Disclaimer: I do not own the Labyrinth, characters, places, etc. All rights belong to Jim Henson and their respected owners.

Traitor of Dreams

Chapter 2

The incessant clicking of heels echoed throughout the empty corridor. Silence alone, was the only audience he had the liberty to grace his vexation with. No, no even the inanimate being would aid him with the confidence he needed. It had been so long--almost too long. On the other hand, it did not feel as if a day had passed since he last encountered her fiery attitude.

How could the little chit mature within a scant of years? It was true that he looked in upon her from time to time, but never fully concerned himself with her life. After all, it was she, who had forgotten him. No, he would not take pity upon her after everything she had done.

Looking back, he somewhat regretted his foolish actions and proclamations to her. He had offered her everything. And yet, she threw it back in his face, like a wretched plague. Oh, she would regret tossing his offer aside and choosing to play the heroine in the end. Truly, she was not getting the better end of the deal. Did she not realize he would have returned the child? Did she not see she had already won? Gods, there was no use in crying over past mistakes. It was time to move on. And, time to put the fiery vixen out of his mind.

He had better things to do than become her lackey again. It was rather fortunate her brother wished her away, ignorant of the damage it would inflict. Yes, Sarah would pay for her past sins against her dreams…against him. She was considered a traitor within the kingdom--a traitor of dreams. And he would make her see how foolish she was to take the cowardly way out and deny everything…

Shaking the loose thoughts aside, he seated himself once again upon the barbaric-horned throne. He eyed the disheveled room with apparent disdain. Ruffled tapestries that displayed the Labyrinth in its radiant splendour were rumbled upon the gritty floor. Melted wax from candles that had burned out long ago encased itself upon the wooden tabletop. No doubt the waxy substance had left burn mark upon the once-elegant furnishing. No matter, he did not expect to have anyone gawk at his throne-room anyway.

Biting his lower lip, he idly gazed at the window. Rich sunlight penetrated through the heavy stained glass. At least, that hadn't been destroyed. The everlasting expectation of a day and night was perhaps, now the only thing he could depend upon. Everything else crumbled into tiny granules of dust--scattering its impartial fragments to the introverted wind. It was wrong to bring her here.

After his unanticipated defeat, everything within his mythical domain was deteriorating. Impenetrable walls that united the Labyrinth were crumbling to dust. The fiery's forest was no more than a dead orchard that concealed nothing but the skeletal remains of ancient timbers, even, the bog had dried to nothing but a deep precipice of decaying stench. God only knew what inhabitants thrived within the stagnated muck. Everything within his realm was slowly falling to inevitable ruin, and sadly, there was nothing he could do.

At first, the damages had been nothing but minor troubles that could be eluded. The Labyrinth always had flaws within its intricate network of passageways and traps. Shiva, it was not supposed to appeal to the eye, but strike fear into the hearts of those who dared to brave its deadly domain. Yes, this warren that had outlasted every known wonder in existence was now fading into naught. And, it was her fault.

Earthly green and oceanic blue blazed with inner fury when he thought of her. Everything he had done and worked for over the centuries was now void. The magic that had protected his kingdom from potential enemies was slowly dwindling into nothing. Great power that once thrived and gave beauty to this province now seemed extinct. The elusive spirit of the Labyrinth itself was fading into oblivion. Everything within its magical territory would either wither away or die.

The loss of magic was dire to everything, including himself. What would a goblin king be without a kingdom to protect? Oh, she had dealt a great blow with her cruel words. Not only did she wound his egotistical pride, but also, damned the Labyrinth itself. Even, her alleged friends were doomed to this fate. No enchanted creature would go unscathed from her harsh decision. And, that gave him every right to end her meager life before her poison finally done its damage.

Seething anger coursed through his veins when he thought of the tantalizing siren. She had no right to be deemed something beautiful when she was deadlier than a cobra. Fate had found a wonderful model to place pure evil and malice into. Yes, the shape of an angelic female was both shrewd and seductive. The little nymph had somehow clouded his mind with hopeless delusions of love.

Like a loyal lamb, she had led him to the slaughter. Even at fifteen, she was vicious and cruel. The mask she wore would bring down kingdoms. Yes, she was certainly an embodiment of the mythical Lilith; snake blood flowed through those wonderful indigo veins. Even if she were a snake in a woman's guise, she was still tempting and damn well irresistible.

Why was he even thinking upon this? The situation represented itself four years ago. He wore his heart upon his sleeve and look where it had got him--a broken-down kingdom and a shattered heart. No, she would not do this again, he would make sure of it. Oh, she would see the error of her ways before she also, faded into the dark void. He would drag her down with him every inch of the way, and it would be joyous.

Triumph filled the air around him as he stood from the discomforting throne. Truly, he could find better means than model his seat from the horns of a giant bull. Sometimes, the curved lining caused minor back-pain. Perhaps, it wasn't the throne. Maybe, he was finally starting to feel age. Yes, after four and a half centuries, one might feel the wears of time. Of course, to immortals, four centuries was merely a child's age.

He was in the prime of his life. And now, he was looking on to face total oblivion. Oh, the child had played her hand well. However, she failed to see, by not only defeating him, she also defeated herself. Her forfeiture of imagination caused this. Perhaps, he should not have found her life remotely interesting that evening he watched her in the park.

She was merely a girl in the subtle promise of blossoming into an enchanting creature. Her mysterious hazel eyes were slightly clouded with a partial disdain for reality, something, in which, he thrived upon. Her incessant belief of other worlds and the supernatural was truly captivating for one her age. Children younger than she usually lost their faith in the fantasy sphere the moment they found the Tooth Fairy did not exist. Not Sarah. Her perpetual conviction within his realm was what kept everything within balance.

Now that he thought of it, it wasn't her fault entirely. Belief was what kept his world in existence. Without the dreams and aspirations of humanity, everything that held even a fleck of magic would cease to exist. For years, the bridge of belief between humanity and his realm coincided with one another. Non-believers were a fractional sum that did not pose a probable threat to his world.

However, as Fate would have it, another entity came into play. Science. Yes, the evolving belief of no god or magical entities was gradually becoming more common. People began to side with sense and reason. Asking questions that usually held no answers were regularly defined as being erroneous and illogical.

The belief in anything the mechanical eye could not see was clearly denoted to be nonexistent. Unicorns, which once lingered upon the fields of imagination, were captured and produced into glue. Griffins and jeweled dragons--lords of the heavens--were shot down and destroyed by scientific evidence. Goblins and fairies were imprisoned in jars, where they suffocated and faded from the known world.

Now all that remained of his kinsmen were ancient tales of their famed existence--nothing more but mere fairy stories to tell a child before going to sleep. And within that sleep lie the dilapidated bridge, which linked their realms, was slowly crumbling. For without one, the other would also fade away in time. Skyscrapers and machines would fall into their unfortunate demise, as humanity would burn into ashes.

The smoldering scent of human flesh was not the most enticing of fragrances, not even to a realm that was suffering because of them. Jareth never took pleasure in seeing unnecessary pain within someone's eyes. No, he did not desire to see humanity fall from grace, but he also did not wish his world to endure endless pain. Something had to be done. The question was, could there be anything? Time was something he had always obtained. But now, it seemed he did not have enough of it. And sadly, it was running out…

His thoughts drifted back upon the girl he had taken. She was still probably resting from their journey. A vast amount of magic was used to transport them here. It was easy to bring humans here, but with the great loss power, it seemed rather difficult to transport them back to the Labyrinth. He had used much energy from the Labyrinth and himself to bring her, and right now, he felt a sense of exhaustion.  

Dizziness suddenly overcame his clouded persona, forcing him to sit upon the stone floor. A sense of fatigue pressed heavily upon his body as a splitting migraine visited his mind. Pain racked his fae-like form, showing how weak a king could be. Yes, his enemies would love to see his pitiful exterior convulsing by the side of his throne. A great ruler of power cringing by his seat of command was certainly a lovely vision. Oh, if Sarah could see him now.

It would be some time before he would gain a fraction of his power back. It would barely be enough to face the Circe incarnate, but he could not wait much longer. Time was of the essence and dawdling would only inflict more pain upon his world. He had to stop this unending torture and she seemed to be the answer he was searching for.

Darkness filled his vision as his mind thought no further. The impending visitation of weariness conquered his restless soul and caused his tense muscles to vacillate before calming to idle tissue. The stinging headache eased when the feeling of sleep overcame his thoughts, thus bringing the great king to a restful slumber. Or, so it seemed.

****                      

Light poured into the darkened room, promising warming drops of golden sunshine to greet her. Hesitation built behind the closed lids--silently dreading to feel acclimation of damning light. In all truth, she was not a morning person. Actually, the morning didn't start until ten and ended abruptly by the stroke of twelve. Yes, the blinding beam behind her closed lids was merely false illumination.

It was a pity she could not believe her false conjectures. The light was there and it would always be. It was just as tangible as drawing breath to live. No literal alterations could change it, adjacent to anything supernatural. The penetration would remain constant until the earth revolved to the other side of its daily axial rotation. The laws of physics and natural regulations would at least, stay in tact for another day. That--was the only thing she could depend upon.

It was like the consistency of believing that Pi encompassed no numerable end or the universe was truly interminable. Scientific evidence stated these facts by the decrees of world-renowned theorists and philosophers. Murphy's law was considered fact as was the simplistic theories of Sir Isaac Newton. Truly, if one could find the third law of gravity by the help of an apple, then anyone could be a genius.

But, that was of no concern to someone who desired to reside within the art of theatre. The stability to be graceful and express human emotion of the dramatic realm was truly challenging. One almost seemed to be required with the genetic trait of acting—it did not appear from the metaphysical idea of spontaneous generation.

A wry grin traced her rosy lips when she thought of the irony of actually thinking. De Cartes needed a new motto.  I think, therefore I am; was truly a tedious quotation when one actually thought of it. Oh well, she would not dwell upon the superficial ideas of philosophers long since dead, she could think upon them in class. Which was in…

Her eyes opened widely with slight fear. God, she would be late—again. She could feel the indifferent scowl of Professor Crawford right now. His clipped words would generate around the lines of, 'Ah, it appears Miss Williams has finally to grace us with her impromptu presence. Class, this furthers demonstrates my theory upon the student body lacking the conception of time—terrible for one of an esteemed Calculus class. Especially, when it's very close to finals…'

Sarah groaned at the imaginary reprimand within her mind. Calculus was wonderful for those who believed in the dependency of numbers. One never failed with the numbers that shaped their lives. For, without them, how could anyone tell the time between their beginning and abrupt passing? Numbers were cold, shapeless, and redundant. They had meaning—merely the reality of things.

It was not necessary for her to obtain the class. Actually, it was not required for her major. Mathematics and the literary world usually never played upon the same field. Words clashed with integers in a battle over the human mind. It was ruled out that, whoever could do both was truly an exceptional being. However, much to her dismay, she was not considered as such.

No matter how much effort she placed into her studies, she could never figure out the mechanics of it. Numbers formed themselves within intricate patterns, showing how elaborate they could be. They could entertain, captivate, but also, cause migraines. Numbers could never fashion themselves as words could. Showing expression and true emotion was something they could never achieve. And that was where she failed…

For so long, she forced herself to believe within the reality of things. Yes, anyone could see a pattern numbers created. Anyone could work postulates and theorems that covered three chalkboards with just one problem. The question was, why? Why waste so much time trying to find the end of something that really had no purpose? The question found itself as irrelevant—and that, was where she fell short.

But, she would keep trying until she reached the end of her purpose. She was never known to quit. And by the gods, she would not now. Not when she was so close to obtaining that hard-earned C. Yes, it was rather petty of her to set her sights so low, but that was the best she could do. Besides, she wasn't perfect like others she knew.

Michael on the other hand, was a flawless gift from God. With his masculine superiority, vast knowledge in every subject, and the charming devil-may-care aura he obtained, gave him the right to be acknowledged as the incarnate of Adonis. Well, maybe his looks also added to the equation.

But, that wasn't everything that made him who he was—he reminded her of someone. She would not get into this again. Every time she thought of the omniscient comparison, she would usually gain an unnecessary headache. Besides, no vague face from her clouded memory could compare to the man before her. Her traitorous mind had even once considered marrying him. It was a nice thought, but a little farfetched for her taste.

The blissful thought quickly melted from her prestigious mind when she noticed her surroundings…

Alabaster stonewalls were covered with luxurious tapestries—which appeared to be hand-woven. The rich colours in the threading were truly exquisite. A mastered hand must have taken the time to craft each fibre into a strategic design, fully exemplifying their rendered talent. Yes, the enormous drapery was truly something to behold.

Wait. What she thinking? She had to get out of here. The question was, where was here? Perhaps, this was all a dream. Maybe, the light she had deduced to be ersatz was, and this room was the outcome of a partial reflection from reading too much medieval literature. Of course, this was merely a dream, suited to fit her wild imagination. Strange, how her mind could focus upon surroundings that felt so…real—almost, too real.

Under her bare feet, the floor felt cold and gritty, the tiles also having the creased texture of a corporeal stone floor. She breathed in a light scent of faded lavender as the sun's beams warmed her hand. Wait. Wasn't it said that one could not feel anything within a dream? The last time she checked scientists had proven it to be factorial—they were never wrong.

But, then why was she feeling two conflicting senses at once? Rubbing her sore eyes, she finally set her sights upon the oak door—which apparently led the way out. She hesitated briefly as an air of uncertainty filled her edgy senses. Whatever lay beyond that door would certainly feel her wrath for doing this unprecedented jest.

An ephemeral smile traced her lips as she crossed over to the imposing threshold. She glanced at the door with a moment's appreciation for elaborate artwork carved into its wooden exterior. Goblins of various shapes and sizes were portrayed in cordial bow to figure closely similar to an adult fae. The wild hair and medieval attire certainly brought back a few memories from her fairy stories as a child. However, it did not matter now. Of course, the door was magnificent to say the least.

Hesitation crossed her features as her hands found the ornate brass latch. A staggered sigh escaped her lips when her thin fingers worked the handle. Locked. She tried once more, except this time with a little more force. Still locked. What in the hell?

Her brows pinched together in confusion. Was this some kind of sick joke? Odin, what was going on? This was not funny anymore. Michael and the others were most likely laughing on the other side. Inwardly, that's what she hoped, but somewhere within her mind, she knew this wasn't a joke. The innate sense of reality kicked in when she forced the lock once more.

Exhilaration filled her as her attempts of escape failed. 'Come on, guys, this is not funny. Please, be on the other side! Please, let this be a joke! Please, God, let this be a dream!' Tears threatened to fall from her troubled eyes when silent plea went unanswered. For several minutes, her worried mind focused upon the cold stone floor. This had to be a dream, or rather, a terrible nightmare.

Wait. What was she doing? Sarah Williams never cried when an obstacle stood in the way, crying was for the weak-minded, and she far from being weak. Gathering her courage, she faced the door once more. This time, sheer determination shone within her misty eyes. Her staggered breath regulated itself to normalcy as she rapped against the door.

"The joke's over! Let me out!" She shouted with utter contempt.

Her angered glared deepened when no one answered. This time, she placed full force against the door, causing a great pain in her side. "Damn it, let me out of here!"

Sarah's malicious threats and screams were heard. The echoed screeching reached most portions of the castle, and unfortunately, the throne room. Hazy eyes timidly opened from the unexpected shrieking. Blue and green stared blankly as more cries were heard. What was that? His mind briefly wondered if he was imaging everything until reality finally kicked in. Sarah.

Without hesitation, the Goblin King wrenched himself from the cold floor and bolted down the darkened corridor. He did not take time to realize his strength's depletion until he stood by her door. Incessant pounding and threats were muffled to nothing but pleas to let her out. Concern filled him when sobbing was heard. Gods, what had he done?

His worry was quickly replaced with anger when her voice resounded in a fiery hatred, "Let me out you son of a bitch, before I rip your throat out! You can forget me ever dating you! I don't ever want to see you again!"

So she had the audacity to throw names at him and make him sound like a hopeless schoolboy in love? How dare she! Oh, she would regret the day they ever cross paths. Jareth's icy gaze smoldered with true malice when he unlocked the door. He did not realize his violent entrance until he noticed it knocked her to the floor.

His murderous glare softened when he noticed tears threatening to spill from her distressed eyes. Gods, what had he done? Sarah, the same Sarah who had amazed him time and time again, was now receding from him. Like a cowering child, she gently cradled left cheek--the telltale signs of a violet bruise forming. How foolish could he be?

Without thought, he crossed the threshold and crouched by her side. A gloved hand rose to meet her concealed cheek and quickly evaded when she turned from him. The hand dropped to his side as he noticed the evident confusion etched upon her feminine features. He frightened her. Yes, her eyes held the truth within them even when, her expression opposed it.

"This is a joke, isn't it? Michael and the others set this up to be the best practical joke in history. Tell them, I'm not amused." She muttered in a low whisper.

Jareth held his stance as a piece of the stonewall fell. It would not be wise to keep up this elusive façade--she had to know. "Sarah, you know this is not a joke. Why are you denying it?"

Sarah set jaw. "Because, you don't exist! Why am I thinking about this place when I have gotten out of my childhood beliefs? I cannot understand what made me think of this dream. Wait. Toby was talking about it last night--this is just a dream."

Her eyes widened greatly when she felt his gloved palm press against her lips. Menacing eyes threatened her lithe form when his grip around her mouth tightened. "Hush!" He muttered in a low growl. "Don't you dare utter another word! Do you understand me, Sarah?"

She obeyed.

Something inside of her screamed not to resist this man's command. This strange apparition graced her presence like a lion eying its prey. She felt his devouring gaze upon her--marking her for his afternoon meal. Yes, she was completely helpless against this dangerous foe. Words could not save her--nothing could.

A glance of reluctance traced her hazel gaze as she hesitantly nodded. His gloved hand retained its intimidating position. No, he would not remove his hand from her lips until he was certain she would not go against his word. He could not differentiate her everlasting gaze. It was blank--just like his. So, the child still held some of her infamous qualities after all. How lovely.

He glared at her tentatively before removing his hand from her mouth. Shaking his unruly mane, he murmured, "It would be best it you remain silent until I have the chance to explain everything." He nodded in a haughty manner.

"But-" She countered before feeling the leather pressing against her lips once more. A silent threat gleamed within her translucent eyes when she felt his heated stare upon her. This man, whoever he was, was certainly an arrogant prick. How in God's name had she wound up in this predicament? Well, it did not matter anyway. Her oh-so gracious captor was about to reveal his purpose on the problem.

"Sarah," he spoke calmly. "This is certainly a pleasant surprise, is it not? I mean after four years, we have the chance to have a nice little chat." Jareth pasted an arrogant smirk across his lips and continued. "But, I don't believe you seem happy to see me. In which, you shouldn't."

Her eyes silently questioned his motive and finally whispered, "This is just--"

"A dream?" He finished for her. Shaking his wild strands of flaxen, he countered, "I think not, dear girl. Not this time, Sarah."

"Look, I'm over this part of my life. Fantasy is something for children and the weak-minded to believe in. I do not have time to have faith in fairies or goblin kings for that matter. My life is within reality and this," she held her bravado, "is just an illusion."

Jareth's smirk melted from his pallid lips. He opened his mouth, albeit briefly, and considered against it. His wild eyes found the elaborate stained glass window more enticing for the moment. "You know, I should have allowed you to awake in the bog, but unfortunately the thought did not cross my mind--until now!" He grinned wickedly as a crystal materialized within his gloved palm.

Sarah glared at him with indifference. Was this she her mind has reduced itself to--a man in spandex pants doing cheap parlor tricks? Gods, she needed to get out more. "So, you'll be giving a one-way ticket to a bog? Come, come, Goblin King, certainly there is more than this cheap trick! I mean I've seen better magicians that can at least pull a bunny out of their hat!"

"Quite." He turned his back to her and idly spun the translucent sphere within his palm. In a fluid movement, he tossed it to her. It was a pleasure to see her hazel eyes widen and then disappear as the crystal shattered into oblivion. Let her make sarcastic remarks now. This silly war would certainly be fun the moment her alleged grip on reality failed.

He smiled at the prospect of seeing her break. Yes, she would certainly be his puppet to manipulate after all she had done. No matter if a part of him pleaded that it was not actually her fault. She would pay, and, by the gods, dearly.

His smiled faded when his gaze caught the fallen masonry scattered across the stone floor. His kingdom was falling apart. By each passing moment, another piece of the Labyrinth was fading from existence. Something had to be done before it was too late. And inwardly, he knew she would be the answer he had been searching for. Either that, or she would watch his world fall into the void. He refused to let her go. Not now, not ever. Sarah was finally his to torture…

Author's Note: I know this is a bit tedious and flawed so far, my apologies. It's gradually rolling along…  But trust me, the story will be more interesting in upcoming chapters. I want to thank those of you who have read and reviewed. Thank you. Hopefully, I will not dim your expectations of this fic. I want to keep this original as much as I can. Expect the next chapter within a few weeks to a month, pending when I have time and inspiration. ^_^*