Chapter 14.

"Where are we," Sarah asked Jareth who was now once more in the lead. "I don't recognize this place."

"You should," he grumbled, with an outstretched arm he indicated a misshapen mass that looked disarranged where it sat. "Don't you see what that is?" He illuminated the object with a flash of light.

"It was a dream," Sarah argued as she now distinguish the broken sphere that had been once used as a ballroom. "It wasn't real…"

Angry and hurt, Jareth stopped short, turned on her almost violently. "Was it not," he spat at her. "Well there it is, and there it remains." He pointed harshly.

"It was a trick…" Sarah brushed her throbbing brow, "You tricked me… that… peach…" Green eyes spat fire at him as she accused. "Was tainted… poisoned!"

"That peach was a peace offering," he countered. "I thought you understood that." Turning on his heel, he moved forward, "You are supposed to be some kind of expert on Fairy Tale significant facts aren't you?"

"I never read anything about~ peace offering!" She shouted at him, unable to leave the sight of the broken Crystal Ballroom. "I think you're lying!" She crossed her arms. "This is a trick, just another one of your mean spirited stupid lying Goblin King tricks."

Her accusation halted him; at a snail's pace he turned to face her. "A trick," he rumbled. "Mean spirited," he snarled. "I'm not the one who flung a chair into the wall, destroying a perfectly good ballroom!" His anger migrated down to his feet as he stomped back to where she stood defiantly glaring back. "I am not the one who sent the guests tumbling into the night!" A gloved hand wagged leather clad fingers in her face. "You are nothing more than a spoiled, intolerant, ignorant human!" His voice was strained and prickly. "That Crystal Ballroom had been part of the Labyrinth for a millennium! And you destroyed it without a moment's hesitation!"

"It was real," she asked with a raised brow, "Oh and I suppose that spun sugar dress was real as well…" The green eyed beauty argued hotly. "I suppose all that fanfare and coming on to me with the singing and dancing were real too, eh?"

Narrowing his eyes, he hardened his gaze, "Wouldn't you like to know," he challenged in an icy tone.

"I'm not falling for anymore of your tricks," she stepped aggressively towards him. "You led me a merry chase, forced me to play your game, and put unfair road blocks up every time I started to win…" No longer able to restrain her actions, Sarah extended both hands and swiftly, shoved them into the chest of the man standing before her. "You're a spoiled sport!" Her voice was ragged and it came out like a roar.

Never having been treated with such disrespect, Jareth shoved her shoulders in retaliation. "Look who's talking!" His voice matched hers in raggedness suddenly. "Give the bitch everything she wants, and is she happy, no…"

"Fuck off!" she shouted, shoving him again.

Grabbing the wrists as her palms flattened into his chest he yanked her forward. The embattled pair had not noticed the soundless approach of the flock of dark winged Aves that had settled on the wreckage of the onetime elegant, graceful, pleasing to the eye stylish sphere. The shoving and pushing and clawing held the attention of the combatants. As the bodies clashed the pair standing collapsed into a heap of flailing arms and legs and obscenities being shouted back and forth. Thrashing, whirling, and rolling about in the mire that was at the edge of the path, voices sounding more like wounded animals. The Flock stood as silent sentinels, observing but not interfering in the mêlée.

Sarah's hand reached into the wild mane of Fae hair, fingers knotting into the long strands within her grasp. In reprisal Jareth likewise clutched a handful of her tresses. Each snarled at the other, and neither seemed able to see past their own hurt and anger. A lightning bolt and the nearby crash of thunder was all that broke them apart.

Sarah lay on the ground glaring at him, "You bastard," she growled darkly. "I'm tired of you and this stupid game… I want to go home." She whined.

"And I'll be only too glad to see the back of ya…." he spat at her as he pulled himself to his feet. "Get up." He commanded abrasively, his voice grated on his own ears. "There's only a short distance left," he growled.

"I too tired," she yelped as he reached for her arm. "I can't… I can't go on…"

"Then surrender," he taunted with critical eyes, mocking her state of being. "It's so little a thing."

"Stop," she put her hands to her ears, "I won't surrender…" she sat back on her folded legs. "I hate you!"

"Poor Sarah," he mocked making a sympathetic expression toward the girl, crouching down. The look of sympathy changed quickly to one of contempt. "You're weak," he sneered. "You're no match for me," he ridiculed. "Surrender, end this now…"

"No," she moaned, and then cried bitterly. "I want to go home…" she buried her face into her hands and wept.

"We could make a trade," he suggested none too kindly. "Give me something I want… and I'll be only too delighted to send you back home… to the life of dreariness that you deserve."

Sarah's tears ceased and she was gasping for air, "No!" She forced herself to gather all the strength she could, her face became a tortured mask of driven purpose. "I'll not trade you even a tear," she said through gritted teeth.

"But your too tired," he mocked. "You can't go on…"

Sarah stood up, on shaky legs and snorted at him, "Let's go, Goblin King."

Jareth looked at her, eyes outlined in dark circles, tired and on the verge of collapse, valiant and foolish. "Such a pity," he retorted rising to his own feet. "Why must you be so waspish? Consider my offer…"

"You find me waspish now," her trembling voice registered low intense anger. "You don't have any idea of how waspish I can get."

"Were that you were just a lusty wench," lamented the King. "How I would woo thee."

"Be still my heart," she mocked.

"That tongue of yours will get you in trouble, witch," he warned sternly.

She flipped her hand at him, "I care that for you and your warnings." She looked toward the storm looming over the castle. "Why are you dallying here? Is that you're afraid I'll win again?"

"In such a hurry to what fate awaits you," he replied, "By all means… let us away… I tire of this foolish game." He strode past her, not even looking at her. "Follow…" he commanded.

Sarah once his eyes were not upon her, scrutinizing and monitoring her every move, slumped slightly. She was beyond tired, beyond exhausted, she was nearly used up depleted and useless. Her own brain was begging her to rethink the offer he was making without saying what he wanted. Shaking she stumbled to follow.

--

Before the remains of the shattered sphere the Dark Lords convened. Crom shook his head in distress, "Do you think it wise to let this go on?"

"She's near exhausted," observed another.

"It is not finished for them," cautioned Bran, "Once they reach the castle beyond the Goblin City their true trials begin."

"What is this," Llyr-Bel asked in disgust.

"Consider it, foreplay," the High King of the Goblin Dominion mused. He looked at the shattered ballroom, "Pity… it was once a truly lovely room."

"This," Aericura eyed the ruin with reservations and misgivings.

"Aye," Bran murmured, still hearing the haunting lilt of a song on the wind. "Lovely."

Aericura looked at Llyr-Bel who shrugged, it was Crom who understood. "Here," he asked gently.

"Yes," Bran assured him, "Here, long ago." The younger of the Lords turned to look at the shattered glass. Bran took a step toward it lamenting. "Once it knew opulence, and glittering cornices hung with many crystal encrusted chandeliers. Ah the light they did give," he sighed. "There," he pointed inward to the torn fabric dancing like a ghost on the light breeze. "There was hung silk covering, in the palest of milkweed threads. Within and without, iridescent baubles of crystal like the outer skin of this magnificent room," the High King remembered a night long ago, and a woman-child, lovelier than moonlight. "Pity to see it in ruins…"

He motioned for them to stay where they were, ducking his head, he entered the shattered shell. The music that played constantly within his heart now played within the room. The ghosts of the past moved about the room, dancing in and out of shadows. He watched as the couple who were more than just transparent vaporous phantoms descended the curved staircase, pausing in rhythm on each tier of the decent. Her hand on his shoulder, his arm encircling her waist, as he sang the words of his soul, and all Bran could do was watch as it played out.

Bran had seen enough, he knew where it ended; he knew the outcome and turned to leave. But movement at the top of the promenade caught his attention. From out of another memory came a clock, the hands just before midnight. It was gold and white and ornately beautiful. At the top of the grand promenade stood a solitary figure, a resplendent figure, upright and blond. The tall sinewy blond was dressed in a midnight blue frock coat, diamante at the neck, shoulders and cuffs. Pale gray silk at his throat in an elegant cravat that was pinned in place with a silver and jet ornamental owl. That same muted gray was visible at his wrists, setting off the pallor of his translucent skin. His legs were covered in slim fitted brushed black doeskin breeches; his boots were of the finest leather and polished to the point of being reflective. In his hand he held a holding a horned mask on a stick, covering most of his face. Seeing someone he lowered the stick, gazed hungrily, and held out his hand.

A vision of beauty stood before him, dressed in a spun sugar gown the color of mother of pearl, just off the shoulders, with a tightly fitted bodice that revealed feminine womanly curves. In her long dark tresses were silver ornaments, embellished with crystals and leaves. At her throat was a necklace of crystals that matched the encrusted gems in her bodice. Her face was young, her eyes wide, she was the picture of innocence. She looked at the man whose hand was extended toward her as if she expected him to vanish. She looked away, then back, He was still holding out his hand to her, and she took it. Once she was within his arms he began to waltz her down the descending curved staircase, pausing in rhythm on each tier of the decent. Her hand on his shoulder, his arm encircling her waist, as he sang the words of his soul.

Bran watched, awe struck, one word escaped his lips. "Jareth…" before the phantoms vanished like motes of dust.

Exiting the ruin, the High King of the Goblins motioned his advisors to follow him. "We must stop the Fae High King from interfering at all costs." He announced before turning into the Raven.

A moment later, the flock of birds headed straight for the Goblin Castle.

--

The trio had passed through the glen, and on to where the hillside crested. Now they came into the path and saw the ruins of the crystal ballroom. Olwyn wept openly at seeing the wreckage. She reached out a hand and touched the orb. "Who could have done this," she asked mournfully.

Acacia nudged Hoggle, urging him to inform the Princess, he only swatted at her. "Tell her," the little fairy warned. "Or I will."

"Who could have so little regard for such beauty?" Olwyn asked, "That they would shatter this wonderful sphere."

"It's not what you think," warned Hoggle, feeling as if he were snitching. The ebony eyes sought his; he dropped to his knees and cried. "I didn't want to give her that peach… he made me…" the tale began to pour out of his mouth before he could stop himself. "He made me follow her, made me trick her and lead her astray… but the more I did, the more I grew to care for her… he … he ordered me to give her the peach…called it a present… I told him I didn't want to do nothing to hurt her…" the dwarf wailed. "He said if I didn't give her his present he'd dip me into the bog of stench before I knew what was happening… and he would too…Jareth's mean… and sneaky and…." He saw the horrified look on the face of the little Fairy on his shoulder, but it was too late. "He's jealous that she kissed me, and not him!"

Acacia covered her face with one hand, "Moron," she muttered. There was a prolonged silence, and then a sound that the Fairy Queen had not expected. Olwyn was laughing, side splitting, roll down on the ground laughing. Fingers parted, and the little Queen stared at the taller Fae. Fearing the Princess had lost it, she kicked Hoggle in the ear. "Moron!" she repeated.

Hoggle grabbed at his pained ear, "What are you yapping about… you told me to tell her!"

"I meant to tell her who ruined the ballroom," Acacia screeched. "Not to tell her about the peach, she didn't need to know about the peach…she could have figured it out herself!"

"How," shrugged the dwarf, "She don't know any of the dramatis personae."

Acacia smacked her face with her hand once more, "Moron, don't you know who she is?"

Hoggle looked at the woman near tears she was laughing so hard, "No… who is she…"

Pulling his ear hair so he'd look her way, the Fairy Queen pointed in the direction of the amused woman in the fowler's netting. "That's Jareth's mother!"

Hoggle's eyes rolled up into his head before he fainted.

Concerned for his wellbeing, Olwyn moved to go to the dwarf, but a sound from within the shattered skin of the once great ballroom caught her off guard. It was a voice, a wonderful voice singing from its soul. In a flash of light she saw, a couple danced down the descending curved staircase, pausing in rhythm on each tier of the decent. Her hand on his shoulder, his arm encircling her waist, as he sang the words of his soul. "Jareth," she whispered, as her hand reached up to steady herself. In that instant, the iridescence returned to the skin of the ballroom, and the music began to play once more. Olwyn stepped back as chards and sheet of crystal flew back into place, and the magnificent sphere rose once more into the night sky. Hoggle opened his eyes, saw the orb rise and promptly fainted once more.

Something on the wind warned her, Olwyn moved to the dwarf and began to pat his face repeatedly. "We must hurry," she urged him to waken. "King Jareth is in grave danger!"

Hoggle pulled back violently from the woman. "You can't expect me to save him!" he bellowed.

"Then save Sarah," commanded the woman as she stood up. "Or you won't have a friend left in the world…" She turned toward the castle. "Acacia I am in need of your help," she called back over her shoulder. "If the dwarf is too fearful or too proud to come, leave him."

Queen Acacia glared at Hoggle. "Get up you lump of dirt! There's work to be done." On iridescent wings the little fairy flittered toward the Princess. Hoggle grumbled, dusted himself off and trundled down the path following the Fae women.