The Labyrinth was one of the most feared and revered places in the entire Underground. It had existed for so long that its architect and first king were a complete mystery. Not even the stones it was built with remembered. What was known was that its magic ran deep. Very few places in the realm were sentient, that is, they had a mind of their own. Granted, the Labyrinth's mind wasn't overly complicated. It could only focus on one task at any given time, and rarely felt any emotion besides love for its master. When it did, those emotions usually mirrored said master's.
When Jareth felt like teasing Sarah, the Labyrinth turned dead ends into doorways and vice versa. If Jareth was jealous of the dwarf's closeness with his intended, then tunnels to the Bog of Eternal Stench multiplied exponentially. Even though the results of Sarah's dream were disastrous, the Labyrinth made sure that she fell gently into the trash heap, as Jareth couldn't stand the thought of his love in pain.
Without Jareth, the Labyrinth wasn't sure how it should feel and behave. The Black Witch's harpies had no magic in them whatsoever, so it couldn't speak to them. Like it would want to. Their screaming matches shook the castle to its very foundations. And to think ladies were the delicate sex.
But even without Jareth, the Labyrinth knew it hated, but couldn't do anything about cheaters. Sarah had cheated, constantly seeking out the help of others, but Jareth loved her. She was the exception. Hippolyta was not.
That dastardly Amazon Queen was smart. Instead of looking for a door that only existed if Jareth wanted it to exist, she scaled the outer fence with her bare hands; and instead of trying to navigate the endless, winding pathways, she ran along the tops of the walls. Not once did she have to look at her feet. The Labyrinth seethed, cracking groans sounding from the many rocks and hedges.
Hippolyta grinned as she felt the unhappy vibrations beneath her toes. She knew the Labyrinth was livid. It had only been fifteen minutes, and she was nearly through with all the twists and turns (not that she'd taken any). She could understand the Labyrinth's anger. After all, she wasn't a fairy or even an elf. She was a human – an immortal human, the daughter of a god, but a human nonetheless. And she was beating the Labyrinth at its own game. It was true that Amazons were fleet of foot and incredibly agile, but they had no magic in their veins. Sheer intelligence gave Hippolyta her power.
As she ran, her pitch black hair streamed behind her, wavy and slightly tangled in the wind. Her bare feet avoided every single obstruction, flying from wall to wall. Every leap was a grand jeté, a flawless extension of her pale, muscular legs. From the waist belt given to her by her father, her quiver hung at her hip, not even a single arrow disturbed as she flew. In one hand was her golden longbow, a diamond skeleton key in the other. She was ready to fight, but that wasn't why she was there.
In a mere half hour, she had reached the trash dump outside the walls of the Goblin City. The Labyrinth was defeated. Coming to rest on the final precipice, she looked over her shoulder, staring down her Roman nose with icy blue eyes. Shadows started spreading along the floor of the Labyrinth, creeping along like spilled ink. Miniature earthquakes rumbled beneath her. Ooh, the Labyrinth was angry!
"It serves you right," Hippolyta whispered with that light, almost childlike voice of hers before hopping down. Behind her, the stones creaked and snapped under their own tension, but the object of their hatred was already sprinting across heaps of garbage.
The Labyrinth watched as the Amazon shimmied over the wall of the Goblin City. It could only hope that she tripped and fell.
"Your homework will be due Friday. Additionally, for eligible students, I will be hosting an honors program at my house every Saturday. We will discuss both classical and contemporary art forms, as well as the themes and ideals that connect them. Have a good night and complete your reading assignments."
There was a quiet murmur as the final bell rung. All around Sarah, the other students were quickly gathering their belongings, eager to be on their way home. Throughout the entire lecture, they'd been all ears and eyes, never speaking out of turn. She was shocked. During every other class, there'd been a constant buzz of whispered gossip and muffled giggling, but no one dared speak while Ms. Lafferty was teaching. She wasn't that scary… just tall.
Sarah closed her notebook, tucking her pen into the binding metal spiral. It had been a good class. Ms. Lafferty had given an excellent lesson on Renaissance architecture, turning an otherwise boring subject into something new and exciting. Filippo Brunelleschi's rediscovery of the proper method for making a dome was the main topic, and it really was fascinating. Sarah wished she'd been around for the section on The Dark Ages, but from what little conversation she'd heard, Dr. Hurley's voice and lectures were boring.
"So, how did I do?" a voice asked suddenly from above her. Sarah looked up, tilting her head almost all the way back to look into her teacher's eyes. Ms. Lafferty was smiling down at her, her lips nearly disappearing into her high, round cheekbones. For a teacher, she seemed awfully eager to receive her student's approval.
"You were brilliant," Sarah responded honestly. Behind her, Principle Keats shuffled awkwardly out of the room, jealous of the attention lavished upon the new student. Throughout the entire class, Ms. Lafferty's eyes would occasionally focus upon the brunette, but never long enough to raise any questions. Still, it was enough to irk the middle-aged housewife.
"I wouldn't go that far. The subject sings on its own." Nodding, Sarah slid from her desk, standing up to give her neck a break. Ms. Lafferty was just so tall. Once, when she was younger, her mother had taken her to a fashion show. The models were all lanky Europeans, boyish and severe; but they didn't have Ms. Lafferty's presence. She filled up the room simply by standing.
"So what do you have to do to be eligible for the honors course?" she asked as she moved to the door. Ms. Lafferty sat down behind her desk, pondering the basket of apples resting before her role call book.
"You're eligible, if that's what you're asking. Your g-p-a from your old school is high enough, and you have all the prerequisites," Ms. Lafferty informed her as she picked up a bright red apple. "Although you're more than welcome to come over my house whenever you please. It would be nice to have some neighbors who do more than borrow power tools every now and then."
Ms. Lafferty' brown eyes were bright and twinkling with mirth. Sarah couldn't help but laugh, but it came out as a raspy cough.
"Are you alright?" her teacher questioned with concern as Sarah rubbed her sore throat. Her fingers passed over her scar, surprised at how tender the muscles beneath it felt. It hadn't hurt this much in weeks. "Is something wrong with your neck?"
"It's just an old injury!" Sarah filled in quickly and quietly, waving her free hand in a placating manner. Her mouth tasted like copper, meaning something had probably split. "I have to go. I'll see you when I get home!"
Forcing a quick grin, Sarah turned tail and fled the small classroom, dashing to her locker so she could get home. She could feel blood on the tip of her tongue, warm and sticky. At least she'd made it to the end of the day without bleeding on anything. Talk about having a 'Carrie' moment!
The walk home was short and brisk, the chill of fall an uncomfortable pressure against her face. Her new home was close to the campus, so it only took about twenty minutes to get back to the house. It was forty-five minutes before she arrived home, however, for a certain someone would not be denied the pleasure of her company.
Resting on the sidewalk just outside of the gate to her house was 'The Prince', as she'd taken to calling him. Ms. Lafferty's cat, the gorgeous little thing, was lying on his side with his head tipped in her direction. His heavily lined eyes were narrowed lazily at her, his tail curled and still. The Prince was happy.
"Hello, your Majesty," Sarah intoned with a false British accent as she tiptoed to the sleeping beast. He let out a happy meow, purring when she crouched down next to him. The Prince met her fingers as they extended towards him, rubbing his cheek against her knuckles. Grinning, Sarah smoothed her palm along his spine, rewarded by another low meow. The Prince wasn't kittenish by any means, he was too regal for that. But he was adorable all the same, with the way his purr rumbled through her hand as she scratched his back between his shoulder blades.
"Your day was probably better than mine. I think I'm going to fail algebra." The Prince's eyes opened lazily, the blue and brown jewels endlessly deep as they searched her soul. She let him peruse ('peruse' – how proper!) at his own leisure. As much as she loved Merlin, he wasn't too bright or insightful next to The Prince, and he lacked the delicious sense of mystery that surrounded the elegant feline.
"You remind me of someone," Sarah whispered to the cat. One of his eyebrows rose, and she could almost hear him saying 'Oh? Do go on.'
"Mmhmm! You even look a little bit like him, although you're much prettier."
For some reason, The Prince glowered at her, his ears flattening slightly. His tail flicked once, but when her hand moved from his shoulders to his chin, all was forgiven.
"You're smaller though," she admitted letting him gnaw on her fingertips a bit. It didn't hurt, and he always smoothed the little love bits with the tip of his tongue. Really, whoever said that cats were bratty? This one was positively charming – and she'd only known him for, what, thirteen hours?
"You're name's longer too, although that's not a good thing. I hope you don't mind if I call you Prince Charming every now and then. It's easier than calling you… calling you…" God, even now she could bring herself to say it. How horrible that woman was to give him such a silly name!
His brows knitting, The Prince dipped his head to one side, slightly confused by the looks of it. But before she could dissect his mood, she heard Irene calling for her.
"Gotta go," she whispered sadly. For one long moment, she hovered over him, rocking back and forth on her heels. It seemed kind of silly to be nervous about what she wanted to do. He was a cat. Did the consent rule apply to them?
Shrugging her shoulders, Sarah placed one hand flat on the ground, and bent down. The Prince's eyes closed just as her lips met his forehead, a deep purr echoing through his chest as she kissed the little 'M' marking. Slightly embarrassed (why though?), she left The Prince to ponder her odd behavior.
What god had he angered? Was it Morgaine's Christ? Danu? Krishna? Who? Which deity was so angry with him that they'd cursed him to layers upon layers of fur?
When Sarah kissed him, he could feel the warmth of her mouth, but not her mouth itself. Somewhere in the universe, a very powerful being was laughing at him.
She seemed to adore him as a cat. Why though? Cats were sullen, spoiled creatures, much like the Sarah who wished away her brother. Even in the Underground, they were treated largely with contempt. Fae young and old feared the Cat Sìth, a legendary beast that haunted the Scottish highland. Bast was an ungrateful, unfeeling goddess who never answered the prayers of her adherents (then again, the gods rarely did).
But Sarah… Sarah was willing to cuddle him when he was a Mau. After her impromptu and delightful kiss, he'd immediately dashed back into Morgaine's abode, shifting back to a fae in the safety of the basement. Naked as the day he was born, he paced the small, cold room with his arms crossed across his chest.
The bitter smell of black magic permeated the air, but Jareth expected no less. Morgaine kept her less than savory potion ingredients in this room, away from the goodness of the sun. In little jars were mysterious, oozing liquids, random body parts from random creatures, and several stunning flowers suspended flawlessly in ice.
There was also a mirror, one he'd seen when he was a small child. It was a magic mirror, of course, possibly the one from the Snow White canon. Right now, it was resting, so all Jareth saw was himself.
How old he looked as a normal human! Morgaine, quite bluntly, had told him that as a human, he was thirty-nine-years old. Thirty-nine! In cat years he'd be dead! Ugh, human aging was a repugnant process. There were creases and wrinkles… he looked old enough to be Sarah's father, and that was a disturbing thought.
Most of the problems he saw in the mirror were completely imaginary. He was still an incredibly beautiful and radiant being. There just happened to be a few more lines in places he didn't want them. His brows were all straight and normal, like a human's, but at least his eyes hadn't changed.
And then there was Toby. Jareth should've felt thrilled that his heir was precocious. Perhaps his time with the Goblin King had been enough to infuse the young boy with faery perception. But if he told Sarah his suspicions, everything could be ruined. He'd slept in her arms, and viewed her naked breasts, which were absolutely lovely.
That was beside the point though. There was simply no way she could know about him yet.
But what really troubled him was Sarah's illness, if that's what it was. There had just been so much blood, and her voice was positively destroyed. When she'd fallen asleep, he'd used all of his magic to erase his presence, including the tissues and sullied shirt. What ailment could possibly be afflicting her that would have such symptoms? He wasn't a healer. That wasn't his area of expertise, reining in the Labyrinth was. Fae didn't really get sick anyways. If they did, it meant they were dying.
Sarah couldn't be dying, could she?
The thought alone was enough to petrify him, freezing him in place; and as he came to a stop, he noticed that something was plastered on the wall behind Morgaine's mirror. There were words and a photograph – a poster?
Tiptoeing to the mirror, which hummed with dark energy, he gently pushed it aside. It growled lightly, but left him unharmed. Thankfully.
It was indeed a poster, for 'Les Misérables'. He'd never seen the play, but it was supposed to be compelling. Theatre wasn't exactly his favorite form of art. Costumes and plots were best reserved for entertaining young ladies. He had several in mind for Sarah and him, but they required a bed, not a stage. There was something familiar about the poster, or at least the woman. She was dressed in some poorly constructed period costume, her smooth black locks coiffed into ridiculously stiff banana curls. But her eyes were polished jade, wide and consuming against her pale skin. Above her, 'Starring Linda Williams' was emblazoned in stenciled, red letters. Linda Williams. So that was Sarah's mother.
Oh my goodness, review time! AHHH!
DarkDreamer1982: I don't know. I DON'T KNOW!
GeeAnnaB: Darling, I didn't mean to offend you. I was just painting a picture John Hughes could be proud of.
Writertron: Did you spot the revelations?
Avalon-Mist: Much like cats, there is no predicting Jareth's reactions.
Chichi89: Yay! Sarah's in school! Well, she was…
Scipio's Girl: He does not. If he finds out… the shit will hit the fan.
Miya Silver: Aww! Well, every now and then, go to a pet store and snuggle a kitten. It will make you feel better. And thank you! There are some really awesome stories on here. Check out anything byGemkat5 or Writertron. Trust me.
Helikesitheymikey: No no no, the towel is not perverted. I have a twisted mind, and even I don't think I could write that. I do, however, promise there will be some lemon-scented, adult touching between our starry lovers! Somewhere. I promise. Maybe this calls for a smutty one-shot? And I did mean progeny, my dear. Although prodigy or protégé would've worked, progeny was the most suitable. A progeny is something something that originates or results from something else. On the show 'True Blood', Eric calls Pam his progeny, because she is the product of his efforts, as Bevin and Diana will be the products of Morgaine's efforts. See? There is a method to the madness!
Phedre Serenity Rosamund: Hello there! What did you think of this chapter?
Crystal Moon Magic: Toby is pretty bad ass. And no, he isn't. Bwuhaha.
Bettybimbo: So many questions, and I won't answer any of them. Why? Because it'll spoil the surprise! That, and I'm omnipotent.
Lady Gummy Bears: Just as Yor is the man, Jareth is the boss. Obscure movie references, anyone?
Megaman51: And to think this was a one-shot! Thank you, thank you, thank you! Any sequels will have way more Jareth/Sarah action. Way more.
Anyways, that's all folks! Review!