A/N: Upfront warning, folks - I've upped the rating to M for some lemony-bits. (Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays!)
Chapter 4: Yule
Sarah didn't end up sampling the pumpkin pie. The one bite of peach had been enough to ward her off pie for the foreseeable future. She wished her family felt the same. She'd experienced no hallucinations or blips of fatigue from the bite, but it seemed unlikely that the pie hadn't been spiked with something. The wine from yesterday, too. But here they were, licking peachy pastry bits off their forks with vigor.
Sarah absently thumbed the insignia on the key as she watched them finish. "You feel…alright?"
Toby looked at her like she'd asked whether he wanted to sunbathe in a snowstorm. "Uh-hunh." He put down his spotless fork, jutting his chin towards her pie-filled plate. "It was for you, yuh know."
"I know," she replied slowly, still watching her family cautiously. She still felt nothing peculiar. A delayed reaction, maybe? She shook her head, standing. "I'll help you clean up."
Karen waved her off. "Don't worry about it, dear. Someone"—a sharp glance at Toby—"has been shirking his chores." Toby at least looked slightly abashed. "Feel free to relax."
She didn't need to be told twice. In truth, she wasn't at all exhausted. Which seemed strange, given her two-day struggle with Jareth and her less than optimal sleeping arrangement. She'd had to keep sharp on her toes to parry off his verbal and physical scheming, and besides that damn pie, she felt pretty sure she'd scraped through the two days without her family burgeoning any suspicions about Jareth's otherworldliness. But she needed to breathe. She needed some time away from her family. And as seemed perpetual now, she needed to plan.
Christmas. At her parents' house. Images of an even more exuberant (and expectant) stepmother, mistletoe, and suggestive gift-giving flashed quickly through her head. It was a concerning prospect. Karen's Thanksgivings were impressive; her dedication to Christmas, however, was masterful. She could obviously "break up" with Jareth between now and then, but she was confident that wouldn't stop him from barging in at Christmastime. Or given his win, whenever he felt like it. And he definitely seemed unlikely to keep away from Toby. No, she'd see him again, but on her own terms. If it was revenge, there had to be some way to settle whatever debt he felt he was owed without this continuing attachment to her life. She was sharp enough to beat him at fifteen; she'd figure out a way to do it now.
She pushed open her bedroom door with a small shriek and then quickly shut it behind her. "What are you two doing here?"
The small fox at the foot of her bed furrowed bushy brows. "Thou'st called us, my lady. His Majesty kept us from answering till now, but we shall always come when you need us."
"Sarah call," Ludo chimed in, giving her a toothy smile.
Despite the surprise, Sarah returned his grin but gestured for them both to keep their voices quiet. She did, however, have a few questions. Hoggle intonated that Didymus hadn't been sidelined by Jareth; he might have answers. She ushered them away from the door and towards the vanity. "My family is home, but there is something I need help with. Jareth has been here."
Didymus - to her immense concern - brightened immediately. "Splendid!"
She frowned at him and Didymus' face fell slightly. "Not splendid; it's a problem. He's charmed my family and has all-but promised to keep up his scheming."
"Scheming, my lady?"
She hesitated, but only briefly. The basics would suffice. "He's pretending to be my boyfriend. My family thinks he's invited me to move in." She held up the key pointedly. "Which is ridiculous. But he's definitely up to something. Hoggle didn't tell me what, but he said Jareth's been speaking with you? Do you know his endgame? How long he plans on revenge?"
Didymus had been eying the key with noticeable interest but at the last question, he straightened and glanced her way, pounding his tiny spear into the carpet twice. "I say! If the king hath harmed you, I will fight him to the death!"
She shushed him again. "Easy. No, he hasn't harmed me. It doesn't seem to be that sort of revenge." He'd had plenty of opportunities - especially last night - but it wasn't obvious he'd used any magic on her. "He's just...inserted himself into my life. Won over my family." Won over her hormones, too. But that was not something Didymus needed to know. "It's the weirdest revenge plot I've ever heard of."
"Plot bad."
Sarah laughed. "Yes, Ludo. It's a terrible plot. But it's working. Toby thinks he's 'cool'" - she air-quoted here - "and my stepmother is likely already planning the wedding. I'll never hear the end of it now, even when I figure out how to keep him away. So, do you know what he wants? How to end this?"
Somewhere between her questions, Didymus had returned to staring at the key and the little pit in her stomach widened. The feeling that she'd made yet another mistake caused the hairs at the back of her neck to stand tall. "...What is it?"
He at least seemed content to answer. He gestured for the key. "May I?" After Sarah quickly dropped it into his hand, he jumped slightly and then held it up to his one good eye, squinting. Then, nodding. And then - again to Sarah's immense concern - he brightened and dropped into a kneel. "Your Majesty."
Oh. Fuck.
"Excuse me?" She was sure the shake in her voice was there, but it was shaded by a wave of anger. "I am nobody's Majesty."
"Sarah Majesty?"
She spun to gape at Ludo who was struggling into his own kneeling position. She grabbed his arm to keep him upright. "No!"
At her outburst, Didymus tilted his head slightly, causing the little feather in his cap to bob into his face. He blew at it before speaking. "But you hath accepted his symbol-"
"I did not."
"-and 'tis clear the key is more than it appears."
She groaned. "Not you too. I know it's a metaphor. But I didn't accept it. I just...have it. He left before I could give it back. He stuck it in my pie." He'd asked for an answer. She'd absolutely not said 'yes'. There was no way he could have tricked her into a queendom without her consent...could he? She pressed Didymus' palm closed around the key and pushed it towards his chest. "You need to take it back. Tell him I absolutely refuse. Refused. Denied. Rejected. Got it? I. do. not. accept." She knew she was panicking now, throwing out a ramble of negatives and causing Didymus to jump again.
He hesitated, and Sarah knew without a word then he wouldn't do it. "'Tis not my place..." He trailed off and gave her an apologetic glance. "But if you truly hath not accepted it, you can return his sigil."
Her pulse slowed a bit at that news. There was just one problem. "I'm not wishing anyone away."
Didymus shook his head and waved her towards her vanity mirror. "Fear not! You need not wish."
"What do I do, then?" she asked, staring at her reflection. "Can I just call him..." but she trailed off before the 'as I do you'. She wasn't particularly keen on connecting the phrase "I need you" to Jareth. That seemed destined for disaster. But Didymus was shaking his head and the merry smile had returned despite Sarah's hesitation as he pointed at the mirror.
"The sigil brings safe passage. You can come and go at will."
You know where to find me. She frowned. Of course, he expected her to come; he'd given her the key to do so. More damned metaphors. Returning to the Labyrinth was another thing she'd thought would never happen. But at the moment, it seemed the lesser of evils. She needed to make clear she was not accepting any offer that included a kingdom, and she didn't trust Jareth not to twist her call that she "needed him" into something far more. Especially given her present sigil predicament. Didymus was holding out the key with the paw not pointing to the mirror, so she took it again. She made to stuff it into her pants pocket when she heard Didymus clear his throat.
"Be cautious with it, my lady. Have you a chain?"
A chain? That would ensure it didn't accidentally slip out of her pocket, she conceded. She needed to get it back to Jareth. Frowning again, she popped open the lid on her jewelry box, slid the key onto one of her delicate silver necklaces, and slipped it over her head and underneath her sweater. The metal thrummed an unnatural warmth against her chest, which she assumed was whatever enchantment that would allow her to enter the Labyrinth. When she looked back at the mirror, her reflection was gone.
She reached for the image of the castle but found no glass.
It had been smoother than she'd expected.
Although, as Jareth had noted, she'd hardly noticed the trip ten years back either. One moment, she had been staring out her window at the Goblin King's domain; the next, she'd found her feet firmly planted on its glittering terrain. Crossing dimensions or worlds or whatever continuum separated the Labyrinth from New York was far easier than air travel. No rehearsed and laminated warnings or sporadic dips in altitude. No sudden and prolonged loss of cabin pressure. Which, in her opinion, was an excellent reason why she no longer enjoyed airplanes, despite Karen's comments. No, gliding through mirrors was a much-preferred mode of transport.
She just would have preferred it not only lead her here. Such was her luck.
The castle wasn't exactly as she remembered. Then again, it had been so long ago, and she'd been so young, and she'd really only been focused on finding Toby instead of admiring the towering bastions and wide expanse of sandy stone walls. But the greenery had to be new. She was confident she would have recalled the wild mess of vines up the outer walls, the patches of shrubbery at its gates. Strange, thorned flowers with striped petals in varying shades of dawn. Hardly manicured, but plainly thriving. She furrowed her brow as she walked towards an ornate door bearing a single, looping insignia.
She was positive that was also new.
But, while the scenery was striking, she didn't have long to contemplate the greenery or gilded door. Get in. Return the key. Get out. She'd spent enough of her Thanksgiving with him already. As she approached, the door creaked open with little more than a huff from Sarah.
For Jareth being Goblin King, she noted there was a distinct lack of goblins as she made her way through the entranceway and up a circular staircase. And despite her quip, nary a chicken to be seen as she found her way - surprisingly easily - to the throne room. It too seemed decidedly changed, lacking the mismatch of hay, grimy cloth, and broken armory. The throne retained its horned armrests but the slab of stone had been covered with a tufted, white cushion. As before, however, it was vacant of goblins. Or Jareth.
She eyed the empty throne with a scowl. Of course, it would have been too easy to simply walk into his throne room and drop off the key with an emphatic hell no. She had no idea where else he might be, and without even a goblin to ask, traipsing blindly through his castle seemed more likely to find her lost than find the king. So, she did what any rational person would do: she yelled.
"JARETH!" A long moment of nothing. "GOBLIN KING!" But still, more silence. "Damnit, Jareth. So help me, if you don't get in here, I'll...I'll..."
"Do tell, Sarah-mine," he drawled from behind. She spun to find him leaning against the doorway from where she'd entered, head cocked. The perpetual grin had returned with a vengeance. "Couldn't stay away?"
She growled and pulled the thin chain out from under her sweater and over her head. Without blinking, she tossed the key towards him where it fell with a resplendent clang. "You know exactly why I'm here. But if I didn't make myself clear, the answer to your offer is no."
He snorted. "That much I understood, precious thing."
She stumbled, but then breathed out a long breath and relaxed her posture. He'd understood. He'd not tricked her into a queendom. Still, he was crafty as hell. "Just like you understood how not to be a bother?"
His lips twitched. "I did tell you repeatedly I would win."
"Win what? What do you want?"
He considered her quietly, leaving Sarah with deja vu of the long moment in her bedroom when he'd seemed on the cusp of explanation. Here in his element, however, the explanation followed. "We are very much alike, you know."
She rolled her eyes. "We're nothing alike. You're not even human."
He snorted gracefully again. "Semantics. But that's hardly what I meant. I had suspected as much from your last visit here, but after several days, you've proven it." At her blank stare, he pushed off the doorway and strode towards her. "You are determined. Clever. Crafty. Protective of those you love, and adamant to do so at any cost." He leaned to whisper against her ear. "Passionate." But he pulled back, walking behind her and up the dais where he fell gracefully into his throne. Her eyes followed him silently, though her pulse was screaming. "Stubborn, too, I'm afraid," he said, almost wistful. "But we can't be perfect."
Sarah couldn't help but swallow. "What does that have to do with what you want? With the bargain?"
"That, Sarah, is why I won the moment you agreed to the bargain. Before your plotting and before" - he smirked - "I was deemed to not be a bother. Because even if you refuse to admit it, I wish for the same thing."
Sarah stilled.
I think you wish to know me.
No. It was preposterous. Jareth, the Goblin King, wishing to know her? She was nobody important. Magicless. She'd beaten him. "Why?"
"Do you think yourself not worth knowing?"
"No, but...I beat you."
"And now we're even."
Even? "I'm human."
He raised an eyebrow. "As I mentioned; semantics."
He was unbelievable. He plainly didn't see anything wrong with the situation, species aside. Frustration quickly overtook confusion and she threw up her arms. "If that's all this was, why didn't you just say that? Why make it all a competition? Why spend so much effort buttering up my family?"
"Beg pardon. Buttering?"
The edges of his lips twitched as he posed the question and Sarah opened her mouth to clarify that she'd not meant he was preparing to eat them, but the glimmer in the king's eyes stopped her. He was teasing. Again.
When she ended up just staring, mouth still slightly agape, he continued. "I was under the impression that guests, particularly those spending time over your mortal holidays, were expected to be polite. Gregarious, even. Was I mistaken?"
He knew he wasn't; the smirk hadn't budged. She didn't dignify his question with an answer. Still..."Mortal holidays?" He just flashed a pointy smile. Sarah decided she'd rather not know. Something shifted, however, in the silence.
"Tell me, Sarah, would you have believed me without the pretense of a bargain? Would you have agreed if you didn't believe you were fighting for your brother?"
No. "...maybe." As he raised another brow, she frowned. "That's not the point. You were never truthful with me. How can I even trust what you're saying now?"
"I, unlike you, have never outright lied." When she just held her frown, he settled his head against a palm and waved her on with his other hand. "Go on. Tell me where I have."
She knew what lie he was referencing with her. She'd been foolish to think she could hide her body's response to him. But him? There had to be innumerable statements in which he'd mislead her. Things she couldn't quite remember. Had he ever stated he'd wanted revenge? He'd been cagey with details around her stepmother...
"You're not my boyfriend."
"It was you who called me your friend. I'm assuredly not a girl," he drawled.
Technically true, she conceded. Damn semantics. "There wasn't a cruise."
He laughed. "No, but I'm afraid that was your ruse Sarah-mine. I merely followed your lead. The same rules don't apply when you've already broken the truth."
A questionable answer, at best. But, alright, yes; it had been her ruse. "Shin-kicking?"
"A real sport, I assure you. Although I've struggled to teach the goblins proper technique. A project for your spare time, perhaps."
She ignored the last. It was hard to tell from his grin if he was at all serious. "And if I ask you a question now, you'll tell me the truth?"
He pulled his head from his palm and sat up straight in his throne, appearing somewhat startled by her change in tactic. But then, he stood and moved from his perch back towards her place in front of the throne. "Will you?"
"...Will I what?" She knew better than to answer any of his questions blindly. Particularly when his last one had been an offer of a kingdom.
"Tell the truth."
She considered him for a minute - his expression was unreadable - and then, slowly, "that depends on the question."
Pointed canines flashed. "Then I stand by my earlier assessment."
Clever. Crafty. Passionate. She cleared her throat, looking away briefly from the delight in his eyes. "Right. Well, as I said, the answer is no. I'm going home."
"Really," he chuckled, and Sarah turned back to frown at him. But as she watched him pick up the shining key on the floor with a raised brow, she realized the giant, mirror-sized hole in her plan: without the insignia, she couldn't 'come and go at will'. Jareth had to agree to send her back. And with his smirk, the feeling that such a favor wouldn't come without a price was creeping up her spine like the vines on his castle walls.
Damn.
She rubbed at her eyes. She had a suspicion of what he wanted now, given his parting words to Karen. He wanted to know her. He wanted to know her family? "Does it really have to be Christmas? At my parents' house?"
"Would you prefer to spend Yule elsewhere? One of your stepmother's suggested secluded and romantic destinations, perhaps?"
She choked, then frowned. "No. Neutral ground. And nowhere alone."
He was silent for a moment, but then he offered her a gloved hand. "Given our differing realms, I am unfamiliar with any ground that might be considered neutral, but I'm willing to split the difference." When she just stared at the proferred hand, arms crossed, he chuckled again. "Yule in my realm; Christmas in yours. Another fitting bargain of two."
It was better than she expected, really. He hadn't even mentioned the dreaded New Years'; Karen's midnight proposal hinting would be rightly thwarted. "Two days. One in the Underground and one at home?"
"Precisely."
"And you send me home now? No kingdom attached? No loophole that snatches me or my family to the Underground without our consent?"
He snorted gracefully. "Snatch you?"
"I'm serious, Jareth."
"Yes to all the above: I will return you now, sans kingdom, and with no intent to, as you say, snatch you without your consent."
As before, she ran his comments back, now knowing she had to be extra careful with loopholes. This time, however, she knew she had to make a bargain with him. She knew of no other way home unless she took back the key. Which was a nonstarter. Two days. One at home and one here...she looked up. "No reordering time?"
"I assure you, there will be no need," he drawled. Sarah narrowed her eyes, and at that, he rolled his own. "No. And before you ask it, I promise that no sort of harm will befall you while you are here. So," and he presented her the choice of his open hand and the hand grasping the key, "do we have a deal?"
They did.
Of course, he still found the loopholes. He always did.
Yule. In the Underground. With Jareth. It was hard enough to imagine what he might have planned without her having to come up with an explanation for her stepmother of why she wasn't bringing her 'boyfriend' over for more than one day during the Christmas holidays.
But come up with something, she did.
"He's planned something," Sarah said, switching hands on the phone. "And before you ask, no; it's not a cruise. He wants to show me his hometown. But we'll be there for Christmas." Karen already believed Jareth's hometown was an ocean away; planes could only fly so fast.
"Oh! How wonderful. Will you make it back by Christmas Eve?"
Sarah hesitated. Christmas Eve tended to include Christmas movie marathons, an afternoon church service, yet another feast, and everyone opening one gift. Harmless activities for a normal family, but at least with Thanksgiving, none of the plans required leaving the house. Letting Jareth loose at St. Joseph's Catholic Church - when she had no idea what he might do or say - sounded like a terrible idea. "Maybe. But it would be late. Definitely after church."
"Perfect! We'll wait up for you, then. See you on Christmas Eve!" And before Sarah could even repeat that she'd said maybe, Karen hung up.
Sarah returned the phone to the holster with a sigh. She should have known better than to give Karen an inch of leeway, after her less than subtle scheming at Thanksgiving. Still, she'd made no such deal with Jareth; he was getting exactly one day at her parents' house. If he wanted to start it on Christmas Eve - after church, of course - so be it.
That still left the thorny issue of the day in the Underground. Jareth had explained that Yule actually lasted twelve days (because of course, it did), so she was very glad she'd specifically confirmed their deal included one day and one day only. He'd chosen December 21: the day of the December solstice and the start of Yule festivities. He'd not, however, explained anything about what those included. And before she could ask, she'd found herself staring at her reflection in her vanity mirror.
Her local library in Middlebury had been of some help. She knew the holiday had pagan roots. It was a celebration of nature and life, of new beginnings and the new sun after the longest night of winter. So, she expected some sort of celebration. Likely outdoors. Perhaps with rituals? Offerings? A feast was guaranteed. The books she read spanned a wide range of possibilities and none of them obviously included a snapshot of how the Fae celebrated Yule. The only thing he'd suggested was that solely guests at mortal holidays were expected to be polite. Which was fine by her; if something questionable took place, she'd damn well let him know she wasn't having any part of it. And he'd get another heel somewhere. No promises that it'd be his foot.
December passed quickly. After several rounds of edits, she was finally satisfied with her manuscript. She still hadn't gotten a bite from a publishing company, but she'd expected that. People were picky, but she was persistent. She had dozens more to try. As she packaged up another copy, however, there was a hard knock on her front door and she sighed. With the numerous returned copies, the knocks had been frustratingly frequent.
"Hi, Walter-oh!"
Because of course, it wasn't her friendly mailman Walter, but a tall, grayish...something disguised as a man in a floppy hat, sunglasses, and a trenchcoat. And he was holding a shining silver box. Sarah resisted the urge to slam the door when she heard familiar giggling under the coat. Dear God. Goblins. In Middlebury.
"Here, lady!" Knobby little hands thrust the box towards Sarah and she took it, looking once out into the - thankfully - vacant hallway and then gesturing for the trenchcoated mass to enter. "Get inside," she hissed quietly.
The mass obliged.
Goblins had never been part of the bargain. Then again, she'd never said they weren't. Sarah turned to the trenchcoated goblin mass with a sigh after she placed the long, silver box on her side table. "Alright, you all can lose the coat."
On cue, a bulbous nose parted the coat at what should have been the figure's stomach, and in another instant, the coat fell away completely to reveal three grayish-brown goblins, stacked haphazardly on top of each other and replete with pieces of the spiky, dented armor that had been missing from the throne room. She sighed again and plucked the sunglasses and floppy hat off the top one. "What are you doing here?"
"King sent us!" the top one squeaked. The bottom one nodded fervently in response, shaking the entire goblin tower.
Sarah rolled her eyes and lifted the top goblin off before the entire mass collapsed into a heap on her floor. Jareth would undoubtedly hold her accountable for any injuries to his subjects, deserved or not. "I figured that much. Why did he send you? There are tons of people in this building who aren't accustomed to goblins. Someone could have seen you."
The bottom goblin squatted down and shoved his horned companion off his shoulders with a huff. "Gift for lady. King says he not 'lowed to see you til Yule."
Well. He was sticking to their bargain, at least. Yule wasn't until tomorrow. Sarah eyed the box suspiciously. "What is it?" The trio looked at each other blankly. The middle one scratched at his nose, then, in it and Sarah sighed as they all shrugged. It figured. "You don't know." Simultaneous, if not enthusiastic, nodding then. Still, because she highly doubted that Jareth would harm her now after all he'd said and planned, she rolled her eyes again and went to lift the shining lid off the box.
She'd expected another crystal. Maybe a mocking box of peaches or keys. Not a dress. And especially not a dress like this. It was deep emerald, laced with thin, silver threads that crossed across the bodice. An intricate emblem vaguely reminiscent of entwined branches - also spun from silver - rested just below the boat neckline. It was folded, but when she pulled out the piece - silk, she realized immediately - she could see the silver embellishments twined round the long belled sleeves that ended in cuffs of silvery-white fur. When she flipped it around, she realized with some joy that it had a matching, fur-lined hood. And, most importantly, pockets. Beautiful, warm, and practicable. Crafty or not, Jareth had excellent taste.
"This is for me?" she asked. It was a stupid question, but the gift was so unexpected that she felt obligated to confirm they'd not stolen the dress from someone else's closet. She frowned. Which, actually, given the little she knew about Jareth, was still possible. The sudden and distinctive crinkle of paper, however, was a more pressing issue.
"Hey! Stop that!" She leaped to snatch the page crunched between the nose-picker's protruding teeth. "That's my book!"
"Books tasty!"
She rolled her eyes for what seemed the umpteenth time, positioning herself between them and her kitchen table piled with copies. "Not this book. I wrote this one. Ask the Goblin King for a snack."
Their disappointment was palpable. Sarah held up the dress again, now even less trusting of the trio. "You didn't steal this, right?"
"King made 'specially for you!"
Oh. Well. Definitely not snatched from a closet, then. Sarah thumbed the silver emblem on the dress with furrowed brows. Was this supposed to be his Christmas gift to her? She'd obviously gotten him nothing for Yule, but she'd found a suitably mundane pair of brown leather gloves in one of the local shops that she'd wrapped for the façade that would be their "first Christmas." Karen would have words if Sarah claimed they'd already exchanged gifts.
"Uh...tell him thank you, then. It's beautiful. I assume I'm supposed to wear this tomorrow?" Another stupid question; the trio hadn't even known what was in the box. The middle one answered with another nose scratch. The two others poked him in the side as if he held the answer. Good grief. "Right. Well...how do I send you guys home?"
"King come ta-morrow!"
Oh no. Oh hell no. Gift-bearing or not, she was not babysitting three of his subjects for a day. She had packages to ship. Last-minute shopping to do. She clenched her teeth. And then, she remembered. It seemed too simple, but..."do any of you have anything with the Goblin King's insignia?" Three blank - but, really to be expected - stares. She rubbed at a temple. Good God. What had she read about goblins? "His symbol. On his pendant? His...shiny necklace?"
"Ooooh. His shiny-shiny!" The nose-picker shouted, and his two companions nodded enthusiastically. Sarah dropped her hand, expectant.
"Well? Do you have it?" she asked when they just continued nodding.
"Have what?"
Sarah groaned. Enthusiastic, but useless; the whole lot of them. Still, there was something nagging at the back of her mind that told her this was yet another battle of wits. If Jareth really wanted to "know her" and not drive her mad before Christmas, it made no sense for him to attach his gift to unreturnable minions. Plus, they all had traversed pretty easily to her bedroom and back ten years ago. The goblins were all decked out in mismatched bits of armor: three pairs of spiked shoulder guards, two dented breastplates, and one horned helmet.
And a partridge in a pear tree. She waved over the goblin with the helmet, staring hard, then spinning him around. And finally, her expectations were met: a small insignia had been stamped at the back lip of the helmet. She grinned. "You're going home now."
And they did. Albeit not without some complaining that they were hungry. And tired. And bored. And scared of mirrors. She suspected Jareth had a part in that last one. But, she hoisted the squirming trio into the image of the Goblin City with a satisfied smile and a dramatic swipe of palms. Now, she just needed to prepare for Yule.
And Jareth.
The dress fit perfectly, of course.
She'd at this point expected nothing less. Everything Jareth had done since his return had been expertly planned and meticulously executed. His careful wording, his charming of her family, his lips...she shook herself. That was dangerous territory. Despite his gift and his admissions, she still had reason to distrust him. But, she'd be on her guard and he had clearly promised one day in the Underground and had given her implicit permission to be rude, if needed. She would survive whatever chaos the Fae holiday entailed.
She did. Although, "chaos" had not been the right word.
Though she'd closed the windows, she felt the whip of wind before she heard him. "I half-expected you to return this gift, too," he said drolly.
She turned to him, as prepared as she'd ever be for his quips. And because of that, she was only half-distracted by the matching emerald jacket with shining, silver embroidery. Long legs encased in skin-tight, black leggings, and polished leather boots. The spark in his eyes kindled something deep in the pit of her stomach. She forced an eyebrow up as he smirked. "A kingdom isn't a gift."
He snorted. "On that, we are in agreement." And then, his smirk widened. "My goblins were disappointed you remembered."
Oh. That 'gift'. "You don't seem disappointed."
"No."
Sarah swallowed. He wasn't grinning anymore, and his eyes had done dark. Yule. In the Underground. Where he'd promised they'd not be alone. She cleared her throat. "Well, are we leaving?"
He offered her his arm and she took it, sending a silent prayer that whatever he had in store would be as harmless as he'd intonated. And with barely a twitch of fingers, her apartment melted away in puddles of brown and beige, and snaps and strings and a roaring thrum that paralleled the one in her veins overpowered her senses.
They were outside. And it was decidedly winter here, too. The scents of smoke and pine and burning spice and something indescribable that had to be magic filled the air. Strands of Sarah's hair whipped across her face as she turned to place her surroundings, pulling up her hood. This was not the Labyrinth. Or if it was, it was no part she'd ever seen. Snow-covered hills and frosted greenery encircled them for miles. Tall, spruce trees pricked with flittering starlight that, when she looked again, actually danced back and forth amidst the boughs of the trees. Up some ways ahead, the faint sparks of a bonfire crackled against the wind and as they walked closer, melodic voices joined the sound of strings. It was so picturesque that it seemed plucked from a dream. And it must have been freezing, but the bite of chill never came.
"Where are we?"
He snorted gracefully. "The Underground."
"Obviously," she retorted, rolling her eyes. "But where? Is this in the Labyrinth? I never saw anything like this when I was here before."
"There are many things you didn't see, these lands included."
She pursed her lips but followed his lead towards the rising music. That was deceptively vague, at best. As per usual. She suspected it not to be in the Labyrinth, however, just based on his failure to claim ownership over the place. Which, despite her meager time with him, she was pretty sure his arrogance would have required.
"I'm surprised it's not at all cold." She turned her face up towards him, furrowing her brow. "Is that some weird Underground thing with snow?"
He glanced down his shoulder with a smirk, and then pulled back her hood to whisper hot against her ear. "That would be the dress. I suspected you'd be displeased to leave the festivities early on account of frostbite."
Oh. The dress. Of course, he'd enchanted the dress. But as she turned back towards the music, now blaring, she decided she didn't at all mind.
The books appeared to have been mostly correct. A bonfire. Long wooden tables bearing garlands of holly and green thistle, and covered in platters piled high with brightly colored fruits, cheeses, and smoking meats. Singing and laughter. Strumming. And dancing, though the dancers flittered like wisps of wind, boneless and inhuman. Some, long and lean with features similar to Jareth; others, less so, with silvered skin or cloven hooves or no feet at all, but just a spark of wings.
Instead of leading them towards the dancing masses, Jareth nudged her towards a table to her right. A fair-haired duo was seated alone at the center, whispering inwards. Jareth inclined his head steps away. "Father. Mother. May I present Sarah Williams of the Aboveground. My guest for the Yuletide."
Oh God. Sarah's grip instantly became vice-like. His parents? Not that she wasn't curious, but she'd done nothing to prepare to meet anyone related to Jareth, and especially not his parents. They were obviously royalty, though instead of sickle-shaped amulets, the pair wore fine, gilded crowns weaved in an elegant pattern of loops and points. Hers, much smaller and lined with small, pale blue stones, but equally resplendent to the crown bearing darker blue stones on Jareth's father. Did they even know who she was? That she'd beaten their son? That they were in the midst of several, carefully negotiated, bargains?
"Lady Sarah," the woman spoke first, smiling. "We wondered when we'd have the opportunity to meet you."
That answered the first: they knew of her, at least. She thought quickly. Rudeness didn't seem at all the right course of action. "Your...Majesties. I apologize; Jareth didn't mention I'd be meeting his parents."
Jareth's mother waved a hand in a manner eerily reminiscent of her stepmother, but the twitch of lips was all Jareth. "No apology needed, my dear. And you may call me Leana. This is my husband, Oren. Any companion of Jareth's has undoubtedly earned that right."
She side-eyed Jareth, but he hadn't so much as flinched at his mother's comment, so she just mirrored Jareth's earlier head inclination. She'd speak with him later. "Ah...Leana. Oren. A pleasure to meet you." At that, the pair just smiled and Sarah felt the nudge again, this time away from his parents' table and in the direction of the one piled with the feast.
She didn't wait to get there. "What was that?" she hissed up at his ear.
She heard his low laugh over the din of the festivities. "I had the pleasure of meeting your parents; it seemed fair to allow you the same courtesy. Were you not curious?"
I think you wish to know me.
"Well...sure, yes, but a little warning would have been nice. A king and queen, I assume?"
A snort. "Of a sort."
"Of a sort?"
They reached the table and Jareth handed her a small silver plate before helping himself to bits of fruits, bread, and cheese."You will likely hear them referred to as High King and Queen at some point this evening. While some impropriety is tolerated at these events, I suggest you do your best to refrain from calling them Leana and Oren in other company."
He'd said it so cavalierly that Sarah assumed he was teasing her again. High King and Queen? She knew her fairytales. Damn it, she'd written a fifty-page thesis on one. "You can't be serious."
"As serious as our bargain. But you have nothing to worry about. My mother already seems fond of you and I've also promised no harm will befall you here. Wine?"
"What?"
He turned towards her, holding out a goblet of amber liquid. "This is a celebration, Sarah. Enjoy yourself. As I just said, no harm will befall you here."
She looked hard but saw nothing hidden behind those words. No catch between the lines. So, and because it had been part of his original bargain in the throne room, she took the goblet.
And she drank - and God forbid - enjoyed herself.
Later - much, much later - she would remember there had been singing. Some of it his: an ensnaring melody that had haunted her for a decade. Dancing, too. Blips of memories of one hand wrapped in his, the other tight on his waist, and the dress no longer the only reason she'd not been cold. Swaying back and forth and seeing nothing and everything all at once. Them, a single figure under falling snow and starlight. He'd tasted of wine and honeyed fruit; he'd smelled like clove and flame.
The wine kept flowing. She'd kept dancing. He'd never once let go.
When the bonfire dimmed late into the night (or was it early in the morning?) there'd been another blip. This one, the break from thrumming and spinning to watch the procession to an altar. More fire, sparking from a hollow log, and chanting that seemed endless. Restless, but hopeful. Something reminiscent of a prayer and a wish and in an instant, the flames were swallowed by the darkness.
It was there the memory ended, and the throbbing began.
Sarah winced. Dancing. Singing. Wine. Far too much wine. She gingerly cracked open an eye and immediately regretted it. Too bright. Too early. And if her suspicions were correct, too careless. What the hell had she been thinking to drink so much that she passed out? She should have known where he'd bring her.
Something poked at her side and she snapped her eyes open in a panic, glancing right, and then exhaling. Not a fae bedmate.
"Lady dead?"
A wan smile at the familiar nose-picker. "Hungover."
"Here. This will ease your headache."
At that, she turned opposite to find Jareth seated by the bedside, holding out a small vial filled with a clear liquid. She groaned but took it and chugged it down without a second thought. Instantly, the throbbing dulled and she opened her eyes again to find him staring over her, twisting fingers, and she heard a distinct 'pop' to her right. Jareth looked then at her, amused.
"He was concerned you'd been poisoned."
She pushed herself up into a sitting position. "Yeah; by alcohol. What happened?"
"You fainted. Just how much wine did you drink?"
She pursed her lips. "Too much." She looked around then, taking in the expanse of his room. Dark wood. Black and silver linens. A wide, stone fireplace humming merrily. And her, tucked under silken sheets. She glanced up again. "Nothing...happened, right?" She was fully dressed, but still, she needed to make sure she'd not definitely done anything that stupid. He was something to remember.
"Nothing that hasn't happened before," he said, grinning slightly. "How are you feeling now?"
"Much better," she sighed. And then, sincerely, "thank you."
He just nodded, looking at something behind her and jutting his chin towards it. "The day is nearly up. Shall I return you now?"
Oh. The bargain. Good lord, she knew he'd suggested she could be rude, but she'd gone and slept through half of his day. She winced again. "I'm sorry."
He raised an eyebrow. "For what?"
"For passing out. I...," and she swallowed, "I did enjoy the Yule celebration. A little too much." Because she did. And she felt he deserved to know that. He'd done her no harm. There'd been dancing, singing. Unending food. Beautiful surroundings and an even more beautiful companion. Save for the glaring headache, she honestly couldn't say she'd have wished for more from a holiday.
She watched him carefully, throat dry despite the vial. Not much more, at least. But never after all the wine she'd drunk.
He chuckled, and the familiar slyness replaced confusion. "You can make it up to me on Christmas."
She knew now where it had all gone so disastrously wrong: she'd finally told him the truth.
Some of it, at least. But she'd admitted the rest to herself immediately after he'd returned her to her apartment. Then again, 'wrong' really wasn't the right word. Unexpected. Unplanned. She never intended to open herself to him and now, there truly was no turning back.
She didn't know him at all. And she wanted to, unequivocally, and in more ways than one. It was obvious there was more to him than snatching children, manipulation, and deception. Oh, he assuredly was those things, but that appeared to only scratch the surface of an enigma. His words continually echoed now: we are very much alike, you know. Her skepticism on that was ebbing.
Crafty. Clever. Protective of those you love, and adamant to do so at any cost.
Passionate.
The little pit in her stomach twisted and turned, though not unpleasantly. She stared at the wrapped box in her lap and suddenly decided the gift wouldn't do at all. He'd likely find the gloves acceptable, but she didn't think that's what he wanted. He'd really only asked her for one thing and it wasn't something that could be nestled between sheets of tissue paper. She closed her eyes.
Tell me what you want, Sarah.
She spent the new few days restless and distracted. She managed to finish the last of her shopping, though admittedly, the gifts weren't her best effort. She figured Karen would at least understand her predicament. She'd be thrilled.
Just as she had been when Sarah had confirmed they'd make it by Christmas Eve.
Prior to her departure from the Underground, Sarah had mentioned Karen's comments about Christmas Eve and Jareth hadn't hesitated to take her up on her offer to start his day that evening. Still after church, of course. But for an entirely different reason: her family was one thing, but there was something about him that she now wasn't willing to share with the congregation.
As they would be arriving together, supposedly having driven straight from the airport, Sarah told Jareth to arrive at noon. So, at precisely twelve o'clock on December twenty-fourth, the window-less wind whipped again. And of course, not more than five seconds later, the phone rang.
*BRIIINNNNNGG*
Sarah jumped, tearing her eyes from Jareth to stare at the phone on her kitchen counter.
*BRIIINNNNNGG* *BRIIINNNNNGG* *BRIIINNNNNGG*
"Are you not going to answer it?"
Sarah glanced back. "I'm not supposed to be home, remember? The machine will pick it up."
*BRIIINNNNNGG*
Hi, you've reached Sarah Williams. I'm not available right now but leave a message at the beep and I'll call you back as soon as possible. Thanks! *BEEP*
"Good afternoon, Ms. Williams. My name is Anne-Marie and I'm calling from Weiser Books-"
Sarah's eyes widened and she leaped for the phone. "Hello? Sarah speaking."
The woman on the line audibly exhaled. "Oh, good. I was worried we wouldn't be able to reach you at home. Holidays and all. Is now a good time?"
It was obviously not. In the seconds since she'd answered, Jareth had made himself at home on her living room couch, and - she winced - he was already flipping through a copy of her manuscript. She should have learned to keep her book away from all denizens of the Labyrinth...
"Ms. Williams?"
Sarah snapped her attention back to the call. "I'm sorry, what?"
"I asked if you were at all available this afternoon? We realize it's very last minute, but we just had a cancellation and are interested in meeting with you about your book."
"This afternoon?" She saw Jareth's head pull up from the pages, followed by the slow arch of a brow. Oh damn, where had Weiser Books been headquartered? Was that one of the ones in New York City? "I'm sorry; you're in New York City, right?" She might be able to detour through the city and still make it to her parents' tonight, if so.
"No, we're in Newburyport, Massachusetts. But you're in Middlebury, right? We're not far."
Damn. Sarah rubbed at her eyes, sighing. "Yes, but I don't think I'll be able-" But the declination died in her throat when the phone suddenly vanished from her grasp.
"What time? Four? She'll be there." Another whish of fingers and the phone was snug tight in the counter holster. Jareth settled back against the couch and sent her a satisfied smile.
Sarah's mouth dropped. "What are you doing?"
"It was obviously important enough for you to forgo the pretense of not being home." He lifted the copy on his lap just slightly. "This would be the not-snack, I assume?"
The what? But then, she remembered her visitors. They'd obviously reported her stinginess with 'snacks'. "Yes, it's my book. I'm trying to get it published. But there's no way I'll be able to drive to Massachusetts to meet with them and get to my parents' tonight." She'd made him a promise; that'd been their bargain.
"So don't drive."
"Excuse me?"
His lips twitched and he twisted one wrist to form a crystal. "There are benefits to knowing me, Sarah."
Magic. He was...offering to take her to Massachusetts? Then to her parents'? That'd never been part of their deal. "...What's the catch?"
"No catch." And then, an amused smile. "No additional one, at least. You've actually already agreed to it."
She was confident she had not. Unless she'd said or done something in the midst of her drunken state? But she couldn't have predicted the phone call. She furrowed her brow. "...How?"
"It's Christmas Eve. This is also your home, is it not? I see no issue with spending my day at two of your homes. Especially to assist in something this important to you."
Sarah's eyes widened as she remembered, and she saw the truth in his words. Though this loophole was plainly for her.
Two days. One in the Underground and one at home?
Precisely.
He stood then, still holding her manuscript, and the façade of the not-Goblin King melted into his true self as he stepped towards her. Flowing, white peasant shirt. Tawny leather jacket and painted-on gray breeches. "Although, unless you'd like me to call for a few subjects, for the next few hours, we would be alone." Another step, and a knowing whisper; all clove and flame. "Is that a problem?"
Tell me what you want, Sarah.
There were no words. But she told him all the same.
The manuscript thudded on the floor as she pulled his lips to hers, and the blips of memory paled in comparison. Thin, pliant lips that memorized every press of her own; a burning swipe of tongue, parting and claiming. His hands at her neck, on her cheek, then her hip and back; molding her to heat and leather. One of hers, tangled through his hair, grasping, as she felt that heat deep inside hiss and thrum. Closer still, but not nearly close enough. She growled against his lips when the button holding his jacket closed stuck and she felt the rumble in his chest. But, he knew - he always knew - and he pulled back just slightly and guided her hand back again. She pushed the jacket off, claiming his lips again and curling her fingers into soft silk. Then, sliding across skin, and she heard him groan - the most pleasing sound she'd ever heard, she decided then and there - when her hand moved lower until she brushed against his length.
He must have lost it then, because his hands were at her hips, feverishly pulling the hem of her shirt from her jeans, and he backed her up against the wall with a pronounced thump. And he growled too when Sarah didn't move fast enough.
"Not" - a frantic press of lips - "here. Windows."
"Damn the windows."
She silenced his frustration with another kiss, and pushed him back, then sideways, until her back found air and she could pull him backwards down the narrow hallway. Back until her calves found wood and she fell onto quilting. He hovered over her for a moment, breathing ragged and wanting, and though the room was shadowed by semi-opaque curtains, she saw him clearly. Her Goblin King; her greatest and most wondrous mistake.
And she knew then she would never see enough.
"You," she forced out, almost pained. "I want you."
His smile was feral and victorious, but so was hers, and he closed the space again, twisting fingers instead of pulling at clothes. And then she was lost. Hot kisses down her neck, his tongue tracing between the curve of her breasts, and she arched when he took one peak into his mouth. She heard herself moan as her fingers grasped again at his hair and liquid heat pooled at her apex. So hot; she was burning. His mouth moved to claim the other at the same time his fingers moved lower, tracing the skin just above her waistband. Fuck; why was she still in pants?
She moaned again, reaching down to try and catch the button, but that must have been enough of a tell for him because suddenly, her legs were bare, and his hands moved again. One, then two fingers, testing, and Sarah swore she screamed when he stroked her, but it was all for him, and it was a glorious sort of pain.
"Gods, Jareth," she cried.
He pulled back, chuckling lowly. "Yes, Sarah-mine?"
"Fuck me."
"With pleasure."
Even with Jareth's magic, she'd barely made it to her meeting.
But she was all smiles as she made her way out of Weiser Books. It was hard to decide which recent victory, however, was the biggest catalyst.
"So?"
She grinned wider at the king leaning against her car and held up a check. "They want to publish it. They said we can finalize all the details after the new year."
"My congratulations," he said sincerely. And then, wryly, "what shall we do to celebrate?"
She laughed. "We're already running late." She glanced at her watch. "They said they would wait up, but I'm sure Toby is itching to open his gift."
"Thwarted by the boy again." But there was no malice in his words, and Sarah just rolled her eyes as they got back into her car. A careful spell of disguise weaved through a crystal, a flash of colors, and they left Massachusetts behind.
As expected, Karen had outdone herself. The Victorian was brilliant. Framed with hundreds of golden lights; some, twinkling in and out and reminding Sarah of the dancing lights at Yule. Wreaths on windows and green and silver garlands on the porch banisters. Candles flickering through glass. And in the front bay window: a magnificent Christmas tree.
Boxes and bags were snatched from the trunk. Before Sarah could ring the bell, however, the door opened inwards. "You're late!"
"Merry Christmas to you too, Toby," Sarah laughed. "You can blame Continental Airlines."
A coifed figure quickly appeared behind her brother. "Sarah. Jareth. Come inside; it's freezing!" An unexpected hug from Karen, and then, her stepmother pulled back and studied Sarah's face for a moment. An exuberant grin broke out almost instantly and Sarah flushed. She didn't know how, but it was clear her stepmother knew the relationship had escalated. Sarah could do nothing but smile.
This time, dinner was seamless. Karen had splurged on filets and honey ham with all the traditional holiday fixings. The wine flowed like Yule, though Sarah was careful not to overindulge. And the only harm Jareth wrought was a knowing grin that Sarah struggled to resist kissing all through the feast.
After dinner, under the glow of the Christmas tree lights, Toby had finally opened his chosen gift. She should have known which one he would choose. She also should have remembered Jareth's penchant for gift-giving.
"I want to open Jareth's!"
Sarah pulled her head from her palm, looking quickly at Jareth next to her on the couch. But he just smirked.
"Oh, neat. Shin-guards!"
"What?" Sarah choked.
Jareth laughed. "For soccer, of course." But then, by her ear, "or shin-kicking."
Sarah swatted at him but stopped when she saw Toby squint closely at something on the shin-guards. "What's this symbol?"
She turned to Jareth, startled, but he was all teeth again. "Just my signature. Merry Christmas, Toby."
"Thanks!"
"Here, Sarah. This one's for you." Sarah's father grabbed a square box in distinctive silver and passed it to her, and she eyed Jareth again, curious. It was much smaller than the dress box; small enough for a crystal. Or a key. But it was none of those things.
"Oh my God." He really had been watching. Or at least paying a modicum of attention to her interests. There was no other way he would have known. Because it was entirely too fitting that it would be a book. Not his book, of course, but the one she knew second-best: A Midsummer Night's Dream. And, she turned the cover, entirely unsurprised by the small typing indicating that it was a first edition.
She turned. "Thank you. This is incredible."
He just smiled.
Sometime later, long after Toby had fallen asleep to the waning curses of Kevin McCallister's enemies, Sarah and Jareth had wished Sarah's parents good-night. She didn't hesitate to pull him inside her room where she moved immediately to stare at the vanity mirror. It reflected the two of them, just staring.
"After this afternoon, I was expecting the key again, you know," she offered.
He chuckled lowly. "Were you?"
"Yes," she said, turning back. "Since you're as stubborn as me, of course."
"Of course," he said, smirking. And then, after only a brief hesitation, he twisted his wrist to form a crystal and in another twist, it morphed into a familiar key, still strung through her delicate silver chain. "From the chain, you plainly realized what it was, then?"
She furrowed her brow. "The chain was Didymus' suggestion. So I wouldn't lose it."
He gave her a wan smile and he gestured for her to hold out her hand. Which she did, half-knowing now that it wasn't merely a metaphor, and that not all kingdoms had keys.
Some - like his - had amulets.
"The offer still stands, of course. It always will."
Sarah glanced up from the small, horned amulet. And then, a deep breath and a wry smile as she closed her fist around the piece. "That's good. Because I think I wish to know you."
A/N: Much, much love to all readers and reviewers! This ballooned into a much longer story than I intended, but it almost wrote itself. I hope you all have a very Merry Christmas, a Happy Holidays, and a healthy 2021.
- Rayac