Unfair Outcomes
By: Trixie09
Disclaimer: I do not own any characters from the Labyrinth
"I wish..."
Jareth shot up from his lounging position upon his throne. Could it be? A summons? From her? Immediately he shushed the raucous group of goblins gallivanting about his throne room, closing his eyes and putting his fingers to his temples to concentrate on the whispered words.
"I wish..."
His lips curled up into a gleeful grin. Yes! Yes, it is! A summons from her!
He jumped to his feet, shoving the nearest goblin aside with his foot. His Sarah, Champion of the Labyrinth, the only person for whom he had offered his Fey heart; the only person whom had ever rejected his advances, had come crawling back once more to get rid of her problems. Tut tut, little Sarah, he thought. Though he imagined she wasn't so little now.
"I wish the Goblin King would take my child away, right now," came the whispered words brought on a quiet spring zypher.
A slow laugh poured from his lips cresendoing slowly into a full out cackle. All around him the goblins laughed too, copying their king.
"Why Kingy laughin'?" one asked.
The Goblin King picked him up and danced him around before tossing him into a pile of rags, "Prepare a feast!"
"A feast! A feast!" Came the rallying cry of the goblin hoard.
"Yes! A feast! With a great beast!" Jareth declared as he jumped up on the throne room window ledge, "for tonight we celebrate the receipt of a child from the Champion!"
Another chuckle escaped him as the goblins scrambled around, dancing in delight at the prospect of a new wish-away, the Champion's wish-away; and a feast, with a great beast. The noise was deafening, but the Goblin King looked upon the rabblerousers fondly before falling out the window and transforming into a great, white, barn owl of the Aboveground.
He traversed the portal with ease, honing in on the call, experiencing a moment of discontent when he realized the call did not originate from the home of Sarah's youth. Of course she is older now, grown in the mortal world. The Goblin King cut off the train of thought as it led to unplesant mental pictures of Sarah cavorting with another male.
Slowly, he arched towards the cozy white Victorian house with blue trim and shutters, nestled on a tree lined street in the territory of Connecticut. The window where the call eminated from was bathed in magic, and left open in what he secretly imagined was a gesture of invitation. A spring storm was brewing this eve. He grinned inwardly. Oh what fun!
Always one for showmanship he timed his arrival through the window with a crack of thunder, transforming in a puff of glitter and smoke. He didn't bother with the goblin armor this time. He wasn't here to be fearsome, and he highly doubted Sarah would cower before him. Instead he wore a crimson, long sleeve, flowing shirt made of the finest silk and hand-sewn by the sprites of Everless. The shirt was tucked into black, well worn, dragon's scale breeches. And these, of course, were tucked into leather boots, crafted by the leather working troll encampments of the Rouse Mountains. He had his typical gloves, again made by Rouse trolls, and his Goblin medallion which glinted against his chest where his shirt fell open. His hair crackled with electricity at his glee and from the charge in the air, causing it to float etherely around his face. He cut an imposing picture and if he were being honest with himself, which he wasn't, he secretly wanted Sarah's mouth to water at the fine specimen she had rejected a decade ago. But now was the time to gloat! Now he would be the victor!
Briefly he took a cursory glance of the room. It was a typical nursery, lit only by a single glowing lamp in the corner. He skipped the rest of the details, his gaze immediately drawn to the lone figure in the room. Sarah! His heart skipped a beat.
She stood with her back facing him, hands gripping the side of a child's crib. She wore mortal denim pants that encased her derierre nicely, and a lavender sweater. Her inky black hair reached the middle of her back. Though disgruntled at not receiving a shocked reaction from her; he allowed himself to drink in her form. My, my, she looks delicious from behind, he thought. Carefully he schooled his features into one of cruel indifference.
"Well, well, well. If it isn't little Sarah Williams, come to give away a child. I wonder what your rationale is this time. Surely you are too old for fairy tales and wicked step mothers," he taunted.
He watched her shoulders flinch at his acidic words, but still she did not turn to face him.
Quietly her words of welcome drifted to him, "Hello, Goblin King."
Curious. The Sarah he remembered was not one to back down from a verbal assault.
"Come, come, Sarah. We have too much history to be so formal. Please, do call me Jareth," he drawled seductively.
"Alright. Jareth," she spoke quietly, hesitating over his name. A pregnant pause hung between them and he was content to let it stretch into an uncomfortable silence.
"May I ask you a question, Jareth?" she queried softly, her hand trailing back and forth on the crib railing. If it had been anyone else but Sarah he would have said she was nervous.
"I do believe you just asked one," he quipped, his lips turning up at the corners. Oh what fun this is!
"Please," she rasped, voice breaking over the word.
This is unexpected, he thought, brushing aside the brief spark of concern at her odd demeanor. While he had not expected Sarah to have the same childish temperament of her youth, he had expected a slightly haughty visage as she handed over her child. In all his imagined meetings with Champion Sarah, the somber atmosphere had not entered his day dreams. Curiouser and Curiouser.
"Come, come, Sarah. Quit your dilly dallying. Hand over the child," he demanded, annoyance creeping into his tone. This encounter was not going as planned; he had hoped to bask in her defeat; perhaps tease and taunt her into submission. But no, she did not rise to bait.
"Please," she beseeched once more, her voice barely louder than the flutter of butterfly wings, "what happens to the children you take?"
He opened his mouth, ready to be done with this game; but primitive Fae instinct staid his speech. Something was not right in this mortal abode. Something beyond the wish of a parent burdened with an unwanted child. For the first time since his arrival he really paused to take in the room. Light green walls, and dark wood floors covered with bright throw rugs gave the room a homey, lived in feel. The walls were broken up by a wooden, white, chair runner that matched several pieces of furniture in the room. A paper border lined the top of the walls, bearing great beasts whom looked much kinder than their wild counterparts. Jareth puzzled over the amount of plush toys and warm flashes of color and spirit: the sunshine yellow curtains, endless assortments of books and toys, framed photos. Clearly this was not the room of a babe for whom parents held no love. His eyes drifted again to where Sarah stood, stiffly facing the crib. A crib whose occupant had yet to make a peep, despite the raging spring storm and intruder's entrance.
Slowly out of place sounds perforated his mind, and the final pieces of the puzzle locked into place. Besides the normal tic toc of the clock, the bump of the mortal home cooling unit, and the spring storm drifting in through the window, setting the curtains aflutter; there were sounds that did not belong. Beeps; whooshes and whirs; a slight buzzing accompanied by a faint antiseptic smell. All signs of modern mortal medicine. He closed his eyes, calling forth his second sight; the sight of auras; of souls. When he opened his eyes, the atmosphere was awash in color. The whole room was encased in the warm, yellow, glow of familial love and contentment. But the yellow faded and twisted garishly as he traced the streams of color to the crib, and to Sarah. Only his courtly upbringing kept him from gasping aloud at the ghastly transformation. The crib was surrounded by a mass of brackish looking color interlaced with the rotted greens and browns of painful soul death. Someone was dying, a little someone from the looks of it; a little someone on the short end of borrowed time. Sarah, dear Sarah, while surrounded by darkness, did not have the death aura; rather hers was the color of utter despair, mixed with slight rays of hope whose tendrils called out to his Goblin King presence. Taking a breath to center himself, he closed his eyes, locking up the soul view.
"Sarah," he asked quietly, all traces of his former superiority gone, "Sarah...tell me of the situation."
"Just please...please...Jareth...please.. " Sarah implored, her posture stiffening as she clung to the crib railing, her voice thick with emotion, "tell me what happens to the children you take."
He crossed the floor, placing a gloved hand upon her shoulder, noticing, now that he was near, how bony her shoulder felt beneath her lavender sweater. She, herself, might not be dying but her soul and spirit were wasting away. Oh Sarah, his own soul cried. Jareth tried to catch a glimpse of the child, her child, but she whirled around to face him, blocking the view.
Jareth was aghast by her appearance. His Sarah, Champion of the Labyrinth, defender of the small, the Sarah that had befriended the friendless and tamed the giant rock caller, did not look like a proud warrior, but rather wore the visage of a knight that knew she could not defeat the dragon. Though her eyes were the bright, vibrant green he remembered; the dark circles she wore under them told the tale of many a sleepless night. Her face and porcelain skin, still so beautiful it made him weep inside, was pinched and fatigued. And suddenly he knew that she was not wishing away a child, her child, in the same manner as young Tobias. No, this wish was the cry of a desperate mother.
"No! Just tell me!"
"Most," he started immediately, placing his hands upon her fore arms and rubbing them up and down in an effort to calm her, "those not too sick or broken, I adopt out to deserving families that are not blessed with children of their own," he answered, trying to placate her so that he might learn of the situation.
"And the others?" she clipped out, casting her gaze over his shoulder, "the sick ones? Do you turn them into goblins?"
"Sarah? What has happened?" he whispered instead of answering.
"And the others?" she persisted through clenched teeth.
"Only those too sick or too broken to be healed by Fae magic or the magical atmosphere of the Underground. Goblins are hale and hearty creatures, able to withstand transformation," he explained quietly.
When she didn't say anything, merely stared blankly off in the distance he tried again, brushing a strand of dark hair out of her face, tenderly tucking it behind her ear.
"Dear heart," he said caringly, drawing her sad, green eyes, full of sorrow to his own, "why do you wish your child away?"
"Oh Jareth!" she lamented, a harsh sob stealing from her throat as she covered her face with shaking hands. Instinctively he pulled her close, tucking her head beneath his chin. The primitive Fae in him cried out to protect his mate (though she was not) from the world, from the force causing such gut wrenching hurt. Gently he stroked her hair, murmuring sounds of comfort as her body trembled with repressed sobs.
Minutes ticked by and Jareth swayed with her in place, humming a soothing tune. Her pain was tangible and an empathetic ache settled deep within his soul. Delicately, yet firmly he held her, hoping her soul could find solace in his being. He would have stayed this way forever, shielding her from reality, but they were interrupted by a weak, high-pitched, whine.
Sighing, Sarah drew away from him, more composed than before. "I'm sure you want answers," she spoke, moving towards the crib, "and if you'll help me move her, I'll explain."
Jareth moved to peer over the side of the crib, and this time he did gasp. He barely registered the child amidst all the medical equipment and wires. Sarah, somehow managed to extract the child gracefully, before turning to give him a weak smile.
"Let's have a seat," she said, gesturing tiredly towards the rocking glider chair built for two. Under her direction he helped transport some sort of breathing apparatus over to the glider. He both loathed and admired modern mortal medicinal techniques; something the Underground world did not utilize. They had the ability to save lives but seemed cold and impersonal. Sarah had unhooked a couple of the mechanical devices, seemly unphased even as he jumped when one of the machines emitted a high pitched alarm, which she calmly turned off. He realized Sarah had performed this task many a time before; a realization that hurt his heart. Gently he made certain Sarah was settled before taking a seat beside her, draping his arm across the back of her shoulders.
His gaze drifted down to the infant. She was a beautiful child, but then again he wasn't surprised as he supposed any child of Sarah's would be beautiful. A bright pink night dress with little ruffles at the cuffs and hem covered the girl. An amused grin lit upon his face as he realized the night gown was decorated with tiny little faeries. He hoped these ones did not bite. Carefully he reached out and twined one of the girl-child's dark curls around his gloved finger. Purusing her form once more, he saw that someone, Sarah he guessed by glancing at her own bare feet, had placed some sort of pink polish on her nails. It was clear to him that the child was well loved and cared for; and, if one overlooked the medical equipment there would appear to be nothing wrong with the sleeping child. But Jareth had been around enough broken children to spot the difference. The babe was so unnaturally still; her complexion waxy and pale with the pallor of death. Her breathing was stilted and rattled with each intake and exhale, even as the tubes stuck in her nose delivered life breathing energy. Jareth's heart physically hurt at sight of the sick child. The Fae loved children, any children, and many were jealous that Jareth was in a position to interact with them so often. Sarah cleared her throat, drawing his attention as she slowly started her tale.
Lightly he stroked the length of the infant's foot with his gloved finger, noting the lack of reflexive movement. He listened with abject horror to Sarah at the disease she described; as mechanical as the wind up toys of which his goblins were so fond. Deafness. Blindness. Paralysis. Sarah spoke of jeans and jeanetics, kromosomes and gangliosides; a disease called tae-sacks; words unfamiliar and foreign to his tongue and being. She described some sort of failed treatment involving cord blood; something about stems and cells, procedures that sounded more like backwoods hedge-witch treatments than modern mortal medicine. This sickness was horrible and he was again amazed by the strength and endurance of Sarah's spirit, the same as he was ten years prior. A mother should never have to watch her child die.
"They can test for the disease, you know, prenatally," she told him, drawing the story to a close, "both parents have to be carriers of the gene for a child to be born with Tay-Sach's. But it's not a common test if you don't have certain familial triggers. So the doctors didn't check. She developed normally at first, and then she started missing the important milestones that kids have: sitting up, rolling over. And then it was like she regressed, she lost her muscle definition, her motor skills diminished. We had her in to every doctor we could think of before we finally had an answer. By that time she'd lost her hearing and her sight, and well," Sarah shrugged, casting him a desolate look, "there's nothing to be done for the disease."
They fell silent for a few moments, Jareth gently stroking Sarah's shoulder. "They sent her home to die, Jareth," she croaked out looking away. He did not miss the bright sheen of tears in her eyes, "they sent my baby home to die!"
The words echoed hollowly in the room.
"And your mate, Sarah?" Jareth couldn't help but ask after a few moments, drawing her attention back to him. He had noticed a male mortal in several of the nursery pictures.
"Where is he? Does he know...." About me? About us and your adventure? That you want me to take your child? he finished silently.
Sarah smiled bitterly, swiping away a tear that had fallen upon her daughter's brow, "My husband? Andrew?" her gaze drifted to a picture on the wall. Jareth followed the action, noting the handsome, dark-haired, male in the picture. The family in the photo was happy and glowing. The mate, this Andrew, had his arm wrapped around Sarah, who nestled in her arms a tiny little bundle swaddled in pink. They were seated on a couch, the banner above them welcoming home the new family addition.
"My husband he....he left. I haven't seen or spoken to him in a month," she chuckled without humor.
"You know," Sarah said, setting the glider to rocking again, "we were so frantic to get the correct diagnosis. We thought if we had an answer to whatever was sucking the life out of our baby girl we could fix it."
Another tear slipped down her cheek and Jareth gently wiped it away even as anger coiled in his stomach. What a terrible mate! To leave when he is needed most! To abandon his family! What a spineless coward! Well Jareth certainly wouldn't leave her. Not now. Not ever.
"We just....he just... Andrew couldn't handle it. Knowing she was going to die, you know? He once said that he wished we didn't have the diagnosis because at least then we'd have hope, even if she died," Sarah explained, pausing to draw in a ragged breath before exploding, "it's just...it's so fast! Many families get two to five years....we've only had her for eight months!" she swallowed thickly, taking a few moments to compose herself. Finally she cast a hope filled gaze to him, "that's why...that's why I thought to call you," she whispered.
Jareth's heart sank at her words, a knot forming in his stomach at his growing suspicion. Suspicion that he would not, could not help her, despite both of their desperate wishes.
Rather than address his growing unease at the moment, he removed his gloves, setting them aside before holding out his hands. "May I?" he inquired, gesturing that Sarah should pass him the child. Sarah hesitated, and Jareth could tell it was out of anxiety that he would whisk the child away.
"Sarah," he said soothingly, trying to assuage her fears, "I am not going to take her away just yet," if I even can, "I merely want to assess her. My position requires I have some reparative powers."
At the hope alighting her face he cautioned, "they are but basic skills, dear heart. I am no trade healer."
Her gaze searched his seeking some sort of answer and after a moments hesitation she gently settled the child within his arms. For a brief moment the child opened her eyes and he saw a shock of green, before eyelids heavy with dark lashes closed over the unseeing orbs.
He could feel the anxiety rolling off of Sarah as he called for his healing magic. Gently he placed his hand upon the child's head, closing his eyes. He reached deep inside his being, willing the magic to flow through the little girl's veins. Within seconds he knew there was nothing to be done for the tiny soul, here or in the Underground.
Oh little one, he cried inside, such a short amount of time!
Swallowing around the lump in his throat, not wanting to confirm what they both knew as inevitable, he asked, "What is her name?"
"Liliana. Liliana Sofia Madison. Lily for short," Sarah told him fondly, caressing her daughter's forehead.
A fitting name, he thought silently. Slowly he stood, cradling little Lily and her breathing machine, as he moved to study the pictures upon the wall, cowardly not wanting to look upon Sarah's face as he rendered his verdict.
Tense moments, full of suspense passed before Sarah demanded, "Well? Can you do anything?"
Taking a deep breath, he turned to face his precious Champion, squaring his shoulders as if preparing for battle, "Anything I can do will be palliative, Sarah."
He swallowed heavily, meeting her stormy gaze, "I can not heal her. Her very being was created with this disease. The fabric that binds her soul is diseased. I can not change what IS and always has been. But I can take away her pain, so that her last moments are not so traumatic," he told her, his voice thick with unshed tears. Already he had passed his thumb over little Liliana's forehead, imparting magic meant to ease the pain. He could tell it worked when the painful aura colors dulled.
"Her last moments?!" Sarah gasped, eyes widening as she jumped to her feet, fretfully pulling at the collar of her sweater.
"It's that soon. She's die-" Sarah choked, "leaving so quickly?"
"Yes," he replied softly, keeping his gaze firmly affixed to her own, "but then you knew that, didn't you, Sarah?" he chided gently, "or else you would not have called me."
Visibly shaken Sarah wrung her hands together, "But you can take her, can't you? That's what the Goblin King does, right? You can take her, and if she's that sick and the magic in the atmosphere doesn't heal her, you can turn her into a goblin. Right? Right?!" her voice raising in both pitch and volume; as if through sheer force of will and determination she could fix her child; keep the inevitable from happening.
He glanced down at the sleeping child in regret. "Even if she could survive the trip," he saw her flinch and immediately softened his tone, "I can not take her, Sarah," he told her, his heart breaking; wondering how he could impart to her knowledge of the rules of magic; rules that took him centuries to learn.
"Truly Sarah, I can not take the wanted; the cherished and valued; the loved," and I can not take from those whom I have no power over.
"You're just making excuses!" Sarah spat, eyes blazing. "You took Toby, and I didn't truly want him gone," she argued, a stubborn set to her jaw as she crossed her arms.
Frustrated, Jareth rubbed the bridge of his nose, knowing she was angry at the situation rather than him. "And if you had not won, or if you had not learned the true, priceless value of your brother in the Labyrinth it would have been my right to keep him. I exist to take the unwanted, to teach lessons of love and value," he explained patiently.
In seconds she had crossed the room, her hands clutching at his shirt in desperation. "Please, please, Jareth! Please! Save her!" Sarah pleaded. Her eyes took on a bright fervor, "I'll love you! I'll fear you! I'll do as you say! Please just save her!"
His heart twisted and broke all at the same time as he pulled her close with his free arm, cradling the dying child between them, "I am sorry Sarah...I can not. I wish with all my being that I could heal her, that I could take her. That I could spirit her away to the Underground to live in health and happiness. But," he whispered, his lips brushing her forehead, "I have no power over you."
At her pained gasp he drew back slightly and gently reached out, cupping her cheek; his eyes begging for her understanding, for her forgiveness.
After a moment he said, "And truly, I can only take the unwanted. And Liliana is anything but unwanted."
"No," Sarah uttered in resigned understanding, tears rolling freely down her cheeks, "no I cherish her. I love her so much it hurts," she told him, taking Liliana back into her arms, bending to impart a kiss upon her daughter's brow.
I know the feeling, he thought silently, gazing upon his Champion.
"No one can doubt your love, Sarah," he reassured her aloud.
A sob escaped her as she clutched her daughter close, rocking the girl, "Do you think she knows I love her? Does she know I'm here?"
"Oh Sarah," he sighed in sympathy, "she knows. A mother's love is a tangible force," Sarah started to cry in earnest, leaning against him for support, "she knows, she knows, she knows," he murmured into her hair, rocking her back and forth.
During their exchange the babe had begun taking shallower and shallower breaths. Sarah had explained earlier how Lily had bronko pneumonia; a common occurrence with tay-sacks children. She had described how hospice had sent Liliana home with palliative antibiotics and other care instructions because at this point it was a choice of dying in the hospital or at home. Again Jareth did not understand many of the words Sarah used, but he knew of pneumonia and figured poor Lily was literally drowning from the inside.
Liliana gasped a few times as Sarah rocked her child, murmuring her mantra of "No, please" over and over. Jareth held them both silently, knowing words could not express or ease the passing of a child. With a final gasp, Liliana seemed to sigh and drift away. Jareth felt the little soul pass peacefully over to the other side. The knowledge comforted him and he hoped someday it would comfort Sarah too.
Sarah screamed and moaned her despair, clinging both to Jareth and her silent child. The hair rose on Jareth's arms and neck as he listened to her wails of mourning. When her knees buckled Jareth caught her around the waist and slowly lowered them to the ground. She howled out her pain, tears staining his shirt and chest.
Time passed unceasingly until finally Sarah's weeping waned into stuttering hiccups.
Jareth held her, finding his own vision obstructed by tears that escaped down his cheeks. Soothingly he stroked her hair as her shuddering gasps filled the room.
"It's not fair," Sarah choked out, despair warping her being and twisting her soul.
"No," he murmured into her temple, imparting a light kiss, "it isn't fair."
A/N: So..thoughts, comments, suggestions?