When she first found the egg, Sarah wasn't quite sure what to make of it. It was huge-about the size of her head, really-and a shimmering silver that wouldn't help it blend into foliage at all. She thought it was some sort of prank at first, but when it didn't move for three days, she finally brought it in. Besides, who was going to climb up to her fourth-floor balcony just to play a weird prank?
And then it hatched, and Sarah knew she was really in over her head. It was a tangle of feathers and claws and luminous silver eyes, and it rarely sat still enough for her to get a good, hard look at it. The only time it wasn't moving was when it was sleeping, and even then it hid itself away. It was like having the world's most temperamental cat, and Sarah, who had grown up with dogs, was not quite sure what to make of it. In the end, Hoggle, who wasn't sure what to make of it either, suggested she take it to Jareth. Which was all well and good for the dwarf to suggest, but another thing entirely for Sarah to actually do.
But there Sarah stood, a good thirteen years after she last saw the labyrinth, in front of the full length mirror she'd used to communicate with her friends.
"Okay, come on, Sarah," she said to herself, gripping her bundle of blanket and feathers tighter to her chest. It had tried-and succeeded in-escaping her once before, and Sarah didn't want to chase it around her apartment all over again. "Let's go."
She stepped forward and walked through the mirror, as easy as that. Why wouldn't it be?
Sarah found herself right in the middle of what she assumed was the throne room, where she'd said goodbye to her friends in her quest for Toby. Nobody else was there, which felt strange because there were chicken feathers scattered on the floor, and a keg spilling ale over against the far wall. It seemed as if it had been cleared out in a hurry.
"Neither hide nor hair of yours is seen in my kingdom for thirteen mortal years, and you bring me this without even a greeting or apology. I am the Goblin King, Sarah; I've nothing to do with gryphons."
Sarah whirled around, which made the gryphon in her arm squeal. He looked the same as ever, and had the same need to make an entrance, which sort of made Sarah wonder if she should have changed out of her lounge pants and oversized sweatshirt.
"Oh, is that what it is?" She asked, happy to finally put a name to the thing she'd been privately calling that-tiny-beast-who-eats-all-my-shampoo. He shot her a look that stated he was not amused by her casual ignorance. Jareth walked closer to her, and Sarah, determined to stand her ground in what felt comically like a Texan standoff, narrowed her eyes at him.
...Only to have him ignore her entirely in favor of the bundle in her arms. He reached out to pull away a corner of the blanket, only to have his fingers snapped at for his troubles. It was then that he decided to look back at her, irritation clear on his face.
"I think it might be sick," she said by way of apology. Not that it acted much different with her.
"Walk with me," he said, spinning on a booted heel and retreating from the room. Sarah shrugged, figured that if he was going to drop her into the Bog, he would have done it by now, and jogged after him. And besides, he had her gryphon.
"My, my, Sarah, what have you been feeding this poor creature?"
She frowned at his tone, although he couldn't see her face.
"Well, it has a beak," she started.
"Duly noted," he said dryly.
"What I meant by that is that since it has a beak, I thought that it might eat things that birds eat. So, to answer your question, fruits and nuts and things like that. Bird stuff."
The gryphon in his arms squawked as if in confirmation, and Sarah felt a strange sort of pride in imagining that it was sticking up for her. Not that she really believed that's what it was doing, of course.
"Bird stuff," he scoffed, using his free hand to summon a crystal. Sarah eyed it warily, remembering the tricks he could pull with it. How couldn't she?
"Have you not noticed that it has claws, dear Sarah? It has the head of a bird, but not, I think, the stomach of one."
And to Sarah's credit, she only blanched a little when the crystal shifted into a piece of raw, bloody meat. The baby gryphon lunged at it and seemed to swallow it whole, cooing as it did.
"Well, now we've established that I'm not fit to care for magical creatures," she said, looking away as Jareth's gaze swiveled to her. He stopped in his tracks, which meant that she did, too; after all, she had no idea where she was in the castle, and she'd hate to get lost.
"If you are about to ask me to care for the fledgling, I would rethink it," he said cooly. The gryphon wiggled in the blanket, and he only narrowly missed a wing to the face. Sarah stifled a giggle, turning it into a snort at the last moment.
"But I'm not fit to care for it," she protested. Sure, she liked the gryphon well enough, but it needed more than her and her apartment. And if it chewed through one more cord, she was going to scream. "I'm not even sure it likes me all that much."
"Hmm," Jareth tilted his head to the side. "Is that your argument?" With a flick of his hand, he brought a door into existence-an act with Sarah thought was very, very unfair. "Wait here," he ordered before walking through the door and closing it behind him. Sarah counted one second, and then another, before a piercing scream echoed through the hallway.
Sarah wasn't sure which thought was scarier-that it was coming from the gryphon or Jareth-and without letting herself think too much on it, she threw the wooden door open. As if on cue, the gryphon closed its mouth, looking rather pleased with itself.
"As I thought," he said smoothly, dumping the gryphon into Sarah's already waiting arms. "Congratulations are in order. It's a girl."
Somewhere in there was humor, Sarah knew, but his words didn't quite match his tone.
"What?" Sarah asked. The gryphon cooed up at her and nipped her chin with its beak-hard enough that she felt it, but not enough to hurt.
"Despite any lackluster care you might have given it, the beast seems to have imprinted upon you."
"I can't care for a gryphon in Chicago!" She could only imagine it perching on the Bean in Millenium Park, or swooping through the spokes on the Centennial Wheel. In fact, just thinking about all the chaos that would cause made her feel just a little faint. She sat down on a plush chair that she didn't remember being behind her a few minutes before.
"Whoever said you should do that? No, no, the gryphon will have to be raised here, of course. The mortals in your world would terrorize the poor thing. You are invited to stay here, of course, for however long is necessary." There was a pinched quality to his voice that Sarah couldn't quite place. She decided to ignore it for the moment, thoughts of her gryphon harassing humans filling her head, no matter what Jareth thought might happen to it.
Sarah doubted very much that the gryphon wouldn't give as well as it got, but she didn't say that.
"But my work," she said lamely. "I have a review coming up; I can't just ask off to raise something that my boss doesn't know exists…"
Jareth's face twitched ever so slightly; if Sarah wasn't looking directly at him, she doubted she would have seen it in the first place. And as it was, she was pretty sure he was trying to suppress the urge to roll his eyes. Which struck her as a bit rude-it was a perfectly valid worry to her.
"Really. How easily you forget, Sarah. if I can move time forward, surely I can move it back for you; your coworkers and friends will never notice that you were gone for a spell."
It sounded reasonable-as reasonable as rewriting time could-but it was a little difficult to think the whole thing through when a gryphon was trying to climb on top of her head. Sarah lifted it up and put it down at her feet, where it happily chewed on the carved wooden legs of the chair.
Just like a puppy, she thought. And if she could ignore the claws, beak and wings, it might have actually been able to pass for a puppy. Almost.
"That's right," she finally said. "I'd almost forgotten." She bit her lower lip, a grim idea worming its way into her thoughts. "But if you can do that, how do I know you're not already doing that? Or that you won't just make me stay here? In fact," she continued, standing now, "you seemed really angry when I beat your labyrinth the last time I saw you."
And suddenly, Sarah realized that she might be really, royally screwed. Everything had been going so well, too, but he was tricky, and who was to say that he wasn't trying to lull her into a false sense of security?
Jareth reacted as if slapped, jerking his head back from her even though they still stood a few feet away.
"Angry, Sarah? Spare me your hysterics. If I were going to do something villainous to you, don't you think I would have already done it? Why on earth would I endeavor to make you hate me all over again just as you've deigned to return?"
"Oh," was all Sarah said as she realized her mistake. Her heartbeat felt like it stuttered in her chest, but that was more the shock of his pronouncement.
"Oh, indeed," he sniffed. "I believe I will leave you to your thoughts. Excuse me, if you will."
Sarah took one deep breath as she watched him leave the sitting room, and let it out as the door shut again. Just to make sure she wasn't dreaming, she pinched the inside of her wrist. It hurt, and she swore, but her focus wasn't concentrated on it at the moment.
"Stupid, stupid, stupid," she muttered under her breath. "How was I supposed to just guess-wait just a minute!" She called out, hoping he hadn't walked too far away. Knowing her luck, he'd disappeared to some far-flung corner of the castle. She swore again and glanced down at the gryphon. "Just as well you'll never learn how to talk," she told it.
Not wanting to lose any more time, Sarah dashed out the door and picked a direction at random. There weren't even any goblins to ask help from, not that she thought they were necessarily a particularly helpful lot in general. But anything would have been better than nothing, especially because the more she ran, the more she realized she wasn't used to running. A stitch formed in her side just after her sprint down her fourth random hallway.
But, like an answer to her wish, there he was. Sarah took the stone stairs two at a time and, before she could let herself think about it, threw out her arms to catch him. Her hands tangled in the folds of his shirt and she rested her forehead between his shoulder blades to keep him from turning around. As it was, she was trying to control her breathing; if her face was red, too, she didn't want to advertise it. He tensed at her sudden closeness.
"How much truth," she blurted out before she could stop herself. A hot blush crawled up her face. "Was in that book of mine, exactly? When it said…" She paused to take a deep breath.
"I am well aware of what it said."
He still sounds mad, Sarah thought, and her grip reflexively tightened on his shirt. She'd never messed up so badly in her entire life, except, maybe, when she wished Toby away in the first place.
"And it happened to contain the truth."
Sarah released his shirt and sighed out a breath of relief. She stood straight so that she wasn't leaning on him anymore. The gryphon, which had caught up to her, butted its head against the back of her leg.
"Okay, okay," she said, her voice still a little shaky. "Do you think we might be able to… start over?"
Jareth turned around and smoothed some stray hair away from her face.
"I do," he said.