DISCLAIMER: I claim Gorbath and all of his army. The rest is just wishful thinking.
Chapter Two
Sunlight filtered through the gauzy white curtains, surrounding the sleeping girl in a halo of pale light, making her peaceful face look so beautiful she almost seemed an angel. As the light shifted, she stirred, stretching slowly before climbing leisurely out of bed. Yawning, she gracefully positioned herself before her mirror and reached for her hairbrush. Humming lightly, the girl ran the comb through her long dark hair. A strange shadow on the mirror drew her eyes towards the reflection of the window.
Gasping in shock, she whirled around. The normally clean window pane had a long red streak down the middle. Brush still clutched in her hand, she approached slowly, pushing open the window and glancing down. The brush clattered to the floor. Lying on the lawn was an ugly mess of blood and white feathers.
It was a sort of morbid curiosity that led her outside after breakfast. The bird looked even worse up close. There was something dark sticking out of its side. Leaning closer, she saw that it was some kind of dart or arrow. A sense of sorrow overwhelmed the girl. She had always had a special place in her heart for owls, especially white ones. Gently, she reached out to touch the bird lightly with her fingertips. Her eyes widened in surprise. The bird was warm, still alive.
The girl hesitated indecisively. She looked up at the clear blue sky. So many memories. It had been nearly ten years. Her parents had died in a car accident two years ago and she had inherited their house, dropping out of acting school to become her brother's guardian. How long had it been since she'd had a chance to dream?
Carefully, she scooped the owl up, cradling it in her arms as she carried it into the house. Walking into the living room, she grabbed an old blanket and stretched it over the couch before placing the owl on it. She stepped back slowly, as if expecting the bird to wake up and fly away. After a moment, she turned and hurried into the kitchen, hoping to find some first aid supplies.
Returning with a handful of bandages and cremes, she stopped in shock. Where the owl had been was now the figure of a man. Unable to move, she could only stare. The wild blond hair, the exotic style of dress, he was exactly as she remembered, unchanged in every way, except for the wound in his thigh. The sight of the jagged incision broke the spell and she moved forward, trying to examine the wound without touching it.
The metal object in his leg would have to be pulled out, she knew. She touched it gingerly and glanced quickly at the man's face. There was no reaction, but she noticed for the first time how very pale he was and how shallow his breathing was. Something horrible must have happened, she knew, for him to be so terribly hurt.
Wrapping her hands around the object, she gave a gentle tug but nothing happened. Pulling harder, she found the same thing; she couldn't remove it. Finally, she stood and braced her feet. She yanked sharply, knocking herself over backwards with a twisted crossbow bolt in her hands. The man on the couch groaned in pain. Instantly, she rose and moved to his side, but he was still unconscious.
He slept for most of the day while the girl cleaned his leg and bandaged the ugly wound. Then she sat and simply looked at him. She hadn't known what to expect when she saw him again, anger, sorrow, maybe even hatred. But she felt none of those, only a strange fear that he might die. Lost in thought, she wandered away to eat something; she had been caring for him all morning. When she returned, the man seemed to be breathing more easily, but his face was still very pale. She unwrapped the wound, wondering if she should put a new bandage on it.
She stared at his leg in amazement. The ugly hole was gone, replaced by a hair thin, star shaped scar. At that moment, the man stirred and she moved closer to watch his face. His eyes twitched and then opened. The mismatched gaze traveled uncertainly around the room and then slowly focused on the girl's face. She bit her lip nervously as he looked at her.
The man's hand rose, trembling with fatigue, to stroke her face. "Sarah," he whispered in a hoarse voice. Swallowing, she took his hand in hers.
"It's been a long time, Jareth." For an instant, she thought he was going to smile at her in that familiar mocking smirk, but a shadow crossed his face and his eyes seemed to dim. Concerned, she helped him as he tried to sit up. Leaning heavily on her shoulder, he pulled himself up on the couch and again gazed around in confusion.
"Sarah?" he asked, a hint of fear in his powerful voice. A chill ran down her spine. What was so great that the Goblin King would be afraid?
"Yes?"
"Who are you?" Her heart thumped loudly in her chest. Surely he didn't mean...
She caught his eyes with hers, held them there. "You know who I am, Jareth. We met ten years ago. You remember, right?" He stared at her for a long moment, strange shadows swirling in his eyes. Then he slowly shook his head.
"No." She frowned at him.
"What do you mean, no? I remember it very clearly." She emphasized the word 'remember' slightly. He caught her infliction, bowed his head silently.
"But I don't." His voice was low, almost a whisper.
"Jareth?" He raised his head, eyes blazing.
"Who is Jareth? Don't you understand? That name doesn't mean anything to me!" Abruptly, he swayed, falling back onto the cushions. "What's happened to me?" he murmured, more to himself than to Sarah. She watched him with mingled surprise and alarm.
"Sometimes," she began tentatively, "when people are seriously injured, they forget who they are for a while." Jareth raised an eyebrow in question and she pointed to the scar on his leg. "You lost a lot of blood, but it healed very quickly. Maybe you'll get your memory back soon, too."
He looked examined the scar carefully before looking back at Sarah, a small smile of apology on his face. It surprised her, seeing such a kind expression on the face of one whose customary expression was a frown or a smirk.
"Perhaps you're right. And you know me. You will help me, won't you?" He smiled at her hopefully and she smiled back without thinking, but her thoughts were troubled. This man had taken her brother from her years ago and now she was expected to help him? She wasn't sure if she wanted him to remember all of the troubles of the past. There was a light in his eyes that she had never seen before, as if all of his evil deeds had fallen away from him, giving him a second chance at a good life. Her mind wandered as she saw the warm smile on his lips and she remembered seeing that smile before, when they were dancing. She wondered if he would sing for her.
Sarah jerked herself out of her memories. Whatever happened in the future would happen, but she would not mention anything about Jareth's past unless he specifically spoke of it, she decided. Most people recovered their memories after accidents, but she was going to use the time she had to let Jareth enjoy life. He had always been in such pain before.
Smiling, she took his hand. "Let me show you where the guest room is." If luck was on her side, he would never think of the Labyrinth again.
End Chapter Two
Chapter Two
Sunlight filtered through the gauzy white curtains, surrounding the sleeping girl in a halo of pale light, making her peaceful face look so beautiful she almost seemed an angel. As the light shifted, she stirred, stretching slowly before climbing leisurely out of bed. Yawning, she gracefully positioned herself before her mirror and reached for her hairbrush. Humming lightly, the girl ran the comb through her long dark hair. A strange shadow on the mirror drew her eyes towards the reflection of the window.
Gasping in shock, she whirled around. The normally clean window pane had a long red streak down the middle. Brush still clutched in her hand, she approached slowly, pushing open the window and glancing down. The brush clattered to the floor. Lying on the lawn was an ugly mess of blood and white feathers.
It was a sort of morbid curiosity that led her outside after breakfast. The bird looked even worse up close. There was something dark sticking out of its side. Leaning closer, she saw that it was some kind of dart or arrow. A sense of sorrow overwhelmed the girl. She had always had a special place in her heart for owls, especially white ones. Gently, she reached out to touch the bird lightly with her fingertips. Her eyes widened in surprise. The bird was warm, still alive.
The girl hesitated indecisively. She looked up at the clear blue sky. So many memories. It had been nearly ten years. Her parents had died in a car accident two years ago and she had inherited their house, dropping out of acting school to become her brother's guardian. How long had it been since she'd had a chance to dream?
Carefully, she scooped the owl up, cradling it in her arms as she carried it into the house. Walking into the living room, she grabbed an old blanket and stretched it over the couch before placing the owl on it. She stepped back slowly, as if expecting the bird to wake up and fly away. After a moment, she turned and hurried into the kitchen, hoping to find some first aid supplies.
Returning with a handful of bandages and cremes, she stopped in shock. Where the owl had been was now the figure of a man. Unable to move, she could only stare. The wild blond hair, the exotic style of dress, he was exactly as she remembered, unchanged in every way, except for the wound in his thigh. The sight of the jagged incision broke the spell and she moved forward, trying to examine the wound without touching it.
The metal object in his leg would have to be pulled out, she knew. She touched it gingerly and glanced quickly at the man's face. There was no reaction, but she noticed for the first time how very pale he was and how shallow his breathing was. Something horrible must have happened, she knew, for him to be so terribly hurt.
Wrapping her hands around the object, she gave a gentle tug but nothing happened. Pulling harder, she found the same thing; she couldn't remove it. Finally, she stood and braced her feet. She yanked sharply, knocking herself over backwards with a twisted crossbow bolt in her hands. The man on the couch groaned in pain. Instantly, she rose and moved to his side, but he was still unconscious.
He slept for most of the day while the girl cleaned his leg and bandaged the ugly wound. Then she sat and simply looked at him. She hadn't known what to expect when she saw him again, anger, sorrow, maybe even hatred. But she felt none of those, only a strange fear that he might die. Lost in thought, she wandered away to eat something; she had been caring for him all morning. When she returned, the man seemed to be breathing more easily, but his face was still very pale. She unwrapped the wound, wondering if she should put a new bandage on it.
She stared at his leg in amazement. The ugly hole was gone, replaced by a hair thin, star shaped scar. At that moment, the man stirred and she moved closer to watch his face. His eyes twitched and then opened. The mismatched gaze traveled uncertainly around the room and then slowly focused on the girl's face. She bit her lip nervously as he looked at her.
The man's hand rose, trembling with fatigue, to stroke her face. "Sarah," he whispered in a hoarse voice. Swallowing, she took his hand in hers.
"It's been a long time, Jareth." For an instant, she thought he was going to smile at her in that familiar mocking smirk, but a shadow crossed his face and his eyes seemed to dim. Concerned, she helped him as he tried to sit up. Leaning heavily on her shoulder, he pulled himself up on the couch and again gazed around in confusion.
"Sarah?" he asked, a hint of fear in his powerful voice. A chill ran down her spine. What was so great that the Goblin King would be afraid?
"Yes?"
"Who are you?" Her heart thumped loudly in her chest. Surely he didn't mean...
She caught his eyes with hers, held them there. "You know who I am, Jareth. We met ten years ago. You remember, right?" He stared at her for a long moment, strange shadows swirling in his eyes. Then he slowly shook his head.
"No." She frowned at him.
"What do you mean, no? I remember it very clearly." She emphasized the word 'remember' slightly. He caught her infliction, bowed his head silently.
"But I don't." His voice was low, almost a whisper.
"Jareth?" He raised his head, eyes blazing.
"Who is Jareth? Don't you understand? That name doesn't mean anything to me!" Abruptly, he swayed, falling back onto the cushions. "What's happened to me?" he murmured, more to himself than to Sarah. She watched him with mingled surprise and alarm.
"Sometimes," she began tentatively, "when people are seriously injured, they forget who they are for a while." Jareth raised an eyebrow in question and she pointed to the scar on his leg. "You lost a lot of blood, but it healed very quickly. Maybe you'll get your memory back soon, too."
He looked examined the scar carefully before looking back at Sarah, a small smile of apology on his face. It surprised her, seeing such a kind expression on the face of one whose customary expression was a frown or a smirk.
"Perhaps you're right. And you know me. You will help me, won't you?" He smiled at her hopefully and she smiled back without thinking, but her thoughts were troubled. This man had taken her brother from her years ago and now she was expected to help him? She wasn't sure if she wanted him to remember all of the troubles of the past. There was a light in his eyes that she had never seen before, as if all of his evil deeds had fallen away from him, giving him a second chance at a good life. Her mind wandered as she saw the warm smile on his lips and she remembered seeing that smile before, when they were dancing. She wondered if he would sing for her.
Sarah jerked herself out of her memories. Whatever happened in the future would happen, but she would not mention anything about Jareth's past unless he specifically spoke of it, she decided. Most people recovered their memories after accidents, but she was going to use the time she had to let Jareth enjoy life. He had always been in such pain before.
Smiling, she took his hand. "Let me show you where the guest room is." If luck was on her side, he would never think of the Labyrinth again.
End Chapter Two