Of course, you can't take anything for granted in this place.
My mind had already formulated what would happen as I stepped into the throne room. He would be there, slouching on his throne, a jagged smile on his face. He'd say something razor sharp and witty which I'd have to deflect. There'd be some banter and other acts of verbal warfare and then his eyes would twinkle with mischief and the real fight would begin. But that's not at all what happens.
The throne room is empty. The throne—utterly kingless. All the courage I have stored up and stoked vanishes. I can do nothing more than step out of the room and up the twisting staircase. The corridors of the castle are not how I remember them, yet there's something tugging me in what I hope is the right direction. It is more instinct than knowledge.
Like calling to like?
Wind moves through the castle unfettered. It sends feathers and dustmotes dancing in its wake. Still, nothing else moves, no voices carry though the stone encased passageways. I feel like a specter haunting the halls as the heels of my boots click with each step, as I'm drawn up and inward to some unknown destination.
Finally the urge to keep climbing to keep searching subsides as I find myself facing a door. The beat of my heart quickens, sending blood rushing to my head as my fingers find the doorknob.
The room beyond is bathed in a rosy golden light which pours in from the windows. Long gauzy curtains, the exact shade of purple as the last bit of sky before night falls, bellow in the breeze as the Labyrinth stretches out in all of its glory just on the other side of the windowsills. Yet, it is the bed in the middle of the room that draws my eyes and steals my breath.
Mornings of gold and valentine evenings.
The words come unbiddened to my mind, he always lives in spaces of twilight. I hadn't thought about those words before.
The Goblin King is sleeping.
Quietly, I push the door to and lean against it, my eyes riveted on the sight of him stretched out on his side, a pillow clasp beneath one arm, his hands strangely bare. There is no fierceness in him now.
No quick quips or sharp grins.
The wind pulls it fingers through his hair, turned golden by a trick of the light, and ruffles his shirt—he's more like his old self today all whites and grays. I have the strangest urge to touch him. That would be crossing some sort of line, I'm sure. Still, I take a step closer, making as little noise as possible.
I'm not quiet enough.
Jareth's eyes open without warning and the world erupts into sound. Voices and laughter swell in the halls beyond the door. It sounds surprisingly like a sea shanty is in full swing. The sound of steel clashing against steel echoes just outside the door and the disgruntled squawks of poultry fill the air like some sort of foul symphony. It is just as though the world couldn't go on without him, even for a moment while he slept. It had to follow him into his dreams.
All I can do is watch while the Goblin King stretches and a contented smile curves his lips as he snuggles his pillow before allowing his gaze to find mine.
"Has anyone ever told you that it very rude to stare?" He asks before propping himself up an elbow and arching an eyebrow.
"They have actually," I say taking a tentative step closer. How can he be so composed, so nonplussed.
It's not fair.
A black and white head pops out from under the bed followed quickly by the rest of Faust and I give up any hope at seeming dignified. Dropping to my knees, my arms come around the dog as soon as he reaches me. Just as I had expected, he's fine. Even if he smells slightly fishy.
"You stole my dog." I stand and motion for Faust to stay as I stalk towards Jareth.
"He followed me home," Jareth grins coming to sit in a cross legged position on the bed, his elbows resting on his knees. There's a challenge in his eyes.
The bed is an inviting mess. Pillows in every shade of midnight and gold are scattered across the moon and star strewn coverlet—it looks like a night sky.
I take another step closer.
A feral grin curves his lips as his head cants to the right.
There are warning bells ringing in my ears and butterflies in my stomach but I cross the room, kick off my boots, and climb into his majesty's nest. It is quite possibly the bravest thing I've ever done.
"Daring girl," he throws himself back against a mountain of pillows and laughs. "I didn't think you had it in you."
The sound of his laughter ripples through me. I was expecting the fierce face of my old adversary, not this. Never this. Perhaps he hopes to get my guard down?
"I know what you're doing," I say mimicking his aloofness as I burrow into my own stack of pillows. It shouldn't surprise me that the Goblin King's bed is one great big indulgence. I sink into it like a cloud.
"Enlighten me, what exactly am I doing?" Jareth cuts a glance in my direction before turning his eyes toward the ceiling which is painted to look like the sky above the labyrinth with its double moons and suns. "Besides having my day interrupted by a stowaway, a scallawag, a landlubber?"
I don't get a chance to answer.
The door bangs open and crashes into the wall as a goblin who is furrier than most and wearing an eye patch bounds into the room. It is dripping wet and smells like salt water.
"We were pretending to be pirates," Jareth says as if this should mean something to me.
"What?"
"Your greatness, your most excellent flightiness," the goblin squeaks as he launches himself across the room and onto the foot of the bed.
"Yes?" Jareth says never taking his gaze off the ceiling.
"The girl," the goblin begins.
"What girl?"
"The girl who ate the peach and forgot everything…"
"What of her?" Jareth rolls his head toward me.
"She's in the castle, captain. Shall we have her walk the plank? Cast her gizzards to the sharks?" The creature pulls a rusting kitchen knife from his tattered vest and brandishes it over his head.
"What are you calling yourself these days?" Jareth finally looks the goblin in the face.
"Call me Ishmael," he replies.
"Fine, Ishmael, do you notice that there is a girl in my bed?" Jareth's smile widens, as his eyes round taking on an owlish expression.
Ishmael slices a glance toward me, "Yes."
"Do you know which girl she is?"
"Ahhh, the girl who ate the peach and forgot everything," Ishmael answers.
"Clever, Ishmael," Jareth smiles indulgently. "Do you think that I want her gizzards removed if she's in my bed?"
"She could be holding you hostage," Ishmael points his knife at me.
"Sarah, are you holding me hostage," Jareth asks, his brows coming together as if his question is sincere.
"I wouldn't dream of holding you hostage, your most excellent flightiness," I reply with as straight a face as possible.
"Brilliant," Jareth returns his attention to Ishmael. "Could you have some tea and biscuits sent up? I'm starving."
Ishmael tucks his knife back inside his pocket with a disturbingly disappointed expression. "Suppose so," he says before he hops off the bed and rushes out the way he came.
Jareth sighs.
"You were pretending to be pirates?" I ask.
"That's what I said," he rolls his eyes.
"All of you? Every single creature in the labyrinth?"
"Well, not the worms. They can't quite master their sea legs," Jareth shakes his head.
"Right," I nestle down into the feather soft mattress my guard officially dropped.
"Pirate games and goblins are not what you came here to discuss however," Jareth turns onto his side to face me across a border wall of pillows.
"No," I answer feeling the butterflies return. Whatever am I doing in the Goblin King's bed? He's just an arm's length away.
"What do you want, Sarah?"
"I think you know."
"You still have to say the right words," his smile is wicked now.
"I need your help, or at least I might."
"Interesting," his gloveless hand stretches out and I go utterly still as his finger tips brush across my cheek, before he plucks a white feather from my hair.
"When have I ever denied you anything?"
The words hang heavy in the air between us. They bring me back to the moment he asked me to love him and I refused. It's suddenly hard to breath. How could I not love him? I'd loved him nearly my entire life. I loved him every time I saw those damn fairies buzzing about my flowers or heard the call of an owl in the night. And, I suspect that he knows. How can he not know when my thoughts turn toward him? They were strong enough to draw him to me in the first place. Reckless.
But therein lies the problem. Jareth's idea of love doesn't coincide with mine. I know what he'd require of me. I know I can't bring myself to do it, to let him rule me. It's time to get out of here.
"The girls, if I can't find a way to keep Asher from Gywn, I need to you hide them. I won't risk any of them," I say.
"You can't hide her forever," he answers.
"He'll move on, forget about her after a while," I say.
"Oh yes, we tend to forget quiet easily the things we want." Jareth sits up as Ishmael clatters back into the room with a tea tray on top of his head.
The furry little goblin deposits the tray on the foot of the bed before eyeing me suspiciously and backing out of the room. The door shuts behind him of its own volition.
"Tea?" Jareth snatches up a little china cup and fills it with steaming liquid.
"No thanks. Janus fed me."
Jareth doesn't reply as he sips tea from the ridiculous little cup. It has flowers on it for heaven's sake.
"Jareth," I push myself up reluctantly, "how was I able to command the labyrinth? While you slept, I…" I'm not sure how to explain what I did.
The king's eyes sharpen over the rim of the cup before the entire tray disappears, cookies and all. Why did he even ask to have it brought up when he could will it in and out of existence? It's a stupid question to ask myself while he's looking at me like this. He's no longer smiling, no longer playful.
Jareth is fast. His barehands are like fire when they capture my wrists and pin me back against the pillows, his eyes inches from mine.
I can't breathe, but my pulse is running. Every quickened beat of my heart can be felt beneath my skin, at my wrists, my throat.
"How can you dare to ask me that?" His voice is low, dangerous. "How do you not know?" He's not really asking the questions of me. His thoughts are tumbling from his head onto his tongue and across his lips. Lips that are suddenly, fiercely working their way along my throat.
My breath returns in a rush, "Jareth!" My voice doesn't sound like my own. And, my body certainly no longer belongs to me as it arches into his. I could die of mortification when I feel his lips curve into a smile against my skin.
Those lips are at my ear. "Do you know how often I've imagined you here?"
Silently I beg him not to kiss me while simultaneously praying he does.
My prayers are answered. His lips are feather light as they skim across mine, his hair tickling the sides of my face, my throat.
Just before I'm sure I'll die from desire, the door bangs open once more.
"Captain, is the wench assaulting ye?" Ishmael's voice squeaks. I'm sure the rusty knife is back in his grip.
"Gods," Jareth sighs, his forehead falling to rest on mine. "It is quite the opposite, Ishmael."
"I'm not a wench," I say feeling some sense and indignation rise within me.
Jareth is across the room before I can insist that he get off me. I miss the weight of him immediately. Not that I should.
Ishmael is booted, rather unkindly, out of the room and the door is slammed in his crestfallen face.
"I'll hide your girl on Old Hallows Eve but you will grant me a service in return," his voice has lost all playfulness.
"What do you want?" I ask swinging my legs off the bed and jamming my feet into my boots. I can't look him in the eye.
"I don't know yet. You'll have to wait and find out," his hands are on his hips and there's mischief hiding in the curve of his lips.
"It's possible I won't even need your help," I say.
"That hardly matters. You have my word, now I need yours," he twirls his wrist and a sword appears in his hand as a large hat materializes upon his head.
"You have it," I reply. I can't gamble with another girl's safety. So what if I have to lose my soul in the hopes of keeping hers intact.
"Good," he smiles. "Now if you don't mind I have official state business to attend to." Jareth spins on his heel and pulls open the door.
"Up jumps a crab with his crooked legs
Saying "you play the cribbage and I'll stick the pegs"
Singing blow the wind westerly, let the wind blow
By a gentle nor'wester how steady she goes…"
The sea shanty is a roar, a hundred goblin voices raised in a ear splitting chorus.
"You're still playing pirates?" I ask, hardly able to picture it.
"My subjects are unique in their needs," Jareth replies before slipping into the hall and pulling the door shut behind him, leaving Faust and I to our own devices.
Thank you all for reading! I love hearing from you. And, a special thanks to Jetredgirl! I have so much fun writing fanfiction. It is always nice to know that people are having fun alongside me.