Disclaimer:
Standard disclaimers apply.
The Labyrinth is the property of Jim Henson and its script writers, including but not limited to Dennis Lee, Terry Jones, Elaine May, and A.C.H. Smith. Characters and concept are used without permission and not for profit.
"Aníron" composed and performed by Enya, lyrics by Roma Ryan.
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Chapter 10
I Desire
The Great Hall had fallen into disrepair. Already damaged by centuries of goblin revelry, the sparse furnishings were now patinated with dust and cobwebs. Her footsteps landed dull and heavy upon the dusty stone floor, disturbing the dust so that it swirled in the dim light before drifting back to earth. Even the throne was empty, its coverings tattered and grey with age and dust. Broken chains littered the floor, and in the corner, a deep dark stain Sarah didn't want to think about. Seven years could not have wrecked such a change.
There was only one way to go from here, and her foot hesitated on the first step of the staircase. Memories, newly recovered, of a room that defied gravity overwhelmed her with vertigo, even more dizzying than Escher pictures. A room littered with staircases in all directions, which had haunted her nightmares for the past seven years, nightmares she'd forgotten as soon as she'd woken up. No up and no down, no grounding direction to stabilize her, and she was falling, falling, falling.... Except she still stood with her foot on the first step of the staircase, clutching the wall for balance.
She began to climb.
Her progress was slow, unhurried. There was no baby brother to save this time, no thirteen hour time clock to race against. There was only the Goblin King, who waited for her somewhere in his labyrinthian castle. There was only Jareth.
"We'll go with you," Hoggle said firmly. "Who knows what that rat Jareth has planned this time. Three pairs of eyes is better than one, and four pairs even better once we find Ludo."
"Sir Hoggle is right," Didymus agreed. "His Majesty is old and cunning. There may be a trap."
But Sarah refused their offer, her eyes gazing at something far away that they could not see. "No, I must do this alone," she said. When they began to protest, she silenced them with a gesture of her hands, as if suppressing their words physically. "You all helped me last time, for which I am very grateful. I am very grateful. But there is no quest this time. This is strictly between Jareth and me, and I cannot involve you two. I must finish this, whatever it is that is between us."
The stairs led to a large circular atrium. The architecture, unlike the Great Hall downstairs, unlike the Escher room she remembered from seven years ago, was opulent and smooth. The floor was laid with golden and white marble, polished to a mirror bright gleam. Seven doors lined the walls, each doorframe carved with ornate Rococo scrollwork. Her footsteps echoed noisily, thrown back to her ears in mocking imitations by the circular wall, until it seemed like the room was full of invisible goblins prancing around her.
She chose the fourth door, right across from where she stood. The door swung open easily on silent hinges, in shape contrast with the disuse she'd found downstairs. Candles burst into flame as she stepped through, illuminating a vast ballroom even grander than the atrium outside. The walls were hung with tapestries and heavy velvet curtains, each running riot with golden embroidery. The ceiling was painted as dark as the night sky, each star an inlaid diamond that sparkled brightly. A chandelier of crystals and maidens' tears glittered in the center, as bright as the moon. The splendor of the room made Sarah feel small and shabby in her scuffed jeans and dirty boots and her hair tumbling down around her face in messy tendrils.
"Dance with me," Jareth commanded. He stepped out of the shadows that lingered at the edge of the ballroom.
He was dressed in crimson brocade, his shoulders and throat glittering with rubies and garnets in the candlelight. His pale blond hair glimmered with starlight, highlighted with streaks of burgundy. He held out his gloved hands to her, beckoning. Music began to play from an invisible source, hauntingly familiar and wistful.
She felt no surprise at the sight of him. In truth, she had been expecting him.
Sarah obeyed. Taking his hand, she let him whirl her around the empty ballroom. His hand on her waist was sure and firm. She felt the weight of skirts swish about her body, heard the whisper of beads in her hair, but her attention was centered on the handsome face that looked back so intently at her. She gazed at him, studying the strange compelling eyes, the one eye as blue as water, and the other with the dilated pupil. She wondered what things he'd seen with that eye, so dark and so deep, if he saw things no one else could.
When she asked him, he laughed kindly at her. There was no mockery in his face, only admiration. "I see you," he replied seriously, smiling down at her. "You are so very beautiful."
The feeling of his hands on her was thrilling. It touched a chord deep within her, resurrecting a memory of a dream with a dream. She remembered wearing the most beautiful dress she'd ever imagined, the bodice twinkling with little gems, with layers and layers of heavy silk skirts. She remembered glass slippers on her feet, and the taste of champagne and peaches. She remembered dancing with a handsome stranger, who wore the night sky as his coat.
She stepped out of Jareth's arms, away from him. As she stepped away from him, the glamour melted off her and dissolved into mist and glitter that lingered momentarily in the air before vanishing into nothing. The dream protested, clinging to reality even as Sarah banished it back to the darkness of her unconsciousness. She became Sarah Williams again in her dirty jeans and messy hair. Not a princess, not even a scullery maid, just ordinary Sarah Williams before the Goblin King in all his glory.
He reached out a hand for her, but Sarah took another step back, away from his outreached hand. The hand became a clenched fist. "I can't," she said. "I just want to go home."
"It's still not enough, is it?" he asked, his face once again impassive as ice. No, not impassive. Anger smoldered in his eyes, unadulterated and tangible. She recoiled involuntarily from it. "Even after the dreams I sent you, even when I reorder my Labyrinth to the shape of your dreams, it is still not enough. What will it take? I am exhausted from living up to your expectations of me. Even seven years later, it seems I will never live up to them. How is it that you can have such power over me, when I have none over you?"
"I don't know what you want from me," she protested. "I'm just... I'm just a normal girl, trying to live my life. I made the wrong wish once, but does it really have to affect my whole life? Can't you just...can't you just leave me alone? Please? Or are you really going to punish me my whole life for one mistake I made when I was fifteen?"
She couldn't have imagined the pain that flashed in his strange eyes, the barest hesitation as his anger dissipated, before he replied, "It was not your mistake that put you in this situation."
"What do you mean?"
"Consequences, Sarah," he answered quietly. A crystal ball danced across his fingers as lightly as a bubble, twinkling in and out of sight with each gesture of his hand. Sarah stared at it, transfixed by his control over the bauble. "Ripples that grow and expand, until even the water can't contain them anymore."
The crystal vanished.
Jareth continued, his lips quirking in an unkind smile. "The story must play out. The princess must be saved. The knight in shining armor must vanquish the evil monster. You are a guest in my castle, even as I ask you not to leave. While you are here, the castle is yours to command, as long as you do not come near the tallest tower. Otherwise, I promise you that you will be unharmed."
"The promise of a goblin? What does that count for?" Sarah retorted.
Jareth's eyes flashed dangerously. "The promise of a king."
"And I suppose I play the role of the princess in your distorted fairy tale." Sarah asked sarcastically. "Who then, pray tell, is this knight coming to save me? A stolen child?"
Jareth raised an eyebrow. She needed no other answer.
"Oh, my god, Luke. What have you done?"
"Nothing," he replied, shrugging nonchalantly. "I have done nothing, except grant the wishes of two very foolish people. You chose to see again the sights you'd forgotten. Luke chose to save you from the danger he imagined you were in. Consequently, I very generously transported you both to my Labyrinth."
"And you twisted our intentions, just as you always do!" she snapped. Anger was a soft warmth under her skin. It drove away the cold fear that threatened to overwhelm her.
He raised his eyebrows. "Have I? How foolish of me," he said. a smile spreading slowly and cruelly over his lips.
"Don't play stupid, Jareth! I don't want your generosity, as you call it. Why can't you just leave us alone?"
Jareth shook his head. "Unfortunately, precious thing, I can't just leave you alone, as you put it. There are rules, after all. You have to play by my rules while in the Labyrinth. Thirteen hours have I granted your little friend, the same conditions I gave you when you ran my Labyrinth," he replied, stepping back into the shadows that reclaimed him eagerly. His figure melted into the darkness, until all she could see was his face, cold and cruel in the candlelight, and the rubies that glittered like blood drops upon his throat. "But I find it hard to deny you anything, precious. As you wished for solitude, I shall grant it to you."
And he was gone, leaving Sarah alone in the grand empty ballroom.
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Sarah wandered through the halls of the castle. Candles lined the walls in crystal sconces. As she passed each candle, it burst into flame, illuminating her passage through the darkness with a golden glow, extinguishing once she walked past. She could neither see forward nor backwards. There were no windows, only a long passage of stone that stretched out endless before her and after her.
"What dream of mine do you think you're gratifying this time?" she murmured into the silence.
As he'd promised, she was quite alone. No goblins obstructed her progress, no friends to alleviated the loneliness. Every once in a while, she came upon an open door. The rooms inside were more splendid than anything she'd ever seen, carpeted with plush red velvet and furnished with golden brocade and polished mahogany. Chinoiserie cabinets of curios bookshelves lined with old tomes suggested wealth beyond imagination. Fires roared into existence as soon as she stepped into each room, banishing the chill and gloom of centuries. She explored a series of magnificent rooms one after another, each more resplendent than the previous. Yet she felt that they each lacked something, something she couldn't put her finger on.
The last room she came upon was a bedroom. In here, the four poster bed was covered with intricate scrollwork that proved to be creeping roses upon closer inspection. They were repeated in the dusty pink damask of the canopy over the bed and the sheets on the bed. They ran riot over the deep red brocade curtains that lined the window cut into the stone wall. Roses littered the room, exploding out of porcelain and crystal vases. Their perfume pervaded the air, assaulting her senses as soon as she entered the room, wild and mysterious and sensual.
"Oh!"
She'd smelled this scent before. The roses she'd found outside her door had smelled the same. It seemed so long ago, even though it was only a few days, the memory as faded and as vivid as a dream. They'd been addressed to "Beauty," to her. He had sent the roses. A gift to Beauty from her Beast.
"I suppose you think you're witty," she said to the listening silence. She did not doubt that he was watching her from some secret hiding place within the castle.
In answer, the doors of the mahogany wardrobe opened, revealing a horde of beautiful gowns. Reams of luxurious silk and satin and velvet tumbled out, gleaming with gems and embroidery, fancier than any costume she'd ever worn for a play. She knew instantly that they would all fit her perfectly. Drawers slid out, revealing strings pearls and golden chains set with such glittering jewels that would tempt any dragon or the vainest princess.
"No shoes, Jareth?" she asked lightly, raising one eyebrow. "Dresses become rags, but slippers made of glass endure."
"But I don't intend to let you run away from me this time, precious," he drawled. His voice was behind her, and Sarah turned to find him lounging in the doorway. Compared to his earlier splendor in the ballroom, he was dressed simply enough in a fine dove grey cambric shirt that hung open, with a profusion of lace at the cuffs falling over black gloves, under a black waistcoat cut low to reveal his sculpted chest and the pendant that hung there. His breeches were blue-grey, tucked into tall brown boots. Yet even without his finery, he was more handsome than any prince or king she could imagine.
She refused to let that thought take hold.
"I thought you said thirteen hours," she said. "Yet you have prepared for a much longer stay than I've intended."
"I merely thought you might like to be more comfortable," he replied with a shrug of his elegant shoulders. She found it infuriating that he should be so calm. "A change of clothes, a place to rest, a place of privacy."
Sarah snorted. "More of your generosity?" she mocked.
"Indeed," Jareth agreed pleasantly. "Besides, you forget that I can reorder time. Thirteen hours for little Luke may be thirteen days for you."
"You wouldn't."
Jareth raised his eyebrows. "Oh, wouldn't I?" he countered. He pushed himself from the doorway and stalked towards her, his steps as silent as a cat. Sarah took a step back from the heat in his blue eyes, even as he reached up with his hands and cupped her face between them. His touch was warm, even through the delicate leather, and one thumb brushed against her cheek tenderly. "You have no idea what else I would do," he murmured in her ear. Sarah's breath caught in her throat. His breath on her neck was warm and intimate, sending shivers down her spine that was both thrilling and frightening at the same time.
His hands slipped down, fingers caressing the curve of her jaw, tracing the line of her neck until they came to the base of her throat. Here, he could feel the fluttering of her pulse through his gloves, so strong and irregular. He smirked with the knowledge that he had upset her, unnerved her, ruffled her feathers. "For instance," he breathed, resting his hands on either side of her beautiful slim neck. He pulled back to look at her face, flushed a delicate shade of rosy red. Her eyes were unfocused, watching him from under hooded eyelids, and her lips were parted in surprise. His own eyes were dark with desire.
"How I would love to break you."
Sarah's eyes snapped over in alarm, but he'd released her already. She stumbled backwards from him, her hand upon her neck where he had rested his only moments ago. "But I promised you that no harm would come to you, not even from me," he continued dispassionately, staring at his fingers as he flexed them. He turned away from her. "Besides, I did not bring you for revenge. As I've said, you are here as a result of other people's mistakes and careless wishes. I will not harm you. Even if the word of a Goblin King means so little to you." He strode to the open window, resting both hands on the wide stone sill as he stared out at his domain.
Her skin still tingled with the memory of his hands, and she rubbed her neck with her sleeve, as if trying to rub away the taint of that contact. It shamed her to remember how wildly her heart had palpitated, how she had stood there and let him touch her. Not lasciviously, no, but it had excited her more than anything else had ever had. The dark promise of his words had sent a jolt through her core, shattering her composure into a million crystal fragments. She stared at his back warily. He did not turn. It was curious how strangely tragic he looked, staring out the window, the moon casting pale long shadows upon his handsome face. How alone. The thought surprised her.
"Listen!" he said suddenly.
In the distance, someone was singing. The voice was clear and pure, flying high on the evening breeze, turning everything it touched into purest gold in Sarah's imagination. It unfurled and became the night sky, scattering jewels across the velvet expanse, where they clung and echoed back the refrain of the song. It drew her towards the window, heedless of Jareth's presence.
"What is she singing?" she asked in wonder.
"She sings of desire," he replied, low and close to her ear. His voice was now deep and compelling; it caressed her with velvet like softness. It was not any less beautiful than the voice that sang in the distance.
"Look! A star rises out of the darkness
The song of the star enchants my heart
Ah! I desire...."
She felt her defenses drop with the beauty of the music, her soul reaching out, unfurling in surrender at its caress, letting it possess her. His voice intoxicated her.
Sarah turned to face him, his face so close to her own in the moonlight. She saw the strange alien and cruel beauty of his face, softened by the gloom and shadows into something resembling softness. He was smiling, and that something resembling softness blossomed into something more, something Sarah could not name. He gazed back at her steadily, intently, never blinking. In the darkness, his left eye seemed black, ringed with blue. In it, she could see the reflection of the stars and moon. She could see herself.
"And what do you desire?" she heard herself asking.
The smile faded from his lips as they parted, half in wonder, half in reply. The words spoke themselves, unbidden and unmediated, drawn out of him by nothing less than pure surprise.
"To be...."
He blinked, caught off guard by his own answer. To be what? Yet he knew the answer already, and he felt his world fall apart around him with the realization of what he'd refused to acknowledge his entire existence. What he thought he'd given up and forgotten, so long ago, only to wake up thousands of years later and reclaim him in its suffocating grasp. There, always there, underneath the malice and mischief that determined his actions. A savage hungriness that left him empty, hollow, and unfulfilled.
O môr henion i dhu:
Ely siriar, êl síla
Ai! Aníron Undómiel...
He became aware of Sarah watching him thoughtfully. And strangely, for all his magic and knowledge, for all his longevity, he felt himself exposed by her fearless green eyes, which saw too keenly and too clearly. Eyes that were perplexed by what they saw. He raised an eyebrow, inviting her to share her confusion.
"I can't understand you at all," she confessed slowly, a little hesitantly. Not out of fear, but carefully, so that she would not trip over her own words. "The dreams I've been having, they really happened, didn't they? Just like how I convinced myself that our encounter seven years ago was a dream, but that really happened too. But you are always different. Sometimes you're cruel, and sometimes you are gentle and kind. It perplexes me. Even when you showed up outside my apartment, you were such a different person. Which one is the real you? Who are you really?"
"You know very well who I am," he replied pointedly.
Sarah shook her head. "No, I don't," she stated firmly. "You are Jareth, the Goblin King, but that tells me nothing. It's not even your real name."
Jareth smiled wanly. "I'm surprised you remember that.*"
"It doesn't explain anything though."
He reached for her again, and Sarah felt herself tense in anticipation, ready to move. Move where? Away or towards his touch? It didn't matter. She remained frozen, and Jareth's fingers brushed away a stray tendril of hair that had blown into her face. They did not touch her skin, and Sarah was oddly disappointed by the lack of counter. She could not know what it cost him to refrain from the contact.
"Why do you want to know so much about me?" he asked, his voice low. His eyes were inscrutable, lost in shadow and darkness.
"Because I refuse to believe you really are the wicked villain," she replied.
It was he who stepped towards her, closing the distance between them. His fingers, deprived of the softness of her skin, played instead of the lock of hair he'd brushed from her face, relishing the way they slipped as easily as silk between his fingers. Even seven years later, she still wore her hair long. If only he wasn't wearing his gloves right now....He twined a tendril around a finger, and smiling slowly and wickedly, lifted it to his lips. "Do you desire a hero instead?" he murmured, looking up into her eyes.
For the second time that night, Sarah felt her breath catch in her throat. Her heart beat furiously in her chest, a caged bird trapped and yearning for freedom. His eyes bore into hers, so close to her own, burning with dangerous intent. She could not speak. She could not breathe. Laughing silently at her speechlessness, he released her hair to take hold of her hand, half raised as though to ward him off. Turning it over, he pressed his lips against her palm.
His lips were a tender caress upon the sensitive skin, stealing all coherent thought from her mind. A remote part of her noticed in fascination how long his eyelashes were, the way they brushed against his cheek as he lowered his eyes to the task at hand. His mouth was a heat in her hand, spreading through her blood with languid fire. She could only watch, enthralled, as he drew his mouth back and forth, as if he sought to explore and conquer the unknown territories of her palm. Sarah couldn't think straight, couldn't think anything except for how gentle he was, how delightful it felt....
"No...."
She tried to draw her hand away, but he held fast.
"No?" he asked softly, looking up at her with amused eyes. Never lifting his lips from her skin, he murmured against hr skin, his warm breath the lightest caress. Sarah shivered, not from cold. Jareth smiled at her reaction. "Not a hero then, my precious. Not a villain either. Always with the expectations, and I am generous enough to try and fulfill them."
His mouth was on her wrist now, right above the pulse that throbbed there. It was a battle not to lay her fingers against his cold sculpted cheek, a battle she won only because he seemed to determine his conquest complete. Almost. Entwining their fingers, he held her hand, palm to palm.
And hand to hand is holy Palmer's kiss....shit. Sarah kicked her inner actress in the shins. I do not need Romeo and Juliet quoted at me right now. Or any references to a tragic love story that ends in teenage suicide.***
"Tell me then, Sarah," he continued, leaning closer until his breath fanned her face, and she breathed in the scent of wild roses in his hair. "What do you desire?"
From darkness I understand the night.
Dreams flow, a shine stars.
Ah, I desire the Evening Star.**
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* For anyone who has forgotten, a dream in Chapter 3: Roses.
** I changed the order of the song, just because it fit the flow of the story better. Unfortunately, I wasn't clever enough to write it to suit the flow of the song. Fail. =(
Also, you might also notice that "Evenstar" has been swapped for "Evening Star." That's because we are not in Tolkien's universe, and Jareth does NOT desire Arwen. Nor does Sarah, for that matter.
*** "Cop gives thumbs up to teenage suicide?" asked Tim Messenger eagerly. Nicholas stared at him as though he were crazy.
Author's Note: For once, no meddling supposed heroes. Because even I can't deny these two a moment (or a few) to themselves. Even Jareth had to succumb to that, because he refuses to behave. He knows his lines, what he's supposed to do to help the story play out, and he bloody refuses. It takes a lot of control to restrain him from ripping Sarah's clothes off as he pushes her onto the bed beneath him so that he can....
Ah, where was I? Oh yes, I think Jareth needs more space in his breeches. It's cutting off his circulation and thus seriously damaging his ability (and mine) to think properly. Although finally, a glimpse into his mind for once! Luckily, we get a glimpse when it's not quite as hormone-addled as it usually is.