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.

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As the World Falls Down

Chapter 12

Old Northern Tales

He rifled through the bookshelf, rejecting titles here and there until he came to a collection of stories. This one he pulled off the shelf, flipping through its pages with a thoughtful air. Quite frequently, he snorted. Every once in a long while, his lips would spread in a smile at something he'd read.

"Hans Christian Andersen?" she asked in amusement.

She lay curled up on the couch, her dark hair fanning her face as she watched him ransack her bookshelf. He smiled to see her so displayed before him. He carried the book over to her, sitting on the floor with his back against the couch so that she could also see. The book was opened to "The Goblin and the Huckster."¹

"'But how light the room was! From the book shot forth a ray of light which grew broad and full, like the stem of a tree, from which bright rays spread upward and over the student's head. Each leaf was fresh, and each flower was like a beautiful female head; some with dark and sparkling eyes, and others with eyes that were wonderfully blue and clear. The fruit gleamed like stars, and the room was filled with the sounds of beautiful music. The little goblin had never imagined, much less seen or heard of, any sight so glorious as this,'" he read softly. He turned and touched her cheek with a gloved finger. "But he has forgotten to mention green eyes."

"Hans Christian Andersen only writes about blue or black eyes," she replied flippantly. "I wonder what sort of poems were in the book. Shakespeare's sonnets?"

He snorted again. "No goblin would ever have the intelligence to appreciate poetry, regardless of the author," he said. He turned the page. "Now here is a pretty story of a sculptor who makes a statue in the image of the woman he loves, who spurns him.² Shall I read it aloud?"

"No!" She shuddered. "It is depressing, like a story of Pygmalion and Galatea gone wrong. It seems nice enough, until the girl tells him to go away. Then he just goes crazy, and things get weirder and weirder. Read the one about the korrigans, 'The Eflin Hill.' I think that one's a much prettier story."³

Laughing at her choice, he obeyed. "As you wish."

Her lips quirked.

He snorted through the story, punctuating it with observations such as, "there is only one elfin king, and he certainly does not live under a hill!" and "even if he has daughters, he'd never let a goblin marry one of them!" and "no goblin, no matter how old, would ever be as well spoken as this one," until Sarah slapped him lightly on the shoulder. Afterwards, he kept his comments to himself. When he finished reading that story, he handed the book to her. "It's your turn," he said with a sly smile, tilting his head up and back to look at her through his eyelashes.

She took the book from him, sitting up so that she could lean against the armrest. She brushed her hair out of her green eyes. "What do you want me to read?" she asked.

"Surprise me."

Peaking over the book at him -- his head tilted against the couch, blond hair brushing against her legs -- she considered what story to read. Flipping through the book, she found it, the last story of the collection. She began, "A mother sat by her little child; she was very sad, for she feared it would die."⁴

She did not see him stiffen where he sat, the line of his neck and shoulders tensing even as he remained perfectly still.

"It was quite pale, and its little eyes were closed, and sometimes it drew a heavy deep breath, almost like a sigh; and then the mother gazed more sadly than ever on the poor little creature. Some one knocked at the door, and a poor old man walked in. He was wrapped in something that looked like a great horse-cloth; and he required it truly to keep him warm, for it was cold winter; the country everywhere lay covered with snow and ice, and the wind blew so sharply that it cut one's face. The little child had dozed off to sleep for a moment, and the mother, seeing that the old man shivered with the cold, rose and placed a small mug of beer on the stove to warm for him. The old man sat and rocked the cradle; and the mother seated herself on a chair near him, and looked at her sick child who still breathed heavily, and took hold of its little hand.

"'You think I shall keep him, do you not?' she said. 'Our all-merciful God will surely not take him away from me.'

"The old man, who was indeed Death himself, nodded his head in a peculiar manner, which might have signified either Yes, or No; and the mother cast down her eyes, while the tears rolled down her cheeks."

"No, don't read that one," he said suddenly, turning around so that he knelt by the couch. He placed one hand on the book, obscuring the text. "It is too sad, even sadder than the story of 'The Psyche.' She goes through all that for nothing. The child still dies. It's not even true. No one, not even a mother, would go through all that. She would have given up long before she reached Death's house."

Something in his voice made her look at him. His face was white, as white as death. Even his lips were bloodless. And his eyes.... Sarah was frightened of him in that moment. His eyes were dark and drawn with something she could not understand, something she thought was distaste or displeasure. No, it was neither. It was something closer to hurt. A long buried pain newly awakened. He tried to smile, but failed. Laying the book aside, she grasped the hand that rested on the page. The glove was a barrier.

"Jareth."

Jareth pulled his hand away, gently. "If you want something with a tragic ending, perhaps 'The Little Mermaid' would be a better choice," he said, his voice carefully light.⁵ He picked the book back up, flipping it to the appropriate page. "An immortal creature falls in love with a mortal prince and gives up her most precious treasure to win his love. Far out in the ocean, where the water is as blue as the prettiest cornflower --"

Her hand upon his arm stopped him. "Get up," she commanded, tugging him onto the sofa.

He let her. "As you wish," he replied lips quirking as he unfolded himself from the ground, settling into the indicated seat. Once there, she sat down next to her, setting her head upon his shoulder. So close, he could smell the perfume that lingered in the dark strands of her hair, a mixture of lilies and roses and anise, innocent and beguiling. Her bare feet lay curled up upon the sofa, seeking the warm and shelter of a cushion.

"Now you may continue," she commanded regally and magnanimously.

"As you wish," he repeated solemnly, though his eyes danced. She could feel his voice rumbling in his chest, a calm and soothing vibration.

"Far out in the ocean, where the water is as blue as the prettiest cornflower,and as clear as crystal, it is very, very deep; so deep, indeed, that no cable could fathom it: many church steeples, piled one upon another, would not reach from the ground beneath to the surface of the water above. There dwell the Sea King and his subjects...."

She fell asleep to the murmur of his deep velvety voice, her heart cradled against his chest as he read aloud from her book for fairy tales. When she woke up, he was gone, and the sun was a glimmer on the grey horizon.

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Toby screwed his face in concentration, following the instructions that Sarah had written down for him. He didn't want to call his dad. He clicked on the File menu, scrolling down until he found the correct option. He clicked on it. Behind him, he could hear the printer roar into life. Yes!

Except when he picked up the printout, it wasn't what he wanted at all. He'd been printing out a picture of goblins for his English class. The image was still on his computer screen, a crowd of goblins frolicking on a hill, little grotesque brown creatures with pointy ears and grubby clothes. But the paper he held was filled with a large portrait of a man's face. He was handsome, in a cold ethereal and cruel manner, all bony defined features and icy pale skin, surrounded by a cloud of pale golden hair. But Toby found himself drawn to the eyes, eyes so similar to his own -- pale blue eyes, like chips of ice. Except one of the pupils was larger, giving the impression of a black eye surrounded by a ring of blue fire.

The printer began to print again, copies of the same handsome cruel face.⁶

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1 The Goblin and the Huckster

2 The Psyche

3 The Elfin Hill -- the elf king throws a party under the hill, inviting the old goblin from Norway and his two sons, who are looking for wives among the king's seven daughters. In the end, the old goblin marries the seventh daughter, who can tell a story for everything.

4 The Story of a Mother

5 If anyone has read the original story The Little Mermaid by Hans Christian Andersen, it's very different from the Disney version.

6 Another image inspired by the same source as Sarah's portrait in Chapter 8. First person to guess what it is gets a small scene (or potentially a new vignette/one-shot) written in their honor and to their specs.

Author's Note: Haven't uploaded in over a week, so here's 3 chapters in one go!

All referenced fairy tales can be found here: ./