Prologue

Their forces were growing. The hordes swelled along his borders and overflowed into the trees. It was a ragtag army, dull-witted and slow, but it was the numbers that would matter in the end.

The King watched them without being seen, invisible to their dead eyes. His strategic gaze flitted over the ghouls, measuring their scale, cataloging their weapons. Could there really be so many? He thought to himself. Thousands upon thousands!

His nostrils flared as the stink of corpses became suffocating. He turned his head and focused more on the slack-jawed creature's artillery and less on the flesh peeling off their bones.

They appeared to have found a sensible method for categorizing their steal. Five stacks, high as houses, lined the makeshift base. In each lay one particular type of weapon. The King spied swords, axes, maces, flails, and forks. Farther away in a less extraordinary pile lay the mundane instruments of war, knives and such.

He had no idea they would be so well prepared. Silently, he acknowledged his own ambivalence. He had left her too long to her own devices. He knew of her power and yet underestimated her dedication to his destruction. He should have known better. The King shook his head and pushed down the worry that began to build in his chest.

Then he saw the witch. Or, to be more exact, he saw the springy red coils of her hair as she walked away. The King felt his skin prickle in revulsion and he reflexively wiped his mouth with the back of a long white hand. He could still taste her. He fought the urge to spit.

Knowing that with her present he was not likely to discover anything else, but rather ran the risk of being discovered, the King willed himself away from the battlefield.

Gone were the green hills and trees. Instead, he found himself inside facing his throne. The red war room was warm in contrast to the open air and the King moved closer to the blazing fire at its core. He adjusted to the instant travel with ease.

The room was silent, unnaturally so, as the occupants turned to face their king. He raised a hand and motioned for them to continue their discussions. Then the room erupted in a cacophony of voices, as each strived to be heard over the other.

The King kept his eyes on the flames in front of him. His thoughts were a riot. One idea quickly replaced another as he evolved a plan for the protection of his people. He knew it was insane. He knew it would have to be defended. As he gazed upon his advisors, he knew they would struggle to understand the extremes of the situation. But he also knew he was their king. His word was law and his magic was beyond what their minds could possibly comprehend.

The King strode to the massive ivory throne at the top of the stone stairs and stood before it. He raised his arms for silence and waited for all eyes to turn his way.

"Goblins, kinsmen, trusted council. I have troubling news from the Flailknock Plains. Circidella has gathered her army of ghouls and she prepares for battle."

A loud cry rang out amongst the gathered and the King waited patiently for it to simmer.

"Her numbers are great." He continued gravely. "Her weapons are greater. The witch is cunning, and she uses her magic to animate the dead for her cause."

The murmurs rippled again across the goblins and in the air was the tangy taste of panic. One of the many spoke in a trembling voice, "What will we do sire?"

The King smiled then. His beautifully terrifying eyes glinted and a shiver went through the crowd. The King was frightening when he smiled.

"We must increase our army." He answered as if it were the simplest thing in the world.

The goblins turned and whispered to each other again. Grimblin Fry, his most trusted advisor and truest friend, stepped forward leaning heavily on a twisted oak branch.

"Jareth, we have already gathered our troops. There are no others."

The King's smile widened and he gave a small, breathy laugh. "Oh, there are others, my friend."

He sat down on his throne looking incredibly pleased with himself and Grimblin Fry shook his head in wonder. "But who, sire?"

At this he leaned forward on his throne and placed his elbows on his open knees, folding his fingers to his chin.

"Do you know how the witch acquired her army? They are not all raised from the graves of Alchenmians. No, she has reached her greedy little hands into the mortal realm. They are men!"

Shocked intakes of breath and curses rang into the rafters and the room seemed to heat up even more.

"No! She wouldn't!" Grimblin whispered, stricken and kissing the bones that hung from his neck.

The King laughed, "Oh, she would!"

The old goblin looked up at his friend and shook his head in defeat. "Then, all is lost."

The King sat back in his throne and crossed his leg, planting a foot on top of a knee.

"You give up too quickly, Grimblin. Is your old age killing your desire to fight?"

"Never, highness."

The gleam in the King's eyes grew until there was a fire within them and he gazed upon each goblin, in turn, forcing them to peer into his soul. Lastly, he turned to the one whose council mattered most. "Good. Know this, we shall not be defeated this day or any other."

The crowd nodded in agreement.

"What is greater than Dissolution magic?" he asked of them, speaking of the magic the witch so carelessly used.

The crowd just shook their heads, but the old goblin spoke up hesitantly, "Nascency magic. But you can't mean too…"

"But I do." The King interrupted, pushing a silvery hair back from his eyes. "Let the witch have her decaying hordes. Let her march them to their second graves. We will have strong warriors. New. Fierce. And born from the pure hearts of babes."

Grimblin Fry stepped closer to the throne, as near as he dared, and stared beseechingly into the unnerving gaze of his king. "We cannot steal children. We have made vows. If we recant, we are no better than the witch!"

"Of course not." The King answered then touched his chest through his flowing white shirt front. "Am I a monster?" He asked, giving a knowing scoff when his question was greeted with silence.

"We will take the abandoned, the discarded." He persisted. "Open your ears, can you not hear them cry out to you?"

The King was again met with empty stares, so he continued. "Well, I can. And I will answer their calls. Give them new life. Make them one of us."

The goblins appeared to think over the plan. Smiles and nodding gestures started to spread throughout the steamy space and the King felt that perhaps he had been mistaken to doubt his subjects. Then Grimblin Fry asked a simple question that had no simple answer.

"Do we have time to do this?"

The King looked down at him with an unreadable expression, "We shall make time."

Standing again, the King moved to the balcony and threw open the doors. Cool air washed over the room and the fire began to wave, sending shadows dancing upon the walls. He turned to look at his subjects with a raised brow, then he flashed them all a wicked grin.

"You might want to cover your ears."

He spun around and stepped onto the balcony. Raising his arms out to his sides, he rose elegantly into the air. The wind began to intensify and swirl around him, whipping at his long, sterling blonde hair wildly.

His hands turned upward and he brought his fingers in on themselves.

Then the earth began to shake.

The goblins fell to their knees, palms to the ground. A giant rumble shook the room and vibrated against the walls. Grimblin Fry stood alone, clutching his branch for support. He never took his eyes from the levitating Goblin King.

He was moving his arms hypnotically, waving them as though conducting an orchestra. But instead of music, there was a symphony of crushing rock and crackling tree. The clay of the ground rose with the wind and mixed with the water of the seas. Roots shot from the black dirt and twisted into wire, grasping for the sky like newborn saplings.

The King reached higher in the air. The space around him filled with twisting winds heavy with rain and sand as he held them back.

With his magic on full display, he brought his hands close and rotated them around an invisible force in his palms. He pulled the moisture from the clouds and with a wiggle of a finger, brought the fire from the pit in the center of the room, watching as it cometed across the sky.

With each turn of his wrist, he brought the elements together and began to create. As the sky trembled, the earth began to take shape.

First, there was brick, then wall, and road. Then there were bubbling lakes and crumbling cliffs. With a flick of his thumb, he created doorways and divots. Long hedges crept across grassy hills and formed impossible twist and turns.

Grimblin Fry watched as Goblin City became the center of what looked to be an enormous maze.

It was magnificent in its design. Hopeless with its complexity. The walls stood ridiculously high and bled into each other in the most ludicrous manner. The old goblin became dizzy just staring at it. And the King was not finished. He expanded it and stretched it out for as far as the eye could see in every direction.

Then, with his work complete, the King lowered himself to the ground, placing his feet softy on the balcony below.

He strode back to his throne and rested upon the satin cushions.

Slowly, the goblins rose and rushed to the window, gasping as they looked out onto the new structure. They began to shout in excited voices and slap each other on the back.

Grimblin Fry turned to his king and shook his head, smiling. "You enjoyed that, didn't you?"

The King looked over at him, his eyes showing just the slightest hint of exhaustion. "Yes. I truly did."

The smile wavered a little on the goblins face as he questioned slowly, "And you think it will keep them out?"

The King gave a lop-sided smirk and answered quietly, "For now. We shall have to get to work soon."

"You mean find the babies." The old goblin prodded.

The King leaned back on his throne and threw a leg over the arm, as casual as could be, and smiled.

"Never fear, old friend, for my kingdom is great and my will is strong."

With that, Jareth the Goblin King looked out over the balcony, down across his land and grinned at his creation. Circidella would be fuming, her army in chaos. She would not be able to reach his castle with her dead soldiers now. Even with her impressive powers, she would never be able to maneuver through what he had designed. No one would. In fact, he thought with a laugh, he defied anyone to try to defeat his labyrinth and live to tell the tale.

A.N. I do not own the characters or story of Labyrinth

Hello readers! Thank you for taking the time to read my first Labyrinth story, my second story over-all. I hope you enjoyed the prologue. I have a definite plan about where this is heading. Please let me know if you have any questions. I could use some feedback here as well, since I am in pretty new territory! Let me know what you thought! As writers we only grow through interaction, so as always thank you for reading, reviewing, following and/or favoriting! - S