Chapter XI

Now, as wonderful as freedom was, Jareth had to be on solid ground. Had to. Without her, freedom and sky and pale darkness and magic and the Underground and the Castle beyond the Goblin City – all of it didn't matter. Not without her. On his feet once more, Jareth flung back his cape, impatience resounding through his every movement as, brushing pale hair out of his worried eyes, he looked around – trying to determine where he was in relation to Sarah.

Not seeing anything that would give him a clue, Jareth sighed. For about the hundredth time now he realized that his sight, magic, and power were useless to him here. Only his heart. Only it could lead him in the right direction, be his guide, his illusive yet incredibly strong string – bringing him to the one whom he sought. He closed his eyes, listening to its voice. Gently but insistently it told him that Sarah had always loved roses. He turned right, trying to figure out what that could mean when he was greeted by their perfume.

The air, sweet smelling and heavy, carried the scent of roses with it, swirling through it in tangible waves. Relieved, Jareth made off in the direction of the smell, through the old ruins, through the grass, through the now increasing rosebushes. She was somewhere nearby . . . he could feel her somewhere close – faintly though . . . ever so faintly . . . His heart pushed him forward, on through the multitude, the maze of roses of all sorts of colors, smells and calibers, on – to the very center.

Stooping, Jareth entered a large bower. Walls of roses on all sides, he stood in the center, unmoving. Enclosed in the flowers, lying on the soft short grass was Sarah. Pale green dress shining almost white in the night, a rose clasped in her outstretched hand, her dark hair surrounding her head, she lay as though in a dream. He stood there, unable to move, to breathe. There she was – right there – so close – he had come to her at last. He hadn't seen her so close, been so near to her – in years. He had managed to forget how breathtakingly beautiful she really was. How perfectly lovely . . . Now, without her conflicting emotions, doubt and distrust – nothing prevented him from admiring her, letting himself soak in her beauty, her sunshine . . . finally letting his parched, broken heart drink it's fill . . .

"…I dream of rain…I dream of gardens in the desert sand
I wake in vain… I dream of love as time runs through my hand…"

But what was this? She wasn't breathing! He leaned in close – trying to discern some sound, some faint movement of air, beating of heart. Weak and dizzy from the nearness of her Jareth listened in vain – he couldn't catch even the slightest sound, wisp of air, of dreams. She was alive – that he knew. If that had not been the case – he, though immortal, would surely have died. There was no way he could live without her – that was decidedly true.

"…on and on the rain will say – how fragile we are, how fragile we are…"

He'd have to get her out of this stifling bower – A mortal couldn't possibly breathe in here! But . . . Jareth couldn't trust himself to pick her up, take her into his arms, as he had longed to do ever since . . . But time pressed, for the first time ever, and soon – soon she wouldn't be able to live in this scented coffin . . . Gently, ever so gently, as though she was a fragile porcelain doll, Jareth picked her up in his arms and carried her out.

He placed her on the grass right outside the garden, a few yards away from the Castle gates. He could easily carry her into the castle… easily navigate the many stairways and doors and found her room … her bed … her . . .

What were these thoughts? Why did he suddenly feel the need to take her, to control, to dominate her? Why?

No. Jareth shook his head shooing away those thoughts – she needed air, not the stifling fear that would come to her if she found him in her room, near her bed. She needs air . . .air and room, and not a Fae's undying heart . . . But the Goblin King's thoughts were interrupted as he watched Sarah sigh and start breathing again, watched the color return to her pale cheeks, listened to her heartbeat . . . and sat there, wishing, dreaming . .

Planning and plotting … despite his heart's protest.

Once more shaking his head, he stood gracefully up and started pacing around her. How could this happen? Why are we both here, in one world, when neither one brought the other? Jareth didn't understand it. Was he actually being offered a second chance? But he was a Fae . . .and she – wasn't she a human being? He did not have any power over her.

. . . not yet . . . –

…his words, wishes and wants, even his needs couldn't have brought her to him . . . yet here she was. Did that mean . . . could it possibly mean that she wanted him? To be with him? His will had no power over hers…

. . . not yet . . . –

…unless . . . unless she once again believed in him. Believed as daringly as she once did – giving him power over her dreams, her subconscious.

And that would mean that he could claim,- take,- rule…

No. That couldn't be. That could never be. This was Sarah – she had proven to both him and herself that he and his whole kingdom meant nothing to her. The entire world, the stars, moon, magic, dreams and his heart among the lot that he flung down at her feet meant no more to her than a forgotten junk pile. "It's all Junk!" she had said then, sending once dear objects flying. And when he had put his love into that small hand - insisting, through Agnes, that this surely wasn't junk, she cried out in true passion "YES IT IS!" and had sent it shattering against his mirror.

No. She couldn't have just changed like that. She was unlike any of the others who had entered his Labyrinth. They, all of them, wanted to be with him, but she was the exception. The one and only exception. The one his heart cried out for, knowing very well how little it meant to her. This, as stated before, was Sarah.

But, despite the logic, another part of him awoke . . . and whispered a different tale. With a different ending.

Sarah shifted uneasily, sighing as her dream waned, retreating, fleeing in a multitude of illusive shadows. Jareth stepped back, forced to retreat like that dream, though he knew not why. Maybe because he was only part of her dream . . . Suddenly she sat up, eyes wide. She wanted to jump up and run, giving herself no account as to why, but as she made an attempt to tear herself away from the ground she fell immediately back down, unimaginably dizzy. Jareth lunged forward, giving everything in the world to keep her from getting hurt. He wanted to catch her, keep her out of the hungry reach of that cold, hard, merciless ground….

Keep her for himself.

But his actions were cut short as his straining fingers met a cool polished surface, and mist swam before his very eyes, nearly hiding her figure – a wall between them.

Damn.