Disclaimer: Me not own Labyrinth. (I keep writing won, well I certainly didn't win the Labyrinth either)
It's been awhile since I've watched Labyrinth last. I probably should have watched it before I posted this (just to see how wrong I remember things), but if I did I probably never would post this. And since this has been lying around half finished for ages... well I got annoyed at it and decided that it's getting finished and that's it. Possibly not the best mood to write the fic in.
Implies at past Jareth/Sarah.
Warning: Character death.
The goblin king lounged on his throne, immersing himself in the feel of his power; the excited chatter of the goblin's around him, the ebb and flow of the magic of his kingdom.
The feel of utter boredom was thick around him. The goblins had learned to be vary of their king in such a mood, you could never know what he would decide would do for a moment of entertainment. But then there was no time that you could be less than careful around the king of the goblins.
"Quiet," the cold order rang out clearly over the raucous din of the goblins filling the throne room and the chatter stopped before the last echo of his voice faded, goblins falling over each other in their effort to stop their rushing movement and produce not a sound.
He held up a white gloved hand. The hushed and tensed goblins stared at him and waited.
"Jareth." And there, an echo of a whisper. The goblin king smiled, a wild and wicked smile of delight. He remembered the feel of that voice.
With an air of excitement the goblin king stood up and then with a wave of a gloved hand he disappeared. There was a moment of silence and then the room erupted into excited chatter, the goblins arguing about what had happened.
"Mother." The air of exasperated disapproval was clear in the dark haired woman's voice as she looked down at the old woman sitting in the sofa, a blanket draped over her legs. You could easily see the resemblance between the two women, though the old woman's once dark hair had greyed and the face that had once been smooth and beautiful was wrinkled and old. She had aged with as much grace as anyone could and the beauty she had once been could still be glimpsed beneath the wrinkles.
The old woman smiled gently. "You never believed in fairytales, did you?" She asked, sadness and understanding mingling in her now frail voice.
"Not since I was nine years old," the younger woman huffed, but didn't sound altogether unkind.
It was after all an old argument and not even much of one anymore. Though sometimes the younger woman still found herself disapproving of the way her mother would fill her children's heads with stories about dwarves and fairies and goblins. Not that she had anything against fairytales and she remembered quite fondly her own childhood and the bedtime stories her mother would tell her, but they were only stories.
"Of course," the old woman said and tried very hard not to sound too much like she pitied her daughter. Her kind and ever practical daughter. "But do remember to tell little Sarah to be careful about her wishes, won't you." After all she was quite sure that her name was not the only thing the girl had inherited from her grandmother.
"You can tell her yourself," the younger woman said, clearly indulgent towards her aged mother.
"I have," the old woman said, choosing to ignore the condescending manner of her daughter. She had not meant anything ill by it. "But you should remind her." She smiled again at her daughter. "I will be fine on my own," she told her, getting back to what she had been trying to convince the younger woman of. "It was time I apologised and that deserves some privacy, don't you think?"
The younger woman sighed in exasperation. Really, she knew there would be no convincing her mother that fairytale creatures would not emerge from the shadows if she called for them.
"Are you sure you'll be alright?" She asked in stead. "I'll be back in a few hours."
"You shouldn't be so worried about me. I'm not planning on going back to the hospital so soon."
Her daughter smiled slightly, trying to cover the worry that she clearly felt.
"And would you turn of the light when you go, I don't think I'll need it."
The old woman waited until she heard the front door close before a barely audible whisper passed her lips. A single word she had not spoken in so many years.
"Jareth."
The goblin king reappeared in a dimly lit room, passing through the veil of reality and stepping into the Aboveground with seeming ease. He had been summoned after all.
With curiosity he looked around the room he had appeared in. He knew this place, had seen it before. It was different now, but it still bore the feel of her. He looked over at the empty bed and that wicked smile of his pulled at the corners of his mouth.
With graceful steps he moved over to the dresser to peer at the pictures standing on it. There were more of them now than there had been the last time he had seen it.
He ran a finger over the familiar picture of her and the blond child his goblin's had once stolen. His mismatched eyes turned to consider the new pictures and slowly the wicked delight dancing in his eyes dimmed.
Slowly he picked up one of the picture frames. Plain and dark, it housed a picture of people he had never seen before; a brown haired, spectacled man and a beautiful woman with dark shoulder length hair, a boy with the same dark hair standing in front of them and in the man's arms, a pale haired young girl. The picture of a happy family.
He put the picture down and turned around. With graceful, quiet steps he walked out of the room to see the one who had called him.
Later she could never really say for sure what compelled her to stay. She tried explaining it to herself, tried to come up with some logical reason for why she opened the front door of her mother's house and then hesitated. Why instead of walking out and leaving for the meeting she was surely going to be late for, she closed the door and tip toed back towards the living room. And why did she stay in the darkness just beyond the entrance into the living where she could not see anyone in there, but where no one from there could see her either.
And of course all she could hear was the quiet. What had she expected? And just as she was about to call herself ten kinds of stupid and just leave before she really was going to be late, she heard someone speak.
"Hello Sarah." The voice was quiet, but filled with wicked promise and things she had never allowed herself to imagine.
And suddenly she felt herself utterly unable to leave. Unable to leave and unable to step into the room and demand for an explanation for what someone was doing in her mother's house and how he'd gotten there in the first place.
"You came," her mother's voice answered. "I wasn't sure you would. It's been a long time." The old voice trembled with some emotion.
"It would seem so," he answered. "You're… old."
"And you're not." She could recognise the smile in her mother's voice. "I am dying Jareth."
"Such a waste," he sighed dramatically. "I would have given you anything you could dream of. You could have remained beautiful forever."
"As your possession? And how long before you would have tired of me?"
"You would have been my queen," he protested.
"Yes," her mother answered.
There was a moment of silence. "Was it worth it?" Jareth asked curiously.
Her mother sighed. "I thought so, now I'm not so sure. You were everything I ever dreamt of, but I couldn't go with you. It would have been a beautiful prison, but a prison nonetheless. And I had so many dreams. Goals to achieve." She chuckled quietly. "I was young and I just didn't know when to give up."
"Why did you call for me now, Sarah?" His voice sounded cold and unforgiving. And she couldn't help the shiver that ran down her spine.
"Because I never meant to hurt you. I know you loved me and I know that what I took from you is unforgivable. But foolish old women can't help but want to try to make amends anyway."
"Did you tell her about me?"
"I did," her mother answered sadly. "But she doesn't believe in fairytales."
"And what about your granddaughter?" There was something ominous about the way he said it, it almost sounded like a threat. "She believes in fairytales, doesn't she?"
There was silence for a while.
"So what did they name the little one?"
"Sarah," her mother whispered. "Her name is Sarah."
"Don't worry love, everything will be fine now," his voice promised silkily. And she couldn't say at all why it sent a cold spike of dread through her.
Then there was only quiet.
When she finally managed to make herself walk into the living room, there was only her mother's slumped body resting on the sofa. Already knowing what she would find she tried to find her mother's pulse, there was nothing to find.