THE CONCLUSION
Taking his seat behind the table where he knew the Cleric and the Sage would sit, Jareth inhaled deeply. Beneath the mask of pachouli and spice, the stench of cryptitude soaked into the walls comforted him. It reminded him of older times, before all that had happened with Tiberon and his father, even before Sarah was a concept in the Underground when all anxieties, even those which accompanied love, especially those, evaded him. The smooth cool wooden pews had reminded him of a house of worship. Deep in the recesses of his private mind, Jareth repeated notions to himself that focused mainly on the equitable outcome of the trial he was about o pay witness to.
The shuffle of steady feet and swish of a robe broke his concentration as the Cleric entered and took his seat. “Don’t worry yourself old man, he’s bound in irons and every ally he made is dead. Sarah’s as safe as a fairy floating over the bog.”
“I’d still feel better to see him in exile to another realm.”
“I haven’t sat in this courtroom since...” the Cleric began.
Jareth looked up at him, “Since my grandfather was tried for his brother’s murder?”
“Right around then, yes. Is that what your thinking of?”
“When last this courtroom filled with an audience, it was to watch a great miscarriage of justice done. If the same should happen today...” He meant to finish his thought, but to be truthfully, the kind didn’t know what he would do. There were times he thought he’d choke Tiberon with his own hands, but quickly thought better of giving away his soul for a fey of Tiberon’s questionable character.
“This is a circumstance quite unlike what happened to Darien. You said yourself how quickly things were changing here, have faith child,” he reached to cover Jareth’s hand as the courtroom began to fill with others come to witness the first trial in centuries, tapping it reassuringly, “and believe.”
***** ***** *****
The Gavel was the last to enter once the courtroom was full, and it was full. Folks had gathered outside with their ears pressed to the stones trying to hear. It was a remarkable turn out. The Sage and the Cleric stood as their third came in. Promptly he seated them and asked of the guard, “Bring in the accused.”
Tiberon was led in, iron chains bound his wrists and ankles. The mere sight of him set Jareth ill at ease and the fey knew it, for he looked deliberately in the king’s direction and bared his jagged teeth in a crooked vile sneer. He stood a guard to either side of him at a table on the same parallel as the other members of the Triumvirate but on the other side of the aisle from them. Neglecting the authority of the Gavel, he chose to concentrate all of his attentions on the king, angling his neck back and sideways to view him best.
The Gavel’s hands thundered down onto his podium, “The accused would be behooved if he were to focus on the man conducting his trial rather than thirst for the prize which put him here.” Methodically, Tiberon’s neck turned as if controlled by cogs until he eyed the Gavel. “Tiberon, have you been notified of the charges against you?”
“Aye.”
“Then tell the court, how do you plead?” The Cleric and the king moved their lips silently and hastily in prayer, but even the Supreme One himself couldn’t have prepared them for what was about to happen.
“How do I plead?” he growled. Looking around the courtroom, Tiberon made certain to link his eyes to every pair which dared look back. “I plead contempt, contempt for everyone in this room, contempt for everyone in this realm. It was I who should have been king. I was my father’s first born, not that weakling you bow down to now and his precious mortal. You would all rather a human become queen than see me get my come uppings and because of that you revolt me, you all revolt me.”
The Gavel stood over his podium and leveling a stern eye on the accused he hissed slowly, “The options are guilty or not guilty Tiberon. Now, how do you plead?”
Such a sneer had never been seen by any resident Underground, not on fey nor beast. Tiberon’s head tilted back, a cackle breaking the silence settled over the courtroom. In a rolling purr, he replied, “Guilty, guilty,” each repetition was less laughter and more hate, increasing in decibel and decreasing in pitch until the deep crescendo of his insanity ended, “GUILTY!!”
The crowd gasped. Jareth exchanged a shocked look with the Cleric. “Seeing as how you admit to the charges brought before you today, the court sees fit...”
Tiberon interrupted the Gavel’s sentencing. “Why shouldn’t I have done all the things you accuse me of? Everything that is his should be mine. His castle, his kingdom, his bride, all meant for me. He should have died. He should have died the same way his filthy mortal father died and then he could lie in his crazy mother’s embrace for all eternity.”
It took both the other members of the Triumvirate to hold Jareth back and even then just barely. No words came to him as the seething anger ravaged his mind it seemed to consume his coherency leaving nothing more for him to articulate but a guttural cry.
“Enough,” the Gavel called. “This is a courtroom not a jousting circle and it will remain orderly or we shall have a string of trials here today. Have you anything else to say king?” Jareth shook his head. He knew hat to utter a single one of his thoughts would mean punishment for him as well, punishment which would most likely effect his marriage to Sarah. “Tiberon have you anything else of a constructive nature to say.”
“Indeed,” he said. “I propose the king himself be brought to trial as I challenge him for all that should have been mine.”
“Jareth, step forward.” Upon command he rose. “Come and join my brothers’ sides. Do you admit to Tiberon’s lineage?”
“You know he is who he says he is.”
“I do, but do you admit to it?”
“Aye.”
“And would you willingly secede your throne to him based on this fact?”
Surely he was kidding? Knowing all that Tiberon was capable of, how could he want to see him made king after the havoc he had caused. It was a test, one that Jareth would get no assistance with. “Yes,” he admitted as a second great gasp ran through the crowd. “Based solely on that fact I would have conceded my throne to him, promptly and gladly.”
Grabbing his arm, the Gavel mumbled softly, “What are you doing?”
Jareth looked down and mouthed, ‘have faith and believe.’ “However, I could not with, even the slightest piece of mind, do such a thing knowing that my subjects would face the rule of a depraved maniac. The kingdom has always been his birthright, for centuries and in all that time he could have come to me, challenged me, brought me here to claim his fortune, but he didn’t. He stewed in the juices of his own hate until the only solution he saw was to kill anything and anyone who stood in his way of getting what he was convinced had been kept from him, even while the rest of us, sans a handful, had no knowledge of who he really was.”
“You wouldn’t have surrendered your throne. Not the vain and confident Goblin King!”
“We’ll never know now because you never gave us the chance,” Jareth went on cooly. “And even if I had handed you this kingdom, the time would have come when it was no longer enough. Tell me then who would you have challenged, the Triumvirate, the Supreme One himself?”
“Why not? They should all bow to me for mine would have been supreme rule, one of confidence and precision. I would not allow my subjects to defy me, let alone skittish human girls fulfilling wet dreams by summoning the king.” Tiberon rocked on his heals, pleased with himself. “Punishment to fit the crime I say.”
“And when your subjects did defy you as they are apt to do?”
“To hell with them. I would kill anyone who dare to object, disobey or disrespect me.”
“And when no one was left in the kingdom for you to rule?”
“On to the mountain, slay these fey elders as they slept, take over their kingdoms, force the strongest into the mines to bring me diamonds that I would take Aboveground to trade for all the luxuries any fey could ever want. The mortals would fall at my feet for the riches I could offer. I would bring them back, have my use of them, work the men, ravage the women. None would be as powerful as me, not in this world or in any other.” Tiberon attempted to break his chains, struggling madly against his restraints until the guard was forced to cast a sedation spell upon him.
Jareth approached the Gavel’s podium, “This is why I would never willingly vacate my throne, despite the facts your highness, he is a fey of lowest moral turpitude, not worthy of the loyalty of a rat let alone the loyalty of our people.” Applause could be heard as Jareth concluded. The Gavel smiled. The Sage hung his head, still regretting his part in all of this.
“Well put your majesty,” the Gavel admitted. “Tiberon in as much as you have pleaded guilty to the charges brought against you and in as much as you have proven yourself a poison to this realm, you are hereby sentenced to eternity in the Northeastern Sector in the cliffs where you will be bound by iron chains for all your days. A magnetic fence shall be arranged on the parameter of the area you are permitted to inhabit and to keep you from doing any further harm against the people of this realm and their king, your powers are remanded immediately. Guard, take this man to is cell and arrange for his transport the second the magnetic fence is installed.”
Cheers erupted in the courtroom. The Cleric rushed to Jareth’s side, “Fine job,” he said swiftly pounding his back in triumph.
“Clear the courtroom,” the Gavel instructed.
“Wait,” Jareth called. “Our wedding, you vowed our wedding could take place upon the completion of this trial.”
“Surely you didn’t think I meant the minute of it’s completion.”
“Surely I did, sir.” Those in attendance took their seats once more suddenly intrigued by the king’s plea.
“For any unintentional misrepresentation, I apologize, but you shall be expected to abide by the engagement period set in place for you and your betrothed.”
Fuming he let his heart’s most real feelings pour forth. “In an effort to avoid any such unintentional misrepresentation on my part let me state this as clearly as possible. Sarah and I have proven ourselves to you a hundred times over. She has been christened fey and our feelings for one another will not fade regardless of your contrary hopes. She is my life, not this meager heart beating within my chest, not these lungs which constantly fill and expel the air around me. It is not the iron blade I fear. It is that woman. She is the reason I breathe, take her from me and I die. My love for her is my immortality. It is the part of me that can never die, the thing that has kept me alive when I have begged to die. I have waited nearly sixteen years for her and I have waited long enough.”
“This is not your trial Jareth,” the Gavel reminded. “Now be seated.”
“Allow me to correct myself then. This is not my trial, true. But this is a trial meant to bring justice for the wrong done by Tiberon.”
“And so that justice has been done.”
“I beg to differ,” Jareth went on. “You have prevented him from causing further harm, but you have not justified what he has done.”
“Dear king, even I cannot bring back the loved ones he has cost you.”
“That is true. But it is because of him my marriage has been delayed again and again and you have the capacity my dear Gavel to correct that injustice immediately. Tiberon has cost me enough, I will not allow it to cost me one more minute with my love.”
“Come then Gavel,” the Cleric asked. “Is there nothing we can do for him?”
“I do so feel at least partially to blame for this,” the Sage added. “Seeing his favor granted would bring me a great deal of absolution.”
“I’m sorry,” the Gavel said meaning to initiate another of his the law is the law speeches, but Jareth cut him short.
“If we have learned nothing else from all that has transpired since Tiberon effected his plan to take over this realm, let us at least acknowledge this. Our friends may be immortal beings, but even immortality does not ban death. They may be taken from us any day as the fate’s choose with or without our consent or acceptance. I did not have time to show my kindness and my true heart to Turgomon who served me loyally and my grandfather, perhaps if he had lived to understand this change in me, to see the change taken place in each of you, to see a dwarf take the position of Representative, perhaps a change could have grown in him as well. My parents never lived to hear me say I loved them and when at last I was able to utter such necessities to my mother, even her spirit was stolen from me. I should not suffer one more day unable to be a husband to my truest love because of Tiberon.”
The Gavel looked over his constituents. “Are there any objections?” Two shaking heads told him there were not. “I see. Well then to further repair the wrongs done to this kingdom and it’s people by the accused, I hereby lift the waiting period imposed upon the king and the lady Sarah.”
“Bravo,” the Cleric cried. “So,” he asked Jareth, “I’m free this weekend, that is to say, if you were interested in my performing the ceremony.”
“I wouldn’t consider any other.” With that decided they shook hands firmly.
“People of this kingdom, return to your homes,” the Gavel announced, “ready yourselves to receive your new queen. This hearing is adjourned.”
Jareth looked up at the figure of justice before him and saw him humbled by what had been said in his courtroom today. “Thank you,” he said in deep earnest.
“I am not a fey comfortable with so much change Jareth. It may be that you think me a hard man, an unfeeling man, a bitter man, it is not the person I mean to be, but rather the person I have become. Perhaps in time I too will transform the way everything and everyone else here seems capable of doing, but until then I beg and value your patience.”
“None is more deserving of patience than a man willing to try,” Jareth pronounced as he shook hands with the Gavel. “Certainly I have test yours enough that you deserve some of mine in exchange.”
“An equitable transaction,” the Gavel said.
Smiling, Jareth agreed.
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