Disclaimer: I don't own it, not the characters or the Labyrinth itself. I own Maeve and Duncan… but do I really want to claim the rat? No, not really…

Sarah and Jareth are preparing for the dinner party Miss O'Fallon has decided to throw for their betrothal, and all within the cottage seems to have calmed. But you know what they say about the calm before the storm; and there is definitely a dark storm waiting just within the trees…

Games:

It wasn't as terrible as he thought it would be. Jareth looked over the smiling faces for the three couples Miss O'Fallon had invited, and the man that ran the general goods store. It was clear she had set her cap for him, and the man really didn't seem to mind. He had been dreading this event all day, but now that it was upon him, he truly didn't mind their presence. He was a social creature over all, being a Fey.

There was only one thing that could have made this event more bearable, he thought to himself as he drummed blunt and now callused fingers across the table top. The guests had been present almost a half-hour, and still Sarah was nowhere to be found.

"If she isn't down soon I'm goin' te have te fetch her. I'm sure she lost track of time. She's a writer, ye see…" Maeve's fluttered excuses made Jareth shake his head in laughter.

"No Maeve, I'll go get Sarah." He stood, smiling at everyone with that tilted smirk he wore so well. "It would be rude to deprive the guests of their hostess. And, after all, I find myself most eager to spend a moment in private with my betrothed."

Most of the gusts laughed, others tittered about impropriety. All were ignored as he ventured up the steps, noting with a pleased smile that the fifth one no longer creaked. When he came to her door some little imp of madness urged him to open it without knocking. The worst that could happen was that she'd smear ink over the page…

But she wasn't in the bedroom, her notebook open and her strange ink-pen lying atop it. He heard her movements in the bathroom, and halted. As desperately as he wanted to go in aid her in her dressing, he knew that it would be too forward for her at this stage. Instead he stepped forward and knocked on the half-open door.

"Sarah?"

"Oh!" She tugged open the door with a smile, brush till in her hand. "I'm sorry I'm running late, I fell asleep in the tub… Can you zip the back of this for me?"

'This' was a black silk dress that ended mid-thigh and clung to all of her ample curves like the caress of a lover's hand. It was horribly indecent where he came from, but, judging from her innocent look, not so much so in the Aboveground.

After a moment of inspecting the 'zipper' he decided that it would work the same as the one on his pants. The fist time he had used one he'd turned green at the thought of the damage those metal teeth could do… but it seemed harmless enough to Sarah's bare back. Bare back? It made his steady hands tremble when he realized that she was wearing nothing beneath the thin silken sheath. It made his hands crave to caress, his mouth water at the thought of her taste upon his tongue.

"Thanks, couldn't reach on my own." Her voice was so genuinely thankful that he wondered what had changed in her. She had been livid earlier when he had first told her about the betrothal party, but now she seemed… There was no way to describe her but happy. She looked like the cat who caught the canary.

While a part of him called out that she should be more than pleased at his attention, he was ever the realist, and knew there was a game afoot. Something was happening. Sarah wasn't done tormenting him. Oh if this was to be his torture, he wished she would do more. It was a gluttonous, masochistic thought, and he meant it. The sight of her skin had been an impossible temptation, and he had gone to lengths to make sure that he didn't touch even a small portion of her silken skin.

He stepped back and balled his hands into fists, looking around her room with more interest than it warranted. Anything to keep his eyes and hands where they belonged. The silent promise he made to himself was that when he brought his bride into the Underground he would enjoy stripping the clothes from her back inch by silken inch, following the fall of the material with lips and teeth and tongue until there was no question in her mind as to whom she belonged--

Those thoughts only made him more uncomfortable in her presence, and he darted to the closet in search of something--anything--to cover her from his eyes.

"Take this." Sarah spun from the mirror, mascara poised in the air, only one eye done. The jacket was dark green crushed velvet, and he was brandishing it like a warrior wielding his shield. Seeing that he had her attention he thrust it at her, and to stop it's collision course with her chest Sarah intercepted it with a laugh.

"It's not that cold downstairs, Jareth, I'll be fine without it. We can go down in a minute, just let me finish-"

"You don't need the war-paint nearly as much as you need the jacket. I swear to you." He looked to be in earnest, and somewhat desperate. Sarah barely contained the cheer of joy. Things were going according to plan.

"It's not 'war-paint', it's mascara, and I'm not wearing a jacket. Stop being silly." She finished the left eye, and then smiled at him in the mirror. "You know this is the second time since I was fifteen that I've worn any make-up? Couldn't look into a mirror for a long time, I thought I was going crazy." She hummed a little at the end of the sentence, as though it didn't bother her in the least.

"I remember." He spoke it gently, stepping up behind her. Sarah could practically feel his will bending as he lowered his chin, kissing the crown of her head. She closed her eyes a minute, smiling.

"Time's up, lad!" The call came from just outside the door, and Jareth cursed under his breath. Sarah heard, and giggled. With a final look in the mirror she called herself done, and offered her hand to Jareth. Like a knight would his princess, or a king would his queen, Jareth kissed the back of her hand and tucked it into the crook of his arm, ready to escort her down to the group below.

They opened the door to meet the amused faces of Miss O'Fallon and Mr. Riley, the owner of the general supplies shop.

"Well no lass, ye look as fine as a spring day." Miss O'Fallon smiled broadly, and pretended to cough, elbowing her companion. With an amiable grin Mr. Riley made his mouth snap shut and nodded in agreement. Jareth shot the man a glare for all the good it did, for the look went unnoticed.

"The group isn't too restless is it? I didn't mean to keep them waiting…" The two women began the walk down the stairs in quiet conversation, leaving Mr. Riley and Jareth to trail after them.

"So, that's the one fer ye, eh? Good choice indeed, boy-o. She's a smart one, from what Maeve has been telling me. An Author from America. Is that where you met?"

His mind blurred, and he tried to recall what Sarah had fabricated. "Yes?" He hurried his pace to catch the ladies, knowing his response was not only a question, but presented as such without confusion. Shouldn't he know where he met his fiancée? Well that was Sarah's tale to tell, not his…

The evening was wonderful, Sarah thought with a smile. They played the lute and fiddle, Mr. Riley and his pair. His son and daughter-in-law, who had come with him, worked at Ayden's Áit for money when the pub was in need of entertainment. As it often was, he confided with a smile.

The night was winding down when a female--Sarah felt terrible that she couldn't recall the woman's name-- leaned back dreamily and inquired as to how Jareth had proposed. Phase two, Sarah thought with a cat-like smile gracing her lips.

"Jareth why don't you tell her? After all, it was horribly romantic of you to plan and I don't want to ruin it by telling it wrong." She batted her dark lashes at him, and his eyes narrowed in immediate understanding. Oh good… it was still working… she would have to get that book published.

"Sarah-mine…" His tone was pleading, and still cool. Warning as well as plea? Oh he was talented with his tones. Sarah smiled, holding her ground. The group around her stood in her place.

"Oh yes, please do!" Females tittered and their male counterparts urged companionably. Seeing that he was neatly trapped, Jareth got a look in his eyes, one Sarah didn't trust for the life of her. He was plotting.

"Well, shall I show you instead?" They cheered, an he smirked, and Sarah's heart raced. Show them?

"We were at my home in the country, I'm from Ireland myself, to a point, and have a home here. At any rate, we were there in one of the higher tower rooms, and she was challenging me. She always has been the one to fight for control of everything."

"Don't all women?" A man quipped. Hi pretty young wife elbowed him neatly and smiled at what was proving to be a romantic little tale.

Jareth continued after the laughter subsided. "And then I knelt before her, and offered her a ring…" He eased down on one knee, his eyes meting and holding Sarah's. Her breath stilled in her chest, and he smiled. "And I said just this: 'Fear me, love me, do as I say and I will be your slave.' And she denied me."

They made sounds of disbelief, and Sarah smiled. There were a few, a small few, who didn't know the words of the Fey, or hadn't placed Jareth as one yet. It all made sense in that moment, and they watched more raptly as the scene unfolded and the Fey remained on one knee.

Sarah, who thought he was done, was thusly caught off guard when he continued. "And then I took her hand in mine, and clarified to her what I asked. 'Fear for me,' I asked her, 'when I am ill or gone from your side. Love me, as I love you and no other. Do as I say, and I shall do as you say. I will be a slave to your will, as your joy is mine."

Sarah looked down on him, her eyes narrowing. He was turning her own game around on her!

"I looked deep into her eyes, those cruel, beautiful eyes, and I asked her. Sarah Williams, would you marry me and spend every moment, so long as we both shall live, at my side, as the one I love more than any other, and the queen of my heart?"

How dare he? He was trying to wring an agreement out of her! If he had meant it, if he had proposed to her using his words in private, she would have agreed. But he was forcing her hand, and she detested it. He was always, always controlling the situation somehow…

She was spared an answer as the door was wrenched off of it's hinges. The men moved collectively to urge their women-folk behind them, and the women tried to see and move around them to look upon the intruder. Few if any were surprised to see the only other Fey who lived among them, Duncan.

His face was devoid of color and expression, his white-blonde hair around him like a cloak. His eyes were mad, empty…and focused on Sarah. He advanced, and Jareth moved to stop him, placing himself between the advancing, powerful Fey, and the one he claimed as his own. And like a rag doll he was wrenched aside and flung out into the advancing night. Without his magic and trapped in a mortal shell, he was powerless to stop the darkness from stealing away his consciousness.

His last thought was for Sarah, her voice calling out for him as his cheek rested on the cool marble stepping stones, his hands grasping emptily at colored flowers. He heard a soft, female voice soothing him, and he knew he was sure for death. Because he knew that voice.

Mother…?

Author's Note:

Hello all, bare with me, I'm sorry it's taking so long to update but I swear that this story will be finished. It is drawing to a close, and that's hard for me, there are only 3 or 4 more chapters left before I have to let this one go where it will… Please read and review

-Chaotic Reverie