Jareth met them at the rear gates. Centuries ago, after King Corwyn’s murder, the rear gates were installed. They could only be opened with a set of three magic keys. Each member of the Triumvirate held one of these keys. Only when the keys were turned in unison could the gates be opened. As the fey trio entered the gates, the Goblin King bowed low to show his respect. His crisp white vestments swept the ground, fanning out around him. The tip of a leather sheath peaked out from beneath his coat. In the sheath a sword, legend to have killed the villain who had slain Jareth’s Grandfather while he slept. Around his neck a worn black leather cord held the medallion once worn by Jareth’s great-great-grandfather. The king’s arrogance was well deserved and well worn. Genuflected before the Triumvirate Jareth seemed regal, both supreme and subservient at once.
“Rise Goblin King,” the Cleric spoke. He approached Jareth and took him into a warm embrace. “It’s been too long my friend. I worry you have abandoned your faith, or worse, that you believe it has abandoned you.”
A gloved hand patted the back of the religious fey. Best as he could Jareth feigned a smile. “Bring forth the child,” he instructed.
“What child?” asked the goblin who’d been struck by lightning the night before. Another goblin slapped him.
After a bit of a bustle, which embarrassed Jareth, a larger goblin stepped forward with a child in his arms. “My liege,” he knelt to offer the child which was no longer wrapped in the soft pink bunting. Instead she wore a white silk gown elaborately detailed with lace, ribbon and pearls.
Gently Jareth accepted the babe and held her in turn out to the Cleric. “We humbly request this child be christened with the name Gossamyr and that she be granted immortality here with us in the Underground.”
An incense burner hung from the cords which tied his robe. A wave of his hand ignited its contents causing the distinct patchouli aroma to billow out in puffs. The Cleric began to chant in his ancient language. Behind him stood the other two thirds of the trio. Both of them wore an expression of intensity. At some point in the chant the child was taken by the Cleric who waived the burner over and around her small body. The smoke accentuated the child’s aura. All goblins in attendance at the ceremony bowed low in awe. Jareth himself returned to his knee. At great length the Cleric finally spoke, “Welcome Gossamyr, Wood Sprite of the Underground. We take you into our hearts and minds, forever interconnected as all things fey are. We bless happiness unto you and we draw upon the happiness of your spirit.” The child’s ears began to point as the cheekbones heightened making the facial features more pronounced. The child was now fey. Each fey had at least one deformity. Though she now wore those deformities, Gossamyr was still a beautiful child. No doubt she would be beautiful through all her life. “Bring forth the Representatives,” the Cleric continued.
There were four true Representatives, one for each of the sectors in the Underground. Each chosen by the community to be the one who would receive and induct the stolen children. Though he was primarily king, Jareth too was a Representative. His goblin community looked to him to handle these matters as none among them were truly bright enough to have done it. Likewise, it was the king who had sole power to banish a creature to the Labyrinth. The two southern sectors’ Representatives took their places to Jareth’s left while the two northern sector’s Representatives came forward to stand at his right. In unison the males recited, “Great elders, we are each only too humbled to accept this child. We recognize our obligation to welcome and educate her and we pledge that even if she is not chosen to share our sector of this kingdom, she shall be eternally welcomed to share our lives.”
“Insomuch as each of you has pledged yourselves unto this child, it is the decision of the Triumvirate that the new wood sprite, Gossamyr, shall be given unto Tiberon, Representative of the southeastern sector of this kingdom.” The Cleric met Tiberon’s proud gaze, “Step forth and claim your child.” At this time the Gavel drew a leather ledger from beneath his vestments and began to make an entry.
Knelt before the trio, Tiberon reached to accept Gossamyr. “You have seen fit to award my people a new and beautiful child. We praise the three of you. I accept this child and vow to keep and provide for her to the best of my ability. She will be raised to obey the laws, enjoy our realm and praise the Supreme One.” Tiberon accepted the child. Reaching toward the Sage, he extended his thumb and lowered it into a well being held out toward him. He saturated his thumb in the oil, brought it to his forehead, made a small triangle and repeated, “In the presence of the Gavel and of the Sage and of the Cleric, this is my vow.” He repeated the procedure on the child’s forehead.
Upon the completion of the vow the Cleric announced, “Let us celebrate!”
There were many loud cries as Tiberon marched the child through the crowd and into the main gardens of the castle. The child was cradled beneath a cherry blossom tree where she slept peacefully. Others around her laughed and danced. Still she rested. A roasted pig was present for lunch. More of the kingdom’s inhabitants made appearances. Jareth greeted the majority, then retired to his throne room, where no one would be permitted during the festivities, and took his meal there requesting the company of the Cleric. Of the three fey comprising the Triumvirate he was the only one who took a liking to the Goblin King. For reasons they kept to themselves, the others had a distaste for him. Perhaps they feared that he would someday succumb to the evil that he’d inherited from his grandfather. Solely the Cleric knew that Jareth had inherited much more from his parents than from the generations that had come before. He alone had been witness to Jareth’s more spiritual side. He personally counseled him through his mother’s leave and subsequent death. He knew of the king’s heartache for the mortal, Sarah, and had hoped that Jareth would seek him again for healing. Sadly he had not. Intuition told him that the recent change in his friend stemmed from his repressed pain. Sarah reminded Jareth of Leanan Sidhe. It wasn’t an Oedipal. It was just that he had been abandoned by every woman in his life who he had wanted to stay. Pain had not just effected his heart, but his physical appearance as well. Fifteen years on a fey looked to be little more than a human year, but the Goblin King seemed to have aged five times that much. And when the Goblin King was effected so was his land. Lush areas of the kingdom had become overgrown. Areas beyond the Labyrinth had become a ruddy desert completely void of any vegetation. It was indeed troublesome.
“I accept your invitation Jareth. In truth, the request pleases me more than you know.” The king offered his vacant Queen’s throne to the holy fey. “Tell me friend, what is it that troubles you these days?”
Never moving his attention from his meal, Jareth dryly replied, “Little troubles me these days. I choose not to allow it.”
“Then you offer your troubles to the Supreme One?”
“I forbid my troubles Cleric. Besides, the Supreme One has no time for the troubles of a fey such as myself.”
“I feared that would be your response,” the Cleric hung his head and sipped from his goblet of mead.
“My trouble is this,” Jareth lowered his fork forcefully to the plate before him. “There are many who wish to harm me. I am well aware of that fact. I am aware also that I continue to survive because I am feared. Can you tell me Cleric, tell me that the Supreme One can waylay those fears? No, you cannot.” He leaned back putting a little distance between the two of them. “You shall be the only friend to share my meals. No woman shall share my bed for more than one eve.” Jareth waved away his near empty plate and called upon a goblin to bring him more mead.
With a nod the Cleric accepted a refill from the grotesque fellow who poured as carefully as he could, but managed to spill a few drops nonetheless. “You are not fully the fey you fear they see.”
“They call me evil, a rat. King of the Goblins they snicker as if I were little more than a royal babysitter.”
“You are a good king,” the Cleric stressed.
“I am a feared king.”
His eyes met Jareth’s, “You are a respected king.” A frail hand reached for the soft grey leather clad hand resting on the arm of the throne. “My intuition tells me there is more at the heart of your doubts.”
Jareth jerked his hand away. “I have seen love lead to nothing but tragedy and so I shall never love. Without love, I shall never seed an heir, with no heir, I shall rule the Underground until such time as I am killed or you and your companions deem me no longer worthy of the title.” He paused to sigh. “I am mocked enough as it is for the lineage handed down by my grandfather and the controversy of my mother’s indiscretions with a mortal man.” In one gulp the king emptied his goblet. “Then I find myself defeated by a mortal child. Disgraced to my entire kingdom. Whispered rumors about my unnatural feelings for mortals. I thought I’d rid myself of her meddling years ago. Now I find she’s been using her mortal magic to interfere with my fey powers.” His fist crashed off the arm of his throne. “I cannot effectively rule if this is allowed to continue.”
The Cleric had listened closely and heard much more in the outburst than Jareth had intended to tell. His heartache ran deeper than his defeat at the hands of a mortal girl. Indeed, he had gone without a father, raised by a surrogate mother and made to suffer for evils done before him. Now his future seemed condemned to the same fate that plagued his past. Jareth’s magical mishaps were not the result of anything the mortal had done, the Cleric knew this. A small chuckle arose in his throat. Sweet honey wine washed it away and with some levity he asked the king, “And who was it that gave the girl her powers?”
“I had no idea when I gave her those powers that she possessed magic of her own that would become ignited.”
Mercilessly, the Cleric continued with his inquisition, “And why was it you had given her certain of your powers?”
At this Jareth glared at his companion. “You know full well.”
“You loved her, my friend.” He waved away his plate, “Were it my call to make, I would wager that you do still.” The king’s teeth were closed tight and his lips barely moved. “I am incapable of love.”
“You are incapable of accepting love. The Supreme One made us all capable of love.” “Don’t preach to me holy fey. You forget my father was mortal. In his realm there is a Heaven and a Hell, ruled by a God and a Devil, representing good and evil. Every being in that realm is a bit of both. Part of me is a mortal being who the Supreme One refuses to acknowledge. The only reason you made me immortal was to ensure an heir to the throne.”
Jareth’s eyes were wide with rage as he took in the laughing Cleric. Between chuckles he admitted,
“Oh now, be calm. I see I’ve pushed you further than I intended.” The king’s anger stilled some. “It’s neither rejection by the Supreme One nor your mortal that plagues you now.”
“Then what is it?” he spat.
Again the Cleric broke into laughter. “‘Tis I my friend and I have been caught red-handed.”
Jareth’s eyes became curious, “Explain yourself immediately.” His words rolled from his tongue as would a serpent’s, were they able to speak.
“Years ago when the mortal defeated you, the Triumvirate was forced to uphold her words. You would have no power over the girl. This meant your magic was useless in all matters involving her or her more immediate loved ones.”
“Then why is it that I can see her in my crystals?”
“My fault again, I’m afraid.” The holy fey eased back into the throne and folded his hands across his mid-section. “It pained me to see you without Sarah. She brought you joy Jareth.” A great moan escaped the king as he moved to interrupt. “Quiet. Denounce it all you want, but she brought something in you to life. You loved that girl. How cruel would I have been to take even her image from you?”
“Cruel! You were worried about being cruel! Do you have even an inkling what you’ve allowed me to see?” the king shouted.
“Truth hurts us at times. I have told you that before.” He continued with his explanations. “There was no perfect way to resolve the matter. It was either something or nothing. Frankly, I fear that I may have been unwise in my decisions. I take it you have seen her with a man.”
That was an understatement if Jareth had ever heard one. “She has taken a suitor. I have called upon her vision when they were mating.” Just saying it made him ill.
“Jareth, the humans call it love making.”
“No Cleric, this was not a process of making love, trust me when I tell you this.” Immense displeasure consumed the king’s face. Quickly, he moved to change the topic, “So it was you who messed with my magic?”
“Aye.”
“In my best interests I’m sure?”
“Aye.”
“I do not like limitations placed on me Cleric, especially without my consent.”
“I would imagine that you do not, Jareth.”
His glove rose to his chin, the forefinger jutting out towards his guest. “Tell me this. What must I do in order to regain my full magic?”
This was an unheard of scenario. No one questioned the Triumvirate. “I do not believe you can do anything. Orders issued by the Triumvirate are not subject to question.”
“Ah,” Jareth rolled the sound from deep in his throat, over his tongue and through his open mouth, “but no order was issued. None that I was aware of.”
He had spoken truth. The Cleric himself had entered the order and knew it had never been formally announced. “You are wise beyond your years.” He rolled his thumbs over themselves as he thought the scenario through. “I suppose,” he continued, “you could request the mortal rescind her statement.”
“Tell me some other way,” the king’s tone half way between a plea and a command.
“I can’t.” He pondered a moment longer. “If you were to petition the Triumvirate for a reversal, you would be unquestionably denied. Your only other remedy is to risk facing the mortal again.”
Jareth’s eyebrow cocked, “Risk?”
“Were you to request Sarah rescind her statement, she may deny you a second time. I don’t know that I could offer you anything if this were to occur, not even her image.”
A wicked grin overtook the mouth of the king, “You needn’t concern yourself with that. Should the mortal girl deny me again, I’ll have no need for her image.” He stood and moved to exit the throne room. “You’ll excuse me. You know the way out.”
The Cleric called down the long hall, “Jareth, there are conditions which I must place on your attempt to face the mortal.”
Suddenly Jareth reappeared immediately before the Cleric. “What conditions?” he asked visibly aggravated.
“Now is not the time. It is a day of celebration.” His hand left a swift pat on Jareth’s shoulder. “Enjoy yourself tonight. Tomorrow at noon, come to the Triumvirate.” Jareth rolled his mismatched eyes. “Now, you’ll need their consent to leave the realm anyway so if I was you, I’d relax, get a good night’s rest and try to come tomorrow with an open mind and a closed mouth.”
Jareth draped himself across his throne. “Enjoy what?” he grumbled. Nothing or no one in his garden brought him any joy.
***** ***** ******
The next morning he arose where sleep had claimed him, still draped upon his throne. A chorus of curious voices sang around him.
“Is he dead?”
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“He’s breathing.”
“I wish he were dead.”
“He can’t die.”
“Somebody poke him.”
“Get away from me,” the king roared. “Get me Hoggle.”
“Yes your grace,” several of them answered at once.
“It’s still quite early,” a goblin piped up.
Jareth grabbed him by the collar, “Get me the dwarf.” He punted the goblin into the hall.
Moments later Hoggle’s stout legs propelled him with great purpose into the throne room. “Now you listen heres yer Majesty, I’ll not have you summoning me at all hours this way.”
“Hobble?”
“Hoggle.”
“Yes, next time you plan one of your outbursts, be certain I’ve not decided to offer you an opportunity first. It may just cause me to change my mind.” The dwarf’s eyes narrowed suspiciously at the king.
“I will be taking my leave of the Underground for a period of time. I have no wife or child to oversee my throne in such an absence. My goblins all lack the intelligence to polish this,” his gloved hands ran over the arms of the elegant chair, “much less sit in it.” He eyed Hoggle carefully for some hint of comprehension. “Do you see what I’m saying?”
“Yer going away,” Hoggle repeated.
“That is all you would hear.” Jareth rose and paced circles around the dwarf as he continued, “While I’m away you will be acting king. You have always been loyal to me, with the exception of certain things pertaining to a certain mortal.”
“Yer majesty? I...I...”
“There is nothing to object to. You will do this.”
“Where are you going?”
“To see the Triumvirate.” He avoided Hoggle’s stare hoping it would stay his questions.
“Why?”
“I don’t need to tell you anything.”
Knowingly, Hoggle looked at the floor. “It’s Sarah ain’t it? You’re gonna go after Sarah.”
“Before you get your breeches in a bundle, I’m only going to ask for my full magic back.”
“If you harm even one hair on her head, I swear...”
Jareth raised a hand to hush him, “Why would I do that now when I have had fifteen years to seek my vengeance and done nothing?”
Hoggle knew better. Sarah had a profound effect on the Underground. Each of the creatures who met her grew to love her. For Jareth it ran deeper. He had fallen in love with her. To hurt Sarah was to hurt himself and that went against his interests. “When will you leave?”
“Four hours from now.” He turned his back and began to leave. Over his shoulder he said, “Move your family in while I’m away so you needn’t be separated. Arulan will tend to you and a nanny will be provided for your child.”
Hoggle stood dumbfounded by what had transpired between them. Jareth was very out of sorts, but then again, Sarah had that effect on him. Now he had gone and made Hoggle king. The dwarf’s head swayed back and forth watching the king’s slow stride lead him out of the throne room. Even fifteen years later she continued to defeat him. “I hope you know what your doing,” he warned a deaf Jareth as the throne room doors thrust themselves open and the king left for his bed chambers to prepare.
***** ****** ******
Arulan entered carefully. Word of Jareth’s mood had spread quickly throughout the kingdom. Her long blonde hair hid her worried eyes as she bowed toward him, “How may I serve you sir?”
“Run my bath,” he said flatly. His intention had been to deliver the news of Hoggle’s new appointment, but it didn’t seem right to begin there.
Obediently, she rose, crossing in front of Jareth to the master bath suite. Upon her return she found her Lord seated on one of the leather couches on the lower level of his chamber. A snap of his fingers had ignited the logs in his fireplace. Soberly, his chin rested in the palm of his hand and his distraction was beyond obvious. “Your bath is run, sir. Is there more that I might help you with before you leave?”
One of Jareth’s soft grey leather clad hands rose to dismiss his loyal servant, but was halted as it occurred to him exactly what she had just said. A raised eyebrow instead turned to her. His hand lowered and he used his elbows to brace himself on his knees. Silently he questioned how she’d become aware of his plan.
“Begging your pardon sir, but word travels fast in this castle especially when that word his about you.” Jareth nodded his agreement. “Tis true that you’ve left Hoggle in charge?” Jareth’s head nodded again, this time staying low as he waited for the criticism to follow. Criticism never came. “I think that is a wise choice my lord. Only the Supreme One knows what the goblins would do unsupervised.” A slight chuckle arose in her as she thought about what that would truly be like. “Rowdy bunch, they are.”
The king looked at her intensely, he trusted so few others. Arulan had been with him as long as he’d been in the Underground. Her faithfulness to him and his kingdom had never been questionable. Unfortunately, it was no matter of state that burned inside his soul right now. Tears fell inside his heart. He condemned himself to facing the mortal again. Might as well have been an iron blade he would attempt to swallow while praying that the hot metal spared the delicate lining of his throat.
The elf could sense in him great fear and burdensome doubt. In all his adult years she had never dared to touch her king. It was a matter of respect between them. But this minute her heart wept with his. Too many times through the thick wall separating her chambers from his, she had heard him awaken from sleep shrieking the mortal’s name. A name that had become legend in the Underground echoed in a cry that made him seem almost infantile. Arulan had resisted many times, taking him into her arms and attempting to ease his pain. One delicate hand braced her against the arm of the couch were he sat. The other rose to the king’s cheek, “You will not lose a second time. In fact, this time I believe you stand even more to gain.”
Jareth leaned into her touch, after all, it was not often that someone in his realm touched him tenderly. Fey were creatures of heightened sensitivity. The king himself had worked for centuries learning to hide his emotions, remain aloof almost arrogant in the face of fear or sadness, doom and danger. In the touch of his house elf he felt overwhelming compassion. Years of suppressed tears rushed towards his eyes culminating in one drop which escaped his eye and ran furiously fast down his cheek.
Upon seeing this, Arulan quickly rose and left the company of her king for fear that she would be punished severely for crossing established class boundaries. Jareth made no move to stop her nor to reprimand her. Instead he seemed ignorant of her as he wiped away the wetness from his face. Just before she left he spoke. “Arulan?” The trembling elf stopped and turned toward him, never making eye contact. She feared she would never be able to do so again. “Serve the dwarf only half as well as you have served me. I do expect to reclaim my throne when this has past and I’ll have no argument from his not wanting to leave.”
She understood both his words and his meaning as she tearfully responded, “Aye.”
***** ***** ******
Submerged in the hot water, the Goblin King prepared himself for his meeting with the Triumvirate. What would be said. How he would respond to the gauntlet of questions. He asked himself if it was worth all that he would endure. First there would be the chastisement of the three. Then he would undoubtedly suffer some indignation they would assign. Worse than all else he would have to face his mortal again. Eye to eye with the woman child who had defeated him. Of her he would have to request, no beg, his magic be returned. She would make him beg he thought. As she had turned the Labyrinth to her benefit, so would she turn his trip to the Aboveground. Sarah Williams knew his weaknesses.
For one brief moment, Jareth imagined that he might confess his heart to her. Shattered by his ideas of just how awful it would be to be that vulnerable before her a second time, the image fled his mind. No he decided. He would harden his fey heart to her. So began the process once more. Repeatedly, he replayed the moments she betrayed him. The ways in which she had denied him. The disapproval in her eyes and the repulsion in her touch. Anger raged through him practically boiling the water in which he sat as the first stroke of noon rang out from the grandfather clock in his room. By the third resounding bong, he was dressed in his formalwear, leaving behind his sword, of course. It would have been most inappropriate to make a request of the Triumvirate donning weaponry. As the fifth bong rung out he sighed deeply. Knelt to the ground beneath him and waved a corner of his long coat. The glitter blew away.
“Jareth,” the Gavel’s voice filled his ear, “I see you’re punctual as always.”
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