Happy New Year!
Happy 2010, all, and here's hoping that the holidays were lovely, for those who celebrate. I'm a bit jealous of some of my siblings, who get to enjoy a month of festivities over in China, for the upcoming New Year there. Still, my spleen will not extend to my denying them some money in a wee red envelope. :) I enjoy pressing gifts upon the young'uns.
It's hilarious - I made this resolution over a year ago, and here I am, finally getting around to it. Namely: Friday is Fanday! Here is a present for all y'all. I was thinking about putting this into chapter 4 of "Thrice Upon a Time," but the more I think about it, the less sure I am that it fits. It's a dream that takes place roughly a third of the way through. Thing is: it grew (surprise, surprise) ... so I'm not sure about it.
Anyway, please read, and tell me what you think?
The background: Sarah dreams of the Goblin King, and another king, standing on a hill beneath a gold-colored sky. There is some description of scenery and clothing, perhaps, but then the other king says:
"Mercy."
“For you, or for them?”
The old man shook his head, dogged. “For my people.”
“You would save your people, and yield yourself to all manner of dire cruelty …” The Goblin King lingered over the last few words, and then tilted his head, owl-like. “Are you sure?”
“Aye.”
“Hm.” The younger Jareth turned, to gaze out over the plain.
Sarah’s breath caught at the unearthly sight of him - the stark lines of his face silhouetted against the ominous brass sky; the strange way his pale hair drifted around the gold circle of his crown.
“You would do well to reconsider. Consider that your son shall lead your people, and that you have seen how very cruel I can be.” He turned back, his expression almost dreamy. “Such cruelty. Answer me this: who will dare step foot in my lands again, unbidden?”
The old man shut his eyes.
Jareth’s voice was quiet. “It was utter foolishness of you and yours, to venture here, was it not?”
Silence fell; Sarah heard only the rise and fall of the wind, in her dream, and the old man’s labored breathing. In the strange clarity of dream-vision, she saw his tangled white beard work, as he struggled to say:
“Aye.”
“There now. You have answered, and I in turn shall admit that endless blood and battle does eventually pall. Consider: your son is king, he leads your people in flight, you and I remain, and even the oldest of the old stones here is sated. The stones have spoken: they do not wish your blood, majesty.” He took a step towards the old man - king, Sarah realized, catching a glimpse of torq beneath the beard. But Jareth was speaking again, quietly.
“I have been cruel, but I can be generous.” The Goblin King stretched out one pale hand, and traced down the furrowed scar on the old king’s face. The man’s eyes flew open; Sarah saw their whites. “Would you not prefer my generosity?”
“My people -” The king’s voice was hoarse.
The younger version of Jareth had the same smile as the older; a thin curl of the lips that hinted at secrets. “Your son leads your people, now; since he made his choice. He has given you to me, majesty.” Long, pale fingers stroked the scar. “And you have accepted his betrayal.”
“It does not matter.” The king made a queer, harsh sound in his throat. “I am old.”
“You are old, but you are wise.” The Goblin King’s face was beautiful, yet somehow remote. “Your son is neither.”
The old king’s head and shoulders sank.
Jareth paused, for a long moment, and then frowned. “It grieves you?”
The other could no longer speak; he gave a broken nod.
Still frowning, the Goblin King followed, with the tip of one finger, a tear that ran down the king’s face. “Why?”
But the old man said nothing.
“Why?” Jareth spoke more to himself. “Why, for such a one as that?” His mouth twisted, and he took his fingers away from the king’s face. The old man shuddered, and gasped for breath, as the Goblin King kept muttering, “I do not understand. I will never understand this. Ask for mercy for yourself,” and he wheeled back to face the old king, and his voice was one Sarah knew: cold and sharp, pitched to draw blood. “I have been cruel, yes, I have been cruel - but it is enough. Ask to be returned to your life, and let this end fall upon your son. Ask it of me.”
The old king had drawn his cloak, dark brown, tattered fur, closer around himself. And drawn some sort of strength from it, for he shook his head.
“I order you,” Jareth hissed: “Ask it of me!”
“No.”
“No?” The Goblin King bared his teeth, and the old king flinched, eyes widening. Jareth stepped closer to him. “Why do you refuse this gift? To restore you to your world, to grant you your dreams - why refuse it, and for one who condemned you?”
The man hunched within the fur, still shaking his head. “I cannot say.”
“I order you to say.”
“No, I -” And then the old king sucked in a breath, as Jareth stepped close enough to lay a palm flat on one side of his face, threading his fingers through the dirty white tangles of hair and beard.
The Goblin King stared into the other king’s eyes. Sarah shut her own, in the dream, so she would not have to watch.
A long moment passed.
Then Sarah heard Jareth’s voice again. “So, that is why.”
There was no gloating in it, but no anger either; rather, a tone that Sarah had never heard from him before.
It was respect.
“Such a leader, such a king … Ah, majesty, I do see, now.”
Cautiously, Sarah opened her eyes. Jareth’s own were brooding, looking down. The fingers of his right hand were still twined in the old king’s beard.
“They have found the gate by now, thanks to you. Clever, and brave. To give up your dreams, all for the love of your people,” a wry twist to the mouth, “if not for your son - such a king.”
“False dreams.” The old man’s voice was weak.
Jareth looked up, slowly.
“False … for,” and his breath rattled in his chest, “I am old.”
“False dreams?” A sudden breeze blew the Goblin King’s hair away from his face. “Never that.” And Sarah saw something flicker in his eyes.
What -
But before she could finish her thought, all sound in the dream ceased; and somehow, she knew it was so that she could hear the final words - because Jareth’s voice was soft, so soft …
“You did poorly to come here, majesty, and still worse to attempt to conquer - yet you have accepted judgment for it; yes, and have even kept judgment from those who did worst of all. Hear me, then, old one, and know that as I have been cruel, so shall I be generous; and that though you are judged, still you shall be blessed in your ending.”
The Goblin King placed his left hand on the old king’s other cheekbone, framing his face.
“For this ending I give to you, majesty …”
He brought his own face closer. The old man’s eyes were flickering, open and shut; he struggled to breathe.
“Great king … I give you your dreams.”
And Jareth kissed him, gently, and whispered against his mouth.
“You will live, great king: a long life, and a peaceful one -”
Jareth’s long fingers twined around the king’s face, and held fast, even as the old man moaned. The Goblin King tilted his head to one side, and kissed him deeply, still whispering, somehow -
“ - surrounded by your children, and their children, and all those after them ...”
- until Sarah realized that the whispering sound was a breath of air rustling through leaves, and that the creaking groan she heard was at the same time the old king’s voice and the sound of branches moving -
- and that Jareth was resting his hands against the trunk of a tall oak tree.
“A long life - forever,” he whispered. “You will live forever.”
The Goblin King took in a deep breath, and then stepped back, gazing at the tree’s strength and majesty.
“Such a king.” Jareth's eyes blazed, brighter than the unforgiving golden sky. “Such a king, to guard my Labyrinth, forever.”
It's hilarious - I made this resolution over a year ago, and here I am, finally getting around to it. Namely: Friday is Fanday! Here is a present for all y'all. I was thinking about putting this into chapter 4 of "Thrice Upon a Time," but the more I think about it, the less sure I am that it fits. It's a dream that takes place roughly a third of the way through. Thing is: it grew (surprise, surprise) ... so I'm not sure about it.
Anyway, please read, and tell me what you think?
The background: Sarah dreams of the Goblin King, and another king, standing on a hill beneath a gold-colored sky. There is some description of scenery and clothing, perhaps, but then the other king says:
"Mercy."
“For you, or for them?”
The old man shook his head, dogged. “For my people.”
“You would save your people, and yield yourself to all manner of dire cruelty …” The Goblin King lingered over the last few words, and then tilted his head, owl-like. “Are you sure?”
“Aye.”
“Hm.” The younger Jareth turned, to gaze out over the plain.
Sarah’s breath caught at the unearthly sight of him - the stark lines of his face silhouetted against the ominous brass sky; the strange way his pale hair drifted around the gold circle of his crown.
“You would do well to reconsider. Consider that your son shall lead your people, and that you have seen how very cruel I can be.” He turned back, his expression almost dreamy. “Such cruelty. Answer me this: who will dare step foot in my lands again, unbidden?”
The old man shut his eyes.
Jareth’s voice was quiet. “It was utter foolishness of you and yours, to venture here, was it not?”
Silence fell; Sarah heard only the rise and fall of the wind, in her dream, and the old man’s labored breathing. In the strange clarity of dream-vision, she saw his tangled white beard work, as he struggled to say:
“Aye.”
“There now. You have answered, and I in turn shall admit that endless blood and battle does eventually pall. Consider: your son is king, he leads your people in flight, you and I remain, and even the oldest of the old stones here is sated. The stones have spoken: they do not wish your blood, majesty.” He took a step towards the old man - king, Sarah realized, catching a glimpse of torq beneath the beard. But Jareth was speaking again, quietly.
“I have been cruel, but I can be generous.” The Goblin King stretched out one pale hand, and traced down the furrowed scar on the old king’s face. The man’s eyes flew open; Sarah saw their whites. “Would you not prefer my generosity?”
“My people -” The king’s voice was hoarse.
The younger version of Jareth had the same smile as the older; a thin curl of the lips that hinted at secrets. “Your son leads your people, now; since he made his choice. He has given you to me, majesty.” Long, pale fingers stroked the scar. “And you have accepted his betrayal.”
“It does not matter.” The king made a queer, harsh sound in his throat. “I am old.”
“You are old, but you are wise.” The Goblin King’s face was beautiful, yet somehow remote. “Your son is neither.”
The old king’s head and shoulders sank.
Jareth paused, for a long moment, and then frowned. “It grieves you?”
The other could no longer speak; he gave a broken nod.
Still frowning, the Goblin King followed, with the tip of one finger, a tear that ran down the king’s face. “Why?”
But the old man said nothing.
“Why?” Jareth spoke more to himself. “Why, for such a one as that?” His mouth twisted, and he took his fingers away from the king’s face. The old man shuddered, and gasped for breath, as the Goblin King kept muttering, “I do not understand. I will never understand this. Ask for mercy for yourself,” and he wheeled back to face the old king, and his voice was one Sarah knew: cold and sharp, pitched to draw blood. “I have been cruel, yes, I have been cruel - but it is enough. Ask to be returned to your life, and let this end fall upon your son. Ask it of me.”
The old king had drawn his cloak, dark brown, tattered fur, closer around himself. And drawn some sort of strength from it, for he shook his head.
“I order you,” Jareth hissed: “Ask it of me!”
“No.”
“No?” The Goblin King bared his teeth, and the old king flinched, eyes widening. Jareth stepped closer to him. “Why do you refuse this gift? To restore you to your world, to grant you your dreams - why refuse it, and for one who condemned you?”
The man hunched within the fur, still shaking his head. “I cannot say.”
“I order you to say.”
“No, I -” And then the old king sucked in a breath, as Jareth stepped close enough to lay a palm flat on one side of his face, threading his fingers through the dirty white tangles of hair and beard.
The Goblin King stared into the other king’s eyes. Sarah shut her own, in the dream, so she would not have to watch.
A long moment passed.
Then Sarah heard Jareth’s voice again. “So, that is why.”
There was no gloating in it, but no anger either; rather, a tone that Sarah had never heard from him before.
It was respect.
“Such a leader, such a king … Ah, majesty, I do see, now.”
Cautiously, Sarah opened her eyes. Jareth’s own were brooding, looking down. The fingers of his right hand were still twined in the old king’s beard.
“They have found the gate by now, thanks to you. Clever, and brave. To give up your dreams, all for the love of your people,” a wry twist to the mouth, “if not for your son - such a king.”
“False dreams.” The old man’s voice was weak.
Jareth looked up, slowly.
“False … for,” and his breath rattled in his chest, “I am old.”
“False dreams?” A sudden breeze blew the Goblin King’s hair away from his face. “Never that.” And Sarah saw something flicker in his eyes.
What -
But before she could finish her thought, all sound in the dream ceased; and somehow, she knew it was so that she could hear the final words - because Jareth’s voice was soft, so soft …
“You did poorly to come here, majesty, and still worse to attempt to conquer - yet you have accepted judgment for it; yes, and have even kept judgment from those who did worst of all. Hear me, then, old one, and know that as I have been cruel, so shall I be generous; and that though you are judged, still you shall be blessed in your ending.”
The Goblin King placed his left hand on the old king’s other cheekbone, framing his face.
“For this ending I give to you, majesty …”
He brought his own face closer. The old man’s eyes were flickering, open and shut; he struggled to breathe.
“Great king … I give you your dreams.”
And Jareth kissed him, gently, and whispered against his mouth.
“You will live, great king: a long life, and a peaceful one -”
Jareth’s long fingers twined around the king’s face, and held fast, even as the old man moaned. The Goblin King tilted his head to one side, and kissed him deeply, still whispering, somehow -
“ - surrounded by your children, and their children, and all those after them ...”
- until Sarah realized that the whispering sound was a breath of air rustling through leaves, and that the creaking groan she heard was at the same time the old king’s voice and the sound of branches moving -
- and that Jareth was resting his hands against the trunk of a tall oak tree.
“A long life - forever,” he whispered. “You will live forever.”
The Goblin King took in a deep breath, and then stepped back, gazing at the tree’s strength and majesty.
“Such a king.” Jareth's eyes blazed, brighter than the unforgiving golden sky. “Such a king, to guard my Labyrinth, forever.”