To Quiet the Storm:
A Labyrinth Drabble
AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is just a little drabble that refused to leave my mind while I was working on upcoming portions of my longer Labyrinth piece, Through Deeper Darkness. It features a darker (though still not truly evil) version of Jareth than the one featured in my main work. If there is enough interest, I will probably write more drabbles set in this world or expand this drabble into a full story. However, Through Deeper Darkness will remain my primary focus.
DISCLAIMER: I own the precise order I put my words down in and any characters or content of my own creation. The world and characters of the Labyrinth film will sadly never belong to me. I just like to play in their sandbox. I make no money off of this. With that said, if anyone owns a spare Jareth, I'm happy to give him a good home. I have references.
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The Goblin King paced through his private chambers, fury quickening his steps and causing his magic to crackle blue-white through the air around him. These little lightnings, born of his terrible power, echoed the greater tempest raging outside his castle's ancient, stone walls. Both storms sought a purpose, a target on which to unleash the wrath which fueled their very existence, but there was no outlet to be found. The ones whose hubris had provoked the Goblin King's ire had wisely fled while there was still life within them.
With his mind lost in dark thoughts, Jareth almost didn't notice it. A white envelope rested upon his pillow. The color was stark against his ebony bedding. Who would dare to enter into my chambers uninvited? He bristled. Not even his trusted Seneschal would presume to do such a thing. Stranger, Jareth's wards indicated no intrusion. He had trouble imagining how they could have been circumvented. Jareth was the greatest living master of that particular Art and his personal wards were tied directly into the near-endless power of his Labyrinth.
In spite of the Goblin King's temper, his curiosity burned brighter. As he picked up the envelope to examine it, he realized that it was not from this Realm. Energy from the mortal plane clung to the heavy paper like subtle perfume. It was addressed in an elegant, feminine script: "To His Royal Majesty, King Jareth, King of the Goblins, Master of Dreams, and Lord of the Labyrinth." Far from all of his titles, but it certainly hit the high points.
Jareth turned the envelope over and found that it was sealed with silver wax. An image of a stylized key was embossed cleanly into the surface. The seal was unfamiliar, but there was magic in it. The hum of its presence quieted at his touch. He studied the spell briefly and discovered that it served twin purposes. It would prevent any aside from himself from opening it and would notify the caster when he broke the seal. The spell was simple, but effective. Elegant. Afire with curiosity, Jareth broke the seal and pulled out the letter. As he sank down into his favorite chair and began to read, he didn't notice that his gleaming armor had melted away, leaving him clad in his casual garments.
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Goblin King,
I hope this letter finds you well and that you will forgive my presumption in sending it. It has been some years in the mortal realm and longer still in the Underground since we met. I am certain that you must have forgotten me. Regardless, I feel compelled to write to you now. Though I realized it not at the time, I now understand that I unwittingly wronged you while there. I unknowingly made false claims when last we spoke and it does not do to deceive one of the Fae. For this action, I apologize. I believed in the truth of my words when I spoke them and did not realize their lack of truth until long after returning to my own realm. In order to correct this deception, I have asked the Labyrinth to deliver this letter to you alone.
I was only fifteen when I wished away my brother and ventured into the Labyrinth to recover him. I was a petulant, spoiled child and blamed you for my troubles. I took no accountability for my own part in what occurred. I know that I failed to show any appreciation for the opportunity I had been granted or to behave as was proper for a guest. For this, you have my apologies as well. If you feel I owe you recompense for my actions, I will do my utmost to make amends.
I have never forgotten my time in your lands and never will. The challenges I faced there changed me profoundly. It was the most important experience of my life and I doubt that I would have ever discovered who I truly was if I had not taken that journey. I will always remember you and your realm with the greatest fondness. Perhaps someday you will grant me leave to visit it once again. I expect nothing, but I will continue to hope. Regardless, you have my gratitude for the time I was allowed.
As for my deception, I told you right before you left that you had no power over me. Now after years have passed and I've seen the changes within myself, I know that I was wrong about that. While I yield control of myself to no one, you had a staggering influence on both me and my life. Your power over me was great it seems.
Yours,
Sarah Williams
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Jareth's hands trembled as he read her final words for a second time. He felt the binding her prior words had placed on him begin to unravel. She had taken them back and returned his stolen power to him. It would take time for such potent magic to come completely undone, but he could already feel it fading. "Forgotten you?" he whispered his amazement to his empty chambers. "Oh Sarah, how could you ever believe such a thing?" Her words made it clear that she no longer saw him as some one-dimensional, fairy-tale villain. She wanted to return to the Underground, to him, to where she belonged.
Further, through her letter Sarah had bound herself to Jareth in ways he very much doubted that she truly understood. "Yours," she wrote. Yes. Mine indeed. If only you understood how true that is now. How true you have just made it. He swirled his magic between his fingers as his lips curved into a smile. The spell took hold effortlessly. Now any other male who managed to touch her in the pursuit of more carnal pleasures would receive a lovely surprise. He did hope that her future suitors would enjoy his dungeons. He imagined that Sarah would be angry when she discovered his casting, but there were limits to he would tolerate. None would touch that which was his.
Jareth longed to go to her, to pour out his heart and ask her once again to be his as he would always be hers, but that he would not do. He wouldn't push her again. The strength of his emotions, the depth of his desperation, had frightened her before. He wouldn't make that mistake again. While he would soon have adequate power to rip her from the mortal world and claim her for all time, he was certain that particular course of action would only bring misery for both of them in the long run. He wouldn't damn either of them to that future, regardless of how appealing the thought was in the moment. Jareth wanted all of her: mind, body, and soul. He wanted her to love him with the same savage intensity that filled his own heart. He wanted her to crave his touch as fiercely as he longed to touch her. He needed her to pledge herself to him of her own free will, to choose him over all others.
It was now apparent that there had been no violation of his privacy. Sarah had petitioned his Labyrinth for aid in delivering her message between Realms and the Labyrinth had, of course, granted Her Champion's wish. But how had Sarah known how to do so? Petitioning the Labyrinth was no small thing. Even amongst the High Fae, few possessed such specialized knowledge.
And who cast the spell on the seal? Jareth hadn't attempted to determine the identity of the caster when he initially inspected it. He'd assumed that the caster's identity would be obvious from the contents of the letter. He turned his senses towards the envelope and examined the broken seal with care, tasting the fading magic. He detected only Sarah's energy. She clearly spelled it herself. But how? There were mortal magic users, of course. They were fewer in number in the modern age, but they still existed. But where did Sarah learn the Art? And how far does her knowledge stretch? Those were questions that Jareth very much wanted the answers to and he intended to have those answers. The questions themselves were valuable as they provided him with a convenient reason to approach her.
Jareth had been given a second chance and he would take care not to drive her away this time. He knew the value of the opportunity that he'd received and would proceed with caution. Sarah had acknowledged that she owed him a debt. That was binding. He would have to ponder how to make the best use of it.
The Goblin King held his beloved's letter with all of the care others bestowed onto priceless relics and treasured works of art. His laugh echoed across the Labyrinth and left his subjects cautious, their eyes fixed on the sky. They had all seen evidence of their Master's wrathful state and knew all too well that the King's sense of humor was often deadly when he was of such a dire mood. Now they watched as the storm that had hung over the land for hours calmed and beams of sunlight pierced through the clouds casting rainbows in their wake. The denizens of the Labyrinth relaxed and went about their lives, blessing whatever miracle had appeased their temperamental ruler and soothed him from his rage.
Jareth's anger and irritation had vanished like fog burned away by the sun. In this singular moment, his smile held no cruelty. For the first time in far too long, Sarah was within his reach.
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