Jareth's true affection.

She paced the width of the dim throne room, her jet garments turned sepia in the flickering of the many candles dotted about the stone walls.  Her appearance much resembled that of her son, what could be seen of it beneath the rich velvet of the hood that seemed to weigh heavy on her head; she showed no signs of removing it. She bared the same prominent, angular features and penetrating, invasive stare. She was old though, not withered ore greying, but drawn. Right down to the lifeless, yellowy locks that fell from her hood. Like an aged painting that careful hands had left faded, but unscathed.  A lean, yet sturdy creature, she matched his considerable height.

She sauntered across the floor, blemished with dark, shapeless shadows. Her pale hands pressed together before her tight lips, long fingers interlaced, as if in prayer. She was not praying, but thinking. Every so often she would take a long, hard glance at her son, standing before her, patiently awaiting something.

Looking at her now, Jareth was reminded of a Raven. A ghostly black Raven, considering a freshly killed corpse. Where to start? Where to start?

Watching the scene with devious amusement was Jareth's fellow Royal, and to some extent,  friend. The Virgin King, or Ziggy as he was addressed by close acquaintances. Deceptively frail, one might say emaciated, with a head of untamed hair, an unflattering, plasma shade of red. His gaunt face, ever laced with constant and unsettling humour. He sat leisurely on Jareth's own throne, helping himself to a peach that Jareth hadn't had the guts to touch. He sat there teasing a bite of the sickly fruit on the tip of his tongue, lapping up his friend's discomfort.

At last, the Goblin queen halted before her only child. She lowered her hands from her lips, but kept them clasped at her chest, flattened with age.  Jareth cleared his throat, awkwardly.

“Well, Mother?” A stiff hand flew from it's twin, and was thrust up, palm exposed, inches from his quizzical face.

“Silence, Jareth.” The queen murmured sternly, without looking at him. Jareth's lips snapped shut. He bit back the profanities flowering on the tip of his tongue, as his mother stared directly over his shoulder at the Virgin King.

“You, Ziggy!” He called to him. Ziggy curled his tongue around the sticky little mound of softened peach and pulled it into the darkness of his mouth, swallowing.

“Yes, Lady?” He chirped, smiling graciously.

“You were blessed with a sister, were you not?”

Ziggy shifted a little on the other King's throne, capturing the traces of glistening syrup around his mouth with his juicy tongue before answering.

“I have a sibling, Lady.”

“She is female?”

“Not entirely, Lady.” Ziggy swung his spidery limbs from the arms of the throne, settling into a less comfortable sitting position. The Queen's brow wrinkled bemusedly.

“What do you mean?” She continued to speak over the curve of her son's shoulder that now quivered with impatience.

“Perhaps you do not know, Lady.” Ziggy leaned forward, ever smiling. “My kind are not assigned to a singular sex, as you Fea are. It may interest you, Lady, to know that I myself am able to produce offspring independently.”

Even though Jareth's stomach was churning by the end of Ziggy's little speech, it was all he could do to hide his amusement at the Queen's genuine look of bafflement. It made him want to thank Ziggy.

“Too young I fear, Majesty.” Ziggy continued. “Zia; that is my sibling, bares little flesh. Zia is not yet old enough to hide a blush elicited by a charming specimen such as dear Jareth.”

As flattering as the statement was, it did not make Jareth feel any less like a prize colt at an auction. The thought of marrying precious prepubescent was nauseating to him. The Queen had fallen silent, she seemed to be thinking again. She peered at the red headed royal.

“Your 'sibling' is able to bare children?” She muttered, almost to herself. Jareth's choked on the warm air of the throne room, his eyes watered.

“Mother I-....NO!” He spluttered. The hand shot up again, so close that it lightly nudged to tip of his nose.

“Silence, Jareth.” His mother repeated, her voice steely. She stared at the Virgin King, pressing for an answer.

“Yes, Lady.”

At that moment, Ziggy rose. He began to advance towards the aged monarch. He was still smiling.

“If I might be so bold, Lady.” He began, arms folded behind his narrow back. “Speaking as a close friend of his Majesty, I must say that I'm not so certain of an arranged marriage. His Majesty does simply not seem suited for wedded life, my Lady. Would it not be wiser to wait until such day as he finds true affection in another?”

Jareth's heart fluttered. He knew exactly what Ziggy spoke of, exactly what he knew. In spite of Ziggy's past disdain for this knowledge, he seemed to be secretly defending the Goblin King's, not happiness, but contentment. The ebb and flow of his everyday life. Jareth suddenly urged to throw himself at Ziggy's knees and kissing his bare feet. The gratitude deflated as his Mother's brow puckered.

“It can wait no longer!” She snapped coldly, glaring at Jareth rather than Ziggy. “Jareth is beyond the marrying age, it should have been done years ago. Wait until he finds true affection indeed.” There was mocking in her voice. Her dull face slid into a cruel smirk.  “And and when will that be, Jareth?!” Her eyes burned as she viciously presented the question.

Jareth felt as though a pair of cold hands, hers perhaps, were wringing his insides like the neck of a foul.

“W-Well, Mother. I-.”

“Silence, Jareth!” The Queen cut him off.

“Perhaps!” Ziggy interjected. “If I may make another suggestion, my Lady?”
The Queen studied the challenging expression of the androgyon's slim face. A gutsy woman, she took her chances.

“Go on.” She permitted stiffly. Ziggy's expression softened invitingly in the candlelight.

“Not wishing to cast any assertions on your fine race, Majesty, but a Fea princess may not be the best bride for your dear son. From what I have heard, they frankly bring shame upon the admirable virtue of their mothers.”

“What rubbish.” The Queen interrupted, her voice flatly disapproving. “I had the privilege of attending Royal gatherings with those so called 'virtuous Mothers'. The way they used to flirt with the military was appalling.” Ziggy processed this slowly.

“Indeed.” He said, finally. “But, Lady I think you'll agree on the unsuitability of those Princesses. I feel I could save a great deal of time, if I may say so, Majesty.”

The Queen raised her brows haughtily.
“Oh yes?” She said. “How?”

“Well, you did not seen adversed to the idea of Jareth marrying my sibling. Surely, Lady, that means you would not be adversed to one of our kind marrying your son?”

Jareth's belly tightened.

“You are suggesting?” The Queen's interest seemed to peak. A slight smile played at her lips,  as if this were like a little game to her.

“Zia is an equal split, perfection within my race, but still too young for marriage. It is true that I am slightly more male that female,........but if I were to marry Jareth, the prospects of an heir would not be a difficulty. If you catch my meaning, Lady?”

Silence. Jareth's whole body was ridged with shock. Everything that had been said, mangled, fused, echoing in his crowded mind. The Raven, the Raven had returned. Weighing up the corpse. Eyes first? Both he and Ziggy stood with bated breath, unsure of each other, of what was wanted between them, waiting....................Just for an answer.

The Prayer. The Queen's fingers entangled again, hovering over her taut mouth. Head bowed beneath her heavy hood, deep in thought. Agonizingly slowly, she turned on her heel, and wandered to the arch way that led out of the throne room. Silence, save her widely spaced footsteps, fading towards the exit,......until.

“Ziggy.” Her voice, flat, almost a whisper, pierced the crushing quietness. “Would you join me for a walk around the castle. I'm aching, I could do with some refreshment.”

*************

“Invite her.”

Jareth started at voice at his ear, the breath on his cheek, sweet with the perfume of peaches. He looked up, his mother was gone. He could hear her footsteps growing fainter as she disappeared down the corridor. The Raven flying away.

“Invite her.” The voice was there again, dancing hotly over his temple. The Virgin's voice.

“What?” He asked it.  

“The mortal.” The Virgin whispered, smiling into his ear. “Invite her.”

Invite her.