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- Story Listed as: Fiction For Adults
- Theme: Fairy Tales & Fantasy
- Subject: Love / Romance / Dating
- Published: 01/06/2026
A New Goblin King
Born 1978, F, from Fort Worth, Texas, United States.jpeg)
Author's Note: This is a fan-fiction of the movie Labyrinth. An imagining of what might have happened after Sarah defeated Jareth.
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Seated upon his throne, Jareth surveyed the vast throne room of his castle. Upon his return, he had ordered the goblins away, leaving the space entirely his own. And so he sat alone. The silence pressed in—heavy, almost unnatural.
He lifted his gaze to the vaulted ceiling, struck by its height, as though he were seeing it for the first time. His eyes wandered across the chamber, now stripped of laughter and the goblins’ crude clamor. Even the throne beneath him felt different—dull, lifeless… empty.
Suddenly, his body shivered and his ears tingled.
Someone was in the labyrinth.
But who?
He heard no mystical call for a child to be taken away. Yet someone was there. To his surprise, he sensed that this person had actually completed the labyrinth. They had avoided every trap and misdirection and were now within the castle.
Just then, the clacking of heels echoed through the hall. Jareth’s heart began to race. He wasn’t frightened—at least, not entirely. He was more curious, and waited anxiously to see who had conquered the labyrinth.
“Jareth Veres—King of the Goblins.”
His eyes widened in surprise.
It was a woman.
His gaze traveled slowly over her attire: a black satin corset dress that alluringly hugged the curves of her voluptuous figure. Draped over it was a deep wine-red velvet duster, paired with shining ankle boots. Around her neck hung a black choker, adorned with a rhombus-shaped moonstone. Her long hair was a deep brown, streaked with silver, and her beautiful brown eyes complemented her bronze-and-cream complexion. Her nails were long and metallic silver.
She was like a dream…
But he was not asleep.
“How do you know my name?” he asked, curiosity laced with a hint of superiority.
She smirked.
“I know a great deal,” she replied. “Including the fact that you recently had to release a toddler named Toby after his sister defeated you.” Her tone was slightly mocking, yet undeniably seductive.
Jareth raised an eyebrow as he rose from his throne and approached her, stopping just inches away. Up close, he took in the beauty of her eyes and the sensual curve of her lips. His heart began to race once more.
“Who are you?” he demanded, his voice authoritative despite the faint tremble beneath it.
“I am Damaria La Charmante,” she said.
She brushed her hair back behind her ear, revealing slightly pointed ears—a sign that she belonged to the same Otherworld as the Underground. Jareth continued to look her over. Extending his hand, he summoned his crop. But as it flew toward him, Damaria caught it midair.
This surprised him.
“Who are you to—” he began.
“Uh, uh… let us behave ourselves, shall we?” she said seductively as she slid the crop down his chest.
Jareth was speechless.
Damaria met his gaze. Indeed, his eyes were different shades—one blue, the other dark brown. Slowly, with deliberate and enticing interest, she looked him up and down.
“You want this back?” she asked with a smirk, holding his crop up between them.
Jareth wasn’t sure whether to be angry, amused, or aroused.
He took the crop back.
“What do you want, Damaria La Charmante?” he asked.
“The High Sovereigns of the Otherworld sent me to deliver a message,” she said.
“And what message is that?” he replied.
“No more child-snatching,” she said. “If any foolish girls—or anyone at all—wish away a child, including a child of any age wishing themselves away, you are not to answer.”
“Is that all?” he asked defiantly.
“No,” she said, a faint purr slipping into her voice.
“If any adults wish themselves away, those you may answer. However, they must run the labyrinth in order to avoid being turned into goblins. If they fail…” She leaned closer, her voice low. “They are all yours.”
Her eyes, her lips, her perfume—it was driving him mad. Yet somehow, he managed to keep his composure.
“Very well. I will do as the High Sovereigns have decreed,” he said. His voice carried contempt, threaded unmistakably with desire.
“Done,” she said. “I’ll inform the High Sovereigns.”
As she turned to walk away, Jareth reached out and grabbed her arm—gently, yet firmly. She stopped and turned to face him.
“Yes?” she said.
“How did you defeat my labyrinth?” he asked, curiosity evident in his voice.
Damaria smirked.
“Darling Jareth… you are not the only Otheren who has ruled over the labyrinth and the Goblin City. According to the High Sovereigns, you are merely one of many,” she said, looking directly into his eyes as she placed her hands on her hips.
“But to answer your question,” she continued with a smile,“my fourth great-grandfather built the labyrinth. My family still possesses the blueprints. It doesn’t changed much, regardless of who rules over it.”
The way she spoke—so authoritative, yet so alluring—stirred a rush of unfamiliar emotions within him. Jareth found himself unsettled by how strongly he felt them.
“Anything else?” she asked.
“No,” he said.
“Very well. I’ll inform the High Sovereigns that you have consented to their decree,” she replied, turning to leave.
Jareth couldn’t let her go.
He wanted to know this woman… Damaria La Charmante.
He hurried to the window, waiting for her to emerge from the castle. As if on cue, she stepped outside—then stopped short.
“I know you’re watching me,” she called out. “Most likely waited for me to exit the castle.”
Jareth settled onto the windowsill, momentarily speechless. Damaria turned and looked up at him, offering a smile that was both seductive and unexpectedly warm.
“Au revoir, Your Majesty,” she said, bowing gracefully.
As she turned to go, he spoke.
“Will I ever see you again?”
She didn’t answer.
As he watched her walk away, he saw something that startled him. The labyrinth shifted, opening a clear passage before her, allowing her to walk straight through without obstruction.
The sight left him unsettled.
Once she disappeared from view, he returned to the throne room. He stood there for a moment—and then, without warning, he collapsed.
II
He found himself in the room of Endless Stairs. Jareth stood upon one of the steps when he caught sight of a shadowy figure. The mere glimpse of it filled him with rage. Who were they—and how had they gained entry to his castle?
The figure darted across the stairs at a quickened pace, moving almost like a blur. Annoyed, Jareth gave chase.
The pursuit proved futile. No matter how fast he moved, the shadowy figure always seemed several steps ahead.
He stopped and conjured one of his crystal spheres. Spotting the figure again, he hurled the sphere toward it. The enchanted crystal sphere would burst into smoke and blinding light upon impact.
Instead, the figure caught it.
Jareth froze.
“Impressive,” the shadowy figure said, holding up the sphere.
“Catch!” it added, flinging the crystal back.
Jareth leapt aside just as the sphere struck the ground and exploded.
Now he was furious.
“Whoever you are,” he shouted, “once I get my hands on you, I will personally drop you into the Bog of Eternal Stench!”
The shadowy figure laughed.
“You’ve used that threat so often,” it replied, “yet you rarely carry it out.” A pause. “But since you enjoy making empty threats, here’s one for you.”
The figure hurled another crystal sphere. Jareth dodged as it shattered on impact, releasing a stench so vile it surpassed even the bog itself. In that instant, Jareth realized he was facing someone disturbingly similar to himself.
He stepped forward, staring up at the shadowy figure now poised on a distant staircase.
“What do you want?” he demanded.
The shadowy figure offered no reply. Instead, it shimmered—and vanished.
Suddenly, Jareth was falling.
He reached instinctively for his magic, trying to slow himself, to seize the air and stop the descent. Nothing answered his command. His power remained silent.
Something was very, very wrong.
♦♦♦♦
Jareth opened his eyes and realized he was still in the throne room. He slowly sat up, drawing in a steadying breath. As he rose to his feet, a shadowy movement flickered at the edge of his vision. He turned sharply—but nothing was there.
He lifted his hand and conjured a crystal sphere.
“So… my powers remain,” he murmured, releasing a breath of relief.
Without warning, the crystal sphere shattered.
Jareth stared at the fragments, stunned.
“What is going on?” he whispered.
“Fading. Moving on… A new King emerging.”
“I cannot fade,” Jareth shouted into the empty hall. “I am immortal!”
“Fading. Moving on… A new King emerging.”
III
In the land of Fairstose, Damaria stood beside the lake. Three weeks had passed since she had delivered the High Sovereigns’ decree to Jareth Veres. It was her duty—her family had long served as Attendants to the High Sovereigns.
She gazed at her reflection on the lake’s surface. Lovely, she thought… yet alone. Beyond her family and a handful of close friends, she longed to give her heart to someone. But none of the suitors who had come calling had ever been right for her.
She was not an easy woman to love—emotional, stubborn, and complex. Any man who wished to claim her heart would need uncommon patience and understanding, along with quirks intriguing enough to hold her interest.
From the corner of her eye, she noticed a crystal sphere rolling toward her.
She raised an eyebrow.
“Hello, Damaria.”
She looked up to see a man leaning casually against a tree. He was tall, with long black hair streaked with blond. His complexion was medium-fair, his lips sensual—but it was his eyes that captured her attention: one blue, the other gold. He wore a long, black iridescent duster over a white ruffled shirt, paired with black leather pants and boots. Black gloves covered his hands, and around his neck hung a necklace bearing a rhombus-shaped stone that shimmered faintly.
Damaria raised an eyebrow.
“Who are you?” she asked cautiously.
“You’ll find out in due time. But for now, know that you made quite an impression on me,” he said with a smirk.
A puzzled expression crossed her face.
“We’ve never met,” she said.
The man pushed himself away from the tree and approached her, stopping just inches from her. He looked her over slowly.
“Oh, but we have,” he replied.
“I don’t remember meeting you,” she said, taking a few steps back.
He chuckled softly.
“How interesting,” he said. “You were so flirtatious with me before, and now you retreat.”
“You speak as if we’ve met,” Damaria said, her voice steady—cautious, and refusing to be intimidated.
His expression shifted to one of genuine intrigue, even admiration.
He lifted his hand, and a crystal sphere appeared.
“A gift,” he said. “Take it.”
“What will it do to me?” she asked suspiciously.
“Nothing,” he replied. Then, after a pause, “Except… perhaps reveal whatever it is you wish to know. But be warned—some things are not meant to be known.”
“Is that a warning,” she asked, crossing her arms, “or a threat?”
“Mere advice,” he said smoothly. “Advice I genuinely offer you, Lady Damaria La Charmante.”
He placed the crystal sphere into her hands.
“We will see each other again, lovely Damaria,” he said with a smile.
And then he shimmered away.
As Damaria studied the sphere, she became aware of something unsettlingly familiar about the man she had just met. Yet she could not place why. He had not given her his name—only the promise that they would meet again.
“Why do you feel so familiar?” she murmured.
“In due time, Damaria,” came the echoing reply. “In due time.”
♦♦♦♦
Within a castle high in the skies of the Otherworld, he sat upon a windowsill. Sunlight streamed in, illuminating his unusual eyes—one blue, the other gold—as he idly juggled three crystal spheres in one hand. He turned his head to gaze out across the horizon.
“Life, death, rebirth… all are connected,” he murmured. “The old dies, the new emerges, and life continues forward. All things must move onward. It is the way the universe is designed… the way you designed it...Omnia una.”
The three spheres suddenly merged into one, and an image formed within its depths. It revealed Jareth, seated upon his throne—but he was clearly unwell.
“Life, death, rebirth… all connected,” the man repeated softly. “Fading, moving on. A new king emerges.”
The image of Jareth slowly dissolved.
Rising from the windowsill, the man strode down the hall. As he walked, his attire shifted—the jacket lightened from black to crimson, the pants from black to gold, the gloves from black to dark gray. Only his shirt and boots remained unchanged.
“One falls,” he said quietly. “One rises.”
IV
Jareth sat upon his throne, attended by only four goblins. They watched him with worry etched across their faces.
“Your Majesty, is there anything we can do?” one of them asked.
Jareth did not answer. He remained still, staring out the window at the sky beyond.
“Your Majesty, there must be something we can do,” another goblin pleaded.
“You can do nothing for him.”
The goblins turned to see a man standing behind them, dressed in a crimson jacket, gold pants, a white ruffled shirt, dark gray gloves, and black boots.
“Who you be?” one of the goblins asked.
The man strode toward the throne and regarded Jareth in silence.
“You were asked—who you be!” the goblin repeated, his squeaky voice failing to sound intimidating.
The man turned slowly and fixed the goblin with a cold stare.
“Be gone,” he said icily, “before I turn you from a goblin into a bug and crush you beneath my boot.”
The goblin whimpered and fled the throne room. The remaining three backed away in fear.
The man turned his attention back to Jareth.
“That one should have been sent back from where he came,” the man remarked.
Jareth managed a faint smirk.
“He’s a loyal goblin—perhaps idiotic—but loyal nonetheless,” he said.
“True,” the man replied, “but troublesome.”
Jareth looked up at him.
“It was you… in the Endless Stairs,” he said weakly.
The man nodded.
“You know who I am.”
“What is our name?” Jareth asked.
“Gabryel,” he answered. “Gabryel Rhys Jhones.”
“Fading, moving on. A new king emerges,” Jareth murmured.
“The old dies, the new emerges, and life moves on,” Gabryel replied.
“One question,” Jareth said.
“Ask.”
“What will be different?”
“Only what we were told by Lady Damaria La Charmante,” Gabryel said.
Jareth considered asking more, but he already knew all he needed to know. He slumped back against the throne—and slowly shimmered away.
Gabryel stood alone for a moment. Then an aura of shifting colored light surrounded him. When it faded, he was seated upon the throne.
“You may come forth,” he called. “I have no intention of turning any of you into bugs—unless you choose defiance.”
The goblins rushed forward and bowed deeply.
“You Goblin King now?” one of them asked.
“I always have been,” Gabryel replied calmly. “The same soul—only a different face and point of view.”
“We call you Jareth?” another goblin asked.
“No,” he said. “You will call me *Your Majesty*. And my name is Gabryel.”
The goblins bowed once more.
Gabryel waved his hand, dismissing them, and they obeyed at once. Word would spread quickly throughout Goblin City—but that did not concern him.
Suddenly, the castle itself began to change. The throne room expanded, becoming more open and less cavernous. Everything renewed itself—larger, brighter, more refined, including the throne.
When the transformation was complete, Gabryel raised his hand. A crystal sphere appeared.
“Go,” he commanded softly. “Bring Damaria La Charmante to me.”
♦♦♦♦
Damaria stood by the window of her home. It was early dusk, and the sun was beginning to set. Suddenly, a strange sensation washed over her, and she turned her attention to the crystal sphere she had been given. She reached for it and held it up to the fading light.
“Show me Jareth,” she whispered.
Within the sphere, a ghostly visage appeared—Jareth’s face. He seemed to smile at her before the image faded.
“He’s dead,” she murmured.
“Not dead… moved on. New face, new perspective.”
“Omnia una,” she said softly.
At that moment, another crystal sphere floated into the room.
“Come, Lady Damaria… I invite you to my home,” a voice said.
The sphere transformed into a portal of light. Damaria stepped through.
On the other side, she found herself in a grand throne room. It felt oddly familiar, as though she had been here before. Her gaze drifted to the window, and her eyes widened in surprise.
It was the labyrinth.
Turning back to the throne room, she asked, “How?”
“Very simple… Lady Damaria,” a voice replied.
She turned and saw the man she had met by the lake. His attire was different now—regal, commanding.
“What’s your name, and how are you here?” she asked.
“I am King of the Goblins. This is my castle. My name is Gabryel. Gabryel Rhys Jhones,” he said, striding toward her.
“Where’s Jareth?” she asked, bewildered.
“I am Jareth,” he replied.
Damaria stared at him, perplexed. But a subtle, otherworldly nudge urged her to use her empathic sight. When she did, she realized he was speaking the truth.
“Before you ask… I will explain,” he said. “I am a Soulfract—an Otheren who lives many lives. One soul, many faces and personalities. Every hundred years, the King of Goblins assumes a new face, a new perspective, and a new name. I was once Jareth… I am now Gabryel.”
Hearing this, everything began to click for Damaria. She remembered her flirtations with him, the High Sovereigns’ decree, and why they had made it.
“Do not worry,” he said, his gaze traveling over her approvingly. “I will not break the decree the High Sovereigns set.”
Her ankle-length, fitted column dress in deep purple, with long sheer sleeves, hugged her figure perfectly. The scent of her perfume, the curve of her lips, the depth of her eyes—it all aroused him as it had the first time they met. Damaria smirked, fully aware that Gabryel was captivated by her.
She crossed her arms and stepped closer to him.
“So… now what, Your Majesty?” she asked, her voice soft and seductive.
Gabryel stretched out his hand, summoning his crop. Damaria reached for it—but he snatched it away before she could.
“Not this time, my lady,” he said with a teasing smirk.
“And what are you going to do?” she countered, smirking back.
“I could do many things,” he said, his eyes glinting. “But let us begin simply… with me courting you.”
“Courtship leads to marriage,” she replied. “At least, that is the intent.”
“You don’t say,” he said with a knowing smile.
Damaria smiled, a hint of amusement in her eyes.
“Fair warning—I’m not the easiest woman to deal with,” she said.
“And your point?” he asked, arching an eyebrow. “I’ve known that from the moment we met… once again, that is.”
“You must like a challenge,” she teased, her tone flirtatious.
“As I can be one as well. We won’t be bored, now, will we?” he said, his smile both mysterious and dangerous—in the best way.
“No, we won’t,” she replied, her heart quickening.
Gabryel wrapped an arm around her, drawing her closer.
“Thus begins the courtship,” he murmured.
“Yes… indeed it does,” she said, and they kissed—deeply, passionately, as if no time had passed between them.
Epilogue
The courtship grew into a marriage—one filled with playful challenges, profound love, and unwavering respect. The goblins warmly welcomed their queen: Damaria La Charmante Jhones.
As promised, Gabryel did not respond to those who wished away children. But he did answer the wishes of adults. Those who could successfully navigate the labyrinth were rewarded with whatever their hearts desired. Those who failed… became goblins.
And so life in the Underground – Otherworld continued. The King and Queen of Goblins, rulers of the labyrinth, carried on.
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Seated upon his throne, Jareth surveyed the vast throne room of his castle. Upon his return, he had ordered the goblins away, leaving the space entirely his own. And so he sat alone. The silence pressed in—heavy, almost unnatural.
He lifted his gaze to the vaulted ceiling, struck by its height, as though he were seeing it for the first time. His eyes wandered across the chamber, now stripped of laughter and the goblins’ crude clamor. Even the throne beneath him felt different—dull, lifeless… empty.
Suddenly, his body shivered and his ears tingled.
Someone was in the labyrinth.
But who?
He heard no mystical call for a child to be taken away. Yet someone was there. To his surprise, he sensed that this person had actually completed the labyrinth. They had avoided every trap and misdirection and were now within the castle.
Just then, the clacking of heels echoed through the hall. Jareth’s heart began to race. He wasn’t frightened—at least, not entirely. He was more curious, and waited anxiously to see who had conquered the labyrinth.
“Jareth Veres—King of the Goblins.”
His eyes widened in surprise.
It was a woman.
His gaze traveled slowly over her attire: a black satin corset dress that alluringly hugged the curves of her voluptuous figure. Draped over it was a deep wine-red velvet duster, paired with shining ankle boots. Around her neck hung a black choker, adorned with a rhombus-shaped moonstone. Her long hair was a deep brown, streaked with silver, and her beautiful brown eyes complemented her bronze-and-cream complexion. Her nails were long and metallic silver.
She was like a dream…
But he was not asleep.
“How do you know my name?” he asked, curiosity laced with a hint of superiority.
She smirked.
“I know a great deal,” she replied. “Including the fact that you recently had to release a toddler named Toby after his sister defeated you.” Her tone was slightly mocking, yet undeniably seductive.
Jareth raised an eyebrow as he rose from his throne and approached her, stopping just inches away. Up close, he took in the beauty of her eyes and the sensual curve of her lips. His heart began to race once more.
“Who are you?” he demanded, his voice authoritative despite the faint tremble beneath it.
“I am Damaria La Charmante,” she said.
She brushed her hair back behind her ear, revealing slightly pointed ears—a sign that she belonged to the same Otherworld as the Underground. Jareth continued to look her over. Extending his hand, he summoned his crop. But as it flew toward him, Damaria caught it midair.
This surprised him.
“Who are you to—” he began.
“Uh, uh… let us behave ourselves, shall we?” she said seductively as she slid the crop down his chest.
Jareth was speechless.
Damaria met his gaze. Indeed, his eyes were different shades—one blue, the other dark brown. Slowly, with deliberate and enticing interest, she looked him up and down.
“You want this back?” she asked with a smirk, holding his crop up between them.
Jareth wasn’t sure whether to be angry, amused, or aroused.
He took the crop back.
“What do you want, Damaria La Charmante?” he asked.
“The High Sovereigns of the Otherworld sent me to deliver a message,” she said.
“And what message is that?” he replied.
“No more child-snatching,” she said. “If any foolish girls—or anyone at all—wish away a child, including a child of any age wishing themselves away, you are not to answer.”
“Is that all?” he asked defiantly.
“No,” she said, a faint purr slipping into her voice.
“If any adults wish themselves away, those you may answer. However, they must run the labyrinth in order to avoid being turned into goblins. If they fail…” She leaned closer, her voice low. “They are all yours.”
Her eyes, her lips, her perfume—it was driving him mad. Yet somehow, he managed to keep his composure.
“Very well. I will do as the High Sovereigns have decreed,” he said. His voice carried contempt, threaded unmistakably with desire.
“Done,” she said. “I’ll inform the High Sovereigns.”
As she turned to walk away, Jareth reached out and grabbed her arm—gently, yet firmly. She stopped and turned to face him.
“Yes?” she said.
“How did you defeat my labyrinth?” he asked, curiosity evident in his voice.
Damaria smirked.
“Darling Jareth… you are not the only Otheren who has ruled over the labyrinth and the Goblin City. According to the High Sovereigns, you are merely one of many,” she said, looking directly into his eyes as she placed her hands on her hips.
“But to answer your question,” she continued with a smile,“my fourth great-grandfather built the labyrinth. My family still possesses the blueprints. It doesn’t changed much, regardless of who rules over it.”
The way she spoke—so authoritative, yet so alluring—stirred a rush of unfamiliar emotions within him. Jareth found himself unsettled by how strongly he felt them.
“Anything else?” she asked.
“No,” he said.
“Very well. I’ll inform the High Sovereigns that you have consented to their decree,” she replied, turning to leave.
Jareth couldn’t let her go.
He wanted to know this woman… Damaria La Charmante.
He hurried to the window, waiting for her to emerge from the castle. As if on cue, she stepped outside—then stopped short.
“I know you’re watching me,” she called out. “Most likely waited for me to exit the castle.”
Jareth settled onto the windowsill, momentarily speechless. Damaria turned and looked up at him, offering a smile that was both seductive and unexpectedly warm.
“Au revoir, Your Majesty,” she said, bowing gracefully.
As she turned to go, he spoke.
“Will I ever see you again?”
She didn’t answer.
As he watched her walk away, he saw something that startled him. The labyrinth shifted, opening a clear passage before her, allowing her to walk straight through without obstruction.
The sight left him unsettled.
Once she disappeared from view, he returned to the throne room. He stood there for a moment—and then, without warning, he collapsed.
II
He found himself in the room of Endless Stairs. Jareth stood upon one of the steps when he caught sight of a shadowy figure. The mere glimpse of it filled him with rage. Who were they—and how had they gained entry to his castle?
The figure darted across the stairs at a quickened pace, moving almost like a blur. Annoyed, Jareth gave chase.
The pursuit proved futile. No matter how fast he moved, the shadowy figure always seemed several steps ahead.
He stopped and conjured one of his crystal spheres. Spotting the figure again, he hurled the sphere toward it. The enchanted crystal sphere would burst into smoke and blinding light upon impact.
Instead, the figure caught it.
Jareth froze.
“Impressive,” the shadowy figure said, holding up the sphere.
“Catch!” it added, flinging the crystal back.
Jareth leapt aside just as the sphere struck the ground and exploded.
Now he was furious.
“Whoever you are,” he shouted, “once I get my hands on you, I will personally drop you into the Bog of Eternal Stench!”
The shadowy figure laughed.
“You’ve used that threat so often,” it replied, “yet you rarely carry it out.” A pause. “But since you enjoy making empty threats, here’s one for you.”
The figure hurled another crystal sphere. Jareth dodged as it shattered on impact, releasing a stench so vile it surpassed even the bog itself. In that instant, Jareth realized he was facing someone disturbingly similar to himself.
He stepped forward, staring up at the shadowy figure now poised on a distant staircase.
“What do you want?” he demanded.
The shadowy figure offered no reply. Instead, it shimmered—and vanished.
Suddenly, Jareth was falling.
He reached instinctively for his magic, trying to slow himself, to seize the air and stop the descent. Nothing answered his command. His power remained silent.
Something was very, very wrong.
♦♦♦♦
Jareth opened his eyes and realized he was still in the throne room. He slowly sat up, drawing in a steadying breath. As he rose to his feet, a shadowy movement flickered at the edge of his vision. He turned sharply—but nothing was there.
He lifted his hand and conjured a crystal sphere.
“So… my powers remain,” he murmured, releasing a breath of relief.
Without warning, the crystal sphere shattered.
Jareth stared at the fragments, stunned.
“What is going on?” he whispered.
“Fading. Moving on… A new King emerging.”
“I cannot fade,” Jareth shouted into the empty hall. “I am immortal!”
“Fading. Moving on… A new King emerging.”
III
In the land of Fairstose, Damaria stood beside the lake. Three weeks had passed since she had delivered the High Sovereigns’ decree to Jareth Veres. It was her duty—her family had long served as Attendants to the High Sovereigns.
She gazed at her reflection on the lake’s surface. Lovely, she thought… yet alone. Beyond her family and a handful of close friends, she longed to give her heart to someone. But none of the suitors who had come calling had ever been right for her.
She was not an easy woman to love—emotional, stubborn, and complex. Any man who wished to claim her heart would need uncommon patience and understanding, along with quirks intriguing enough to hold her interest.
From the corner of her eye, she noticed a crystal sphere rolling toward her.
She raised an eyebrow.
“Hello, Damaria.”
She looked up to see a man leaning casually against a tree. He was tall, with long black hair streaked with blond. His complexion was medium-fair, his lips sensual—but it was his eyes that captured her attention: one blue, the other gold. He wore a long, black iridescent duster over a white ruffled shirt, paired with black leather pants and boots. Black gloves covered his hands, and around his neck hung a necklace bearing a rhombus-shaped stone that shimmered faintly.
Damaria raised an eyebrow.
“Who are you?” she asked cautiously.
“You’ll find out in due time. But for now, know that you made quite an impression on me,” he said with a smirk.
A puzzled expression crossed her face.
“We’ve never met,” she said.
The man pushed himself away from the tree and approached her, stopping just inches from her. He looked her over slowly.
“Oh, but we have,” he replied.
“I don’t remember meeting you,” she said, taking a few steps back.
He chuckled softly.
“How interesting,” he said. “You were so flirtatious with me before, and now you retreat.”
“You speak as if we’ve met,” Damaria said, her voice steady—cautious, and refusing to be intimidated.
His expression shifted to one of genuine intrigue, even admiration.
He lifted his hand, and a crystal sphere appeared.
“A gift,” he said. “Take it.”
“What will it do to me?” she asked suspiciously.
“Nothing,” he replied. Then, after a pause, “Except… perhaps reveal whatever it is you wish to know. But be warned—some things are not meant to be known.”
“Is that a warning,” she asked, crossing her arms, “or a threat?”
“Mere advice,” he said smoothly. “Advice I genuinely offer you, Lady Damaria La Charmante.”
He placed the crystal sphere into her hands.
“We will see each other again, lovely Damaria,” he said with a smile.
And then he shimmered away.
As Damaria studied the sphere, she became aware of something unsettlingly familiar about the man she had just met. Yet she could not place why. He had not given her his name—only the promise that they would meet again.
“Why do you feel so familiar?” she murmured.
“In due time, Damaria,” came the echoing reply. “In due time.”
♦♦♦♦
Within a castle high in the skies of the Otherworld, he sat upon a windowsill. Sunlight streamed in, illuminating his unusual eyes—one blue, the other gold—as he idly juggled three crystal spheres in one hand. He turned his head to gaze out across the horizon.
“Life, death, rebirth… all are connected,” he murmured. “The old dies, the new emerges, and life continues forward. All things must move onward. It is the way the universe is designed… the way you designed it...Omnia una.”
The three spheres suddenly merged into one, and an image formed within its depths. It revealed Jareth, seated upon his throne—but he was clearly unwell.
“Life, death, rebirth… all connected,” the man repeated softly. “Fading, moving on. A new king emerges.”
The image of Jareth slowly dissolved.
Rising from the windowsill, the man strode down the hall. As he walked, his attire shifted—the jacket lightened from black to crimson, the pants from black to gold, the gloves from black to dark gray. Only his shirt and boots remained unchanged.
“One falls,” he said quietly. “One rises.”
IV
Jareth sat upon his throne, attended by only four goblins. They watched him with worry etched across their faces.
“Your Majesty, is there anything we can do?” one of them asked.
Jareth did not answer. He remained still, staring out the window at the sky beyond.
“Your Majesty, there must be something we can do,” another goblin pleaded.
“You can do nothing for him.”
The goblins turned to see a man standing behind them, dressed in a crimson jacket, gold pants, a white ruffled shirt, dark gray gloves, and black boots.
“Who you be?” one of the goblins asked.
The man strode toward the throne and regarded Jareth in silence.
“You were asked—who you be!” the goblin repeated, his squeaky voice failing to sound intimidating.
The man turned slowly and fixed the goblin with a cold stare.
“Be gone,” he said icily, “before I turn you from a goblin into a bug and crush you beneath my boot.”
The goblin whimpered and fled the throne room. The remaining three backed away in fear.
The man turned his attention back to Jareth.
“That one should have been sent back from where he came,” the man remarked.
Jareth managed a faint smirk.
“He’s a loyal goblin—perhaps idiotic—but loyal nonetheless,” he said.
“True,” the man replied, “but troublesome.”
Jareth looked up at him.
“It was you… in the Endless Stairs,” he said weakly.
The man nodded.
“You know who I am.”
“What is our name?” Jareth asked.
“Gabryel,” he answered. “Gabryel Rhys Jhones.”
“Fading, moving on. A new king emerges,” Jareth murmured.
“The old dies, the new emerges, and life moves on,” Gabryel replied.
“One question,” Jareth said.
“Ask.”
“What will be different?”
“Only what we were told by Lady Damaria La Charmante,” Gabryel said.
Jareth considered asking more, but he already knew all he needed to know. He slumped back against the throne—and slowly shimmered away.
Gabryel stood alone for a moment. Then an aura of shifting colored light surrounded him. When it faded, he was seated upon the throne.
“You may come forth,” he called. “I have no intention of turning any of you into bugs—unless you choose defiance.”
The goblins rushed forward and bowed deeply.
“You Goblin King now?” one of them asked.
“I always have been,” Gabryel replied calmly. “The same soul—only a different face and point of view.”
“We call you Jareth?” another goblin asked.
“No,” he said. “You will call me *Your Majesty*. And my name is Gabryel.”
The goblins bowed once more.
Gabryel waved his hand, dismissing them, and they obeyed at once. Word would spread quickly throughout Goblin City—but that did not concern him.
Suddenly, the castle itself began to change. The throne room expanded, becoming more open and less cavernous. Everything renewed itself—larger, brighter, more refined, including the throne.
When the transformation was complete, Gabryel raised his hand. A crystal sphere appeared.
“Go,” he commanded softly. “Bring Damaria La Charmante to me.”
♦♦♦♦
Damaria stood by the window of her home. It was early dusk, and the sun was beginning to set. Suddenly, a strange sensation washed over her, and she turned her attention to the crystal sphere she had been given. She reached for it and held it up to the fading light.
“Show me Jareth,” she whispered.
Within the sphere, a ghostly visage appeared—Jareth’s face. He seemed to smile at her before the image faded.
“He’s dead,” she murmured.
“Not dead… moved on. New face, new perspective.”
“Omnia una,” she said softly.
At that moment, another crystal sphere floated into the room.
“Come, Lady Damaria… I invite you to my home,” a voice said.
The sphere transformed into a portal of light. Damaria stepped through.
On the other side, she found herself in a grand throne room. It felt oddly familiar, as though she had been here before. Her gaze drifted to the window, and her eyes widened in surprise.
It was the labyrinth.
Turning back to the throne room, she asked, “How?”
“Very simple… Lady Damaria,” a voice replied.
She turned and saw the man she had met by the lake. His attire was different now—regal, commanding.
“What’s your name, and how are you here?” she asked.
“I am King of the Goblins. This is my castle. My name is Gabryel. Gabryel Rhys Jhones,” he said, striding toward her.
“Where’s Jareth?” she asked, bewildered.
“I am Jareth,” he replied.
Damaria stared at him, perplexed. But a subtle, otherworldly nudge urged her to use her empathic sight. When she did, she realized he was speaking the truth.
“Before you ask… I will explain,” he said. “I am a Soulfract—an Otheren who lives many lives. One soul, many faces and personalities. Every hundred years, the King of Goblins assumes a new face, a new perspective, and a new name. I was once Jareth… I am now Gabryel.”
Hearing this, everything began to click for Damaria. She remembered her flirtations with him, the High Sovereigns’ decree, and why they had made it.
“Do not worry,” he said, his gaze traveling over her approvingly. “I will not break the decree the High Sovereigns set.”
Her ankle-length, fitted column dress in deep purple, with long sheer sleeves, hugged her figure perfectly. The scent of her perfume, the curve of her lips, the depth of her eyes—it all aroused him as it had the first time they met. Damaria smirked, fully aware that Gabryel was captivated by her.
She crossed her arms and stepped closer to him.
“So… now what, Your Majesty?” she asked, her voice soft and seductive.
Gabryel stretched out his hand, summoning his crop. Damaria reached for it—but he snatched it away before she could.
“Not this time, my lady,” he said with a teasing smirk.
“And what are you going to do?” she countered, smirking back.
“I could do many things,” he said, his eyes glinting. “But let us begin simply… with me courting you.”
“Courtship leads to marriage,” she replied. “At least, that is the intent.”
“You don’t say,” he said with a knowing smile.
Damaria smiled, a hint of amusement in her eyes.
“Fair warning—I’m not the easiest woman to deal with,” she said.
“And your point?” he asked, arching an eyebrow. “I’ve known that from the moment we met… once again, that is.”
“You must like a challenge,” she teased, her tone flirtatious.
“As I can be one as well. We won’t be bored, now, will we?” he said, his smile both mysterious and dangerous—in the best way.
“No, we won’t,” she replied, her heart quickening.
Gabryel wrapped an arm around her, drawing her closer.
“Thus begins the courtship,” he murmured.
“Yes… indeed it does,” she said, and they kissed—deeply, passionately, as if no time had passed between them.
Epilogue
The courtship grew into a marriage—one filled with playful challenges, profound love, and unwavering respect. The goblins warmly welcomed their queen: Damaria La Charmante Jhones.
As promised, Gabryel did not respond to those who wished away children. But he did answer the wishes of adults. Those who could successfully navigate the labyrinth were rewarded with whatever their hearts desired. Those who failed… became goblins.
And so life in the Underground – Otherworld continued. The King and Queen of Goblins, rulers of the labyrinth, carried on.
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