Aeris was lost, plain and simple. She had gone to see the Junk Lady for a paintbrush her mother, the Herald Callisti had requested, and though she had managed the Labyrinth well enough the first time through, now she was hopelessly lost in the twists and turns. She was tired, cross, and wanted to be anywhere else but on her way to the castle beyond the Goblin City.
She pondered her predicament as she wandered through the stone pathways. She was the next Herald, and as far as Aeris was concerned, it was a dubious honor if there ever was one. For as long as anyone could remember, the Heralds were the keepers of the future, shadowy women of untold beauty born from the great roses of the Labyrinth. They were skilled painters whose art could reveal glimpses into the future. Those paintings were rare and of tremendous power, and whenever the Herald began one, it was a huge affair. At that moment, Callisti was working on a series of three-the portraits of the three sons of the Goblin King. The princes, Oberon, Jareth, and Stephan were the only candidates for the throne, and the future of the kingdom had to be decided. The laws of the Labyrinth demanded that the Herald show the rightful king. This was Callisti's great task, and it would fall to Aeris to paint the portraits of the next Goblin King's heirs.
Aeris wished for the millionth time since she learned her destiny that someone else could be shoved into her duty, but it was impossible. Fate had chosen. It wasn't as if she had any special skills. Sure she fit most of the requirements. She'd been raised right out of a rose by Callisti, and she was certainly beautiful, even for fourteen. But she didn't have the talent. She'd tried the painting, tried making the future take shape under her brushes. It just didn't happen for her. The closest she'd ever come was a strange yellow-orange kind of ball, maybe a fruit, sort of like a... oh, she couldn't even decipher her own images, much less pull them together to portray the future of a kingdom as important as the Labyrinth. Why kid herself? She'd never be able to do it.
Now lost in thought as well as in the Labyrinth, Aeris didn't hear the scrape of the stone tile or see the edge push up. She tripped. Actually, she didn't just trip. She fell. The action was awkward in even the most average person, but in a future Herald, it was a hundred-no, a thousand times more so. She went flying over the tile the little cursing pavement elf had been turning over, scraping her knees and palms and tearing her blue dress on the stone walkway of the Labyrinth. She quickly looked around to see if anyone had noticed, brushing strands of black hair that had come loose from her braid out of her dark blue eyes. There was no one there except the jabbering elf, disappearing under the tile, but she knew those horrible brat princes could be watching anytime, their faces twisted and grinning in the reflection of Jareth's crystals. Oberon and Jareth had teased and tormented her for as long as she could remember, and now Stephan was old enough to get into the act. It was just one more thing that was going to make her stay in the castle all the more unpleasant.
She scrambled around, picking up her brushes and paints. By the time she'd collected all her things, carefully making sure of her mother's brush, she had regained her bearings, and the rest of the way to the castle was easier. She strolled through the Goblin City, marveling at its strange charm all over again, and then she made her way through the castle gates.
Jareth and Stephan were standing there, waiting for her, smirks darkening their faces. The same age as Aeris, Jareth stood a good few inches over her, and it was enough to give him the psychological advantage. At ten, Stephan was hardly the imposing figure his brother could manage, but his added presence was all the more unsettling. Jareth was playing with a crystal.
She looked at them warily. "Step aside. You know you can't interfere with Herald business."
"Did you enjoy your trip, Aeris?" Jareth asked, tossing the clear ball over to her. In it, she saw her undignified tumble in the Labyrinth played over for her benefit. It looked as ugly as it had felt.
She ignored their smug laughter and pushed past them into the castle. She threw the crystal as hard as she could, hoping to break it, but it just bounced off the stone walls and back to Jareth's waiting hand.
"Really," he said, smiling infuriatingly at her. "Temper temper."
Forgetting entirely about what she was supposed to be doing, she turned on Jareth, fury in her eyes. "I'll give you temper, you slimy little..."
"Ah ah ah," he warned her, shaking his index finger at her. "We mustn't keep your mother waiting. She's in the Escher Room painting Oberon."
She sighed. "Come on, Jareth. Why do you keep this up?"
"Well..." he seemed deep in thought. "I suppose because you react so delightfully. Then again," he added, tossing the crystal up in the air a few times, "I'd have to say it's mostly because..." He stopped and gave her that irritating smile again. "I can."
She rolled her eyes and stormed away, thinking of how truly miserable her stay was going to be.
The castle was in a borderline uproar. Everyone was bustling about, excited at the prospect of seeing the work of the Herald, and having the honor of the Herald and her daughter stay in their very own castle. It was really too bad the princes didn't share the enthusiasm. She went past all the goblins and people and faeries and other inhabitants, making her way for the Escher Room, glad to be headed to the one place Jareth's crystals couldn't peek.
The Escher Room was perfectly still and quiet, except for the low echo of Oberon's deep voice and her mother's soft replies. She looked around the stairs. He was standing patiently before Callisti and her easel, speaking in reverent tones about his lady love, Titania, the young woman he intended to court. It was obvious that Oberon had outgrown his days of being a thorn in Aeris' side. He was quite the young man, and at least as handsome a man as his father. Aeris cleared her throat.
Callisti turned to her. She looked much too old to be the mother of a girl so young, but of course, the rose with Aeris inside it had bloomed late in her life. Her gray hair was wrapped in a loose bun on the top of her head, and she was pale and tired, but her beauty was still evident. She raised her eyebrows at her daughter. "What happened to you?"
"I fell," she said simply.
Oberon glanced at her with mild concern. "Are you all right?"
"I'm fine," she said, managing a tight smile, a little taken aback by his show of consideration.
"You may go now," Callisti told him, and he bowed to the women, kissing Aeris' hand, and then took his leave of them. Callisti nodded approvingly. "He's growing up. I don't think he'll be giving you any more grief."
"His brothers are picking up the slack," she muttered, handing her the paintbrush. "May I look?" she asked, trying to lean around and sneak a peek at the painting.
"Of course," replied Callisti.
It was beautiful, like all Herald paintings except Aeris'. Oberon, older and somehow more dignified, was standing in a strange mist. A woman beside him rivaled even Callisti's beauty, and a small funny man hovered near them. Oberon wore a cloak that looked like night. "He's going to be king of the Fae!" she cried. "How nice. He'll marry Titania."
Callisti nodded. "I must stop here though. My time is short."
"What did you say?" asked Aeris, her heart growing suddenly cold.
"I am dying," she responded quietly.
There was a long silence. The room spun for Aeris, and she found herself kneeling on the ground, unable to stand. She felt her mother's gentle hands touching her shoulders. "You can't!" she cried. "You just can't leave me here all by myself! I'll be alone without you, you can't leave!"
"Darling, all Heralds must die sometime. Have you ever considered how old I might be?"
She looked at her mother, tears slipping down her cheeks, shaking her head.
"Two hundred and ninety two."
Aeris gasped.
"It's true, darling. And I believe my time has come. I wanted to prepare you better. When you were born, I thought we'd have so many years together. I just wanted to hold on to every single moment with you. You see, that's what it's really about. Not this," she said, indicating her painting. "Not the future. And not the past. It's right now. I want you to remember that."
Aeris could say nothing, only cried into her hands. "It's not fair!" the girl finally managed to choke out. "It's just not fair!"
"No," said Callisti, calmly stroking her daughter's hair, searching for a way to comfort her. "But that's the way it is."
That night, Callisti died in her room in the castle. Aeris, holding her hand, could smell the faint scent of roses, and she knew she was gone. Then her mother faded away to nothing, not even mist. She knew that was the way with Heralds. In the morning, Aeris found only rose petals where her mother's brushes and paints had been.
The castle mourned, but Aeris was beyond them all. She was inconsolable. No one would dare her presence. She stayed in her locked room in the castle, unaware of anything but her sorrow, neither eating nor sleeping. Finally, after many days, her tears quieted, and the lock on the door turned. She emerged, weary and sad, only to inform the Goblin King that she wished to return home.
"You are a welcome guest here. In your grief, you should not be so alone," was his reply.
She glared at him. It took considerable bravery to glare at the Lucas, but Aeris had that careless courage that pain can bring.
He met her angry eyes evenly. "I thought to show you kindness, Herald."
"Please, your Majesty, do not call me that."
Lucas raised his eyebrows, surprised. "You are the Herald. You have inherited your position as destiny intended. And you have been left with a task." He gestured to the painting of Oberon, now hanging on the wall.
"I won't paint them. I can't."
Startled at her refusal, he tried again. "You must. It is the Herald's duty, and can be done by no one else."
"I am Aeris, and only that. I could never have been anything else. I haven't the talent."
"The kingdom will suffer, do you understand?" Lucas asked her, searching her face. She remained impassive. He sat back. "I see. You have chosen to lock yourself in your pain. So be it. I shall make you a true prisoner." He turned to the guards at the door. "Take her to the north tower."
"What?" she cried.
"See she has all her things, paints and such," he continued over her protests. "And keep no guards outside. She is to be left alone." He looked at Aeris, a strange expression on his face, mingled sadness and irony. "You see, I'm going to give you just what you want."
Perched on a window seat in the upper part of the throne room, Jareth watched the scene, chuckling at her sputtering, amazed objections and useless thrashings. And suddenly, he got a wonderful, awful idea. Jareth held up his hand, a crystal forming on his fingertips. He tossed it up in the air once, and when it landed in his hand, it was a perfect, ripe peach.
The room they led her to was small and dark, and entirely boring. There was one slim window through which she could see the north part of the Labyrinth, but she could never have squeezed out of it, and if she had, she would have fallen to her death from that dizzying height. She had nothing to do put sit and ponder the empty canvas, unused brushes and unopened paints they placed her in with. She looked at the jars of paint, toying with them, feeling herself drift into the half-consciousness of daydreams. Blue. Her mother's eyes. Green. The hedge maze of the Labyrinth. White. An owl. An owl? What did that have to do with anything? Red. Something with stripes. A striped suit on a baby, and a girl with dreaming eyes and long dark hair, and as she reaches for the light she says-
There was a knock at the door. Startled, feeling as though she was coming out of a deep sleep, she looked at the little barred window. It was Jareth's face, his blonde hair and fair skin looking paler than usual in the darkness. She frowned, still confused, but more angry at being disturbed than anything.
"I brought you something to eat." He sounded almost pleasant.
"I'm not hungry."
"I brought it all the way up here, you could at least be polite."
"Thank you for your kind offer, your Highness, but I would prefer to starve."
He gave a disgusted shake of his head and opened the door through which her food would come. "I'll leave it in case you change your mind. It's bread and water up here, you know. I was only trying to be nice."
He slipped in a beautiful plate of peaches, the thin ray of sunlight shining directly on them, giving them a warm, delicious glow. She waited until his footsteps had gone away, and then grabbed one and sighed, sinking her teeth into it. She chewed only a few times, suddenly tasting the strange, sour flavor in the fruit. Around her, in the fading afternoon light stealing through the window, the shapes and darkened colors of the room seemed to jump, then spin around her. The peach. Jareth. What had he done?
And all that was gone. What was gone? She didn't know. She was standing in a crowded ballroom, where there were hundreds of people in gorgeous costumes dancing. Everything was so beautiful. And so was she, she realized, as she glanced down at her dress. It was deep red, with a white sash. She smiled and began to move with the music as a stranger came and took her into his arms for a dance. There was nothing else she wanted to do, no, nothing else she could have been thinking of. The blonde boy she danced with was smiling back at her and singing something incredibly romantic...
"I'll paint you mornings of gold," he sang to her, and then she froze. Paint. The word rang in her head like a fire alarm. Then it came to her. She didn't want this at all. She broke away from her partner, shaking the last of the fantasy off as she looked him in the face. Jareth! She was dancing with Jareth!
"Damn you!" she cried. "Can't you ever just leave me alone!? I was so close to..."
He laughed and smiled his infuriating smile at her. "You know you'll never be able to do the paintings. You're not a Herald."
"I... I am too."
"You sound so convinced."
"I can do it!" she protested
Jareth was laughing at her so hard it looked like tears were forming in his eyes. She felt them in her own eyes, sad, defeated tears. "Why?" she asked him.
"Because I can, I already told you." He held a crystal in his hand. "You're a fool, Aeris. Trying to be something better than you are. Is this the image of a Hearld?" In the crystal, she saw herself, tripping blindly over the tile.
She remembered her mothers words. The now. She blinked the tears away and looked him in the eyes. "That's not me. It's the now that matters, Jareth," she said, brushing the crystal away. It popped like a bubble. "And now, I have to paint."
He grabbed her arms, hurting her. "What are you doing?"
"Think revenge, Jareth. Oh, the curse I'm going to lay on you." And broke away from him, and ran up a little staircase.
"Aeris!" he called after her. She ignored him and looked down from where the stairs ended. She saw herself in the tower room, lying on the floor, the peach in her hand. She turned to give him a wave. "Goodbye Jareth!" And then she jumped.
She opened her eyes. She was on the floor, feeling a little groggy but none the worse for wear. She threw the peaches out the window and opened her paints. "Sarah," she thought, all the images coming together for her at last.
Jareth was pacing. Something was terribly wrong here. Aeris wasn't supposed to get the upper hand. His magic was supposed to have made her forget all about what she was doing, not bring her closer to accomplishing it. He had a sinking feeling in his stomach each time he thought of her words, and the bitter smile she had given him. Aeris had announced her intention to do the paintings, and then was moved into the Escher Room, where, as she requested, no disturbances were allowed. Jareth was at his wits end trying to figure out what she had been up to for the last three days, not being able to view the room.
Stephan was not exactly worried. "You said she's got no power."
He looked at his brother, his face dark and cruel. "She doesn't. I think. But... she's painting right now, from what I heard." There was loud, low crash as Lucas himself threw open the heavy door and stepped into Jareth's room. When he wished, he could be a very frightening man, and he was now.
"Jareth," he said, eyes narrowed.
"Your Majesty?" he stammered.
He held out his hand. A peach was in it. Jareth looked away, guiltily. "This is strong magic," said the King.
"Yes."
"Stronger than you." He threw the peach to his son. It became a crystal in Jareth's hand. "If you wished her harm, then I cannot stand in her way if her painting harms you. You do realize that?"
Jareth swallowed hard. "Yes."
"I hope it does not come to that. Consider this a lesson learned." And Jareth did.
She completed two paintings in the Escher Room, one of Stephan and one of Jareth. After a few weeks, she was finished, and she promised to unveil them in the throne room. Jareth was, to say the least, not exactly looking forward to the moment.
It was almost evening when she was presented in the throne room, the small goblins struggling with the two heavy easels. They were both covered in black velvet drapes. Aeris herself was perfectly dressed, in a purple gown that was more fitting to a Herald than her usual wardrobe. Her long braid was wrapped up in a bun, lending her young face much-needed sophistication. She was waiting for everything in the room to calm down. "What are you up to?" Jareth asked her as he passed by. She raised the corners of her mouth faintly at him, a Mona Lisa smile of mystery. He was throughly unsettled.
Everything was quiet. "Herald," said Lucas, almost uncertainly. Aeris nodded her head. "First, your Majesty, my apologies. My behavior has been shameful." She bowed low to him, sincere. "Now, I proceed with the unveiling. Your youngest son, the Prince Stephan." She pulled the velvet cover off the easel, revealing a handsome man with dark hair and eyes. It was Stephan, without a doubt. He was standing, leaning on the edge of a window. His head was tilted to the side, and a pleasant smile lit his face. There was a glint of humor in his eyes and the crown of the Fey on his head. Stephan would not be the Goblin King.
Jareth frowned deeply. Being king did not trouble him. It was the curse she had promised, and now he knew she meant to stand by it. She pulled the velvet off the second. "Jareth, the Goblin King." But he was not alone in the painting. He was standing, clothed all in white, commanding and strong, facing a beautiful girl with long dark hair. Yet for all the power he seemed to show, she dwarfed his presence in the scene. She was... there was only one word Jareth could think of for her. Incredible. He loved this girl.
There was much applause and congratulation for Jareth, but he could only stare at the painting, that girl. When he looked up, Aeris was gone.
He ran from the throne room, his boots hard on the stone of the castle as he chased her down the walkways. He caught her at the castle gate.
"Who is she?" he demanded.
"The girl? In my painting?"
He grabbed her arm. "Don't play with me."
"Just giving you back a little of your own. Oh, Jareth, I really have cursed you." She sighed, leaning on the wall. "Her name is Sarah. And she will be your undoing."
"What?"
"You loved her right from the moment you saw her face, didn't you? You've already given her the power to call you, even though she hasn't been born yet. Here's the curse. Despite that you know you'll never win, you'll be damned to try. She'll still call on you, and you'll still play the game. And she'll still beat you, no matter what."
"Aeris, none of this is set in stone." He watched her face for a minute. "Is it?"
"I've been cruel, Jareth, though I paid you back well. I think it's too late," she said sadly. "You made me angry. I've punished you... but what will your suffering do to the kingdom?" She turned from him, leaving him behind her at the gate, but the hurt realization in his eyes followed her through the Labyrinth.
She didn't lose her way, and stepped easily through the turns and twists of the Labyrinth, somehow familiar in it's ever-changing ways. In her cottage, the place where she had always lived with her mother, she put down her bag of paints and brushes, and began to make it home again. Outside, the roses were in bloom, though it would be many years before any of the would open to reveal a tiny girl within. Still missing Callisti's gentle voice and touch, Aeris put her things away wondering if she would ever see her again. And somewhere in her heart, she heard the whispered words: heal your wrong...
Aeris took out an easel and put a piece of canvas over it. She opened a few paints. One last painting to help repair the damage she'd done. She could see it in her mind. The real ending to Jareth's sad love, the truth she had not told him.
Many years later, alone after the most terrible defeat in his life, Jareth would find that painting, rolled-up and tied with the blue ribbon that was the signature of the Heralds, lying innocently on his throne, as if left for him to find. The piece of paper attached will read "A gift to the King and Queen of the Goblins." In that painting will be a very familiar girl with long dark hair and dreaming eyes that are little older and wiser, resting her head on Jareth's shoulder, and his arms will be around her, never to let her go.
Hope you enjoyed it...
Believe in me,
Alexa