King of Dreams, Owner of None
by Bunniko
AN: Well, y'all are a stingy bunch. Oh well, two reviews are better than one. I'm back in the US now, and believe me I don't want to be. My brother had lifted my keyboard and replaced it with an ancient junky thing. Oh, I'm pissed. So, I've had to rewrite this chapter and barring any weirdness, this one should be the final cut of the ninth chapter. Anywho, another chapter with oblique references to me and my friends. So again, there's some stuff I own. I own: Trixie/Jeannie, Melinda, Deborah, Rikki, Solei and other things as they appear. I do not own: Texas (bummer), England (yay!), the Labyrinth (sniffle), Jareth, Sarah, etc. To my real life friends: See if you can find yourself. Did I write you in? lol
Please Note: The story is set 5 years after the movie.
Chapter Nine - Seeing Myself in Her Eyes
As Phillip ran his hands over her body, Sarah closed her eyes to hide all that she was feeling. Disgust at herself, confusion, fear, pain, and something else, something deep and dark that she didn't recognize. She played her part, but somehow Phillip sensed that this was the end. As he dressed, he gazed wistfully at the spill of long dark hair over the soft violet sheets, the pale, perfect face, the slender neck, the more than generous swell of her bust, her creamy skin and had to swallow a sigh of loss. Losing her wasn't emotionally painful, just physically. He shrugged into his coat and kissed her good-bye. They spoke words of temporary parting, but both knew they would never see each other again.
Sarah lounged on the bed for a moment after he had left. But a glimpse of herself in the vanity mirror impelled her. She flew into the shower, wishing she could wash away five years and the guilt that came with it. But there was no soap in the world that could cleanse her soul. And she turned many years ago from the church, and ignored the twinges of God in her soul. She told herself that His forgiveness couldn't come until she could forgive herself.
She needed time and solitude. A place to think, to recover, to figure out what she should do next. And she knew just the place. The indecisive brunette suddenly became a whirlwind, tossing everything she wanted into her suitcases and boxes and shoving them into the car Phillip had bought her. At least she remembered to leave him a note, in which she apologized, told him she was taking some of the clothing and jewelry and would return the car when she could. She also left him a number to call if he felt she had taken anything she shouldn't have.
Sarah drove for hours. She rubbed tired eyes, not imagining that deep in his castle, Jareth was doing the same. While she was surrounded by boxes containing her past, Jareth sat among books containing the past all the way back to the fall of the Fae. She forged a path to a new life; Jareth blazed a dead-end trail to saving a life.
Jareth sagged in his chair. The raging fire couldn't prevent the chill stealing over his soul. All because a wispy blonde with an incredible will had entered his realm. He couldn't explain the need he had to save her, to heal her. She was weak, tossing in dark dreams, her head outwardly healing, but inwardly suffering. Though the brain fever wasn't his worry. His physicians were handling that and they assured him that they had it under control.
What worried him was a two-fold problem that could very well destroy Trixie's life when she awakened. Part of the problem was the human form. It was too frail to survive great forces of magic, even if it was meant to heal. Trixie might die, her mind might overload, or her body might mutate. She might pick up a magic ability that would only warp her soul, as it had so many human magic wielders in the past. But the bigger part stemmed from the burden of the magic, from its need for raw power, dream power. There wasn't enough coming from the above ground to allow the three to correct all the damage at once. So they had sacrificed the damage to the skull to save the brain. The swelling was indeed going down, the mind slowly healing itself in its' own way.
However, her head was now deformed. The right side was flattened. From the ear to the crown, the bones now ascended in a slope instead of a gentle curve. It changed the shape of her right eye, and would no doubt prove a little tricky with the vision in that eye. Her hair, straight and fine, could not conceal the strange shape. Her skin was as pale as the papers he impatiently shuffled. How could he save her and return her to above ground like this? Having concealed the attack, how would she explain the damage? What would it do to her fragile self-esteem? How would it alter her life?
He lowered his head to his hands and bemoaned again that she was an adult. If she was even only 3 years younger, he could simply shift her shape and keep her here. If she wanted to stay, she could choose her own form. If not, he could wipe her memory and choose for her. But, to keep a human adult? There was no precedent for that! She belonged up there and she deserved to have the highest quality of life, he swore angrily.
Jeannie lay in a dark place. She knew she'd hit her head, because her vision was fading in and out. She pulled herself up to a standing position and found herself in a hole. There was a grating high above and through it, she could see lightning. It hurt her eyes, so she tried to focus elsewhere in the blackness. A slick wall supported her rubbery body. She looked down to see, through the faint illumination of the distant lightning, that she was dressed in a tattered gown of . . . something thin. There were dark stains on it that made her fear it was blood. What had happened to her? She racked her mind, but only ended up with a headache. A name came to her mind, a face that she latched onto. It was a child's face, pale, with deep brown, thoughtful eyes and a dark cloud of hair. The darkness rose to swallow her into a dreamless state, as her parched and pale lips murmured, "Sarah." Then the hole was gone, the face was gone and consciousness gave up to the hunger of the dark void that was slowly sapping her body's strength.
Sarah pulled into the gravel driveway at 9 pm. Somewhere along the way, she ditched her normal clothes and pulled on baggy jeans and a T-shirt. In the cool evening air, she drew a flannel shirt about her thin frame as well. She lifted up the most important suitcase and staggered under its weight up to front porch. She dug the key out of her pocket, but paused to study the old house.
It was her inheritance from her mother's mother. Several years ago, her entire family had washed their hands of her, even her once idolized mother. But her granmama had never known how Sarah had changed and when she had passed away, she had given this old, but comfy cottage to her willful, dreamy granddaughter. Sarah had kept it as a hideaway, her retreat from the world. Located in the country, far from England's gossip centers, she felt safe.
She slipped in, finding everything dusty and dark. Sneezing, she sighed at all the work to be done. Forcing an optimism she didn't feel, she spoke out loud, "At least it will keep my hands busy." She set the heavy bag on the floor, slipped the sheet off the couch, and laid down, "Tomorrow." She was asleep in moments, her dreams of a woman made entirely of flowers living in a silver glade.
Sarah's dream caught the tired Jareth's attention. "What the?" He held up a crystal, watching the energy, positive and sweet, flowing into the Underground. He drew a bit of it to himself, marveling at the sweetness of the dream in comparison to the bitterness of so many others flowing down. It wasn't enough to counteract, of course, but it was definitely a tiny taste of hope that gave him the energy to keep searching, keep holding out hope for Trix, for Sarah, for everything that mattered to him.
The night passed slowly, a small part of the Labyrinth beginning to flower with sweet-scented pink flowers. And in another section, four friends were bound, gently but firmly, and sleeping off the rude knocks to their heads.
*******
Five days flew by as Sarah set her house in order, and began to search out a new plan for life. She spent much of the time trying to rationalize away her actions, but found that everything came back to Jareth. Her entire life hadn't proved anything, but that he was her center. She realized that she had been behaving like a child acting out against his parents. Only she had been acting out against the biggest enigma in her life. He had ruled her decisions, even without trying. What was she to do about that?
More frightening to her was that, as she reread the book, she found she couldn't identify with the child she had been. She instinctively knew she couldn't go back there. She was afraid of that place. She had barely won last time; she had been so lucky, she saw now. She was certain she couldn't do that again.
Then, the time she'd been anticipating and dreading came. There was a white feather on her windowsill. She picked up, twirling it in her fingers. "Jeannie . . ." she whispered, an excitement thrumming through her, as well as a dread. What news would Jareth have? She lifted the crystal, hands shaking.
Jareth's face filled it, looking care-worn and tired. His eyes were not focused on her as he spoke. "She is awake."
Sarah's breath whooshed out of her and her heart raced. She felt the need to scream out, but repressed it. Sarah's tongue ached to ask a million questions, but Jareth had already stepped out of view. Sarah's smile froze as Jeannie's face swam into view. Jeannie's pale face was smiling; her eyes fixed on Jareth. Sarah heard him murmur, "I'll leave you two alone, my dear." As the door closed, Jeannie's eyes turned to Sarah.
"Honey! Oh Honey! How are you?" Jeannie gushed. Her eyes sparkled a deep green in the sunlight. A fading bruise marred her left cheek; a few scrapes decorated her horribly white face. Her long blond hair was carefully styled on the left to allow the right side to be easily viewed. Sarah realized with a start that she could see the veins in her friend's face. She turned her eyes away, unable to look at the face of her dearest friend.
"Jeannie." she greeted softly, eyes steadfastly refusing to meet Jeannie's. She knew sooner or later her perceptive friend would see what Jareth had.
"Oh, Honey." Jeannie's voice became soft. "Honey, talk to me, what's wrong? What's happened? You look so sad."
That was Jeannie, Sarah thought bitterly. Why couldn't she be more selfish? Why did she always make me feel bad by putting me first? She railed mentally, her wild anger beginning to build in her. "Jean, we are 20 years old. Don't you think it's time to leave our childish nicknames behind?" Her voice was harsh, startling her best friend.
"I'm sorry, Sar. I never thought . . ." Jeannie trailed off for a moment, face clouded in pain. Sarah busily stared out the window. But the moment passed and Jeannie smiled again, her mind jumping tracks quickly to avoid unpleasant thoughts. "Jareth has told me you wished me here to save my life and then you'll fight him for me. So cool! To be rescued twice by my best friend! It's almost Arthurian!"
"Jeannie, do shut up!" Sarah muttered. Repenting of her harshness, she tried to begin again, "I didn't want to wish you away! I don't trust Jareth. He tells me what happened but how can I believe him? What if he hurt you himself to force me back into the Labyrinth?"
"Sar . . ."
"You don't know me anymore, Jeannie. I've changed. I don't think I can defeat him. Not this time. So I've just ended up trapping you there!"
Jeannie began to grow frightened. "No matter what's happened, I'll always know you. You can't change that much!" she insisted.
"My foolish friend." Sarah sighed, her anger near the breaking point. "I have changed!" It snapped and her voice rose, "And it's all that glittery freak's fault!" Jeannie pulled back, shocked at her mild friend's temper.
"Sarah," she pleaded, "calm down, please. You can talk to me. You can always talk to me! There's nothing you can say . . . "
"Shut up!" Sarah shouted, not noticing Jeannie's eyes flash for a moment. Jeannie's mouth shut with a snap. She could still feel Jeannie's eyes on her and it was unbearable. She turned back, but focused her eyes above the crystal. "I'm not fighting him for you." She spoke firmly. "I won't. I . . ." she wavered, then bowed her head in defeat, "I can't go back there. Not like this."
Jeannie's fear of abandonment, always high, triggered a wave of panic. Just as it threatened to overwhelm her, it was swept away by Sarah's soft whimper. "What do you mean 'like this'?" she queried, her voice revealing her worry. "Are you injured? Unhealthy?"
"Oh, Jeannie!" Sarah flung herself away from the crystal. "Can't you be mad at me? Why do you always have to be so damn nice?"
Jeannie frowned, seriously considering the question, to Sarah's annoyance and disbelief. "But I'm not nice. I've been told lots of times, even by you, that I'm childish, selfish, distracted . . . You should hear Melinda yell because I watch TV while we talk on the phone, or Debbie scold because I never call her first. My ex-boyfriends have even called me spoiled, ditzy and flighty. And that was before we broke up!" She tried to laugh, but Sarah's eyes stopped the sound in her throat. Jareth's words floated back to her.
"Here's Sarah, my dear. Don't let her upset you too much."
Jeannie narrowed her eyes speculatively, unaware Sarah was watching. Jareth knew something, the bed-confined girl knew, and she was determined to find out what.
Sarah watched her with trepidation. She knew that look. That look had prompted the nickname of Trixie in the first place. And she knew that Jeannie always learned what she wanted to know, maybe not with subtlety and finesse, but she got the information nonetheless.
Jeannie suddenly smiled too sweetly, "Sorry, hun, but it's time for dinner. Mustn't keep the King waiting. I'll call you back and we can talk over this a little more calmly." The crystal went dark before Sarah's stunned face. Dinner? The King? They eat dinner together? Oh the rouge!
by Bunniko
AN: Well, y'all are a stingy bunch. Oh well, two reviews are better than one. I'm back in the US now, and believe me I don't want to be. My brother had lifted my keyboard and replaced it with an ancient junky thing. Oh, I'm pissed. So, I've had to rewrite this chapter and barring any weirdness, this one should be the final cut of the ninth chapter. Anywho, another chapter with oblique references to me and my friends. So again, there's some stuff I own. I own: Trixie/Jeannie, Melinda, Deborah, Rikki, Solei and other things as they appear. I do not own: Texas (bummer), England (yay!), the Labyrinth (sniffle), Jareth, Sarah, etc. To my real life friends: See if you can find yourself. Did I write you in? lol
Please Note: The story is set 5 years after the movie.
Chapter Nine - Seeing Myself in Her Eyes
As Phillip ran his hands over her body, Sarah closed her eyes to hide all that she was feeling. Disgust at herself, confusion, fear, pain, and something else, something deep and dark that she didn't recognize. She played her part, but somehow Phillip sensed that this was the end. As he dressed, he gazed wistfully at the spill of long dark hair over the soft violet sheets, the pale, perfect face, the slender neck, the more than generous swell of her bust, her creamy skin and had to swallow a sigh of loss. Losing her wasn't emotionally painful, just physically. He shrugged into his coat and kissed her good-bye. They spoke words of temporary parting, but both knew they would never see each other again.
Sarah lounged on the bed for a moment after he had left. But a glimpse of herself in the vanity mirror impelled her. She flew into the shower, wishing she could wash away five years and the guilt that came with it. But there was no soap in the world that could cleanse her soul. And she turned many years ago from the church, and ignored the twinges of God in her soul. She told herself that His forgiveness couldn't come until she could forgive herself.
She needed time and solitude. A place to think, to recover, to figure out what she should do next. And she knew just the place. The indecisive brunette suddenly became a whirlwind, tossing everything she wanted into her suitcases and boxes and shoving them into the car Phillip had bought her. At least she remembered to leave him a note, in which she apologized, told him she was taking some of the clothing and jewelry and would return the car when she could. She also left him a number to call if he felt she had taken anything she shouldn't have.
Sarah drove for hours. She rubbed tired eyes, not imagining that deep in his castle, Jareth was doing the same. While she was surrounded by boxes containing her past, Jareth sat among books containing the past all the way back to the fall of the Fae. She forged a path to a new life; Jareth blazed a dead-end trail to saving a life.
Jareth sagged in his chair. The raging fire couldn't prevent the chill stealing over his soul. All because a wispy blonde with an incredible will had entered his realm. He couldn't explain the need he had to save her, to heal her. She was weak, tossing in dark dreams, her head outwardly healing, but inwardly suffering. Though the brain fever wasn't his worry. His physicians were handling that and they assured him that they had it under control.
What worried him was a two-fold problem that could very well destroy Trixie's life when she awakened. Part of the problem was the human form. It was too frail to survive great forces of magic, even if it was meant to heal. Trixie might die, her mind might overload, or her body might mutate. She might pick up a magic ability that would only warp her soul, as it had so many human magic wielders in the past. But the bigger part stemmed from the burden of the magic, from its need for raw power, dream power. There wasn't enough coming from the above ground to allow the three to correct all the damage at once. So they had sacrificed the damage to the skull to save the brain. The swelling was indeed going down, the mind slowly healing itself in its' own way.
However, her head was now deformed. The right side was flattened. From the ear to the crown, the bones now ascended in a slope instead of a gentle curve. It changed the shape of her right eye, and would no doubt prove a little tricky with the vision in that eye. Her hair, straight and fine, could not conceal the strange shape. Her skin was as pale as the papers he impatiently shuffled. How could he save her and return her to above ground like this? Having concealed the attack, how would she explain the damage? What would it do to her fragile self-esteem? How would it alter her life?
He lowered his head to his hands and bemoaned again that she was an adult. If she was even only 3 years younger, he could simply shift her shape and keep her here. If she wanted to stay, she could choose her own form. If not, he could wipe her memory and choose for her. But, to keep a human adult? There was no precedent for that! She belonged up there and she deserved to have the highest quality of life, he swore angrily.
Jeannie lay in a dark place. She knew she'd hit her head, because her vision was fading in and out. She pulled herself up to a standing position and found herself in a hole. There was a grating high above and through it, she could see lightning. It hurt her eyes, so she tried to focus elsewhere in the blackness. A slick wall supported her rubbery body. She looked down to see, through the faint illumination of the distant lightning, that she was dressed in a tattered gown of . . . something thin. There were dark stains on it that made her fear it was blood. What had happened to her? She racked her mind, but only ended up with a headache. A name came to her mind, a face that she latched onto. It was a child's face, pale, with deep brown, thoughtful eyes and a dark cloud of hair. The darkness rose to swallow her into a dreamless state, as her parched and pale lips murmured, "Sarah." Then the hole was gone, the face was gone and consciousness gave up to the hunger of the dark void that was slowly sapping her body's strength.
Sarah pulled into the gravel driveway at 9 pm. Somewhere along the way, she ditched her normal clothes and pulled on baggy jeans and a T-shirt. In the cool evening air, she drew a flannel shirt about her thin frame as well. She lifted up the most important suitcase and staggered under its weight up to front porch. She dug the key out of her pocket, but paused to study the old house.
It was her inheritance from her mother's mother. Several years ago, her entire family had washed their hands of her, even her once idolized mother. But her granmama had never known how Sarah had changed and when she had passed away, she had given this old, but comfy cottage to her willful, dreamy granddaughter. Sarah had kept it as a hideaway, her retreat from the world. Located in the country, far from England's gossip centers, she felt safe.
She slipped in, finding everything dusty and dark. Sneezing, she sighed at all the work to be done. Forcing an optimism she didn't feel, she spoke out loud, "At least it will keep my hands busy." She set the heavy bag on the floor, slipped the sheet off the couch, and laid down, "Tomorrow." She was asleep in moments, her dreams of a woman made entirely of flowers living in a silver glade.
Sarah's dream caught the tired Jareth's attention. "What the?" He held up a crystal, watching the energy, positive and sweet, flowing into the Underground. He drew a bit of it to himself, marveling at the sweetness of the dream in comparison to the bitterness of so many others flowing down. It wasn't enough to counteract, of course, but it was definitely a tiny taste of hope that gave him the energy to keep searching, keep holding out hope for Trix, for Sarah, for everything that mattered to him.
The night passed slowly, a small part of the Labyrinth beginning to flower with sweet-scented pink flowers. And in another section, four friends were bound, gently but firmly, and sleeping off the rude knocks to their heads.
*******
Five days flew by as Sarah set her house in order, and began to search out a new plan for life. She spent much of the time trying to rationalize away her actions, but found that everything came back to Jareth. Her entire life hadn't proved anything, but that he was her center. She realized that she had been behaving like a child acting out against his parents. Only she had been acting out against the biggest enigma in her life. He had ruled her decisions, even without trying. What was she to do about that?
More frightening to her was that, as she reread the book, she found she couldn't identify with the child she had been. She instinctively knew she couldn't go back there. She was afraid of that place. She had barely won last time; she had been so lucky, she saw now. She was certain she couldn't do that again.
Then, the time she'd been anticipating and dreading came. There was a white feather on her windowsill. She picked up, twirling it in her fingers. "Jeannie . . ." she whispered, an excitement thrumming through her, as well as a dread. What news would Jareth have? She lifted the crystal, hands shaking.
Jareth's face filled it, looking care-worn and tired. His eyes were not focused on her as he spoke. "She is awake."
Sarah's breath whooshed out of her and her heart raced. She felt the need to scream out, but repressed it. Sarah's tongue ached to ask a million questions, but Jareth had already stepped out of view. Sarah's smile froze as Jeannie's face swam into view. Jeannie's pale face was smiling; her eyes fixed on Jareth. Sarah heard him murmur, "I'll leave you two alone, my dear." As the door closed, Jeannie's eyes turned to Sarah.
"Honey! Oh Honey! How are you?" Jeannie gushed. Her eyes sparkled a deep green in the sunlight. A fading bruise marred her left cheek; a few scrapes decorated her horribly white face. Her long blond hair was carefully styled on the left to allow the right side to be easily viewed. Sarah realized with a start that she could see the veins in her friend's face. She turned her eyes away, unable to look at the face of her dearest friend.
"Jeannie." she greeted softly, eyes steadfastly refusing to meet Jeannie's. She knew sooner or later her perceptive friend would see what Jareth had.
"Oh, Honey." Jeannie's voice became soft. "Honey, talk to me, what's wrong? What's happened? You look so sad."
That was Jeannie, Sarah thought bitterly. Why couldn't she be more selfish? Why did she always make me feel bad by putting me first? She railed mentally, her wild anger beginning to build in her. "Jean, we are 20 years old. Don't you think it's time to leave our childish nicknames behind?" Her voice was harsh, startling her best friend.
"I'm sorry, Sar. I never thought . . ." Jeannie trailed off for a moment, face clouded in pain. Sarah busily stared out the window. But the moment passed and Jeannie smiled again, her mind jumping tracks quickly to avoid unpleasant thoughts. "Jareth has told me you wished me here to save my life and then you'll fight him for me. So cool! To be rescued twice by my best friend! It's almost Arthurian!"
"Jeannie, do shut up!" Sarah muttered. Repenting of her harshness, she tried to begin again, "I didn't want to wish you away! I don't trust Jareth. He tells me what happened but how can I believe him? What if he hurt you himself to force me back into the Labyrinth?"
"Sar . . ."
"You don't know me anymore, Jeannie. I've changed. I don't think I can defeat him. Not this time. So I've just ended up trapping you there!"
Jeannie began to grow frightened. "No matter what's happened, I'll always know you. You can't change that much!" she insisted.
"My foolish friend." Sarah sighed, her anger near the breaking point. "I have changed!" It snapped and her voice rose, "And it's all that glittery freak's fault!" Jeannie pulled back, shocked at her mild friend's temper.
"Sarah," she pleaded, "calm down, please. You can talk to me. You can always talk to me! There's nothing you can say . . . "
"Shut up!" Sarah shouted, not noticing Jeannie's eyes flash for a moment. Jeannie's mouth shut with a snap. She could still feel Jeannie's eyes on her and it was unbearable. She turned back, but focused her eyes above the crystal. "I'm not fighting him for you." She spoke firmly. "I won't. I . . ." she wavered, then bowed her head in defeat, "I can't go back there. Not like this."
Jeannie's fear of abandonment, always high, triggered a wave of panic. Just as it threatened to overwhelm her, it was swept away by Sarah's soft whimper. "What do you mean 'like this'?" she queried, her voice revealing her worry. "Are you injured? Unhealthy?"
"Oh, Jeannie!" Sarah flung herself away from the crystal. "Can't you be mad at me? Why do you always have to be so damn nice?"
Jeannie frowned, seriously considering the question, to Sarah's annoyance and disbelief. "But I'm not nice. I've been told lots of times, even by you, that I'm childish, selfish, distracted . . . You should hear Melinda yell because I watch TV while we talk on the phone, or Debbie scold because I never call her first. My ex-boyfriends have even called me spoiled, ditzy and flighty. And that was before we broke up!" She tried to laugh, but Sarah's eyes stopped the sound in her throat. Jareth's words floated back to her.
"Here's Sarah, my dear. Don't let her upset you too much."
Jeannie narrowed her eyes speculatively, unaware Sarah was watching. Jareth knew something, the bed-confined girl knew, and she was determined to find out what.
Sarah watched her with trepidation. She knew that look. That look had prompted the nickname of Trixie in the first place. And she knew that Jeannie always learned what she wanted to know, maybe not with subtlety and finesse, but she got the information nonetheless.
Jeannie suddenly smiled too sweetly, "Sorry, hun, but it's time for dinner. Mustn't keep the King waiting. I'll call you back and we can talk over this a little more calmly." The crystal went dark before Sarah's stunned face. Dinner? The King? They eat dinner together? Oh the rouge!