Title: That's What Friends Are For

Author: Yodeladyhoo

Summary: We all know what Sarah did for thirteen hours in the Underground. What was Jareth doing during that time?

Genre: Fantasy

Pairings: Jareth x Maurasoon ( OC )

Rating: T

disclaimer (dĭs-klā'mər): noun

1. (law) a voluntary repudiation of a person's legal claim to something

2. denial of any connection with or knowledge of [syn: disavowal

c.1986, 2006 The Jim Henson Company.

LABYRINTH is a trademark of The Jim Henson Company.

Labyrinth characters c.1986 Labyrinth Enterprises.

All rights reserved, but not by me.

All rights are reserved, but not by me. This short story is a work of fiction. All original characters in this story are fictional. Any similarities to actual persons, either living or deceased, are purely coincidental. Permission for the use of the non-original characters has not been requested by the author or granted by the licensor. This short story was written for your perusal and pleasure. No compensation, either financial or actual, has been collected or requested.

Maurasoon is mine.

Plea for Reason: Okay, so I know there are others like this out there. This is my take on it. Hey, why not? For clarification, and because it has been brought to my attention, there is something screwy with my timeline. Remember, A Mother's Perspective was meant to be a oneshot.


"It is your move, Sire."

Maursoon looked up from her instrument. The men were seated closer to the center of the room, situated around the gaming table. Even from where she was sitting near the open window, she could tell that Devlin would finish the game in several short moves, even if Jareth made a late game offense. Judging from Jareth's expression and enthusiasm for tonight's game, it was highly doubtful that he would. Jareth was more than a little distracted and agitated.

Jareth rose up from the chair with a snort. "And so I shall," he said with derision, his stride created a clipped staccato on the stone floor as he walked through the garden doors into the night.

Devlin turned in his chair to glare at her. "Music hath charms to soothe a savage breast! If you can call your plucking and strumming music!"

Maurasoon decided not to grace his retort with a reply. True enough, the lute was one of her more recent hobbies after returning to the Underground, but she was not about to drag a loom into the lounge to calm Jareth's mood with the hypnotic swish of the shuttle cock as it whisked rhythmically across the threads.

It was a small room, what with the gaming table in the center and comfortable, upholstered chairs along the walls awaiting players to take their seats. The walls were bare of their customary tapestries in the warm months as to allow the cloths to freshen out in the meadow after months of being subjected to the smoke and soot of the wall sconces. The only wall decorations that were still in their place were some musical instruments; a harp, a viol, a psaltery, and some assorted wind instruments of wood, bone and horn.

"Go to him, Mauri. Perhaps he needs the company of a woman."

"Perhaps it's not the company of a woman that he needs, Dee" she said pointedly. Devlin averted his eyes as he turned away. The light from the banked fire danced in the folds and creases of his russet silk shirt. Devlin did an excellent job of orchestrating and pacing the caravan of dignitaries and responsibilities that besieged their King daily, but she'd be damned if he started treating her as one of Jareth's 'appointments'.

Maurasoon arranged the sheet music on the stand neatly and rose from her straight backed chair. She smoothed the linen of her gown before lifting the instrument to place it on its hook on the wall behind her, biding her time so as not to utter something that she would truly regret. "I'll go to him, Lord Secretary, but not at your behest," she settled on saying as she reached for the gossamer shawl that was draped over the back of the chair and arranged it across her back. "Should I give His Highness your regards for a pleasant night?" Her expression was one of pure annoyance at his earlier insinuation.

Devlin shot her a sarcastic glance as he snorted. He picked up his brandy snifter as he stood up out of his wingback chair. In the indirect light of the fireplace and sconces, the warm brown of his shirt pulled away from the burgundy of the upholstery as if a couple, who were engaged in a waltz, were being forcibly extricated from each others arms. He drained his glass. "As you will, Lady. I am retiring for the night."

"Upon the morrow then, sir," she replied with a curtsy. He responded with a polite bow before leaving the room. Maurasoon composed herself and calmed her temper as she turned to find her king in the night.

She found him by the night blooming jasmines. The trellis supporting the foliage was lost in overgrowth of feathery leaves and dainty blossoms. Their exotic, heady perfume overwhelmed her olfactory receptors to distraction. Just the sort of thing to help stop an overactive mind. Just the thing that Jareth needed to do.

She approached him silently on slippers fabricated with goat hide soles, the lightweight skirt of her gown gently billowing out with each step. Although it was early Lughnasadh, the nights were still cool enough to require a shawl over her bare arms. Her hands were clasped low in front of her hips to help keep it in place. He appeared to not have noticed her, his back turned towards her as he gazed through the flower-heavy vines that draped the trellis into the night. Even seemingly lost in thought, his regal aura spread out around him, cowing all that surrounded him.

"And why do you come to disturb your King?"

Maurasoon walked until she stood shoulder to shoulder with Jareth. "My king has need for me. I live to serve my king." She reached to gently grasp a bloom from its vine to admire its petite symmetry.

Turning his head to look at her, he replied, "I voiced no such request for service this evening from you."

"Not all requests need to be voiced," she answered softly as she turned and offered the flower to Jareth.

He accepted the offering and sighed, his defenses dropping down just a notch. "You always seem to know, don't you, Mauri?"

"Not always," she said with a compassionate smile, "but I've had some experience at knowing when someone needs to talk and when someone needs time to ponder." She tilted her head in deliberation. "Do you know which you need at this time?"

Jareth looked at her with an intensity that was both directed at her as well as inward. His elegantly sheathed fingers absently twirled the pale flower still in his hands. He allowed his gaze to wander over her shoulder as he spoke. "I suppose that is part of the issue," he said softly, more to himself, as his voice trailed off. He quickly regained his composure and turned to face away from her. "Perhaps some contemplation. Perhaps later I will seek your companionship."

Maurasoon nodded more to herself as she understood the unspoken dismissal. "No door is ever locked to you, my Liege." She quietly turned to take her leave along the same path she took to find him.

"Maura."

She paused to look back at her friend. He hadn't moved; he was as still as a statue but she did not need to see his eyes to understand what he needed to hear. A gentle breeze rustled the flora and his hair in unison. "I'll leave the window open tonight, Jay."


Author's Note:

"Music hath charms to soothe a savage breast,
To soften rocks, or bend a knotted oak."

This quote is commonly misquoted as "savage beast."
-William Congreve

Lughnasadh is the Celtic name for the harvest season. It comprised of August, September and October. It is usually considered autumn on Earth, but I'm hoping to give the impression that it is late summer.

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