Goblin Knot

Chapter One: Concerning Chickens.

He was indeed a cleverly crafted marionette. With long smooth limbs and glassy eyes, he gave a very good impression of being life-like. Not even the strings that manipulated his movements could be seen. Not seen to the eye, but evident regardless. All puppets have this flaw. Even this one- the very best, their King.

It should be mentioned here that fae Goblin King Jareth was not without his own resources. He felt every restricting jerk of his puppeteer Aboveground, but gnashed his teeth and set to ignoring the unpleasantness with proper royal disdain. There were chicken catapults to admire, minion imps and trolls to crush delightfully underfoot. Each century that passed Underground had a particularly good year or two. For months on end he would be entertained by mortals trying to outwit the Labyrinth. Jareth's lips curled in memory. Yes, they talked a good game initially- but throw in a little attempted homicide and they got all huffy and didn't want to play anymore. It wasn't his fault they were so obnoxious about needing a certain volume of blood to stay alive. Just another one of humanity's glaring faults.

Flinching, Jareth moved to open the wooden shutters of his castle chamber. Evening smoke from the Goblin City drifted in and lurked by the bed-hangings. From the smell of it, several buildings and citizens were on fire. Again. Peasants while making very good kindling, were terribly odorous when burnt. A family of spriggans had once ruined an important state dinner when their rolling stench escaped the kitchen fires and permeated the dining hall. After the disastrous political fall-out that followed, Jareth now insisted all citizens, permanent residents and migratory workers received a thorough hosing down before use as barbeque briquettes. For this reason a goblin spotted on the street with a bucket of water would send others screaming in the opposite direction. Replace the bucket with a crossbow, and the offending party would be pressed upon to take tea (distilled bog water) and crumpets (free-range faeries, minced and toasted 'till crispy).

Leaning out the open window, Jareth considered the empty stone fireplace that ran along the chamber's north wall. The outside air was cool, but not brisk enough to warrant the hassle and deaths of several pedestrians milling about below. Retrieving a cloak from the back of a chair, he pulled it about his shoulders and idly wondered what season it was Aboveground. When mortals ran the Labyrinth, he could tell by their hideous floral-shirts and flip-flops summer reigned. In winter they wore ridiculous bobbled hats and so many layers of clothing, a bloated marshmallow would look quite slim in comparison. A loose cotton shirt, breeches, and waistcoat. Was it spring when she ran? Autumn?

Jareth sat on the edge of his vast bed, mildly surprised and largely disgusted. He thought he'd stamped out the worst of this sentimental rubbish after she left, millennia ago. It was foolish to moon after a girl who so casually shattered his universe when she refused to stay. Like shards of broken glass each little surfaced memory had to be dug out from beneath his skin. Jareth wound the folds of his dusky-grey cloak tighter against his arms and shot the hanging tapestries a poisonous look. Threads worked a scene from the Unseelie Court- inhabitants were strewn amongst the stalagmites of dank phosphorescent cavern. Some hideous and others fair. But every single one oozed malice. It had something to do with a flash of their eyes, ill-intention that could not be disguised even in cloth. She had met his eyes and been properly afraid. For about thirty seconds. Despite his best efforts to be appropriately fearsome- she saw through the pantomime theatrics and recognised them for what they were. Smoke and mirrors.

Beyond the window came a muted scuffling of claws and stone. Several chickens rejecting their careers as projectile objects were currently forming an avian militia group, intent on wreaking havoc and laying the City to waste. They weren't entirely sure how this could be achieved, but all were agreed that defecating on the King's masonry was a good place to start. Jareth lay back on the bed with his long legs stretched out to the floor. He hadn't the energy to deal with splinter-cell poultry, even as an owl. Banshee shrieking and tearing a small creature apart with his talons was usually such jolly fun, too.

Frowning, he closed his eyes and kicked a pair of dark leather boots from his feet. She had very different ideas about what constituted 'fun'. Cavorting with cranium-addled cretins. Oh yes, he watched them through the pane of her bedroom window- willing, demanding, pleading that she speak his name. That she acknowledge his existence. All it would take were two little syllables, tripping from her rosy lips. But she would not. Did not. The girl who ran and won knew the power in a spoken name- it's ability to conjure and ensnare. She cringed as baleful eyes raked her back, but still would not be moved by pity. She left the Goblin King out in the cold. Let him eat mice and count the stars by himself. She had no more words to say to him.

"You have no power over me." The jaw was stubborn. She was biting the inside of her cheek, making the left side of her face look pinched. The voice was strong and clear, piercing the castle's stagnant air. Yet Jareth still thought she might concede. Her pale hands shook- a barely discernable tremor snaking upwards into her shoulders, hunching them defensively. The conditions Jareth placed upon his voluntary enslavement were trifles. Compared to what she would be getting in return, she knew this. She had to… surely? Picking up her toddling brother, she simply turned her face away- quitting the Underground and it's King. That was when Jareth's world quite literally imploded. Shockwaves radiating out through the earth's crust sparked violent earthquakes Above and Underground.

Rampaging mutant lizards are not considered an acceptable disaster explanation Above, so they instead distributed some poppycock about tectonic plates colliding. Jareth sniffed. All the mutant lizards he had ever encountered were very philosophical about 'mass population relocation'- into their stomachs. It was a very clichéd 'circle of life' approach.

With each passing decade, Jareth could feel the strings about him coiling and knotting a little more tightly. Like a Labyrinth leviathan, they would not rest until his bones splintered. How many years until that happened?

The Underground equivalent of daylight crept into the chamber. What would become of him then? Opening his eyes to chickens raiding his wash-stand, Jareth came to a horrible realisation. He knew now what had to be done. Following his strings would lead back to the puppeteer. Back to Sarah Williams.

a/n: Hope you enjoyed Chapter One: Concerning Chickens. I'd love to hear your thoughts in a review! The title, 'Goblin Knot' is my very sad attempt at punning the mythic 'Gordian Knot'- have a peruse on Wiki and you'll know what I mean. I'll also be attempting weekly updates if there's any keen readers. Cheers, guys!