Once, long ago, the King of the Fae and his Queen beget a son. Their son was lovely, with hair of mixed gold and silver and eyes of crystalline blue. As fair as he looked, the boy had been born of opposition. His father, the kind and wise ruler of the fae, having had him with a darker immortal known for her deceptions and coldness. She had seduced the King and tricked him into believing her just as pure as he.
But as years passed, her treachery began to reveal itself, and she planted seeds of corruption within her son. The boy grew, torn between two parents and two ways of life.
During the long days, his father taught him magic, to control the elements and protect the sacred grove surrounding their kingdom. The winds howled, the waters fell and froze, fire burst into existence or extinguished with but a gesture of the boy’s hand. The very rocks of the earth would shift for him, the trees would bend, the animals bow. All for this young Fae prince. But with all of this power, the King tried to instill in the child a sense of responsibility and compassion, for nature and their subjects. To help him watch over their realm, the King gave his son magical crystals forged from fae glass. With the crystals, the boy could see whoever he desired, so long as they were within the kingdom. The power of wishes was bestowed upon the boy, making him one of the few fae capable of granting the pleas of those in need.
In the dark of night, the Queen would wake her son and teach him her ways. She knew the art of creating nightmares and showed the young boy how to invade the dreams of the unsuspecting. He could enter anyone’s mind and see their desires and fears, played before him in visions. With time, he could control their very minds whilst they slumbered, placing what thoughts and images he would. And while they were awake, he could present them with illusions to confuse them. The Queen began to feed her son lies, making him fear all but those closest to him. He learned to transport on a whim, spying and gathering information from those who displeased him. As punishment, he would play “tricks” upon them, making their walls talk or surrounding them with darkness, or even spinning time back or forward to disorient them. His mother encouraged these practices, telling her son that a ruler would not stand for opposition to his ideals. They should all respect him and revere him, for he was the future King. If they ever gave him reason for anger or sadness, they deserved to be punished. Seeking his mother’s approval, the boy eagerly gave over to his tempers and frustrations, desiring the proud smiles his father always gave, but receiving none from her. Queens and Kings were above such trivial emotions, he learned, or at least above showing them.
Soon, the King realized the change overcoming his bright son and traced it back to his conniving wife. To protect his son, the King banished his Queen, in hopes that without her influence, his boy would be free to embrace goodness once more.
Instead, the child raged and despaired that his mother had been taken from him. In his anger, he dared to make a wish. He wished that his father were banished as well and that he would be King so his mother might return.
But the King’s magic was stronger than the Prince’s, and to his sorrow, he reversed the curse, to teach his son a lesson. The boy would be king, but not of their lands.
Instead, the Prince found himself in the Underground, a realm long abandoned by the fae. Goblins and all manner of deplorable creatures roamed its barren wastelands and inhabited the crumbling castle. A curse was placed upon the new Ruler of the Underground. As he was so eager to wish away the father who loved him so, he would now be the attendant of the poor souls who suffered a similar fate in the realms. The children so quickly and foolishly discarded would now be his to collect, so he might see and bear the suffering of the unwanted. And should those who wished them away desire the children back, they must prove their love and selflessness before the King of the Underground could return them. Only when he learned to understand the sacrifice his father made, out of love, could the banished Prince return home.
Such was the creation of the Goblin King, Jareth.
The Goblin King was not so easily punished. While many fae would have perished in the darkness, he made the Underground his own. Using the magic he’d learned, he brought light into the blackness, illuminating the shadows so that trees and grass could grow anew. Water bubbled up from the depths of the earth and flowed into pools and rivers. As for the goblins, they became his subjects, as did any other beings trapped within that underworld.
Tasked with spiriting away unwanted children at first did trouble the new King. The cries of the small ones made him pity them. It was not their fault that they were unwanted. But instead of pity turning to compassion, it instead was released in the form of anger. He made it his mission that none of the children should be reclaimed. Prove their love and selflessness, his father had commanded of the runners. Very well. He’d make them do that and more.
Stone rose and twisted, trees and vines bent and tangled, creating walls and corridors to keep the supposed rescuers from the stolen children. With each sprinting step, the world around them seemed to change, confusing them, disheartening them. Runners, these would-be heroes were called. “Give up!” “Turn back!” The Goblin King taunted them as thirteen allotted hours ticked away. And many of them did just that. Woe to them that forfeited their child for they were punished mercilessly, thrown into an oubliette where the King could forget their miserable existence or turned into a disgusting beast to roam the Underground. But not before he showed them the price of their selfishness. In his fury, the fae would forget his mission to protect the children, focusing instead on his hatred of the runners for so easily giving up and throwing away an innocent life. Before he dealt them their fate, he’d turn the stolen child into a goblin and revel in their reactions.
“Look what you’ve done!” he’d tell them. “See what your foolish, selfish wish has wrought!”
Never did he dare to think how those same accusations might apply to him.
Those who tried to press on found themselves confronted with dreams and nightmares alike, seemingly taken from their own minds. Hours would slip by as runners were lost in fantasies, until their time was up.
As the years passed, the King grew in power. With each failed runner, his walls and traps multiplied, as he learned from each failure, until he’d created a structure nearly impossible to traverse. The land surrounding his castle was filled with illusions and tricks, a physical riddle to be solved. Tales spread of the fearsome, cruel King who ruled this nightmare of a realm. With each new goblin, he only became more miserable, more discontented. His amusement with his creation lasted only until another runner failed, which would send him into black moods of melancholy. In the depths of his cruel heart, Jareth began to hope. Despite himself, he secretly wished for someone to make the sacrifice his father had spoken of.
