Author's Note: I know I mentioned in the notes of the previous chapter about the one-shot I've written that relates directly to this story. Well, if you haven't read it yet, it's probably a good idea. This chapter makes a lot less sense without it, and I honestly think you'll enjoy it before if you've read The Forgotten Dream first.
I know the one-shot is rather long, for which I apologize. But humor me anyway and take a look, eh? Otherwise you're going to have sooooo many questions and "Buh?" expressions, and any answer I have to them will mostly consist of summarizing the one-shot. Since I'm terrible at summaries, you're much better off just reading the darn thing.
Chapter Twenty-Two: Something in the Air
He knew it was a mistake the minute he'd done it, born out of the foolhardy desire to rattle the girl. It backfired badly. Having Sarah ride behind him was one thing. Jareth was all too aware of her arms wrapped around his waist, fists clutching handfuls of his shirt. She had taken care not to touch more of him than was necessary, as if there had been a tacit agreement between them. But now that she sat before him...
Awake and none too comfortable, Sarah shifted constantly in her seat, nervously alternating between leaning back and sitting bolt upright in the saddle. At times it was difficult to hold on, but Jareth did not dare let go. Ever since they had left the clearing, Sarah had been unusually tired, although she tried not to show it. She slept too long, but it was a restless slumber and did not restore her energy. He knew little of mortal constitutions, but he knew that she was not well, regardless of her protests to the contrary. That was another cause for concern, and Jareth had many. But it was difficult to think of them now with Sarah so close.
Inexplicably, he found himself wishing she would not pull away, that she would give herself up to him as trustingly as she had before. It had been... he searched for a word, but found none to fully describe how he felt. He simply knew he desired such a feeling again.
The Goblin King grimaced. This girl has bewitched me.
Sarah had a way of turning his world upside down, and he had not forgotten the effect she had on the Labyrinth during her first visit. But this was not quite the same. This time, it had been the Goblin King himself who'd been turned upside down-- laid low and cursed by a wishspell so powerful he could not resist its call. Jareth winced at the memory of it, still painfully fresh in his mind. Weak as water he'd been, and even now neither he nor the Labyrinth was quite the same as before. It is not the same at all, thought the Goblin King. I have changed.
Jareth hated change. Change brought chaos, and he wanted order and certainty. Sarah represented the antithesis of all that. All the more reason why she should return to her own world, he reasoned. It would restore the balance. And he knew there was something that could aid him in this deed.
He'd had little time to mark upon its absence, but Jareth felt it as surely as he would miss his right hand, for he had worn it every day for as long as he could remember. A small, dormant magic lying untapped and unremarked upon-- the most powerful kind. Although Jareth did not know what had become of it after his flight from the tower, it was safe, he could feel that much. And it was waiting for his return.
Sarah shifted in the saddle, once again leaning back into his chest. Sarah. He would not tell her, not until it was necessary. They would journey back to the castle, and by then he trusted his strength would be enough to accomplish what he needed to do. But Jareth would not think of that just yet, only of what would be gained by it. It had to be done.
All would be well.
But his restless thoughts were distracted when he felt Sarah go unexpectedly limp in his arms.
Rumor's speed quickened, something in her responding to a growing sense of urgency in her master. It was all Sarah could do to hang on, fingers tangled in the mare's dark mane and the Goblin King's arm hard against her ribcage. The reins were wrapped firmly in his left hand as he guided Rumor over fallen tree trunks in their path, moving as fluidly as if horse and rider were one. With her back braced solidly against the warmth of Jareth's chest and the wind in her face, it felt like they were flying. She was not cold now.
But this can't last forever, said a small voice inside her. When you return to the castle, what do you think will happen then? Sarah had no answer for that, but instead of making her happy, the thought of their return filled her with a growing apprehension. If Hoggle and Sir Didymus were all right, if Jareth could reorder the Labyrinth the way things were meant to be... then what? She could not stay in Underground forever, Sarah knew. And why would I want to? As much as she loved her friends, she had a home and a family. All the same, she did not like to think of leaving.
Ever so slightly, Jareth's arm tightened around her waist, a sudden and aching reminder that she would leave more behind in the Labyrinth than Hoggle and Sir Didymus. Even if he's made it clear he doesn't want me here. But when she leaned back against him, he did not pull away.
The comfort of that contact made her bones feel heavy, as if she were drowning. Weariness slipped over her like the water closing over her head and each breath grew slower and more ponderous. Her mind felt lighter than air, tethered and fighting against the weight of her body as it dragged deeper down. She had only to let go and it would be free. The thought both frightened and exhilarated her at the same time, so when everything around slipped from reality to dream Sarah did not notice it at all.
A cold mist crept across the face of the sun. One moment, the bracing air swept past her face, then next, it had washed away the woods and the warmth of the afternoon and all was still. Sarah stood by the edge of the Silverwood pool, the clearing bathed in a shadowy half-light that was neither night nor day. The water was a mirror at her feet, without a single ripple to mar its smooth surface. As she watched, mist rolled in over the water, creeping into the folds of her clothing and lifting damp tendrils of her hair with invisible hands.
I should not be here, she thought in alarm. This isn't the way things are supposed to be...
One by one, the will-o'-the-wisps came alight above her head, like pale stars. Sarah chafed a spot on her left wrist almost without being aware of doing so. It burned both hot and cold, and the feeling seemed to grow in intensity the longer she stood there. The sensation distracted her thoughts, and somehow it didn't seem so very wrong for her to be in the clearing at all.
Sarah... A whisper stole like a sigh from the shadows, a tender caress that left her shivering.
She spoke to the emptiness. I am here.
There was no answer. But the surface of the water began to stir, a langorous swirling that increased until the pool frothed and boiled with movement. And then there was something more.
A man's sleek, dark head broke the surface of the pool, rising swiftly upwards. Water cascaded over his shoulders and chest, rolling off him in silver streams that left his clothing untouched and dry. He was dressed all in grey with a long white cloak that hung slashed and torn over his tall frame. A raven black sweep of hair partly obscured a face as white as paper, and from behind that dark curtain were oddly familiar eyes.
The man did not move but the water bore him closer, lifting him on the crest of a wave until he was mere inches away. And it was only then that Sarah recognized his eyes-- they were the exact match of her own.
"You." Somehow, Sarah did not feel as surprised as she should've been. "This is a dream."
When he reached out to touch her, she did not flinch away.
"It is a dream," agreed the King of the Dead, his fingers following the curve of her cheek. "But it is a good dream."
His cool touch felt good against her heated skin. As he spoke, Sarah felt a strange calm come over her and she leaned into the stroke of his hand, briefly closing her eyes.
But wait. That couldn't be right.
"How can you be here?" she asked him, "I thought..."
"I can be wherever you are," he replied, lifting her hand to lips. "If you wish it, Sarah. Do you wish it?"
He kissed the underside of her wrist where it ached, a mingling of fire and ice.
"I... don't know. What are you doing?" she whispered. "This isn't real."
But he was quietly insistent. "It could be. You could make it real."
It seemed to Sarah that his eyes burned with a feverish light that frightened her. Something was wrong here, with the clearing, and this man. It was all artifice, like a silk flower or a ballroom of bright dancers...
"This isn't who you are." she told him, trying to pull away.
"I know who I am." The King of the Dead was vehement, and the waters of the pool roiled as if in response to his emotion, then calmed.
"Let me tell you." he said, his voice soft and persuasive again. "I want you to know me..."
He did not let go of Sarah's hand, one thumb tracing light circles on her palm. Now his mouth hovered tantalizingly close, the soft fall of his hair brushing against her cheek. When she felt it, Sarah stiffened. He deftly captured her hand and brought it to his cheek, the flesh cool and smooth as marble.
"Do not go, Sarah. You promised."
His voice was a hypnotic song and Sarah relaxed, closing her eyes in spite of herself. She felt him lean in even closer, interlacing her fingers with his own . He smelled of winter. And palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss...
"There can be no harm," he murmured, calming her as he had stilled the waters, "If it is only a dream."
The next thing Sarah knew, it was night and the clearing was gone. She lay on the ground, Jareth kneeling beside her and shaking by the shoulders. He'd been calling her name, but his voice sounded quite far away. When he saw she'd regained consciousness, he drew back, strange emotions flickering across his face. Sarah rolled to her side, stomach heaving and too dizzy to sit up. It felt altogether too warm, and the damp grass was cool on her forehead. She groaned, pushing her hair back from her face.
"What happened?"
"Suppose you tell me." Jareth sat back on his heels, hands braced on his knees in a tense half-crouch.
"If I knew what was going on, I wouldn't have asked." Sarah felt too sick to truly argue, but it did not escape her notice that his tone was harsh and accusing.
Jareth said nothing, his pentrating scrutiny making her feel oddly guilty. She sat up slowly, digging her fingers into the grass to keep herself from falling over. I have done nothing wrong, she reminded herself. Only for some reason, she wasn't entirely certain this was true.
"It was only a dream."
The Goblin King passed her the water flask, his eyes gone flat and dark. "This was no dream. If you do not tell me, I will discover it on my own, Sarah. You might not like how I accomplish that."
Seeing the look in his eyes, Sarah was inclined to agree. Stalling for time, she took a swallow of water, rinsed her mouth out and spat, then took another cautious sip to settle her stomach. Her head was beginning to clear, but she felt flushed, as if she'd finished running a race. There had been something not quite right about the dream, she remembered. What was it?
Sarah was growing cold again, and her left wrist ached. "I... don't know. I'm sorry, I wish I did."
Jareth examined her critically, noting the color in her cheeks and the nervous intake of her breath.
"You were communicating with someone. Not one of your simple-minded friends this time, but someone else." He paused, expressionless. "I will give you one chance only, Sarah. Tell me who you were speaking to."
Confused, Sarah shook her head. "No one. I don't remember speaking to anyone..."
"You are certain."
"I..." Sarah hesitated ever so slightly. "Yes."
The Goblin King stood then, a dark silhouette against the night sky.
"Then perhaps you might tell me who," he asked, smoother than water over silk, "Is Rael?"
"Of course I'm not imagining it." Hoggle snapped, his irritable shrug sending his ratskin cloak swirling behind him as he jogged down the tower steps. "I'm not the one who's always going off on flights of fancy, you know."
"My humble apologies," said Sir Didymus quickly, hopping stairs two at a time with his tail out behind him for balance. "I did not mean to imply--"
"Yes, yes, I know we have to be careful and all. But if the ice is thawing, then it must be getting warmer. This means something, I'm sure of it."
When they'd reached the bottom, out of breath and legs aching, Hoggle leaned on the wall for a brief rest.
"I'll admit it, I was skeptical." he said, shaking his head. "Keeping watch and all that. Thought it was rubbish."
Sir Didymus only smiled. He did not seem out of breath at all. He never did, which both amazed and irritated the dwarf to no end.
"But you were right," continued the little man grudgingly, "And I give credit where credit's due. If we're thawing, it means Sarah's been able to do something good, and maybe there's hope after all."
Sir Didymus diplomatically refrained from mentioning that this had been his view all along.
"You are undoubtedly correct, Acting-Majesty." he said cheerfully. "I will send out a scouting party, post-haste."
Hoggle had recovered from his shortness of breath and nodded grandly. "Do that. But you and I will check the castle grounds ourselves."
Snow and ice had fallen through the open roof of the throne room, and now the melt had created rivulets of water that collected among the rock and debris. Hoggle ordered troops of goblins to clear it out and sweep up the floor.
"It'll be the first cleaning this dump has ever gotten that I can recall." he grumbled. "Well overdue, if you ask me."
"It's the chickens," said Sir Didymus by way of explanation, "Good natured and wonderful layers, but regrettably messy personal habits."
Work goes surprisingly quickly when you have a hundred motivated goblins, and the throne room was cleared after a day's labor. By nightfall, a few ceiling timbers had been propped back into place to prevent further roof collapse, and Hoggle surveyed it with satisfaction as if it had been his own handiwork.
He wasn't thrilled with the idea of Jareth returning-- not the way Sir Didymus was. But a kingdom needed a king, and Hoggle had been ruler long enough to know that it wasn't the job for him. As nasty as the Goblin King could be, no one could deny he ran the Labyrinth well, and he'd soon see that things were set right. More importantly, Jareth would see that his kingdom was still in one piece and only a little worse for wear.
"Didymus!" said Hoggle sharply, "Watch what you're doing there, you'll fall and break your dratted neck."
The little knight was perilously perched on the top of Jareth's hastily repaired throne, directing a team of goblins as they hauled up a timber on a rope-and-pulley. It took half a dozen of them hanging on the end of the rope, and the wooden beam swung wildly this way and that past his head.
Sir Didymus waved his riding crop. "A little to the left. No, no, the other left, my good fellows! Just a few feet more..."
Hoggle squinted. "Didymus, that rope's seen better days. I think you should--"
The goblins gave another powerful heave and with a dry screech, the rope snapped, sending the beam crashing to the ground and Sir Didymus tumbling off his perch.
"Seven hells!"
The dwarf rushed over in panic, waving clouds of dust from his face. Behind the throne Sir Didymus lay on a pile of musty straw, blinking in surprise. Hoggle heaved a sigh of relief.
"If I didn't know better, I'd say you were a cat with nine lives, only you've gone through half of them already."
"Did you feel that?" Sir Didymus paused in the act of retrieving his hat where it lay a few feet away, the edge of it squashed beneath the massive timber.
"I think the whole castle felt it." said the dwarf sarcastically. "You barely made a thump, but that beam hit the ground like a wagon load of bricks."
"No, not that." Didymus stood up, whiskers quivering and ears swiveling this way and that.
Hoggle motioned the cackling goblins to be quiet and listened. There it was, a low rumble, almost too low to hear.
"Not thunder again," he said softly. "It can't be!"
Didymus shook his head, "I think not, but..."
The rumble grew louder. It was not thunder. They could feel the growing vibrations in the ground and for one sickening moment, the stones shifted beneath their feet. Hoggle let fly a heartfelt curse and clutched the back of the throne for support. Everything swayed, then grew still.
"What the hell was that?" he demanded.
Didymus had both paws clutched to his waistcoat pocket, but relaxed as soon as the shaking stopped. "My great-grandfather told me of such a thing when I was a kit, but I did not believe it." he said in wonderment. "In his travels, he'd visited a land far away where the ground shook daily and fire belched from the hilltops."
Hoggle was trying to recover his dignity. "That sounds like a fine children's story."
"My great-grandfather swore it was so! Once, he said, the ground shook so much it cracked the earth like a clay pot, swallowing trees and an entire village. He barely escaped with his life."
"Hmm, yes. Your ancestors do have the most confounded luck." Hoggle paused. "But such a thing has never happened here... has it?"
"Not to his memory." replied Sir Didymus. "But a lot of things have happened here as of late that never happened before."
Hoggle groaned. "I knew it. I just knew it was too good to be true. Hope, my foot. We're doomed!"
He kicked aside a half rotten crate in disgust, but something hidden behind it caught his eye. He bent down for a closer look.
"Well, I'll be..."
It was a bowl. Ordinarily, Hoggle would've thought some goblin had left it behind, only the bowl was of silver, the workmanship plain, but fine. The bottom of it was polished to a high sheen, and it was full to the brim with ice melt. Not a single drop had spilled in all the commotion.
Didymus crowded in for a look. "Why," he said, "It's as clear as a mirror."
Even the Goblin King could not explain why he felt the way he did now-- a cold rage that burned in his brain, purifying all his emotions until everything seemed cold and crystalline. He knew of no one in his kingdom by that name, and it did not sound like name of goblin origin. Not that he'd seriously entertained such a notion. He knew no goblin had caused the brilliant color staining Sarah's soft cheek, nor that quickened rise and fall of her breast...
Without warning, the pile of kindling he'd gathered for their campfire burst into flames just a few feet away, and Sarah flinched.
"I thought you said you couldn't waste energy on gestures." she said, glancing at the burning wood.
It hadn't been deliberate, but he did not acknowledge that. "And I thought you hadn't been speaking to anyone."
"I told you, I don't know who Rael is." insisted Sarah.
"For a complete stranger, you certainly seem well acquainted with his name." said the Goblin King, his tone unmistakably acidic. "And from the way you said it, perhaps well acquainted with more than just his name."
Sarah blinked, her face flaming and at a loss for words for a few seconds. "You're insane."
"And you're lying."
"Right," she said, dragging herself up, "I don't have to take this."
In a moment, Jareth was there, barring her path. "You owe me an explanation."
"What we think we deserve and what we receive are not always the same." retorted Sarah with certain satisfaction. "Remember?"
"This is not the same situation."
"Isn't it? That's just too bad. For you."
Her knees wobbly, she started to walk away when the Goblin King seized her arm in a bruising grip. Her sleeve fell back and Jareth's eyes fixed upon a spot on the underside of her left wrist.
"What is this?"
His voice was a low hiss. He pulled her roughly to him for a better look, and Sarah stifled a whimper. The firelight on his face made him look demonic. The Goblin King peered closer, and now she could see it, too. There was a small spot on her arm, hardly bigger than a fingerprint and shimmering with reflected light like the surface of a butterfly's wing. The sight of it both frightened Sarah and sent a strange little thrill down the curve of her spine.
"I... I've never seen it there before."
Without letting her go, Jareth slowly drew off his left glove and brushed tentatively at the mark with the tips of his fingers.
Something seemed to spark angrily at him, and he released her with a snarl. Sarah rubbed her arm where his grip had left a scarlet imprint on her flesh.
"What is it?" she asked warily.
Jareth recovered quickly and was already tugging his gloves back on. "Don't pretend you don't know whose work that is," he said furiously, "When because of you I have made an enemy of him."
The Goblin King seemed inclined to rage further, but he choked off his own response as if he suddenly regretted the words. Sarah rubbed the mark, which seemed part of her skin. It seemed harmless, although she had to admit that it was now growing hot to the touch, as if it, too would burst into flames. But she had little time to ask further questions, because the Goblin King now had her by the other arm and was pulling her to her feet. She had never seen his face so icily blank, as he'd retreated behind a wall and locked the door behind him.
"Where are we going?" she asked.
"I am going back to the castle," he said, his voice a guttural growl. "You can go wherever you wish, but it will not be with me."
"What? Wait! I'm not pretending anything," protested Sarah as he dragged her further from the camp. "I don't even know what it is."
Jareth did not pause, ignoring her feeble struggles. Murder flickered in his eyes, crimson and black. "It is his mark, you faithless girl. You have allowed him to brand you like cattle, to lay claim to you until the end of your days."
"Who are you talking about?" she said, panicking, "I haven't allowed anyone to mark me. I don't even know what that means."
Sarah stumbled along, unable to do anything else for fear of falling. She suspected that would not deter the Goblin King either. Now they were far from the fire and the underbrush tore at her skin and clothes, but still he did not halt their progress. She tripped over a rotten limb and twisted her ankle painfully, but Jareth's wrenching grip held her upright.
"Say something," she begged. "Jareth, don't do th--"
"All along," he said, eyes intent on some future destination, "You must have known. You knew to summon me, knew I would come for you, even to the ends of the earth."
His voice was so low, it was almost as if he was not speaking to her at all. Now she was too exhausted to struggle, and with one arm around her waist, he hauled her upright, half-carrying her as he strode through the woods. It was nearly pitch black, but he moved unerringly around trees and rocks in their path.
"Did it please you, Sarah?" he asked, almost conversationally. "I thought you'd given up your toys, but I was wrong. You have found other playthings, far more dangerous."
"This is crazy! Stop this, at least tell me what you're accusing me of and what it has to do with the dream..."
The Goblin King laughed bitterly. "Ah, yes. The dream."
He judged that they'd traveled far enough and now he let Sarah fall to the ground contemptuously. She lay on the forest floor stunned for a moment, the scent of dank earth and leaves rising up around her.
"You do not know what dangers you court." he said darkly, "Whatever he promised you, it is nothing but illusions and lies. The Shadow King can bestow nothing, create nothing. He can only destroy."
Slow realization began to dawn on her. There could only be one enemy Jareth spoke of, only one destroyer.
Come with me and rule beside me. Leave the Goblin King.
You must choose, Sarah...
The thought of it made her feel ill. She did not know how much Jareth knew of what happened, or how much he suspected but would not say. It was all too clear in Sarah's memory but altogether surreal, as if she were watching it from a great distance.
"I still don't understand what you're accusing me of," she said calmly. "But this... person you speak of promised me nothing."
He grabbed her arm, turning it wrist side up. Sarah gasped. Even in the dark, the mark was still visible, silvery and luminous.
"This is his promise, Sarah." said the Goblin King, "Though I do not know what it entails."
Sarah shook her head in confusion. "But it doesn't mean anything."
"It means everything." Jareth crouched down beside her, his voice a hoarse whisper as if he feared to be overheard. "It is an old mark, not new. Long has he haunted your dreams."
"My dreams..." Sarah spoke as if in a trance. She was beginning to remember.
"What did he promise you, Sarah? Tell me." His voice shook. Jareth was beginning to lose the thin veneer of cool detachment.
"He said," replied Sarah slowly, searching her memory. "That he would give me a gift..."
The Goblin King's grip contracted painfully, his voice diminished to a broken whisper. "Did he tell you he would make you his queen? Did he promise you the world, my Sarah?"
Her sharp intake of breath told him all he needed to know, and he dropped her wrist as if the contact burned him.
"I have not let you out of my sight." he said quietly. "Not for a single second. But it seems I cannot guard you in your sleep, and you betray me in your dreams."
Sarah fought back her tears, but they burned in her throat. She swallowed hard, not understanding. "I would never betray you, Jareth."
But he had already turned to go, brushing aside her outstretched hand. Once again, he was untouchable and remote as a pillar of ice.
"Do not say my name." he told her, his command toneless and dead. "Do not think to summon me, I will not come. I have stayed too long. You and I will not see each other again, Sarah Williams."
A/N: References to Lord of the Rings (films, not the books), and Sarah's quote of "Palm to palm..." is from Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet. The chapter title refers to the Bowie song by the same name, off his Hours... album, and was chosen because it seemed appropriate to the subject. Heist, I am going to bet this isn't exactly what you anticipated...
Comments/reviews welcome.