A/N: Thanks for the reviews, guys! (and for bearing withtherandom bold and italics... ff dot net doesn't appear to like me verymuch)
I'm trying to mold this thing into its own story, and I have to say, all the dialogue that you might have recognized from the movie was from memory. When I started writing this, I hadn't watched the movie in probably four months or so. The storyline stays pretty close to the original for a bit, but gets unique and infinitely more complicated later on. Thanks, and please keep reviewing!
Chapter Two: The Goblin King's Kindness
...when she awoke, she saw the eyes glowing in front of her, daring her to breathe, to move, to make a sound. She could only stare, drawn into His gaze, and did not even blink as He stepped forward into the light...
"Toby?"
The silence frightened her. It had happened so abruptly; Toby was not known for changes of heart when he settled down for a good crying session. She turned back, stepped into the room, reached for the light switch.
The power had gone out.
"Toby?"
Nothing.
Silence.
A flutter of sound from underneath the bed that made her whirl and jump, but there was nothing there. She turned to the crib, where moments before Toby had stood, his face twisted with childish grief. He was not there.
He wasn't in the crib at all, and she knew it.
She stepped towards it anyway, reaching with trembling fingers for the covers, to draw them back and find out for sure. She inched them back— there was, of course, no way he could be there underneath—
As indeed he wasn't.
Lightning flashed outside the door and all she could think for one thunderstruck moment was My mom is going to kill me!
Then the noise came again, and this time she knew it was not her imagination, for it lingered, resounded, echoed, and increased. For the life of her she could not determine its source— it seemed to be everywhere and nowhere, all around her, right in front of her, just behind her, underneath her feet, above her head, out the window, inside her— she caught movements just at the corners of her eyes, which frightened her more than if she had seen anything definite. The noise, the movement, the flurries of action and distraction, pounded at her sanity till she began to hyperventilate; she'd never felt so vulnerable.
A split second before she screamed, the wind blew in at the open window, catching at the curtains and pushing them at her, till they reached for her like the clutching hands of ghosts. With the wind came the fluttering of wings, and a large owl rushed in, diving at her head and beating her face with its wings. As large as the bird was, as ferocious as its attack seemed to be, still the feathers felt like soft caresses against her cheeks, the talons golden curves held mere inches away from her eyes.
She threw her hands up and turned away, and when she looked back the owl was nowhere to be seen; in its place, there stood the tall and stern figure of a man.
He was the most striking person she'd ever seen, tall and well-shaped, eyes direct— the first impression she had was of royalty, someone used to getting what he wanted, someone who assumed ownership of all that he saw. She looked into his eyes and shivered at the word she saw there, as clearly as if he'd spoken it—
Mine.
She gulped a few times.
"You— you're him, aren't you— the Goblin King?"
He gave an elegant bow. "The same, milady."
"And you— what did you do with him?"
One eyebrow arched, he lifted his chin and looked at her sideways. "Him?" he repeated. His voice was melodic, deep, and faintly mocking.
"My brother— Toby— my little brother. You took him— where is he?"
"I believe you know where he is. You needn't worry about him any longer— he will be well taken care of."
"Please, bring him back!"
He stepped sideways, away from her, began to stalk around her, looking her up and down. "It was you who asked me to take him, I may remind you— I should think you'd be grateful."
"I didn't mean it!"
"Oh, you didn't?" he said softly. "Were you never taught to say what you mean, and mean what you say? A bit of a cliche, but a useful one at that. You know about cliches, do you not— do as I say, not as I do— nothing is what it seems— They become cliches for a reason, you see. There's so much truth to them."
"I spoke rashly," she said. Her habit of speaking in a formal manner was kicking in; and here was a circumstance where it seemed appropriate. "I would beg your forgiveness, and ask you to bring him back."
He came around to the front of her again, bent close to her and spoke in a voice laced with quiet but undeniable menace. "Were I to bring him back, Sarah, it would not be forgiveness you need to beg— but mercy."
She blinked large green eyes at him, stumbling for something to say. No man had ever come this close to her; it unnerved her and thrilled her simultaneously.
"Its not that I don't appreciate the— the kindness—"
"Sarah." He spoke firmly now, as an adult would to a recalcitrant child. "Go back to your room, to the world you so often inhabit— play with your toys. Pretend this never happened. And forget about the baby."
It was advice, his eyes let her know— she would do well to take it.
For a moment she wavered; his voice was smooth and convincing, easy to listen to, easier to obey.
But then she shut her mouth firmly, and looked at him with determined eyes.
"I can't."
And she meant it.
He sighed, and his warm breath stirred her hair. Excitement trickled cold fingers down her spine.
"I warn you," he said, "he will not be easy to find."
"I don't care."
He looked at her for a long moment, then stepped away; she saw in front of her a vast expanse of twisting, diverging walls; beyond that, an area of greenery like a dense forest; and beyond that, on a rise, far off in the distance, a shining, glimmering thing that glinted in the sunlight and was impossibly beautiful.
"Is that— the castle? The castle beyond the Goblin City?"
"So it would appear," came his voice from just behind her ear. She dared not turn and look at him; there was such disappointment in that voice. Perhaps things would be better if she just gave up now, turned around and left the room. She could, she knew— it wasn't too late.
But it soon would be.
"Are you decided, then?" he asked softly.
She hesitated, then nodded.
"Very well," he said, with another sigh. With a gesture of his finger, a clock appeared to one side, ornate, ancient, and supported only on thin air. The numbers went to thirteen— the hands looked like claws, curved and golden. "You have thirteen hours to find your way through the Labyrinth, before your brother becomes one of us forever. I would wish you good luck—"
She looked at him. Their eyes met and time took a breath.
"But I never say things I don't mean," he said, and faded out of view.
She stood for another moment, staring at the place he'd been, and then at the clock; suddenly she realized that the second hand was moving, and that time was passing her by.
She turned towards the Labyrinth, and squared her shoulders.
"I wish," she said aloud, "that I could think of something dramatic to say. It would seem best—"
Nothing, however, came to mind, and instead she started walking.
It was a slight slope, lined with barren and stunted trees, that led to the outer wall of the Labyrinth. She tripped down it as quickly as she could, her eyes fixed on the wall in front of her. The stones looked positively archaic— she wondered to herself how long it had been there, and who had built it. Had the Goblin King ruled over it since its genesis— had it, indeed, come into existence when he had? Was it dependent on him?
Wrapped in thought, she nearly stumbled over the figure that sat, enveloped in a cloak, twenty five feet away from the outer wall. She recovered, observed the grunt that came from the figure, and began apologizing, before something struck her as strange.
She could not see face— or hands— or feet— only a figure, cloaked in darkness. It startled her immensely. As she watched in the beginnings of horror, the part of the figure that must be the head turned towards her, and she saw the glimmerings of a paleness that was totally inhuman, and in the midst of it, yellow eyes glittering at her with undeniable malice.