Wayward 4/? 

He awoke, unrested. He was weary of it all. Weary of the dreams that 
plagued him, that would not allow him, even for a moment, to escape his 
sentence of eternal suffering. Sometimes it wasn't that bad....he could 
bare the dreams of Elenora. But the others, like the one of that first 
fateful confrontation with his father, left him feeling wasted and sick 
inside.
	He paced uneasily, footsteps ringing hollowly and echoing as he 
moved from room to barren room. Nothing here now. Nothing but dust and 
memories. Memories that nipped at his heals, no matter how long he walked, 
daring him to face them. He tried to stay one step ahead, the shadow of the 
past dogging his steps. It was a game he played with himself. How long 
could he escape, how long could he keep his thoughts from overwhelming him? 
In the end, the past always won. After hours, days? -he didn't know- he 
gave up, and let his phantoms sweep over him like mist, plunging him back 
into the pit of his memory.

	He had awoken on the floor, trembling all over. His father was 
standing over him, all his smug superiority showing plainly on his face. 
"There. I told you it was the truth." He stepped back and held out one hand 
to help Jareth off the floor.

Still hurt and confused, Jareth slapped his hand away and climbed shakily 
to his feet. "Why did you lie to me all these years?" He couldn't keep the 
anger from slipping into his voice like a razor edge.

A noncommittal shrug. "No reason, I suppose. I never thought to bring it 
up."

"Never thought!" Jareth gapped. "Never thought to tell me my life was a 
lie?" His face contorted as anger and astonishment grappled each other for 
control. 

"You take it so personally!" The glint of sadistic amusement had once again 
entered his father's eye. "Really what difference does it make weather you 
were born here or on Earth? You're heir to the throne now, and one day, 
you'll rule this land of ours."

Jareth hit his tolerance point. "I don't want to rule your stupid kingdom! 
What is there for me here? This isn't my home. Only a fool and a 
megalomaniac would choose to stay here with these mindless, dirty goblins."

In the blink of an eye the King caught him up by the front of the shirt. 
"Insolent boy. I don't care who's blood runs in your veins, you are *my* 
son, and you *will* obey me." The Goblin King was trembling with rage. "Do 
*not* defy me."

To his own surprise, and the greater surprise of his adoptive father, 
Jareth laughed. It was a cold, bitter laugh. "This is all about control, 
isn't it? You have to be in control of everything. Of me, of the 
Underground, all of it." His father's hand released it's grip on his shirt. 
Jareth continued to talk, though he was certain it was suicide. "That's why 
you stay here. So you can sit in your wed and pull your strings like some 
horrific scheming spider. You never intended to hand over the throne to me. 
Not really." The realization rocked him to the core, even as he spoke it 
aloud. The final betrayal. The final proof that everything he had ever 
lived for, or believed in, was an utter falsehood. He turned on his heel 
and walked away. "I'm leaving. I won't stand to be your puppet. Not 
anymore."

If only things had been that simple. 

	He shook his head, forcing the memories to retreat as he stood in 
the deserted throne room. It was like watching ghosts perform a mockery of 
a play, the way reality and his memories folded into one, blending and 
melding until he could no longer tell what was now and what was past. He 
looked out a window. A bleak landscape greeted him. The sky was hung with 
low clouds, heavy with menace. The wind whipped and wailed around the 
turrets blowing his hair to and fro. The Labyrinth spread before him, 
serpentine, winding in upon itself as if in an attempt to conceal it's 
darkest mysteries.
The Underground was a dead land, and he was the king of it's shadows.