Good grief.
Life.
Not all it's cracked up to be.
Especially not now – not now King Jareth held the throne. And thus probably not ever – not until he decided to give it up – if he decided to give it up, and that seemed unlikely, what with all the fuss and commotion that had ensued upon his father's death. Civil war does something to a kingdom, and what it had done to Jareth's was harden his people against each other; no good would come of it. But then, as goblins, good was the one thing they weren't, well, good at.
But then, that was before the girl. She had done something to the Goblin King, changed him, tainted him deep beneath his pale flawless skin – deep in the heart that even Jareth himself had presumed withered and dead for so many years. Changed him, and then left – disappearing from the Underground like a dream.
Her absence had broken Jareth – left him empty; a husk of his former self. For a while he continued his rule as normal, building up a mirage of confidence and egotism, hiding his hurt behind his swagger, but soon he grew exhausted with the effort and allowed his obsession with the girl it's full reign, locking himself away from the world he ruled over and becoming further and further entwined in a web of impossible schemes and hopeless persuasions to ensnare the girl once again. And, make no mistake, this is what he craved above all else – to trap the bewitching girl, to seduce her, to look into her dark, innocent eyes and claim her as his. For he despised as well as adored her – in whatever twisted way a man like that could ever love a creature such as she. He hated her for resisting him, for brushing aside his mind games and escaping his Labyrinth as if it were a mere game – a 'piece of cake'. He loathed how her spirit had crawled inside his head, how he could close his eyes and trace every detail of her young, frightened face; how he longed once again to see her, touch her, hold her...
This would not do. Love – even the warped sense of it that Jareth possessed – is a strong and unruly emotion – an emotion that is not tolerated within the Underground, regardless of the position the unfortunate bearer of such passion may hold. From an early age citizens of the Underground were taught to quash this emotion – to fear and revile its omnipotent grip on the individual's body, mind and soul. Indeed, Jareth himself could barely suppress a shudder if he ever dared form the word 'love' in his head, so deeply entrenched was this unacceptable taboo.
And yet this was the word that he dared allow to echo round his mind when he dreamt of dark, soft hair falling in a frame round a pale face, and was unable to stop himself from reaching out to caress it. Or when the sinking light of the sun caught the crystal in the court chandeliers just so, recreating the light that once – oh so long ago – danced off the jewels embedded in that hair as her bewitching eyes found his in his twisted ballroom. Or even when he heard the arrogance in his own voice, and was reminded of the frown that had defied him, the eyes that had pleaded with him, the mouth – set in a firm, stubborn line – that had taunted him...
Sarah...
Oh, Gods – Sarah, I ask for so little – why do you resist so?
Fear me, love me, and I will be your slave...
"You have no power over me!"
Sarah awoke bolt upright, drenched in her own sweat, a chill from her unnerving dream still lingering over her body. She had been dreaming of him again – that would make it the third time this week – dreaming of a place she had tried to convince herself had never really existed, dreaming of a man she prayed nightly existed only inside her head.
Frantically, she peered around the shoebox she referred to as her room, staring intently into its various dark corners, almost daring the creatures she feared to come scuttling out from behind her bookshelf, from under her bed, perhaps entwined in a silk scarf – or was it a snake...?
Nothing stirred. Her room was as quiet and unassuming as her dream had been intense and bewildering. Sarah swung her legs off her bed and put her head in her hands.
She knew what Jareth wanted – had felt his fury, his sorrow, his desperate, pathetic longing within the confines of her dream. And yet she could never – must never – allow herself to feel pity for him, for she was certain that even the entertainment of such thoughts would lead to her entrapment within one of his many complex games. And make no mistake; trapped, imprisoned and at his mercy would be her fate if she were to let slip even an inch to the Goblin King's demands. He was a dangerous man, with an almost inhuman ruthlessness that he no longer bothered to hide behind his mismatched eyes.
...I will be your slave...
...Sarah...
This is only my first attempt at writing fanfic, so please be kind to me! Also, any ideas/ thoughts on how this story could develop would be much appreciated; I have a few of my own but it would be interesting to know what you think.
Review review review!
Disclaimer: I own none of the characters that dwell in Jim Henson's epic 'Labyrinth'. All credit and glory belongs to the legend that is he and Mr. Bowie *sigh - girlish daydreams...*