Part XXI
Last thing I remember,
I was running for the door.
I had to find the passage back
to the place I was before.
"Relax," said the night man,
we are programmed to receive.
You can checkout any time you like,
but you can never leave!
Hotel California, Eagles
Jareth rested against a weathered wall and contemplated the twisted spires in the distance.
"And how you are enjoying my castle, Sarah," he asked softly. A devilish smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. He wondered if she had stumbled upon the portrait gallery yet.
As though in answer, a terrible roar of pain from somewhere near pierced the day's calm. Unconcerned, he peered around the crumbling sandstone and spied a bevy of impish goblin knights tormenting a hapless beast entangled in a rope. The hairy brute paused in its wild thrashing long enough to stare beseechingly at the Goblin King.
Jareth's smile deepened. It was comforting to know he was not the only one suffering.
Without a second glance he continued on his way feeling suddenly rejuvenated.
Sarah sank against the doors of the portrait gallery and allowed her erratic breathing to slow. She was maddened beyond belief – both with him and herself.
How long had he been planning on wedding her?
And how long had she secretly fantasized about just that?
"I'm a fool and he's a bastard," she whispered bitterly.
The walls around her seemed to snicker in agreement.
"Oh shut up!" she muttered, before stalking off down the hall.
Passing goblins carefully avoided her, darting sidelong glances at one another and later remarking on the similarities between the girl and their King. Living with two of them was going to be hell. Even the chickens were subdued by the thought.
Sarah was oblivious to it all. Lost in self-recrimination, she rounded corners blindly until she found herself once again in the tower that housed the master suite. She looked with disgust at the exterior of the great carved doors. A man and women stood side-by-side, crowns atop their heads. Their hands were designed to join at the handles. She loathed the sight.
Dreams were such dangerous things. Sometimes they came true.
She rubbed her arms to smooth the goose bumps that had arisen with the thought and drifted down the empty corridor. Had Jareth felt as restless waiting for her thirteen hours to be up.? Had he paced? Would his arrogance even permit a pang of worry?
It was strangely comforting to believe that he had suffered too.
Sarah stilled as she drew upon another set of carved doors – the only other ones in the long winding hallway. Though she hadn't noticed it hours earlier, there was something unnerving about the room. The mark on her palm tingled in recognition. The goose bumps returned with full force and the hairs on the back of her neck echoed the sentiment. The ornate relief depicted a menagerie of labyrinthine figures at play, both familiar and not. Her fingers lightly traced a cavorting Fiery, his grinning head balanced in one paw. As her hand brushed the wood, the door opened an inch.
Sarah could see the sconces flare to life in invitation through the crack. Unable to resist, she parted the heavy doors and cautiously stepped inside. What she saw within made her throat go dry.
It was a nursery.
Her hands crept to her neck as she slowly turned. Almost everything about the chamber was antiquated. The furniture looked well-used, some carved from wood, others stone. The heavy drapes were tightly drawn, but the fireplace, which seemed to share the same enthusiasm as the sconces, was blazing warmly and lent everything an ethereal glow.
A child-sized bed rested against one wall, hewn from what appeared to be a living tree cast in burnished gold. Its branches were interwoven around the bedding like the most intricate knot work. The linens were threadbare, but had once been rich and very fine. Near the bed was a gilt crib, its circular design mirroring Jareth's throne. Again, it looked like it hadn't been disturbed in years. A bookcase lined one wall, matching the one in the master suite. The titles reformed themselves into English as Sarah passed. She wondered if they were fantasy stories or family histories.
The room's style reminded Sarah a little of a Victorian nursery. A rocking horse in the guise of a dragon stood in one corner. It began rocking slowly as she approached and she half-feared to see a child appear atop its back. The wall hangings around the room were decorated with stylized animal forms and vaguely familiar Celtic designs. They echoed the borders in the portrait gallery and she reflexively turned her eyes away.
The entire room had the forlorn air of neglect, but she noted with a strange sense of unease that parts of it had been recently cleaned and polished. The implication was clear. Sarah was disgusted by the presumption, but she was unable to shake the feeling that she was invading something personal, something sacrosanct. There was an unsettling vulnerability to the room.
A pair of lushly-cushioned chairs and a small table was set near the draped windows. A wooden model of the Labyrinth and its castle sat atop the table's centre. Like the rug, the walls changed at random. Small figurines completed the set. She gently picked up one that bore a striking resemblance to Sir Didymus. He looked fearless atop his cowardly steed. She wasn't prepared for the wave of guilt that followed. A hot tear slid down her cheek. She carefully placed him back at his post, guarding the passage over the bog.
Rubbing her sleeve across her damp eyes, Sarah opened the castle and peered inside. Tiny goblins were carved in various stages of mischief, but her eyes were immediately drawn to figure in white. It was a miniature version of herself and she marvelled at the uncanny likeness. The Goblin King was no less perfect. Every feature was wrought in minute detail from his wild hair to the eyes that glinted mockingly. She noted that the hands of the two figures were carved so as to join. Impulsively, she clicked them together. They fit together perfectly. Disgusted, she tried to separate them again to no avail. She carelessly dropped the pair back inside and shut the castle, praying it was not a portent.
Sarah immediately moved to the fireplace to warm her chilled form. Glancing down, something glinted at her from the seat of one of the worn arm chairs before the hearth. It was an exquisite crystal rattle, strangely warm to the touch. When she shook it gently, the most beautiful sound issued forth. It was almost like music and like nothing she had ever heard before. Without warning, the figure of a young woman appeared before her, an infant in her arms. She was cooing the babe to sleep with a soft lilting voice. Sarah dropped the rattle in fear. When it hit the hearth, the babe blinked sleepily. One blue, one brown. Sarah shook her head. It couldn't be him even as she rationalized that it was. The sight of Jareth so young and innocent was more disturbing than anything she had yet encountered. As if in response, the woman turned her head and smiled warmly. Sarah stumbled backwards in shock, knocking the small table over. The pair faded from view.
Sarah stared wildly around the empty room and then fled, crushing the crystal rattle underfoot.
Jareth pressed on until the creature's howls of rage faded. He had no idea how much time had passed but he certainly knew that thanks to his wayward bride, he had precious little to spare. Rounding what he suspected was the same corner yet again, he found himself before a pair of doors adorned with gargoyle-like knockers.
"It's very rude to stare," admonished the knocker on the left, a ring through his ears.
Jareth's lips curled mirthlessly. "It's very unwise to address your king in such a manner."
The knocker on the right opened his eyes in astonishment, but a ring impeded his speech.
"Eh? What's that?" asked the left loudly. His brass nostrils flared. "Do you smell something?"
Jareth canted his head. "I have a half a mind to have you melted down into brass buttons."
"No good. Can't hear you," replied the knocker obliviously. "But I can certainly smell you."
"Forget buttons, a chamber pot."
The right knocker followed Jareth with wary eyes as he approached.
"And you, his mute partner, anything pithy to say?"
The knocker's response was unintelligible, but his eyes beseeched.
Jareth imagined having a similar ring fit for Sarah. The thought made him smile.
"Mumble, mumble. He's said the same thing for years," offered the left rudely.
Patience exhausted, Jareth coolly pulled the ring free from the mute knocker's mouth and jammed it into the deaf knocker's mouth. The left's eyes widened in silent outrage as his two rings clanked together.
"Now that's much better, isn't it?" Jareth asked jovially.
"Mmthmdhfgtb!"
"No good. Can't hear you," mimicked the Goblin King.
The other knocker flexed his stiff lips in relief. "Oh thank you, Sire!"
"Mm, I imagine the ring is far from comfortable."
"I meant for shutting him up, Sire. I've had to listen to his off-tone singing for years!"
"No doubt," Jareth replied indifferently. "Now where do these doors lead?"
"Search…" he trailed off at the look on the Goblin King's face, "Ahem… We don't actually know. You must choose a door and knock," he finished, cringing at the thought of his ring being returned.
"Of course you don't," breathed Jareth in exasperation. He contemplated the two portals. "I suppose I've already made my choice, haven't I?" Without another word, he gripped both rings of the left knocker and rapped soundly. The door swung open.
"Ughhshfluagawt!"
The door clicked shut behind the Goblin King.
"Serves you right," replied his liberated companion unsympathetically.
Sarah would give almost anything to switch places with Jareth right now. The Labyrinth in all its wild and mercurial nature was far preferable to the castle, full of omens and portents. Choice had once seemed a burden to Sarah, now its lack seemed a yoke. The sense of inevitable was hard to deny. She wanted to rush into the master suite and hide beneath the covers. Old habits die hard. She wanted to wake up.
She froze when she entered the bedroom however, her eyes on the fireplace. The portrait she had so recently burned presided over the mantle, mocking her with its pristine glory. All thoughts of hiding evaporated in an instant.
"I hate this place! I hate YOU!" she wailed.
The very walls seemed to snicker at her impotence.
Sarah grabbed for the frame, but found it just out of reach. In a fit of childish frustration she snatched up the crystal decanter and hurled it at the portrait, delighting as it smashed in a spray of dark liquid. Several shards of glass were embedded in the canvas, marring the face of the imperious king. Red dripped from the frame.
Sarah flashed to a dark haired woman singing to an infant. The Goblin King had a little human in him somewhere. The smile on the woman's face had been peaceful, content to rock her child. But she had been a stolen bride too – a fellow victim. And now Sarah was the enemy of her son. The idea rattled.
Lines had been drawn but none of them were straight.
She needed to clear her head. Out of habit she walked to the bookshelves. The titles reworked themselves into English as she ran her fingers across them. She paused on a familiar red book with gold lettering.
The Labyrinth
"It can't be," she breathed softly. But it was. The same tome she had memorized so many years before, the one that had started everything. Sarah snatched the book from the shelf and flipped it open.
The History of Jareth and Sarah
She began flipping pages wildly. Where her copy had ended at the climatic confrontation, this copy continued. Her heart thumped madly with each leaf turned.
… "ancient Eire"… "Hill of Tara"… "chase"… "kiss"… "binding ceremony"… "run the Labyrinth"… "bog"… "portrait gallery"… "knockers"… "nursery"… "ruined painting"…
The next page was blank. Sarah flipped through the rest but they were the same. As horrifying as it was, it was strangely heartening. The lack of ending meant anything could still be written. "You haven't won yet, Jareth," she promised with renewed conviction.
Scanning the other titles, she began pulling books from the shelves at random. Many were simply geographies and histories of the inhabitants of the Labyrinth. Others were something else entirely - more tales of stolen brides and Goblin Kings. She flipped through them with a building sense of urgency. It was clear that many of the brides had given their prospective husbands almost as much trouble and strife as she had. One had even tried setting her husband on fire. Sarah had at least restricted herself to his portrait.
While most mentioned the birth of the heir, she could fine none with the name Jareth. Most importantly, not one of them mentioned escape. Flinging the books aside in frustration, she collapsed into a chair, grimacing when she felt something dig into her thigh. She pulled an open book from beneath her.
The Water Horse
The History of Riven and Etain
Leafing through the book, her eyes lit on a passage near the end of the story.
"…and the much awaited heir to the Goblin Kingdom was born. His mother named him Jareth…"
Sarah flipped back to the beginning with wide eyes and began reading.
Credits:
Etain (e - tane) is an old Irish name based on a famous Celtic legend.
Noteworthy - Another old Irish name is Jarlath – pretty close eh? Jarlath was a saint known for his piety, so the resemblance pretty much stops there ;)
AN: Finally back with an update! I survived my whirlwind vacation, survived staying with my three year old brother and six year old sister (quite the age gap between us), survived coming home to snow, survived houseguests on our immediate return (future in-laws) and survived a head cold.
Thanks for bearing with the delay. I am excited to get back into the trials and tribulations of our favourite Goblin King. J & S goodness spotted on the horizon, so hang in there. I hope the length of this installment made up for the wait ;) I broke it into two chapters for ease of read, but it was written as one.
As always, thanks for your suggestions, critiques and praise!
Jareth Love - Thanks for your feedback, I really do appreciate it. I enjoy working with the folklore a lot – I am glad it shows. I'll admit my decision to include the humour was not without debate, but I decided it fit in with the canon of Labyrinth – something I felt I couldn't entirely ignore as I was loathe to make it too AU. That said, I promise you that Jareth is far from defeated and won't give up without a fight.
WickedPlumVintage – Picture away! James is a tasty morsel too.
RhiannonoftheMoon/ SheDevil85 – You guys are psychic. I had planned on bringing the portrait back :)
Fierydragonsky – I pictured him putting the ring on his pinky, but you are very right. Oh well, I have to fly with it now. Here's a peach… now run along and forget about everything :)