She was making progress.
All else lay abandoned as the Goblin King watched his Champion's path through his labyrinth, and the fool who dared disturb such a vision would find themselves dead a thousand times over by the Arctic tundra that was his glare. The king's deepest obsession had returned to his domain at last, and his minions had fled from him in their fear. This girl – this woman – had beaten him once. It was left unsaid – amongst those that valued their lives, at least – that she could best him again.
The absence of his goblins had blessed him with silence from their infernal chatter, but Jareth, in truth, would not have heard them if they congregated and howled unholy dawn chorus at his chamber window. No, his attention was far away, deeply entwined with that of the alluring creature who, even now, strode ever onwards to defeat him.
Though he had left her flustered, perhaps even aroused by his words, she had recovered sooner than he would have liked. It took her far less time than he had anticipated to use her knowledge against his labyrinth – and had he not reminded her himself that three was a number of power? When the walls continued to deny her any way forward, she had frowned and pouted – quite handsomely, he had to admit – but only for a moment. He saw the knowledge as it dawned on her face like light itself, his tenacious little temptress actually smiling, once she realised that she held the answer within herself.
As he looked on, she closed her eyes, and tilted her face and open palms upwards towards the sky – a lovely, but quite unnecessary touch, but then, his beloved had always possessed a flair for the dramatic – and began to twirl. She turned widdershins once, and then twice more, wisdom and beauty both, Athena and Aphrodite made one flesh, as she danced beneath the sun, negating the magic that had blinded her to the true path. It opened up an archway that had previously been hidden to her, as well as more possibilities before her captive audience of one than she could have ever imagined. She took no time to celebrate her small triumph, intent as she was on her prize – his Artemis, caring only for the hunt.
She had blossomed, his girl, in both mind and body, and oh, how he longed to sweep down to claim her now, and damn this infernal game. He would pluck her for his own, unrelenting this time with more of those hot, hungry kisses that had caused her to melt for him; making her beg to be made his, to be devoured over and over again. His hunger was as great as hers, and he knew that it would make her all the more succulent to him. How she would come alive, at his hands and mouth, driven to depravity and ecstasy as she came, and then came apart beneath him. She would be so … very … sweet.
He was unsurprised to find himself hard as steel.
Such wistful longings certainly whet his appetites, but did nothing to quiet the lion she had roused in his belly. She was his elixir and his poison both, and he would drink and drink of her, until he had been saved, or forever damned.
He had promised her dangers around every corner, though now she had spent over three hours inside his labyrinth without encountering a single one. She would think his dire warnings to be superfluous, at best, but he was afraid she would soon see that was not the case. There was no telling what the first threat she encountered would be, but as the paths she chose gradually turned her towards the wastelands, his sense of unease grew stronger.
The wastelands, though they had been so named for as long as he could recall, were anything but. Strange vegetation and twisted weeds grew taller and more persistently there than in any other place in his kingdom, thick, creeping vines climbing the throats of blackened, stunted trees to steal what life remained in them. He would not have willingly subjected his intended to its ugliness at even the best of times. It was a tangled, choking, rotting place – one where even his fiercest goblins feared to tread, and for good reason. Even he had not ventured to that darkest part of the outskirts in many months.
He had grown bored with his duties, with other such thoughts to occupy his time, and had perhaps neglected them too long. In his lengthy absence, the wastelands had festered and thrived, and birthed something that would have driven all of his Sarah's false bravado from her throat. Though he himself had yet to see it, the creature's sheer presence inside his labyrinth was powerful enough to tell him he would have to rid himself of it soon. The something there was of a colossal size, drawing its power seemingly from the labyrinth's very essence – for there was not prey enough alive there to nurture such a beast. Yet now, though she did not know it, a most succulent morsel indeed crept into reach of whatever claws such a monstrosity possessed.
Careful, sweet one. Be oh so careful.
She tiptoed on the edge of peril, and he knew in his heart he would not hesitate a moment to retrieve her, should the creature actually discover her – for a swift end would be sure to follow. For now, though, she remained undetected by any but he, and he would at least allow her the dignity of her own rescue. Clearly, she was able to sense that not all was well, drawing up short long before her feet had touched the edge of that matted skein of grass. Perhaps it was the smell, sickish and cloying in its decay and ruin, or simply the look of the untamed madness before her, and what must lie in wait within. He saw disgust and fear flicker across her features; the hesitation in her posture as her courage waned. She would turn back, perhaps – retrace her steps to some less daunting path. His fingers itched to reassure her, but then, her lips moved, her voice barely loud enough for him to catch the last of her words:
"...quickest way."
He knew then that she did not have it in her ever to disappoint him.
Brought so low as this, for him to hold his breath along with her, as she pressed on. How deliciously she cheated death – he could almost taste her fear and apprehension as she crept forward into the wastes. Her presence in itself was enough to cause the creature to stir some – a wet, rumbling snort rising from the tallest of the grasses. It was enough to send a grown man running for his life, but, evidently, not this grown woman. She moved through the danger zone without once stopping to gauge her progress, navigating that awful, living maze by instinct, and maybe a scrap of that good fortune that always seemed to cling to her like a second skin.
She was swift and silent as she avoided whatever lay at its centre, her bare legs whispering through the weeds; blind, reaching hands forging what passageway she could. The foul weeds and grasses reached back, longing after her face and hair, yet never quite daring to touch before they bowed to her will. It was only when she reached the end of that horrible stretch of land that she, and the king that ruled over all he surveyed, seemed to draw breath.
Still, she moved on, and Jareth was helpless but to follow.
He looked upon her until he had made himself sick and weak with his admiration, following, with her every step, the flex of her calves; the sweet line of each leg before it was concealed by her gown. He watched the way the changing sun turned her skin from pale milk to warm cream, her hair a silken curtain. He watched the inherent beauty in every tilt of her head and toss of that darkly radiant hair; every bite of her lip as she paused to consider what path would quickest bring about his downfall. He watched, even as his carefully laid plans began to unravel into ruin around him – around her.
Because of her.
He watched her run.
And he smiled.
A/N: Chapter title borrowed from the Bowie song Lady Grinning Soul. Jareth's POV doesn't pop up too often in this story, but when it does, you can expect it to be marked by more Bowie. More to come soon, when I get the chance to upload more chapters. Some minor things will be edited as I spot them, but on the whole this fic will remain more or less the same as when it was originally published, little mistakes and all. Thanks for reading/persevering! :P