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Disclaimer: Sarah, Jareth, the Labyrinth, and its other characters are owned by the Jim Henson Company.

Talespinner

Chapter 11: Such a Fool Heart

The muted, violet tones of June twilight were just replacing the last streaks of sunset orange in the sky as Sarah left the restaurant to start the short walk home. Miranda – it still felt strange to think of her so, but she had been quite adamant that "Dr. Casas" was far too formal now that Sarah was no longer a student – had met her there for dinner after work to discuss final edits to the novel that Sarah would complete before beginning the process of submitting it to publishing houses. One of the senior magazine staff was also a publishing agent, and she had recently agreed to take Sarah on as a client. Though she knew there was likely still a long road to walk before the book would see store shelves, Sarah had had to struggle to contain her excitement through dinner and remember to eat in addition to talking.

On her way back to her apartment, sheaf of notes in arm, her thoughts meandered through her stories even as some more present part of her reveled in the cool evening air on her skin and the fading smells of sun-warmed trees and pavement. For the brief moments when she could block out the feel of hard cement beneath her feet and the droning urban soundscape, she could almost think of herself as being on those wilder paths, though she sorely missed the transient glow of the fireflies that had always been an exuberant presence in her parents' suburban yard.

Perhaps she caught a glimpse of snowy wings through the decorative tree branches, or perhaps it was simply inevitable that her mind would drift to the place… person… it eventually did. Regardless, Sarah found herself thinking about Jareth.

He had been a mirage in the peripheral vision of her mind's eye for weeks, the impression of a presence only half-sensed, yet almost always there. She had been able to avoid losing herself in daydreams – or at least, avoid doing so more than usual – only because her work at the magazine was fast-paced and challenging. Attempting not to replay their last encounter over and over in the three days that followed it had proven utterly futile, and even after nearly a month the encounter remained a popular topic of mental discourse in her sleep.

Sometimes, she bemoaned her loss of objectivity. Sometimes she wondered whether the kiss had affected him as much as it had seemed to, and if so, whether she could use that to her advantage in the future.

Mostly, though, she just wanted to touch him again.

What little remained of her initial wariness for the Goblin King had found no concrete grounds for distrust; he had played the role of the arrogant faerie lord to the hilt, but when all was said and done, he had yet to try to coerce her into anything. He had been courteous, even generous in many respects, and truly seemed to appreciate her wonder and curiosity about his world. (Part of Sarah would have dearly loved to amend that to "appreciate her," but she was trying not to get too ahead of herself.) If he was playing her for some reason, she didn't see how.

At times, she wondered about his claims of boredom driving him to her presence, and just to what degree a desire for novelty could be a motivation for a being such as Jareth. He seemed at once both calculating and wantonly capricious, the former belying the idea and the latter supporting it, and she realized that she could not say with certainty which was the truer interpretation. Her writing's positive influence on the connection between the human world and the Fae was another possible reason for his visits, but in purely pragmatic terms he needn't bother visiting her directly to encourage it.

Which seemed to leave the utterly wonderful (and slightly frightening) conclusion that she, specifically, was important to him.

Amused and a bit exasperated, Sarah blew dark strands of hair out of her eyes as she slipped through the pedestrian gate of her apartment building.

I tried not to care. I didn't want to care. He's alien and dangerous (…and wild and clever and beautiful and exciting and…), and I was right to be suspicious. Should still be suspicious.

She sighed.

Alright Sarah, what's it going to be? Are you going to go looking for him? Ask him to come to you? Or just wait for him to pop up again in the middle of some night when he damn well feels like it?

Pondering her choices as she absently climbed the stairs to her door, she was startled out of her reverie by a short pulse of light that winked in and out of existence in the corner of her eye. She stopped, hand on the doorknob, and waited with eyes straining into the deepening dusk beyond the stairwell.

Was that…?

Minutes passed, and no firefly glow shone again; Sarah shrugged and walked inside.

The decision of how her next encounter with Jareth would be initiated was taken out of her hands no more than fifteen minutes later, when she heard a muffled, fluttering thump against her window. For a moment, she stared confusedly at the white owl as it – he – was plainly demanding her attention; why didn't he just sidestep in like before?

But the answer came quickly enough, and she moved to open the window.

Permissions. On his previous visit, her own trespass had allowed him entrance, and before that, she had verbally invited him. In the present case, the best he could do (at least, in her own home) was to communicate that he wanted her to talk to him.

The realization that she could, in fact, refuse to let him in was a brief amusement, but the notion was gone almost as soon as it surfaced. If she was going to blatantly antagonize the Goblin King's pride, there were far better reasons to do it than for a petty lark, and besides – she had dearly wanted to see him, anyway.

Sarah flipped the latch on the window and stood aside as the great bird winged into the middle of her living room. He did not land and then transform, but rather seemed to stretch and grow into his humanoid shape as he slowed. The light around him twisted – that was the best way Sarah could think to describe it – and suddenly Jareth was there on two legs, his mane of pale hair floating around him as he turned to face her –

– and the next thing she knew, her back was pressed against the cool glass of the still-closed side of the window, her left hand caught in an wrought steel grip and slammed beside her head as his mouth claimed her own in a sudden and ferocious assault.

The first kiss had been heady and deep and almost challenging, but this… this threatened to sweep Sarah away. She had no chance to adjust, or to rise to meet him; his tongue and teeth and silken lips were simply there, moving in hungry concert as if to devour her. The heat of his body was an inferno, where before it had been only embers.

His free arm wrapped roughly around her waist to fasten on her left hip and yank her forward against his chest. Every muscle in his spare frame was as tense as she felt, taut with a fury only half-restrained as he dragged his fingers from her hip, up her ribcage in a broad caress that caught the hem of her shirt and bared sensitive skin to the buttery softness of his leather glove.

Sarah let out a choked whimper into his mouth, and even through the bruising intensity of the kiss she could feel his triumphant smile.

As suddenly as he had pinned her, he melted away again, all contact vanishing nearly at once save for a feather-light, trailing stroke of his right hand along her jaw as he stepped backward with the twist of a satisfied smirk on his lips. Sarah was left gasping for air, slumped slightly against the half-open window.

"What… what was that for?" she finally managed through gritted teeth. Her entire body felt like an over-wound spring, still screaming for more even as she internally cursed his smugness.

"That was for the exquisitely abrupt timing of your departure from our last meeting, my lovely, infuriating Sarah," he answered mildly. His voice held its usual note of light mockery , but Sarah was gratified to see that he looked at least a bit out of breath, himself.

Shakily, she raked dark hair over one shoulder, its blanketing weight far too warm for comfort against the flushed skin of her neck. "I see," she mused, struggling to wrestle her hormones back under control. "You couldn't stand not having the last word, could you?"

"Of course not. Could you?" Sarah grudgingly shook her head, and he continued. "While I assure you your stubbornness will never eclipse my own, it is formidable enough for a human to be… amusing." He gave her a sharp grin more akin to bared teeth than any gentler expression. "Besides, what is that expression humans are so fond of…? Turnabout is fair play, after all."

I'm never going to live that one down, am I? she thought with an internal moan of chagrin.

"What's the matter? You did so love to tell me how unfair I was, once," he taunted. "I thought you'd be pleased to see me reformed."

Bastard! "Stop reading my mind!" The words came out unbidden, and far closer to a plaintive yelp than she would have liked.

"Stop painting your thoughts all over your pretty face, then. Though I'd of course prefer you continued."

Sarah allowed herself a very brief moment in which to imagine his Majesty the Goblin King strung up by his naked ankles and dangled over a chicken roost…

…which turned far too quickly into an image of Jareth lounging in similar dishabille on a featherbed instead, and she quickly quenched the scene with a mental bucket of ice water.

Got to calm down. He won the play, but will only take the match if I keep letting him.

She straightened her shoulders and raised her eyes, willing her expression to one of amusement rather than defiance. "Alright," she said, simply. She was rewarded with a single, owlish blink before he gave her another half-grin with only slightly fewer teeth showing than before. (Teeth that had felt so very wonderful on her lower lip not three minutes earli – STOP.)

"Well then, Sarah, if you are quite in command of yourself once more" – his expression plainly said that he did not think it likely – "I have an invitation for you."

Intrigued, she cocked her head. "And what might that be?"

His intent gaze eased from her face and set to roaming her apartment for several long seconds before he answered, as if he had only just noticed that the surroundings were different from the dorm room he had visited previously. "It falls to me to host the summer solstice masquerade this year – not my preference of seasons, but the usual hostess had other issues to attend to – and it would please me if you were to attend as my guest." The mismatched eyes fastened back on her, and he swept her a fluid bow.

Sarah found herself smiling at his wording as much as the offer. Jareth had always struck her as a creature of autumn, all cool, dry words with an underlying promise of winter's bite, and it secretly pleased her to have more evidence to that effect. "Masquerade? I've never heard of a summer masquerade before, though it sounds rather more fun than a 'summer folly' or 'garden party,' or whatever it is people used to do in this world when they noticed seasons' passing with more than a page on a calendar."

A liquid laugh, quick and fleeting. "It is a masquerade not because it is summer, but because it is my realm."

"And may I have the same assurances as my last visit?" she asked, arching a slim brow even though her smile remained.

Jareth affected a put-upon air and acquiesced, "You may, certainly, although I think I would prefer to conduct you myself, this time, so as not to have a repeat performance with a contrary piece of jewelry…"

Sarah snorted a giggle. Her quick exit had not been a calculated withdrawal at the time so much as a half-panicked escape, but she was increasingly convinced that it had been the best decision to make. "That's fine, as long as I have your oath that I still get to leave when I decide to."

"You have it, lovely Sarah. I would not want to give you reason to deny me."

"Then… I'll come. Gladly," she said. As if there was any real question…

"Excellent. I shall find you at dusk on the day of the solstice, then." The corner of his mouth turned up in what was not quite a smirk, an expression that Sarah had begun to interpret as approval.

Then she thought of something altogether too important to leave hanging until the appointed day.

"What on Earth – or not, as the case may be – should I wear? I'll make a wild guess that my jeans aren't quite dressy enough." For a few moments Sarah thoroughly regretted the question, for the look on his face showed a veritable progression of ideas she was sure she wouldn't approve of… but eventually he answered, to her mild surprise, without any of the obvious lewd choices.

Well, almost.

"That is not something you need concern yourself with. I will provide a suitable gown for the occasion, and you will shine like a jewel among river stones," he said, the half-smile spreading back into a profoundly untrustworthy grin.

Sarah was skeptical. "Suitable and appropriate, I hope? I mean, I'm no prude, but…"

He laughed, the sound slightly louder and somehow less… deliberate… than usual. "By the standards of my realm, you would be dressed appropriately even if you came in naught but strands of gemstones and perhaps a bit of gauze. But I have some idea of what you mean by that, and because I am feeling exceptionally generous, I will honor your preference."

She let out the indignant breath she had drawn at his first sentence, and assented with a teasing smile of her own. "I am truly grateful for your generosity, then, Goblin King. I will see you in… two weeks, I think it is."

He bowed again and stepped near enough to run a finger down her face, but to her immense disappointment, he stepped back across the border into his own world without kissing her, and before she could summon the nerve to pull him closer. Sarah swore she could hear the mocking echo of his laugh long after her heartbeat had slowed back to normal.

The fourteen days until the summer solstice passed in fits and starts for Sarah – there were times when she could do nothing but think of the upcoming celebration and hours dragged like days, but whenever her mind drifted elsewhere, they skittered past all but unmarked.

Finally, as the sun sank on the evening of the solstice, Sarah opened her window to the fragrant summer air and sat down to finish her waiting. While it seemed a bit silly to expect him to come through the window when he would be able to simply appear, this time, there was something fitting about the warm breeze that ruffled the curtains and stirred her hair as she sat on the couch.

She did not have long to wait, and she nearly laughed aloud to see that despite the practicality of sidestepping into the room, Jareth could not resist making the dramatic entrance that her open window allowed. Again as an owl, he soared through the window and went into a slowed dive, talons stretching downward as if to scoop up some rodent prey before they lengthened into legs and booted feet.

Unwilling to be complacent about how he would greet her this time, Sarah had braced herself for anything he would intend to use to surprise her, and was mildly disappointed when he simply grinned at her from where he stood.

"A most joyous solstice to you, Sarah. The night begins – and it looks like you are ready to go…?"

She nodded, rising and inclining her head in a slight echo of the embellished bows he was so fond of giving her. "Yes, I am."

Her formality drew a chuckle from him, and he took up her hand to kiss her knuckles, eyes filled with provocative amusement. "Then let us waste no time, my fair mortal lady," he said just above her skin, as the spinning sensation of travel flared.

It subsided much more quickly than she recalled from her previous sojourns, and deposited them into a small but well-appointed room with a dressing screen and a single tall mirror. Sarah looked around curiously, wondering where this hopefully-not-too-ridiculous garment she was to wear was, and Jareth gestured impatiently.

"Well, unless you're waiting for me to whisk those strange human clothes of yours off by magic, go ahead and undress. The guests are waiting for us."

Sarah froze, feeling her face go scarlet. What the – he – he can't be – oh, but I bet he IS serious…

Jareth regarded her with a raised eyebrow for several seconds, before cracking a smile filled with pure deviltry. "No? What a pity." He heaved a melodramatic sigh before shaking his head as if in resignation. "Ahh well. I've summoned one of my subjects – an acquaintance of yours, I believe – to help you dress. Though see that you don't blush so prettily for her; I might be jealous."

... …incorrigible jackass. Sarah pressed her lips together and nodded, while shooting him her best death glare. He ignored the daggers shooting from her eyes and swept out of the room with a hearty chuckle, but a moment later Sarah's good humor was at least mostly restored by the once again familiar-yet-different woman who entered in his stead.

Yerascaltidryx the statue/sphinx/catwoman strode in wearing a daringly cut, chocolate brown dress over smooth, golden skin. She was barefoot, revealing toes that ended in sheathed claws rather than nails, and her eyes were slit-pupiled and feline yellow, but she otherwise looked as close to human as Sarah had ever seen her. Her lips twitched into an impish smile as she noted the human woman's fading blush, and she tossed her head toward the door.

"Yon royal peacock asked me to help you out in the event that your clothes didn't immediately fly off at his offer. Hope you don't mind?"

"Ahh, no, not at all, and thank you. I'm sure I'll need it; humans aren't much for elaborate formal events anymore. Or humans without altogether too much money, anyway."

Yera trilled a laugh and ducked behind the screen. "It's good to see you, strange little mortal… or rather, I should be calling you Lady Sarah, I think, yes? You've been quite the traveler lately, and haven't even lost your name or gotten cursed or made his Majesty angry; I'm quite impressed!"

Sarah wasn't quite sure what to make of that, but she settled for an anxious laugh. "I'm rather glad of that, myself…" Yera returned with an armful of vibrant green fabric and something silvery that sparkled in the light, her foot pushing a panel of the screen open to block the doorway as she moved.

"Here's the gown he had made for you. Whatever else anyone might say about him, the king certainly has taste." Sarah couldn't make out enough of the fabric's shape to comment, but whatever it was, it certainly looked luxurious.

When Yera had finally finished helping her into the clinging confection, Sarah looked in the mirror and found herself amply in agreement with the sphinx's assessment.

The front of her torso was swathed – no, painted – in a green that brought to mind moss and new oak leaves drenched by a summer shower, and at her hips the light, filmy material flowed into floor-length layers of fluttering panels that shifted and parted and floated around her as she moved. At the top of the bodice, the fabric twisted into branching points just below her collarbone, and the green tendrils flowed seamlessly into a loosely irregular, silver-gossamer mesh that clung closely to her skin. The mesh was strung here and there with tiny crystal beads, and it glistened across her shoulders and down both arms like dew-kissed spider web to end in crystal-tipped points on the backs of her hands. The back of the dress was made solely of the barely-there webbing, which held the bodice in place while leaving the skin of her back nearly bare. Under ordinary circumstances, Sarah would have been very nervous about such seemingly precarious construction, but whatever the webbing was made of – she wouldn't have been surprised at all to find out it was real spider silk – was strong and flexible, a deceptively delicate net that cradled her body even as it adorned her. A belt of thicker strands of the stuff was similarly riddled with crystals to catch the light, and trailed long strands of them down to mingle with the fabric of the skirt.

As Sarah gaped at the dress, Yera deftly twisted her brunette locks into a coil and secured it with silver pins, leaving a few short strands at the nape to fall in tendrils upon the bare skin of Sarah's neck. Finally, Yera handed her an elaborate half-mask of brown and green feathers, edged with a sheen of silver dust. Its shape and construction tugged at Sarah's memory, and she looked up at the sphinx in surprise.

With a self-satisfied smile, Yera explained, "I had a bit of a hand in that – figured you'd like it given what you looked like last time I saw you." Sarah paled at the implication, but Yera reassured her with a wink. "No, he didn't ask where exactly you were, and I didn't see the need to tell him. I prowl enough mortal dreams that it was no great surprise I'd run into you."

Letting out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding, Sarah smiled gratefully. "Good, I didn't exactly mean to be there. And I do very much like the mask," she added as she carefully hid the fasteners in her hair. "I guess I'm ready to go, then… Thank you so much for your help."

A feline grin and another wink. "You're quite welcome… it was my pleasure. Now, shall we go make a few dozen courtiers envy Jareth your company for the evening?"

Sarah started to nod, but hesitated. "Just a moment, first… I'm… rather nervous, to be honest. Do you have any advice on how not to embarrass myself? I'm not exactly used to events like this."

Yera nodded slightly, her playful eyes sobering to a surprised respect. "You are wise to ask, but embarrassment is no danger that should worry you. Instead, I will advise you to remember some of the things that your books likely taught you about the fair folk, and remember them well: be cautious but do not seem it, be courteous to all you meet, and above all, show no fear." Sarah suppressed a shiver that was born of equal parts excitement and nerves. "You are the personal guest of the King of this realm, and are therefore due great respect, mortal or no. Remember that as well, and demand that respect with every inch of your bearing."

Wordless, Sarah made a deep curtsey in thanks, but the feline woman shook her head and pulled Sarah up. "As delightful as you look when you do that, better start playing the queen with me." She gave her protégé a last, quick grin and motioned to the door. "After you, my lady."

Sarah took a deep breath, lifted her chin, and stepped into the short hallway, where the music of revelry echoed toward her from outside.

A/N: To everyone who wished me luck on my exams what seemed like a very long time ago - thank you so much for all your encouragement! I did pass both sections of my exams, which means I can continue in graduate school to work on the PhD I'm aiming for instead of stopping at a MS. It's such an incredible relief to have that over; it was a constant worry literally all of last semester, and now I can have at least a little bit of a life again. I hope that all of you who mentioned having exams too had yours go as well as mine did.

This chapter just did not want to happen, even after I started pushing hard to get it written. I liked what I had planned, but I guess I was still too much in Study Or Die mode to get the words out very easily. When it finally started working, it got quite a bit longer than I intended, but I suppose that's not something to complain about, now is it?

As always, I welcome (adore, covet, crave) your feedback!