Dare To Heir
Chapter 5

Jareth hurled the glass orb with the power of his well-muscled body behind it. The globe smashed into a million crystal shards, the majority of which rained down on Nargle's knobby head. No one could accuse Nargle of being the brightest of goblins, but he had more smarts than most and the king had been in a temper for well over a week.

Nargle wished that he'd just kick a few goblins and get it out of his system. Apparently the king hadn't been in a kickin' mood. It was a shame really as several of the goblins was getting a bit uppity. Marta – the cook – had been forced to use one of her many silver serving spoons to teach them a much-needed lesson. Nargle shuddered; Marta was deadly with her spoons.

"Uh, your worshipfulness," Nargle hesitated, twisting his knotty-knuckled fingers together in anxiety. "The queen is wantin' me to tell youse bout the High King and Queen cumin' to eats ternight."

Nargle had relatively quick reflexes, but was not able to dodge the well-aimed lightening-like strike of the kick before it connected with his lumpy head. Staggering, he fell back onto the floor and rolled a few feet. He lay still with his arms and legs sprawled out on either side of his short, dumpy body. Hallelujah, was Nargle's first semi-coherent thought. Finally, somethin' other than the stony silence that had become a regular occurrence. That was somehow much more frighten' than the king's violent outburst of physical retribution.

Nargle struggled to his feet hearing nothing but the buzzing in his ears. He attempted to brush off the slivers of glass which were now sticking to his plain brown tunic. He grunted when one pierced his nearly impenetrable skin. Nargle spoke through the filter of his finger while sucking at the small bubble of blood that pooled there. "Youse be cumin'?"

Nargle eyed the king warily checking for signs that another kick in the head was in his immediate future. He might be glad the king were shown' signs of his old self, but gettin' kicked once was 'nuff.

"Of course I'm coming you idiot!"

Nargle beamed; flashing a set of broken and rotted teeth. He scurried away thankful that he could go back to his queen with the good news... The king was comin'.

It was just as Jareth had feared. Sarah – he felt an unwanted flash of warmth just thinking about her – had everything that he desired for himself, and it was not fair. He thought it ironic that the very words Sarah had stated to him so long ago are the very words he was now using himself. Back then he had blithely ignored her distress. It appeared as if, once again, fate had thrust his misdeeds under his nose by repaying him in kind.

Jareth ran an unsteady hand through his mass of white-blonde hair. He was still shaken by the images he had witnessed in the now thoroughly destroyed crystal. He wished he had never given in to the temptation to peer into the life of the young woman who had captivated him all those long ago years. She looked happy, truly happy, and it infuriated him. He knew that his was an illogical reaction. Never-the-less, frustration and anger ate away at his insides. The vision of the young woman singing softly to the child nestled close to her heart was seared into his brain. No matter how many crystals he shattered, and no matter how many goblins that he kicked the chances of these previously unknown emotions being abated by such endeavors was slim.

Six months on, Jareth was still recovering from the loss of his son and to witness Sarah with a child had been unbearable. Giselle had been hinting at trying again. She was still desperate to give him an heir. Her argument had been that they had come so close to realizing their dream, but Jareth had firmly shaken his head in the negative. Giselle, not willing to let his word stand, grabbed at his arm her nails digging into the skin of his wrist in her zeal to get him to agree. He had looked pointedly at her hand, but she had not immediately released him as he had been expecting. Instead, she lent in close, her lovely eyes filling with despair, begging to be allowed to try once more. A lesser king might have been swayed. Jareth was not a lesser king. While he was not immune to her suffering – far from it – he was unable to share his own suffering heart with her. Something, which she had made clear, that she desired.

It had also become apparent that Giselle wanted companionship. It was a state of affairs which had become more obvious since the passing of their child. She had begun to act as if they were a truly, happily married couple. Why, she wanted to play these games, was beyond him. The truth of their union was well known, so why was she suddenly changing the rules? He avoided her as much as possible which had been a relatively easy feat to accomplish.

Jareth had more responsibilities than most would assume. In addition to retrieving children who had been wished away, he also listened and ruled upon differences amongst his people. It was a daily routine which often took up several hours of his time. It was amazing the disputes the village people brought before their king. A few bordered on the ridiculous and as asinine as it sounded those were the disputes he enjoyed the most. They were a welcome source of amusement to break up a relatively boring day. Not to say that there were not issues of a serious nature to judge. Land disputes were common as was ownership of livestock. Those disputes often took several hours, several boring hours. Boring was a death knell in Jareth's opinion. Nevertheless, it was a significant component of his duties and could not be pawned off onto anyone else.

Jareth entered his bedchamber intent on preparing himself for his parents visit. Giselle's room lay just beyond the adjoining door where, no doubt, she was getting ready too. Jareth shucked out of one of the many white, silk-ruffled shirts that he so often favored. They were loose and comfortable while still being flattering to his fine form. Jareth might enjoy comfort, but style was just as important in his opinion.

Stripping off his black knee-high boots, he made a mental note to have Nargle fetch them. A thorough polish and buff was clearly needed before the evening meal. His dove grey breeches soon followed lying in a messy pile next to the boots. He absolutely dreaded his parents' visits. Jareth considered these visits more of a chore than all of his duties put together. He would be expected, as he had in childhood, to be on his best behavior. A feat he found extremely trying. Nevertheless, try he must. His parents would stand for nothing less. Thankfully, Willum would be present, and he was a calming influence, and it was one of the many reasons he was so valuable to Jareth.

His parents were also aware of Willum's worth and had considered him an invaluable ally. When they had gone into their Machiavellian machinations when Giselle had reached marriageable age, Willum had been very persuasive and quite instrumental in engendering their courtship and eventual marriage. Jareth's parents had ample reason to be grateful to Willum.

Naked, Jareth walked quickly to the antechamber off to the other side of his room. Gooseflesh rose on his skin from the chill in the air. He waved his hand over the marble step-down Roman style tub, and it immediately filled up with hot water. Mists of spicy-scented steam drifted up toward the domed ceiling of the bathing chamber. Sliding into its' welcoming depths, a groan of bliss escaped his mouth. The heated water began to work on his tense and tight muscles. Never-the-less, the specter from the crystal persisted. In his minds' eye he, once again, witnessed Sarah crooning the unforgettable lullaby. She had sung it so sweetly, and with such tenderness.

Somewhere out there beneath the pale moonlight, someone's' thinking of you and loving you tonight.

It had been obvious how much she loved the child which she held. He recalled the day he'd held his own lost, little one. The love that had poured through him had been astounding. Is that what Sarah had felt too? That, all encompassing love, which no other could rival?

Somewhere out there someone's saying a prayer that we'll find one another in that big somewhere out there.

How often had he prayed to every deity he knew in existence? Entreated and begged, only to be disappointed time and time again.

And even though I know how very far apart we are, it helps to think we might be wishing on the same bright star.

Jareth grunted at the thought of wishes being flung up to the stars in the hopes that they would be granted. He knew well that stars were nothing but empty bright lights void of all magical powers, yet foolish humans continued to hope.

At least they continued to hope, his treacherous thoughts reminded him; even when their wishes and prayers went unanswered they still hoped. Yet, you scorn their belief, and revel in your own magical powers, but to what end? The stars may be void of magic, but then again, what have you gained from magic? Nothing whatsoever except an empty nursery, an empty crib, and an empty existence.

Sarah should have been content now that Gideon had begun pulling his weight where the Day Care was concerned. She should have been content with the long list of youngsters waiting to enter their humble establishment as soon as a spot became vacant. She should have been happy that Gideon was willing to learn the financial end of the business. She should have been happy that he'd volunteered to help with the paperwork. The gesture on his part had been sweet, but unexpected. She grimaced. Unfortunately, paperwork - finances in particular - was not his forte. His math skills were appalling, and his ability at inaccurately reviewing order forms and inventory were more a hindrance than a help.

When she could stand it no longer, she'd banned him from the back office room with a shooing motion of her hands. Not that he looked especially miserable at this ostracism, she thought ruefully. Gideon was definitely the P.R. man while she was more of the behind-the-scenes-take-care-of-the-real-world necessities of the business.

Through the half-open office door, Sarah could see Gideon handing Gabe over to his father and Gillian to Clara, the twins' aunt. Placing her pen on the desk Sarah couldn't help but dream about the day when she would have a baby of her own. It was a desire that always been in the back of her mind a dream for someday. Lately, however, that desire had begun to grow in strength. It had become an almost overwhelming sense of need, relentlessly poking and prodding until her body virtually hummed with its' power. It confused Sarah. It wasn't as if she were old enough for her biological clock to be kicking in; she still had plenty of time.

Irene would be up in arms if she knew the passion in which Sarah wished to have a child, with her father no doubt following right behind. Hell, she wasn't even dating anyone! Still, everything in her was crying out, urging her to hurry. Sarah was afraid the burning, painful ache wouldn't go away and that she might die unless she obeyed.

Sarah's head started to throb while black dots began to swim in her line of vision. Where the hell were all these crazy thoughts coming from? Who in their right mind would get it into their head that they would die if they didn't have a baby? With unsteady hands, she attempted to push herself upright, but a wave of dizziness overtook her. She swayed on her feet as if in a drunken stupor.

Through hazy eyes, she could just make out Gideon locking up the doors. She stretched her arm out in an attempt to catch his attention. Without turning toward her, Gideon headed to the table where the kids had made hand-prints on paper in washable paint. He snapped the lids back onto the jars so they wouldn't dry out, and used a cloth to wipe down the table surfaces. Good 'ole Gideon, he really was trying to redeem himself. He wouldn't usually risk getting paint – washable or not – on his immaculate attire. That was her last thought before her legs gave out beneath her, and she plummeted to the floor.

With a sharp cry, Jareth jerked upright, splashing tepid water all around his body. At first, he was not sure of his whereabouts. His head felt as if it was filled with several pairs of Nargles' heavy wool socks. He frantically looked this way and that, scanning the room, trying to get his bearings. Had he fallen asleep in the bath? He had never done such a thing before, no matter how exhausted he had been. He slowly wiped the excess moisture from his face, still bemused by what had happened. He felt shaken, that much he could admit, shaken and out of control. Both, of which, were little known to him. Could he stand? He was not sure if he had the strength.

He took his time. When he did finally manage to regain his footing, he was pleased to discover that while his legs wobbled dangerously, they held firm. Carefully he climbed the few steps of the bath. He shivered uncontrollably, rubbing his arms with his hands to work warmth back into his frozen body.

A fire is what was needed to chase away this damnable chill, Jareth decided as soon as his teeth began to chatter. With a negligent wave of his hand, he demanded that the fire alight. He was almost to his bed when he realized there was no answering warmth. Annoyed, he turned his naked form toward the fireplace. Incredulous, he thought to himself, this cannot be! The grate of the fire pit was littered with spent, cold ashes and that was all. Otherwise, it was completely barren, with no flame whatsoever.