Chapter 25
Being an adult is hard af. You have to pick if you're going to invest in certain passions. I haven't painted in months, or written, because I've been knitting and reading and journaling.
I'm so sorry the updates have been sporadic. I didn't mean for this to take a year, but unfortunately it looks like it might reach that point. Thankfully we are only a few chapters away from the end.
-XXX-
She has had this dream before. A crystal ballroom, draped in pearls and candelabras. Masked people moving around with a confidence she has yet to find. Spinning, trying to find her partner. Eyes on her, laughter stabbing at a meek place in her chest. Lost, confusion. Feeling like a child in a room full of things too adult. The only steadiness to be found the gloved hand of - of -
But things are different. She is different. This is not her dream.
The Sarah of innocence, of white dresses and pearls is replaced by someone older, wise. The woman on the Goblin King's arm has a grace rivaled only by her partner. Her dress is a dove grey, crown ornamented with a circlet of green stones and stormy pearls. Where others drip excess, she shines in simplicity. There is no spinning, no doubt, no fear. The dancing is not filled with lustful closeness, but measured motions and gentle movements.
As she mirrors a masked Jareth through a dance, she wonders when he dreamed scene. Was this what he'd imagined, years ago, when she first ran the Labyrinth? Is this the dream he'd wanted, rather that lewd and entirely too adult, something more regal and resigned. Memory strained, she could recalled a rakish Jareth back then. But he hadn't been calm nor...happy? Content? Had that Jareth been real?
His cheek rested against her head as he drew her from the dance floor, to a quiet part of the room. They breathed in time until he pulled back, grasping her chin as he coaxed her to look up.
"This always ends the same way," he said conversationally. "And we're nearly there. Oh, but it was so wonderful this time."
"How often do you have this dream?" she asked, incredulous.
The mask hides too much of his eyes for her to make out his thoughts, but his thin lips twist in a smile. "Who said anything about dreams?"
She thought then he might kiss her, but he merely drops his hands to her, squeezing as he pressed his face to her temple and breaths deep. With that he's gone and she's standing before a glassy wall and the sound has stopped. In the reflection of the wall she can see the room moving behind her, see musicians moving their hands on instruments but there is no sound, no air, no anything. Just her, the reflections, and chair.
The motion is practiced. Mechanical. She lifts the chair up and the wall shatters. As everything tips up the dress falls away and Sarah feels herself melting into a new scene.
-XXX-
Something still wasn't right. This wasn't anywhere she has been 's in a field of tall yellow grass, overlooking a picturesque scenery. In the valley below sat a village that looks like it's straight out of a storybook. A river cut through it, creating charming bridges that lead to what appear to be cobble-paved streets. Neat fields added a patchwork quilt quality to the landscape. It took her a moment to realize what is missing. Having spent so long in the Underground she was used to not seeing cars, telephone and electric lines, plastic trash bins.
She turned and started at finding herself near one of the farms she'd been observing. There's a cottage draped with roses, topped with a thatched roof. Its complete with a small barn, a well, a stocked wood pile, and a few chickens clucking away in the yard. A woman with flaxen hair put laundry out to dry on a line. A blonde boy fed some goats in the fenced area attached to the modest barn. Neither seems to notice the stranger in their midst as they go through the motion of daily chores.
A giggling catches her attention. Just to her left, tucked in the grass is a couple. They qre young, probably near her age. The woman is dark-haired, with sparkling green eyes and rose-pink lips. Her hair falls in pretty waves, though most of it is tied back with a kerchief. Her blue dress is worn and its style tells Sarah that she's looking at a time before sewing machines. Probably a time before a lot of things.
The young man was just as handsome, though in a startling way. He almost seemed to glow with good health and beauty. His fair hair was nearly white it was so blond, and his skin was a golden color Sarah could not recall ever seeing outside of glossy magazine pages. He's facing mostly away from her, face buried in the neck of his beloved as she stifled laughter so it takes Sarah several minutes to realize what she's looking at. Her gasp must have been audible for the young man looks up suddenly, mismatched eyes flashing her way.
He looked right through her, but Sarah felt rooted to the spot regardless.
"What is it?" the young woman asked softly, hand going to Jareth's shoulder. His tension disappeared as he leans back into her touch, saying "Nothing, just the wind, I think."
She'd never seen him so at-ease. The lines that aged the face Sarah knew were nonexistent. He hasn't had the burden of the curse on him yet. This was a very young Jareth and it hurts her heart to see the comparison.
"When shall you speak to my father?" the young woman asked softly.
He kissed her on the nose. "Soon. I swear it. I just want to be sure."
"He likes you. They all like you."
"There's more than that working against us," he replied grimly. "But it shall be a start."
Her hand slid to his chest. Sarah noticed that it was a surprisingly worn and strong hand, one that had seen work. Jareth's hand soon lay atop as he moved to kiss her brow again.
"After I get your father's permission I will just need a fortnight to return to my family then I will return to you. We'll be wed, we can find our own plot of land, start our lives. We don't need much and we'll be on our way."
His eyes were bright in a strange way. He was...hopeful. A pang struck in Sarah's chest sharply. This was a Jareth with his whole life ahead of him, with the freshness of love and plans well-laid. Jareth before his dreams were irrevocably crushed by forces far beyond his control.
"And you promise you'll return?" The young woman's voice was light and teasing, but the crease between her brow betrays genuine fear.
Jareth placed his hands upon her shoulder. "As soon as I can. I will be here before the harvest time and we shall be married that very day. Nothing could keep you from me. I would move heaven and earth to get back to you."
Her expression soften as she leaned up for another kiss. Gently, the young man eases her back onto the their blanket, covering his body with hers as the tall grass hides them from view.
Sarah felt a strange hollowness. She felt no jealousy over their affections. This Jareth was barely recognizable to the proud Goblin King she knew. But to see the precursor to the aloof fae she knows now, to see what might have been... it was utterly surreal. He was so different. The edge in his eyes were gone. They were clear and free in a way she had never seen.
Unsure of what to do, she looked back towards the house. The boy had moved on to the garden plot beside the barn. She watched him weed the rows, unable to move as the couple before her curled around each other.
There was a snapping sound behind her and Sarah twisted to look. The scene shifted. The sky ahead shed its sunny disposition, assuming a more somber expression with thick grey clouds. The fields were no longer lush but patched with dirt and scruff. Mist swirled on the ground. A glance at the bare trees told Sarah it was well into winter.
Now she stood in the middle of a dirt road. Silhouetted in the fog she can make out a somewhat sinister figure moving towards her. As it drew closer she recognized a heavily cloaked Jareth. Pale, expression grim, he strides forward at a determined pace. Again he looks through her, leaving Sarah to trail after him. His face is sharper and has lost some of the gleam but he is still young. At least younger than the Jareth she knows. The lines she knew were nonexistent on this face. But he no longer appeared as carefree as he had been in the field.
How many years had passed since that day in the field? Jareth told her he'd returned to the Underground, where time worked differently. But how long had it been, if the fae looked aged?
They entered a town. The cobbled streets were nearly bare at this point in the evening. Jareth seemed to know his way. Wearily he winds his way through the streets until he's passing the town altogether, selecting a path up a hill, heading towards a collections of buildings that overlook the community. Sarah struggles to keep pace. As they near she realizes that they are back at the farm. Suddenly, she feels very anxious.
If he noted the new barn on the property, the rotting fences, or the lack of rose vines, she could not say. The thatch was new, but the exposed walls of the cottage were cracked and layered with years with dirt. Much had changed. And they are not the changes that happen with the mere chance of season.
He paused at the door for a moment before knocking. Sarah held her breath.
The stout blonde man who answers does not display a flicker of recognition. She thought maybe he might be the boy from before, but she cannot tell. Sarah does not hear the words between them. It does not take long for her to see Jareth's entire body language shift. He says a few words to the man at the door then turns away, fists clenched, cloak billowing as he headed back down the hill. Sarah followed again, keeping her distance.
Sarah thought she could make out a shudder in his form. She knew how this story will end. Knew that it will not be a happy one.
They make their way on the outskirts of town, heading south until they reach a small shabby church made of grey, mossy rock. A stone fence and iron gate protected the cemetery. Jareth's footsteps take on a lot of weight as they approach. He hesitates at the gate but opens it gently. Sarah winces at the cry it makes. She slips in after Jareth. Without haste he moves through the rows, scanning the names and dates. It takes some time before he is given pause.
A simple stone in the furthest corner sits with a bouquet of dead wildflowers gracing the base. Jareth stopped before it. The fae is rooted where he stands. Wind blew his hair, the flaxen strands moving over his face in a way that was likely irritating. But he did not move. Not for a long time.
-XXX-