A/N:This is a venture into writing an overall darker Labyrinth fic - something I've only lightly touched on in Beyond the Mirror. I can't guarantee a happy ending as you normally see it.
Though I'll never write a physically violent Jareth, this is definitely the Goblin King written at his/my very worst. Some scenes will make you uncomfortable. There will be no dub-con/non-con, but there may be unsettling moments from chapter one onwards that may be triggering for you if you're uncomfortable reading these themes. The balance of power here will be heavily skewed in Jareth's favour. He is manipulative and he is cunning, and he's only out for his own fucked-up gain.
If you want to read about the Goblin King as more of a charming rogue/romantic hero, then I highly suggest backing out of this story before it begins and trying one of my others. If you're still with me, I hope you enjoy the ride.
'Give me the child,' she implores, pale green eyes wide, her girlish expression one of measured wonder. The girl has practised that faraway yet meaningful stare before, both in her mirror and out in the open like this as she lets herself fall into fantasy. She has recited these same words time and time again, with enough passion and delicious innocence to draw his attention, but she still has yet to find the right words, yet to find the courage to call upon him for real. She is a dreamer, full of life and imagination and therefore power, and Jareth wants it for his own. He watches her, and mourns that the womanly shape of her gown is spoiled by commonplace jeans and sneakers, and the adolescent hips and breasts beneath it, but both her body and her spirit hold promise, or so he believes.
One day, with the sheer amount of drive and determination she holds within, she just might become a woman to be reckoned with – the powerful heroine she has always dreamed of being, just like the ones she reads about in all her stories.
The Goblin King hopes to stake his claim on her long before that would-be woman has the sense to stop him.
Some other obligation draws her from her play that day, and Jareth hangs back as the girl goes running home in the rain, watching her from afar as she succumbs to some teenage tantrum or other. Her reasons for flinging herself onto her bed to mope do not interest him, but the fact that she has been left alone to fend for herself and her infant brother does. Every time she is forced into caring for the child, her patience grows a little thinner, and she takes another step towards begging him to steal her brother away. Jareth has waited a long time for this moment, his level of patience considerably higher than her own but not quite infinite, and he is ready to collect on all his endless weeks of waiting. Only then, when she gives him the right opportunity, can he take what he needs from her.
He knows, deep down within his bones and in the place his cold heart beats, that today will be his day.
She's shrieking, now, her ire directed more at the parents who have abandoned her than the babe she holds, but she doesn't yet know that. The babe is the one who shatters her peace and pulls her away from her room and all its treasures, and she tells herself she wants it gone for good. With what seems like all her strength, she launches herself into a dramatic plea, performing once more for her audience of none as she demands that the Goblin King take her brother, but she has read the book often enough to know that these words are not the ones which hold power. The babe continues to cry, and though she resigns herself to tucking him back into his crib, something in her heart twists, and Jareth knows she is his. The real words – the right words – come after, almost as an afterthought, when she finally lets herself utter them.
"I wish the goblins would come and take you away, right now."
She leaves the child alone, but only a moment later she's back, and full of regrets. It's too late; the child and the moment is gone, and the next is his. He sweeps into the room in a show of otherworldly power, borne on pale and resplendent wings out of the thunder and fury of the storm. There's fear in her eyes as he takes his human form, but there's recognition there as well. Though they have never met before, at least to her knowledge, she knows what he is. She knows what she has done.
"You're him, aren't you? You're the Goblin King," she says, and he is gratified to hear real wonder in her voice at last. She recognises his power.
Strong as she is, it does not take her long to abandon pride to beg for her brother's return, but that's not how these sorts of deals are done. The real dickering only begins when he conjures a crystal and holds it up for her inspection. He tells her truthfully that he has brought a gift for her – one that is as rare and special as she herself is. She already has the self-awareness to understand she is a little different to her schoolmates – the realisation that she will never quite be ordinary. It also helps that she is of an age where its unlikely a boy has wanted her enough to truly tell her this – to make her feel exceptional and desirable, and yes, even loved. She wants all of these things, as any girl her age does, to feel them and hear them, and to know that her differences are something to be embraced, rather than ashamed of. She wants all the romance and excitement as promised to her by her storybooks, and more.
Even more than that, she wants the dreams he holds in the palm of his hand – the chance to live out all of the adventures and fairytale fantasies that fill her sleep.
"Do you want it?" he asks her, and just for just a moment, in spite of her reluctance, she admits in her heart that she does.
Though she does not speak this secret wish aloud, that one fatal moment of truth is enough for him to have her.
The dream is hers now as it flows from the crystal and into her sweetly innocent head, filling her thoughts and numbing her senses to all that exists outside it. She belongs only to the fantasy, and to him as he steps forward to stop her limp body from falling. Her slight weight is satisfying in his arms as he carries her over to the bed that belongs to neither of them, but will serve their purposes well enough for just one night. Already lost to her fantasy, the girl does little more than mewl and rub her face against the pillows, suspecting nothing.
The babe she thought to be lost has been carefully hidden all this time, secreted away with magic while he bargained with the girl, but now the Goblin King returns it to its crib with a sneer of distaste. With the wriggling, snot-encrusted thing safely deposited, he dusts off his hands and returns to the girl. She, at least, is somewhat lovely in slumber, a hint of elegance to her placid features and not a hint of drool around her parted lips. Jareth stands over her sleeping form and smiles as he doffs his cloak and loosens his collar. The mattress is too soft for his liking as he settles himself beside her and reaches down for his belt.
The leather drawstring pouch he draws into his hand is old and well-used, but the fine golden dust he pours from it is new, acquired specially from his herbalist earlier that day in readiness for this moment. It has been many months since last Jareth has had the need for such a delightfully wicked substance. He welcomes the powder's heavy, almost silken texture between his fingertips as he gathers up just a pinch, and sprinkles it over the girl's closed eyes, where it catches and sparkles on her dark lashes before being absorbed.
"Dream, love," he tells her, and breathes in her soft, despairing whimper. "But not alone."
He licks the remnants of the golden dust from his fingers as he reclines beside her, positioned so that he may keep an eye on both his sleeping charge, and the glowing crystal he summons into his palm. Within its glassy depths, he can see all.
Her journey begins as expected. She's on a mission to save her baby brother from his clutches, alone and confused in a strange new world, and so her mind conjures up a playmate. The hobgoblin is gruff and cowardly, yet ultimately soft-hearted – and here Jareth scoffs at the thought of actually having one so useless in his employ – and he is the first of an array of strange characters who will aid and hinder the girl in equal measure. Some of them accompany her on her path through a world of magic and make-believe, stumbling their way towards what she imagines to be his castle.
It's all quite innocent, really, and so Jareth entertains himself from time to time by reaching out to stir things up. When he slips into her dream, the world she weaves around herself takes on a darker shade. She sees him as her antagonist, the villain to her heroine, and of course she is right. Jareth humours her with a little harmless intimidation and a taunt or two, before drawing back to watch her progress from the shadows.
More than once, the girl's brother stirs and breaks the silence of the darkened bedroom with his squalling. More than once, Jareth is forced to put his fun on hold in order to quiet it. The child, perhaps predictably, shies from his touch and lullabies of old, and cries all the harder for its mother. His patience tested, Jareth considers making a present of the boy – there are fair folk in positions of power who would repay him handsomely for a healthy human babe – but he decides against the idea. It will hinder his future plans when the girl is inevitably blamed for her brother's disappearance, and so he drugs the boy instead, trading a few more grains of the precious powder for blissful silence. With the brother finally taken care of, Jareth is free once more to play with the sister.
Clearly, despite her fear of him, she finds him comely. The Goblin King stifles his laughter as he watches the girl's mind hard at work, painting him as some dark suitor who seeks the favour of a naïve mortal girl more than he craves breath. They are in a glittering ballroom, and she is dressed not like a fairy tale princess now, but a queen, and he is her king, inviting her to dance with him. He goes along with the act for a time, soothing the girl's worries with a gentle song of devotion rather than seduction as he holds her, trembling and rigid with tension, in his arms. She's quite comely herself in her imagined regalia, all doe-eyed innocence and heaving breasts as she tries and fails to keep up with the proceedings. All the while, she's thinking things she hardly dares dream, reacting to his every chaste touch as if it is a caress. She pleads with him to rob her of her virtue even as she baulks at the idea, but Jareth pulls back from her before the poor young thing can get herself any more flustered.
As it is, she's moaning to herself as she dreams, and a light sheen of sweat has broken out on her brow. Highly amused now, Jareth finds his handkerchief and reaches out to mop it away. "Calm yourself, precious thing. Anyone would think you'd never even laid eyes on a man." She's still far too young to have experienced any more than a kiss and perhaps a little clumsy teenage fumbling, but Jareth thinks it might be entertaining to peer in on her when she is older and that is no longer the case.
She settles back into a more restful slumber soon after he has given her comfort, her befuddled mind taking advantage of his absence to push aside those more troubling thoughts. It's only right that the heroine not be swayed on her quest, and so she breaks free of the ballroom and his thrall to forge on. In no time at all, she has stormed the gates of his castle and made her demands for her precious brother to be returned.
Jareth goes to her with a smile, humouring both the girl and himself this time as he makes one final plea for her to change her mind. He is dressed all in white, clothed to entice as he begs her to submit to him. In her borrowed bed, the girl twists and sighs at the appeal, but her dream-self remains true. Once again, she rises above temptation to see through his false promises, and she declares herself the victor. She has fought long and hard to get to where she now stands, and even in the rather simplistic context of her dream, Jareth can't help but admire her tenacity. He allows himself to crumble at her feet, and finally leaves her as she celebrates her victory with the new friends she has made. In her mind, she has played his game and won.
It's almost adorable, how sweet and pure she remains, not yet jaded by the many trials she will face on her way to adulthood, when so many her age are already lost to hormones and cynicism. She truly is a precious addition to his collection – one to coddle and make much of even as he slowly brings about her destruction. All of his dreamers lose their way in the end, but for now this girl sleeps on – a gentle and unsuspecting slumber with not a care in her head, and no fear of what horrors may await her.
His task almost complete, Jareth slides off the bed with a grin. He whispers a thank you to the sleeping girl, and then bends to kiss her forehead. His lips purse against her soft, warm skin, and when they pull back, they carry with them the last traces of her dream. The Goblin King reaches into his under tunic to retrieve a small vial, spitting into it before the girl's inner thoughts can curdle on his tongue. He replaces the stopper and raises up the vial so he can admire the unfurling magic within. This dream is a dark, midnight blue, and it shimmers quite enticingly when turned this way and that in the moonlight. It's pretty enough, especially for a first offering, but Jareth intends to have pulled a veritable rainbow from the girl by the time he's through with her. He swipes at his lips, still dripping with her essence, and grins as he watches the last glittering specks of the dream die on the back of his glove. He already has what he needs.
A simple clap of his hands has a goblin minion at his side, waiting to do his bidding. Jareth tosses the vial to it for later use. "This one's mind is strong," he says. "I think I'm going to keep her."
When Sarah wakes, she's sprawled across the bed her father and stepmother share, the one that no doubt her new stepbrother was made in, and her lips twist in disgust. Her forehead is hot and itchy, and she rubs at it with the heel of her hand. She didn't even think it was possible to sleep so deeply with the way her baby brother carries on. Toby seems to have quietened down now – at least one small mystery solved – but try as she might, she just can't recall lying down to rest in the first place. In fact, she can't remember much of the night as a whole, other than being pissed off at Dad and Irene, and even more pissed off at Toby. This isn't exactly his fault, but being cried at by a ten-month-old hasn't really helped her mood, especially when her stepmother insists on handing off her stuffed animals to him.
She can vaguely remember coming in here to get Lancelot back, but that's where her memories suddenly end. How could she have just dropped off to sleep when she was so angry, and why would she pick her stepmother's bed, of all places to do it? She casts a wary eye about the room, and she something cold and slimy shifts and slides in her gut, making her shudder, but there's no one around to see it. Her confusion and her embarrassment are at least her own, or so it would seem.
Even as groggy and out of sorts as she feels, she can't help but be aware that every last hair at the nape of her neck is standing on end, her body screaming out with some secret awareness that has yet to reach her mind. The room may be empty, that sense tells her, but it has not always been this way. She has been … what? Guarded? No, the strange shadow she senses holds no protective instinct towards her, save that which a predator might feel in standing guard over a kill. Something has been with her that night, perhaps remains with her still, and the certainty with which she knows it forces a small sob from her throat. If she had woken with her shirt torn open, and her jeans wrenched down around her thighs, she knows she could not have felt more violated. Worst of all, she doesn't know or understand why.
Her suspicions over what has happened to her are still grey and ill-formed, crude shapes hidden in mist, and she staggers over to her stepbrother's crib with only a vague memory of sliding off the bed. Toby is sleepy but stirring now, one tiny fist clenched as if in protest of the new cold that fills the room. Sarah hurries over to close the French doors that she doesn't remember opening. She sees the ghost of her own face reflected in the glass, pale and pinched, as well as a splash of white upon a nearby tree branch: what she quickly realises is an owl. The silent, unblinking way in which it studies her makes her even more eager to draw across the long curtains.
Safely tucked away from the dark world outside the glass, she walks back over to the crib, where Toby is starting to kick and fuss. Sarah lifts him in her arms, finding him blessedly dry and oh, so warm.
"Hey, it's okay," she murmurs, more to herself than to the baby she bounces on her hip. "Don't cry, Tobes. Everything's going to be okay."
Having someone to hold, something to protect besides herself brings a wary smile to her face. School has been pretty tough lately, and she's probably more worn out than she realises. Scary though waking up has been, the unexpected nap does seem to have done her a little good. Now that the initial brain-fuzz has worn off, she feels a little less cranky at the world and everyone in it, Toby included. The kid is still tiny, too small to stay mad at, and he is kind of cute when he wants to be. Maybe he had a bad dream that night, too – one that seemed far too real. He just needs something to love, and hey, she has far too many stuffed animals as it is. Giving up one little bear – maybe not Lancelot, but a bear – to give him some comfort won't be so bad after all. The more she rocks him, and herself, the more ridiculous her earlier worries start to seem. Shake it off, Sarah. Just shake it off.
"You're turning into a big boy now, and big boys don't cry," she tells him. "That's it, smile for your big sis. S'gonna take more than a bit of cold air and a grumpy old owl to keep you down, huh? That's right. Everything's fine. Everything's going to be fine."
Jareth, who needs no window to look in on the girl, simply smiles.