lost and overwhelmed, there was no way the boy would reach the castle in time to win the challenge and take his sister home. Even with the help of Sir Didymus, the resident guardian of the Bridge, there was no way he would escape the Bog and find his way.
Jareth watched a while longer, rogue thoughts passing through his mind absently - ways in which he himself could help the girl. He attempted some small magic to aid the feeble brother along, and speed up his progress.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you!" The icy voice cut the air and stopped Jareth in his tracks.
"Father!"
"Must you be such a constant source of disappointment?" he asked impatiently. "I thought this strange fancy of yours had long since passed and you were fit to assume my role, in time. Think this through; if you go against the order of things, what in the world would you do next? Where would you go, for you would not be welcome at my table any longer. Are you not my son at all?"
He looked with disdain at the prince, then swept from the room, his long robes trailing the floor, his words echoing in Jareth's mind - where would you go… not be welcome…
My own father is ashamed of me, he thought, and it hurt.
Jareth turned his attention back to the little girl, absently plucking at a tassel on the cushion, and felt stirrings of anger.
"This is your fault. All your fault. I am my father's son," he stopped, then shrugged. "That's just the way it is."
His expression hardened, and he swept aside the crystal he'd used to watch the boy, leaving him to his fate, and his sister too. He felt resentful that she'd managed to break through the veneer he'd established, of not caring, and vowed it would not happen again.
He turned his back as time ticked unhesitatingly onward, willing himself not to get involved any further, for it was futile. He knew nothing beyond this world, of which he was destined to become king.
The irrevocable chimes began, marking the conclusion of thirteen hours. The ultimate ending was inevitable, but for all his bravado, he found himself unable to watch, and he slunk into a shadowed corner as the final chime rang out and all turned to black.
Then followed an unexpected variation.
Simultaneously there was a vivid violet-pink flash, brighter than a burning comet, a terrified high-pitched scream, and a searing pain tore through Jareth's chest, so strong it bought him to his knees and he cried out, in harmony with the echoing cry of the girl.
It lasted only a moment, although it felt like a lifetime. When he looked up from his huddled position, the girl was gone; all that remained was the empty cushion with a baby-shaped impression upon its surface. He rose shakily, and traced the creases - the cushion held onto a glimmer of heat, the only sign the girl had been there at all - and he thought of her innocent smile, the pleasure she'd found in him, the open trust, never imagining the fate he would leave her to.
Sick of the sight of the space she left, sick of the routine, and the expectations placed upon him, he fled. Recovered from the intense pain, but all too aware what it signified, there was only one place he wanted to go. He must look upon his portrait once more.
o~o~O~o~o
And so, with this last betrayal of every innocent notion he'd once had - the ideals of the young prince, the boy he was before the Labyrinth - his portrait was complete at last.
The vacant blandness had gone from the eyes, which now shone with tiny pinpricks of white light, life-like and animated; he felt a creeping certainty that should he stand the portrait against the wall, those eyes, knowing and obviously judging, would follow him, silently asking - why?
He would never be free of this ghostly reminder of the price of his acceptance of the Labyrinth. The amiable, benign expression of innocent youth had been blotted out by the addition of the tiniest details, which turned a calm, young face into a more sinister, guarded one.
He'd been robbed of whole pieces of himself - probably the best elements - and he could never win them back, but he would always know, or at least suspect, where they ended up, and he would always face the question of why he didn't stand stronger; why he didn't push for change.
It was enough to play on the sanity of even the strongest mind, and the future king couldn't allow such distractions. He seized the portrait, hastily draped it in the rag-like sheet, and scurried off to a neglected chamber - once a small armour room, now disused and forgotten. The key was in the lock already, rusted and ignored, and Jareth seized this too. He flung the painting into the gloom of the darkest corner, then slammed the door, turning the lock with a creaky squeal, and hurriedly hiding the key. He couldn't dispose of this masterpiece, but he could hide it.
So, they wanted a Goblin King fit to rule the Labyrinth. Well, they'd made one. His lessons were learned, his feelings crushed into insignificance. He would rule with firm decision, and little consideration for mercy, for there was no place for it in this kingdom of theirs.
He resolved all this as he turned his back on the locked door and he never looked back.