Disclaimer: I don't own the Labyrinth or the ideas connected to it.

The Visitor

You stare me in surprise; surprise to find yourself here and surprise that I am not amazed by your sudden appearance. But I am here to meet you especially, because this is the day that many arrive to see the wedding. I offer you a curtsey, spreading my skirts wide, knowing that you will enjoy the rustle of the silks against each other. You have learned to appreciate the old fashioned for His sake. He knows this and sent me to you because He has learnt to appreciate you as well.

You do not know at first why you are here and even if you really as here. So you ask, "Where am I?"

I try not to smile but I do not succeed, "You have arrived in the castle of the Goblin King in time for the greatest event of time. The marriage of the King to his Lover."

"The Goblin King?" You say in shock even as a thrill runs through you, "But he's the bad guy."

"Of course," I answer, "Will you follow me? We don't have much time before everyone arrives and you still need to see and understand everything."

I lead you out of the room and into the corridor by the hand. You are surprised by the gesture and as soon as you establish the direction we are going in you feel uncomfortable. I let your hand drop as I point out a portrait of the Lover.

"She is very beautiful is she not?" I ask you.

You do not answer for a long and breathless moment. You mouth is slightly open and your eyes are wide as you memorize the line and couture of her face, "She is," you finally breath, "I've never seen anyone so beautiful in my life."

"And you won't again," I explain, "She is the last of her kind. The first and the last; as He is."

You catch your breath as I mention the King, "Do you mean Jareth when you say He?" you ask shyly.

"He is the only one," I answer. I am being clear but you wrinkle your brow in confusion.

"Where do you come from then?" you ask instead as we begin our walk again.

"I come from this country as you do and as all do who come here," I answer, "None know or see of this place that do not originally spring from her soil."

"But I'm from New Jersey," you say.

"Yes," I answered smiling at you, "But you are from here."

"Are you from another place then? Do you live here all the time?" you ask in a rush of curiosity, "Have you always been here?"

"I have been here as long as he had been. We are all drawn to Him. You and I—there are few who are not. You are come to see the fulfillment. If you did not love Him than you would never have arrived."

"I don't understand," you say.

I answer, "You will."

We turn a corner and we reach the doorway into the hall. The doors are thrown wide and open and people stream in and out of the doors that line the walls like windows. Men and women in gaily colored costumes and masks mingle and dance as they wait. Lovers dance but their eyes lose each other as they all watch the door at the end of the hall. As we walk into the crowd, your eyes are drawn there as well; you cannot help it. You do not see your clothing change from the vestments of your world into ours. Clothing is the last thing on your mind.

"Oh, when are they arriving?" you ask in excitement, "I can hardily wait."

"We will all know when they arrive," I explain, "And we will wait forever if we must because whenever He comes it will be enough. Any wait is short once He appears."

"You talk so strangely," you say as we move through the dancers and find a place near the dais, "You speak as if everything revolves around Him. As if you—you were in love with him."

I smiled again and look at you with a strange pride that you are beginning to comprehend the truth, "I am. None you look on Him can help it. He is at the Center; He is the Being, the Creator, the Destroyer and the Preserver. I love Him beyond myself."

You release a breath you have been holding. You tremble slightly at my words, a question on your lips, "But—he is evil isn't he?"

"Do you hate Him?" I ask.

"Well, I—I—He's done things that are bad," you say feebly.

"But do you hate Him?" I asked, "Or do you love Him? Does He draw you?"

"I don't hate Him," you manage. You have not yet come to the place where you can admit your love freely. You wrestle within yourself for the words or the justification for your feelings."

"Doesn't it bother you?"

I turn to you in surprise, "What?"

"Doesn't it bother you that he kidnapped children? That he might have worried hundreds of thousands of parents and siblings in his life time?"

Carefully, I answer, "If I am then I must reject that which is my life. We are, all of us, rejected in our lives, and find our way here through sympathy with Him. He takes only what is offered and gives it a home. He loves us."

"But he turns them into goblins!" you press your point home, "Monsters."

"Who is the real monster?" I can, "The man who kicks you out or the man who takes you in? The man who rejects you or the man who loves you?"

"The one who gives you up," you say as tears gather in your eyes. You feel it now, the pain that comes when you realize who He is. I take your hand again and this time you do not regret it.

"Do you see these people here," I gestured to encompassing the entire crowd, "The joy on their faces? They are His children, the ones who He claimed."

"But I thought—"

"Wrongly," I answered, "Anyone who is willing to wish away their own flesh and blood is incapable of seeing us as anything else."

"But we see Him differently," you argue.

"Because He is," I answered laughing, "You will grow to understand in time."

The trumpets sound in this moment and we turn as one to the door. We hear the sounds of cheering the rising voices of the people below, growing louder. A breath is caught as one and as the doors open we lean forward to catch a glimpse of Him and the Lover. Beside me you bow first and we follow your example, bending knees to show our love. He notices each of us in turn and the Lover's eyes follow learning to love us as He does.

He asks us to rise as He and the Lover walk through us touching our hands as they ascend to their thrones. My heart thumps painfully in my chest as I watch, they are so beautiful. You clutch my hand painfully in you own, forcing me to look at you.

"He looked at me," you say, "He looked at me."

"You know him now." I said, "You understand?"

"I know Him," you respond. And then, "She is so lucky."

"She is His Lover," I said a sigh in my voice, "He is hers."

"But she rejected Him once—how could she?"

I shook my head, "She never rejected him."

"He offered her everything."

"But she would not take anything less than Himself," I explained, "And you know that you would have done the same in her place."

"Her place," you say with a faint scoff in your tone, "I could never take her place."

"No, we can't," I answer turning to face you, "But it is enough that we see His happiness in her. And that is what you were brought here to see. We want to try and change things to suit us at times, but in the end we love Him too much to change His happiness to become ours. In the end it is our happiness to see Him happy."

"It is enough," you say, "Enough."

And it is.

Reviews Please