AN: Written for LJ's labyrinth_ex Fall 2009 fic exchange, for merellia.
Prompt: Sir Didymus: Valiant knight in search of a quest (or a job: court clerk?)-basically, any event or scene through his eyes; this can be before or after the events of the movie, though preferably not during.
A speculative fic: How did Sir Didymus come to be guarding the bog? For that matter, how did he come to be known as 'sir?' Was he always a fox, or did the Labyrinth change him? A look at the life and times of our favorite valiant knight, from childhood and beyond, focusing upon his eventual placement as the guardian of the Bog of Eternal Stench.
All standard disclaimers apply, Labyrinth belongs to Jim Henson, etc etc, especially for lines that might sound as if they were pulled straight from the movie. I tried to keep those at a minimum.
"Why'd you want to go and weigh him down with a name like that?"
It was an exchange that Didymus heard often as a child, and even at just five years old, he could already mimic the rest of the conversation in his head.
His mother, uncaring: "It came to me in a dream."
His father, with a dismissive wave of his hand, disgusted: "Pah."
His father and brothers never called him by his name-Mouse was good enough for them-but it was his mother that gave him the nickname he liked best. "Never you worry, my little fox," she'd say, after those inevitable 'exchanges,' "there are better things in store for you than this."
He wasn't sure why she called him 'little fox,' but he liked it.
Shortly after Didymus turned thirteen, his father came home with a surprising announcement. "I've had word that Sir Bedic will be coming tomorrow..." He paused, waiting for the clamor from his three oldest sons to subside, grimacing in anticipation of their reaction to what he'd say next. Leveling a look on his youngest, he said, "He's in need of a squire, and knew we had a boy of an age to fit the bill. He'll be here at first light. Be ready, Mouse."
Didymus wasn't sure how to react at first, but one look at the pride and acceptance shining from his mother's eyes gave him the guidance he needed. "Yes, father, of course."
Late into the night, he and his mother sat before the fire-she in her rocking chair and he at her feet, his head in her lap. "Oh, my little fox," she murmured, stroking his hair, "did I not say there were better things in store for you than this? This is how it all begins."
The following morning, to the dismay of his older brothers, Didymus rode away with Sir Bedic, atop a brand new squire's pony. He turned only to wave to his mother, his spirits buoyed by the encouraging smile on her face.
Time passed, and Didymus learned much in his role as Sir Bedic's squire. He excelled in the arts of combat, and the knight's wife taught him how to read and write. He was, all in all, the best squire that Sir Bedic had ever had the fortune to train, and it was the knight's greatest pleasure to see the boy blossom into a man, and finally, just after his twenty-first birthday, a knight in his own right.
At twenty-three, two full years after he'd been knighted, Didymus knelt before Sir Bedic, his liege lord. "My lord, I implore thee, please send me away. I beg of thee, set me upon a quest, so that I might prove my love for yonder fair maiden."
That 'yonder fair maiden' happened to be Sir Bedic's youngest daughter was of no surprise to the older knight, but he was pleased, for he had long ago come to look upon Didymus as a son.
"You truly wish this? Then, Sir Didymus, here is thy quest. You shall wander the lands for a full turn of the year, providing aid and succor to those in need. You will know them when you see them," Sir Bedic advised, noting the quick flicker of confusion on the young knight's face. "After your return, a year and a month from this day, you shall have my daughter's hand, should that suit you." He shared a look and a tender smile with his wife, then another with his daughter, whose face was radiantly beautiful in her happiness.
"Sire..."
"Come, Didymus," Bedic chided lightly, "surely you did not think we were unaware of your feelings? We are only surprised it took you this long to ask. Rise, my boy," he added, and held a beckoning hand to his daughter. When the pair of them were side by side by side, Bedic took his daughter's hand and placed it in Didymus' grasp. "I do hereby plight her troth to you, Sir Didymus. Return safely, for there is a precious treasure awaiting you here upon that auspicious date."
The stunned surprise gradually faded from the young knight's face, leaving in its place a look of supreme bliss. "Aye, my lord," he agreed, bowing over his betrothed's hand, "of that I am well aware."
In the early days of Didymus' year-long crusade, he spent a great deal of time with small pursuits: days spent in hard labor with peasants who had fallen behind in their work due to illness, comfort offered to the dying, and chasing wayward children away from dangers large and small. Word spread quickly through the countryside of the young knight and his quest, and it wasn't long before he was asked to mediate small disputes between neighbors, and on one notable occasion, save a farmer's livestock from a pack of rampaging wolves.
Before he knew it, eleven months had flown by, and he was beginning to look forward to his return-and to the lovely woman awaiting him at the end of the journey.
On one such a day, his horse Ambrosius was plodding a steady walk toward the next town when Didymus came upon a cottage that had fallen into serious disrepair. At first glance, it appeared empty, until a second look revealed a small, slow tendril of smoke from the chimney reaching skyward. Didymus pulled his horse to a halt and even from the road, he could hear the sounds of despaired weeping from within. Dismounting, he tied the reins to the only fence post that didn't look ready to fall over, and caressed the horse's nose softly. "I'll be back, Ambrosius."
Carefully, Sir Didymus approached the cottage and knocked upon the door, frowning when it fell open uncontested to his soft touch. "Hello, the house," he called out, stepping over the threshold. "Tis I, Sir Didymus, knight of the realm-is all well within?"
"Oh, good sir, is it truly you?" The broken, hoarse voice came from the darkest corner of the small cottage, and belonged to a young woman who had obviously been crying for quite awhile. She stepped forward and, upon spotting Didymus, dissolved into tears once more, this time of relief. "Good sir, I beg of thee," she stammered out, throwing herself at the young knight's feet, "my daughter...my baby...he took her. Please, good sir, I beg of thee, if anyone could find a way to get her back, I know it would be you."
"Peace, milady," Didymus urged, resting a hand softly atop the distraught mother's head. "Of course I shall do everything within my power help you. Who has taken your child?"
Shoulders quivering with the effort to hold in her relieved sobs, the girl-for she was barely more than that-choked out, "Him. The Goblin King. He has her-please! Please, you must get her back. The ring...the faerie ring just there," she pointed out the back door to the forest beyond.
If Didymus felt any reluctance at hearing who had the girl's child, he took great care not to show it. "Milady, be at peace," he murmured again, gently detaching himself from her grasping hands. "I shall go straight away, and you will wait here for me. I shall return well before day."
Returning once more to his faithful horse, Didymus was stricken by a sense of foreboding-kings were not to be trifled with, particularly not those reached by a trip through a faerie ring. He divested himself of everything valuable, save his sword, and murmured a word in the steed's ear as he loosened the reins. "Should I not return, you must find your way to Sir Bedic. He will know what has happened to me. You have been a most faithful friend, Ambrosius. I could not have asked for better."
With one last glance toward his horse, thoughts of his betrothed in his mind, Didymus stepped into the forest.
He wasn't quite sure how it happened, but between one step and another, Didymus was transported from the forest behind the woman's cottage to the middle of a stone-walled throne room. Rowdy goblins cackled merrily as they chased squawking chickens about, and atop a large throne sat who Didymus presumed to be the Goblin King: a wild-haired, cruel-eyed man, idly tapping a riding crop against an upraised boot.
The goblins caught sight of the new arrival first-or so they thought-and all the merry laughter stopped in an instant as they looked to their king, eyes wide. The sudden silence caught the king's attention and he straightened, fixing the young knight with a cool stare.
Not to be intimidated by the king's harsh look, Didymus squared his shoulders and stepped forward. "I have come for the child."
Amusement flickered across the Goblin King's cold, haughty face. "Oh, really?" he drawled, his fingers drumming a staccato beat on the arm of his throne. "And which child might you be here for?"
"A young mother told me you had taken her babe, a girl-child. The child will be returned to me, and we shall return to our world, not to be harmed by you or your minions," Didymus stated, with a bravado he didn't truly feel.
Jareth laughed outright at that, echoed nastily by the cadre of goblins pressing ever closer, the better to hear the conversation. "Ah, that child. I see. Might I ask, just how do you expect to accomplish that little trick?"
Didymus bristled at the implied insult in the King's tone. "I assure you, Your Majesty, I am quite skilled in the arts of combat. I shall not fail."
"Hmm," the Goblin King responded, still amused. "We shall see. But perhaps, just to make it interesting, we might make a small wager?" When the little knight didn't respond, he continued, "I have a use for the services of a combat-skilled knight such as yourself."
"I shall not fail," Didymus repeated, standing firm. "If a wager is the only way to secure your agreement, so be it."
The Goblin King tsked, shaking his head. "Ah," he mused, almost to himself, "the folly of youth. Here are my terms: you will complete a task of my imagining-I will not provide you with the details, merely that you have an hour to solve the riddle. If you were here under normal circumstances, I might consent to give you more time, but I do so like to make things...interesting."
Sir Didymus kept his expression blank, stoic in the face of the king's attempt at taunting him.
"Should you solve my riddle," Jareth continued, his voice laden with the doubt he found in that prospect, "I shall return you-with the child-safely to her mother, unharmed by myself, or my...minions. Should you fail, you shall commit to me a term of not less than one hundred years of service, in whatever task I see fit to apply to you. Do you accept my terms?"
Inwardly frowning, Didymus nonetheless gave a sharp nod. "But sire, what of the child, should I lose? What shall become of her then?"
"Why, she'll remain where she is, as she is," the Goblin King replied, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, gesturing to one goblin in particular. "Just there-my newest subject, isn't she lovely?"
With effort, Didymus bit back his horrified gasp as he followed the king's gaze to the goblin. "I propose a compromise, your majesty. No less than two hundred years of my service, should I lose, if you would return her to her natural state and return her to her mother."
Another bark of laughter and Jareth shook his head. "No, sir knight, that request I shall have to decline-though should you wish to wager two hundred years rather than one hundred, I shall, of course, accept."
"No, your majesty," Didymus returned evenly, though disappointed, "one hundred years of servitude should I lose. But you will return her to her natural form, should I best you."
Briskly, Jareth returned the nod. "Very well. Though why you'd want to return a child to the mother who wished her to me is beyond my understanding." At the knight's startled look, a genuine smile came to his face. "Ahhh...left that part out, did she? Oh yes," the King continued, "she wished the child to me, and was given the same right all challengers receive-the right to run my labyrinth in an attempt to win the child back on her own. Alas," he added, pretending dismay, his voice growing softer as he made his way closer, "she didn't even make the attempt, merely left the child to me and returned to her home without protest."
The young knight's hands clenched into fists as the king approached. Jaw tightening, Didymus said, "Sire, with all respect due your position, I do not believe you."
"No?" Jareth asked, straightening, his smile gone cruel again as the goblins snickered behind him. "I assure you, every word is true. Think on that, good sir knight," he drawled, the title sounding more an insult than a true accolade, "while you try to best my little...challenge."
Just as the goblins began to press in on the knight, Didymus lifted his chin and met the king's gaze. "I am ready for your task, sire. Appoint to me what you will, but know this-I will best you, and I will return the child to her mother."
Chuckling darkly, the Goblin King conjured a crystal, which he rolled effortlessly between his hands. "We shall see, foolish knight. We shall see." Giving the crystal one final flourish, he threw it at Didymus's head, sinister laughter rumbling forth from all sides as the knight disappeared.
Didymus woke to the feeling of cool fingertips across his brow and the taste of peaches filling his mouth. Opening his eyes, he caught sight of a most welcome face-that of his promised lady, smiling down upon him. "Oh, my lady," he breathed, reaching up to brush his fingers just above her hair, "is it truly you? Am I truly home? I thought...I dreamt...such a terrible dream. But..." He trailed off, confusion settling in as he tried to remember exactly what had happened to him. "I was...looking for something. Wasn't I?"
"Hush now," his lady spoke softly, leaning down to brush the softest touch of lips to his brow. "Think not upon it now, my lord, and rest. I have been so worried for you these past months. We've heard news of your victories, and Father is most pleased to hear that your quest went so well."
He struggled against her for a moment, even as the touch of her lips to his skin caused him to flush with pleasure. "But, my lady, how did I come to be here? What of Ambrosius? How long have I been here? I do not recall my return..."
"Hush," his lady repeated again, soft. "We have been most concerned-you were later than we had expected, injured and feverish, and nigh these three weeks, you have been lost in dreaming whilst your body healed. We thought..."
Her voice broke and she raised a hand to her mouth, but there was something in her expression that gave Didymus pause. She was saying all the right things, and acting in what appeared to be the right way, but the knight was not convinced of her sincerity. "Please, my lady," he murmured, "the telling obviously causes you distress. Is there someone else who might be able to explain to me what happened?"
She nodded and hurried from the room, tears glistening on her face, but all the while, Didymus watched with a furrowed brow. Something was not right, but he could not put his finger upon it. He sat up, testing his body, and swung his feet out of bed, finally getting a good look around the room. The heavy furnishings and draperies across the bed were unexpected, not what he was used to from Sir Bedic's household, and that only heightened his suspicion.
"Sir Didymus!" came Sir Bedic's voice from the door, sounding to Didymus' ears to be pleased beyond measure. "You are awake at last-and quite disoriented, I would imagine. Sir Darion thought you might be, waking in a strange place, but the healers advised us to leave you be. We've rather taken over Darion's household during your stay," the older knight added, his tone taking on that of one sharing a confidence. "Truth be told, I don't think he minds, but we'll be all be much happier when you're able to return home."
Didymus heaved a gusty sigh at Sir Bedic's words, sagging back upon the bed. "My lord," he murmured, bowing his head to the older knight, "I am...unable to tell you of my relief. I thought...something...I know not how to say it. I still do not remember my last task, but something weighs heavily upon my mind-something left undone, perhaps."
"Mouse," Sir Bedic's voice seemed to gentle at seeing the younger man's distress, "all is well. You have returned home triumphant, and as soon as you are able to return home, you shall wed my daughter."
His eyes closed, Didymus paid heed only to the words he was hearing, and not to the look upon his liege lord's face, else his suspicion would have returned at seeing the cruel gleam in the man's eyes, at odds with the soft tone to his voice. "Rest now, that you might return that much more quickly."
The younger knight nodded and swung his legs back up on the bed, one arm now thrown over his eyes to block out the light. In spite of the reassurances he continued to get, he still could not shake the feeling that something was wrong, that he had left something undone, however, and it made him restless.
When next he opened his eyes, he was disoriented once more, for he was dressed in his best clothing, and his boots and sword had been polished to high shine. He was upright this time, standing before a pair of closed doors that he recognized as leading to the outer bailey of Sir Bedic's castle. Bright sunlight was visible through the seam in the door, and just as he stepped forward, the double doors opened, revealing the courtyard brightly decorated for his wedding to his liege's daughter.
In a departure from tradition, in fact, his liege and his promised lady awaited him at the foot of a long aisle, their faces wreathed in matching smiles that-from a distance, at least-appeared genuine. He made his way toward them, his own face a mask of confusion, but his doubts melted away when Bedic joined his hand with that of his daughter, just as he had on the night they had been betrothed.
"Thy quest is done, as you had promised, and you are safely home," the older knight said, with a smile. "Now, as I had promised, my daughter is yours. I most humbly and heartily give to you my blessing to go along with her. May your many years together be blessed."
With furrowed brow, Didymus dipped his head first to his lady, then to his liege, trying valiantly to piece together why he felt so unsure. "I thank you, my liege, for your kindness and your care. And you, my lady," he added, turning toward his betrothed, his eyes drinking in her face. He leaned toward her to claim his first kiss, and it was only then that he noticed her smile, which he could now see held a calculating edge.
Just as their lips were about to meet, Didymus was blinded by a flash of light and all around him melted away. The dream-for Didymus knew now that it had been a dream-dissolved around him with a pop and he reappeared in the last place he wanted to be: the Goblin King's throne room. He had lost.
"Back so soon, are you?" the Goblin King taunted, reveling in the abject despair on the knight's face.
Still trying to come to terms with the fact that he had failed in his quest, Didymus turned a flaying look on the Goblin King, forgetting for a moment just who he was addressing. "That was not a test by combat at all! Preying upon my innermost desires, it's most unfair!"
"Unfair?" Jareth laughed, hair tossing wildly as he shook his head. "I never said I would test your skill in combat, you simply assumed I would. No," he added, his smile gone smug, "my tasks are made of much more complicated magic. An illusion, nothing more-you had only to find a way to break it to win freedom for yourself and the child." Gracefully leaping out of his throne and stalking toward his prey, his voice went dangerously quiet. "And need I remind you, now that you have lost your little quest, you are mine? You are mine-for the next one hundred years, you belong to me, and only to me. I think perhaps you should show more respect to your king."
Heedless of the filth and squalor left behind by goblins on the throne room floor, Didymus sank to his knees and bent his head. "Yes, your majesty. I offer my most sincere and abject apologies for any offense I may have committed with my hasty words."
Waving his hand to silence the goblins around him, Jareth stood in front of the prostrate knight, a feral smile upon his lips. "A pretty apology indeed, Sir Didymus. Rise now, my subject, and hear thy charge."
"Sire...I know that I have lost my trial and failed in my quest; I have no right to ask, but might I beg a boon of you?" Seeing neither protest nor invitation on the Goblin King's cold face, Didymus hurried forward before he lost his nerve. "I was upon a quest charged by my liege lord to win the hand of his daughter, my betrothed." He paused, swallowed thickly. "She was the woman you saw in my vision. Might you...might you send them word that, though I cannot return, I am well? That I release her from her promise, and I send her my best wishes for her future happiness?"
"Hmm. I could perhaps be persuaded," the Goblin King replied, a sharp eye on his conquest's face. "She's quite lovely, isn't she? Such a pity..."
Didymus clenched his jaw shut, willing away the swell of emotion and outrage that came upon him at his new liege's words. Instead, he simply nodded and, once possessed of full control of himself, he said, "I thank you, your majesty, for your consideration. I pledge to you my life and my obedience these next one hundred years. Please do with me what you will."
If he was disappointed in his failure to gain a better reaction from the knight, Jareth didn't show it. Instead, he snapped his fingers and transported the knight away to the Bog of Eternal Stench. A crystal showed the man's new image, that of a small fox, and-a gift of the Labyrinth's making-his steed: a great, shaggy dog. "Here you shall remain," he whispered to the crystal, knowing his voice would echo in the fox's ears. "You shall guard this bridge with your life. None shall pass without your permission. That, brave Sir Didymus, is your task. Do not fail me."
Wrinkling his nose at the overwhelming smell of his new home, Didymus nonetheless straightened himself to the fullest extent of his new diminutive height. "I will not fail you, your majesty. None may pass without my permission." Sending Ambrosius to the ramshackle building that might be called a house if one were being extremely generous, the fox took up his position in front of the rickety bridge, meeting his fate with the same valiant and unflagging commitment that he'd always applied to any quest.
"It's only a hundred years, hardly forever," he mused to himself as he waited for any challengers to the bridge, "that's not long at all."
Reviews welcome!