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Title: The Goblin King and the Jester
Rating: PG
Fandoms: The Labyrinth/Chicot the Jester
Characters/Pairings: Jareth, Chicot, passing references to Henri, Bussy, the Saint Lucs, the Duc D'Anjou, Gorenflot, Diana and Sarah.
Summary: Paris in the 16th century is Jareth's kind of city. Plenty of games to play, and gamesters to study. Even if some of them are rather confusing to a selfish fae.
Wordcount: 760
Warnings: Er. Mildly stalkerish Jareth?
Disclaimer: Neither work belongs to me, any more than the beautiful, beautiful characters do.
The Goblin King and the Jester
Many of his people sneered at him for it, but Jareth had always had a somewhat unseemly fascination with mortals and their ways. In particular, he had a love for cities and the way they shaped the mortals within them. The cities of China in the 5th century. The Mediterranean in the 11th. And now, for the moment, Paris in the 16th.
A strange city, Paris. So full of turmoil and decadence and credulity. He loved it, loved the flavours of fear and menace and honour and trust, the games of war and politics played in high courts, the games of crime in the lower, the games of love and romance in all. His kind of city, Paris, a city of dreams and desires, of mortals willing to pay for even the briefest and most deadly of games. Lives tossed aside on the whim of honour, the dream of love, the fallacy of religion. For him, the perfect playground.
And not just for him, oh no! There were other forces at play, both of the mortal world and others. But it was the mortal players who intrigued him, for they were skilled, so many of them. This city bred subterfuge, bred caution, bred daring, and at that time there were any number of gamesmen and women to attract his interest. The chevalier who dreamed of love. The woman who cried for vengeance. The politician who lusted for the throne. The king who dreamed of poetic immortality. Any one of them might have been worth his time. But it was the spider in the center of all their webs that intrigued him the most.
He had watched the man for a long time, by his standards. Weeks, without ever a hint of boredom. A fascinating creature, this supposed fool, this gamester who played without ever seeming to move. Not for his skill. Jareth had seen many with such talent over the years. Not for his deception, though it was a masterful illusion. Jareth was more masterful still. No. It was the lack of desire in the man that drew him, the lack of a wish. The jester did not ply his skill for his own gain at all, and that was fascinating.
See there. Playing the Duke against the Prince to save the King, without even revealing it to the one he served. There, sparing the lovers from the king's wrath, only on a whim. There, saving the chevalier for no reason other than admiration. There, standing for the corrupt monk against the king, only because a strange loyalty. And nowhere a personal gain.
Oh, the man was not unselfish. His position was always secured before he moved, his enemies always dealt with in true vindictive fashion, but only as the chance presented itself. That personal gratification was not the goal, only a happy benefit seized upon where possible. The man had a vengeful streak that delighted the Goblin King, much as everything else about the man confused him.
Perhaps it was only that Jareth was a fae, and therefore used only to their self-serving schemes. No faerie ever acted without the chance for personal benefit, himself included. Maybe that was why this mortal fascinated him so. Such skill, such mastery, and none of it for himself. It was strange. Jareth could not imagine granting a wish with no return, playing a game for a benefit other than his own. To sacrifice for other people, it was anathema! And yet this man did so, with relish, with a kind of selfish pleasure that Jareth could not understand at all. It was as if cruelty could be kind, treachery loyal, deception sincere. It made no sense! And yet it was beautiful, in its own strange fashion.
So he watched the jester, this Chicot, through to the end of those first games. He was tempted, many times, to enter the game himself, to challenge this fascinating player on his own field. But always he held back. Not from fear, but from curiosity. From a desire to learn. Jareth was arrogant, among the most arrogant of all fae, but he had learned a long time ago that one must learn to survive, and had taken that lesson firmly to heart. So he watched. He absorbed. And he learned, though he did not understand. That came later, that understanding. Much later. And it was another mortal who showed him how.
There were times when he thought that mortals, for all their weakness and foolishness, might be the wiser race. But he would never, ever say so aloud.
