*** In the meantime ***
Trisha couldn't figure out for the sake of her life what her parents found so cool in surrounding themselves with all those merry-making bootlickers.
She was leaning onto a pillar, and her long dark hair flowed over her shoulders as she idly watched the dancers whirl around her. Now and then she flashed the occasional smile or polite nodd, while deep at heart she only wished to send them all dancing in the Bog. Now that would have been amusing.
Her mother and father had managed to end up dancing on the other end of the ballroom, as far as possible from where she stood. Trisha was rather sure that it had been Jareth's idea alright. Those last days he was always stand-offish - restless - although he tried not to show it when her mother was around.
So he knows what things are underway, she mused. Even though he did not possess her Gift, the Goblin King had his ways to discover things. Perhaps she had been a tad too predictable. And now her father was going to be on guard... which meant - Trisha arched a thin dark eyebrow - that she had to do the same, if she wanted to have any chance at all.
She felt her stomach twirl and then churn. The Gift, of course, was going to play in her favor, and yet - she wondered if even that could be enough, when her opponent was an infinitely older and more powerful Fae...
"Can I have a toast with the future ruler of the Underground?", asked a cheerful voice.
Behind her was a thin and smiling man, with a complexion so pale it seemed almost made of porcelain. He was wearing a white shirt under a dark pin suit, striped with blue and silver - it really did bring out the blue color of his eyes. His hair was also silver, styled in frosty spikes, and his eyebrows were made of tiny little ice crystals. Instead of a tie, the funny-looking man had an icicle. He was holding out one glass for himself and one for the young Fae.
Trisha regarded him for a split second, then took the offered glass with a thankful nodd.
"Then you are the reason why I had foreseen I'd not be fetching myself a drink," she smiled. "Aren't you the winter herald? What's that name again - Fog?"
"Frost", he corrected her, smile still unfaltering. He took her hand and pressed it to his lips. They were cold as ice. "Jack Frost. At your disposal, Princess."
Suddenly, Trisha's face seemed to cloud.
"Aw, and you'd had such a good start..."
"Did I say anything wrong?", asked Frost, confused by her sudden change in demeanor.
"Not quite. I'd just rather go as Trish or Trisha." After all, the rank of Princess implied that there was someone - someone like a King or a Queen - standing just a step above her.
"I'll remember that", Jack Frost assured, restoring his bright smile. "Trisha, what a beautiful name. It is..."
"It just means 'noble'", she counterpointed. "Still, a merely descriptive name is preferable to a rank that does not sit well with me at all."
The cold man seemed even more puzzled.
"Aren't you proud of your heritage?"
"Not particularly - and in such times as today, I'd do far better sans."
"How odd", Frost said slowly, his eyes twinkling as he regarded her. "There's people in this very room who would sell their soul to be in your place, while you..."
"While I'd sell my soul to no longer be the Goblin Princess. You got that right", Trisha grinned. "It's no big deal, though - I don't play to remain one for so much longer. Cheers!", she concluded, tilting her glass toward him for a toast. She took a sip and grimaced. "Urgh, this stuff is disgusting. My father should totally have the human slaves oversee the refreshments. Goblins just can't do things right."
"Your father has human slaves at his service?", asked Jack, rather dumbstruck.
"Only for thirteen hours a time."
"Yeah, the catering could be better", he stated, looking around himself. "Would you like a slush?"
"Would I like a - what?" Trisha stared at him uncomprehendingly.
"It's a frozen drink. The mortals rather fancy that."
"Right - right, I had forgotten you work in the Aboveground." The young Fae frowned in an attempt to remember more clearly. "Somewhere around the Arctic Circle, aye?"
"Yeah - the North Pole." Jack Frost nodded, smiling.
"So you're an assistant of that... Kringle fellow?"
"No, Kringle retired a while ago", he grimaced. "Now there's another guy. Calvin. He is the new Santa Clause."
"Calvin", she repeated, as if that name had a special meaning for her. She glanced sideways at Jack Frost, smiled and hissed; "So they shelved you again..."
She immediately knew that the barb had touched a sore nerve; Jack looked up sharply and flashed her a resentful glare.
"I don't really know what you're speaking of", he replied through his teeth.
Trisha shrugged. "I'm just saying that it's a wasted opportunity. You would have been far greater experience than any new guy."
"Oh - that was what you meant..." Frost attempted to smile again - though this time around, the result was far more strained and far less convincing. "Well - you may be on to something there, of course - but I guess it's better off this way... you know, so that everyone has his specialty."
"If you rate the merely efficient choice over the more logical one", she agreed, looking absent-mindedly at the content of her own glass.
It seemed as though both parties had run out of subjects, and the conversation languished for a while. They stood there and watched the dancing couple, without exchanging so much as a word. It was quite pointless to remain there, but Trisha certainly wasn't going to take her leave; after all, it was Frost who had sought her out first.
With the corner of her eye, though, she noticed that his smile was growing brighter and brighter by the minute. Now he seemed a lot more at his ease than he had been moments before.
"You know", he finally said, "I really don't get how a lovely creature like yourself can stay a wallflower. Feel like dancing?"
"If you care about it", she replied. She was quickly getting fed up with that - that weird fellow. Perhaps she had been sorely mistaken about him all along; maybe Jack Frost was just another slimy bootlicker. She'd have such a kick throwing him in the Bog of the Eternal Stench.
He held out his hand to her and she took it - but just as Jack Frost's fingers brushed hers, Trisha looked up sharply, with a barely suffocated cry of surprise.
Startled, he hastily let her go.
"What's wrong?", he asked. "Are my hands too c...?"
"No - I'm fine", she answered with a metallic voice. She was staring, transfixed, to the glowing tendrils laced around Jack Frost's wrists. When their hands had touched, two tendrils had latched onto the ones departing from her own wrists. An heartbeat later, the four lines had merged into one glowing thread.
Astonished, Trisha watched the thin glowing rope slide on the floor and then crawl off among the dancers, as if driven by purpose. She followed it all the way up to a pair of boots - Jareth's boots - and then she sharply turned toward poor dumbstruck Jack Frost, and her icy gaze softened.
"Are you certain you're alright?", he asked. This time there was a hint of genuine concern in his voice. Obviously he wasn't keen to find out just what the Goblin King would do if his daughter fell sick after talking with him.
"I'm fine, really", she replied, in a calmer voice.
"So - er - do you still want to dance?"
Trisha nodded and let her hand slip in his own. This time he did not pull back, even though the young Fae could feel his contracted nerves under the cold skin. Smiling weakly, Jack Frost slipped an arm around her waist and she latched onto his neck as they made their way among the other dancers.
"You're not afraid to get a little cold, are you?", he asked, with a toothy smile. "You'd not rather put on a shawl or something of the sort?"
Like her mother, Trisha was in an off-the-shoulders gown, but that did not seem to be a hindrance to her.
"Relax, Frost. I'm immune to cold-induced diseases", she retorted. Smiling, she winked at him. "And besides... all women dream to dance with a man who sends shiver down their spine."
Jack laughed. "Then I guess this is your lucky day, Princess."
More than you know, Frost, she thought, barely suppressing a sneer. She looked around and asked;
"Tell me, is any other member of the Council of the Legendary Figures about? I hadn't been told we'd have such illustrious guests."
"No, no, I'm here of my own accord."
"And how is the Sandman? It's been a while since the last time he was about... although I guess that he and my father have their own privilege channels to stay in contact."
"Last I've heard, he wasn't in a very... talkative mood", Jack cautiously replied. "You... er, you know him well?"
"Oh, no, hardly at all. I've met him at a few atrocious court party, and he slept for the greatest part of the time. Honestly, I'm amazed that my father would give such an important task to that fellow. Santa is fortunate to have you as his herald..."
"Actually my job is - a little different", Jack pointed out. "Besides, Santa would not miss a Council meeting or his life, so I'm not exactly speaking in his stead... like Sandy does for your father." He smiled thinly at her and added in a tone of self-importance; "Anyway, I like it much better this way. I can devote my time to more... important matters."
"Just what kind of matters?"
Jack smirked. "That's classified. Not trying to bribe me, are you?"
"It depends", answered Trisha, lowering her voice to a conspirational whisper. "What is your price?"
Jack Frost leaned closer, his eyes twinkling. "Is it true what they say - that you can foresee the future?"
"I have the Gift, though it only shows me how the possible futures branch out. I can't know just what thread of fate one is going to pick, until it unfolds in the present." Trisha smiled apologetically. "I'm sorry, it's not easy to put into words..."
"I don't care about the inner workings", he said, waving a hand as if to chase a fly. "What do you see in my possible futures?"
Trisha pretended to be thinking about it, then she threw her head back and laughed heartily.
"I'm afraid that's classified too. And if you're considering bribe - you do so at your own risk", she warned him playfully.
"What's life without some risk?", Jack grinned. "Right, what do you want in exchange? I can put in a good word or two with the Council to have you replace the Sandman..."
She raised a hand to silence him. "Thanks, but I have no plans to become my father's next spoke person in the Council. Like you, I have more important matters to see to. By the way - is Father Time still about?", she idly asked.
Jack Frost wasn't expecting that. He struggled to hide his irritation for that sudden change of subject, but in the end managed to put up a thin smile.
"Yeah, still going strong."
Trisha grimaced. "Between you and me, I don't think he likes me all that much. When I was a kid, I thought he must be a relation to our Wiseman - and thus a subject of my father's. He never forgave me for that."
"Father Time doesn't really like anyone", Jack answered lamely.
"Not even you?"
"Especially not me."
"Well - my father doesn't like the lot of them", said Trisha, with a flash in her gaze. "He can't stand those guys, that's why he always sends the Sandman in his stead. I really shouldn't be telling you this, Frost, but..." she bit on her lower lip, uncertain as to how to go on.
"But...?", he encouraged her gently.
"He especially loathes your boss, Santa."
Just as she had expected, Jack Frost stiffened hearing those words.
"You mean that your father doesn't like Santa Clause?", he slowly repeated.
"That's logic, if you think about it", she said. "My father turns little unwanted mortals in goblins - whereas Santa brings love, cheer and beautiful presents. What are the odds that a child in his good list may end his days as a goblin? That's unfair competition."
"Interesting", drawled Jack Frost. He seemed transfixed with the images that Trisha's words were painting in his mind. She seized just that moment to move in for the final strike.
"I think my father would get a kick out if he was to cross the Labyrinth. That would be a nice payback for all the goblins Santa deprived him of..."
"And what happens to those who don't solve the Labyrinth in thirteen hours?", he asked breathlessly.
"They get lost in their own dreams and can't ever leave - while their hostages become new dumb, smelly goblins." Trisha shook her head and smiled. "Anyhow, my father only has it personal with Santa. You have nothing to do with all this, don't worry."
Slowly, Frost's eyes seemed to focus on her again. "Really?"
"Of course. Everyone can see that you're an okay fellow", Trisha promised. "And besides... I fancy you, ice lord."
They had stopped in their tracks, and she quickly seized the chance to move closer - until she could brush her nose along his cheek. Jack seemed taken aback, but then he smiled and let go of her hand, surrounding her waist with both arms - holding her tighter. His cold breath tickled her face and her neck, making her shiver - only those shivers had nothing to do with the temperature of the room...
"Then it's all for the better that we hit off so nicely..." the winter herald whispered.
"Most correct, Jack." Trisha bit on her lower lip. "I meant...", she said, looking up at him. His face was only a few inches away from hers. "Frost..."
Deep at heart, she felt elated - triumphant. Almost there... he was about to kiss her, and then it would have been a piece of cake... seducing, confusing, manipulating him like a mindless pawn. Just then however, Trisha threw a look over his shoulders and realized that Jareth was watching them from the other end of the dance floor. Curse it!, she seethed. Why he must always notice everything?
A split instant before Jack Frost's lips brushed hers, she pulled back and threw him a cold, calculating glance.
"What about that scrawny girl from the Aboveground?", she asked, squaring her shoulders. "The one who spoke in that strange language... she worked for Santa too, if I'm not mistaken."
Jack stared wonderingly back at her. "What do you mean? What scrawny...?"
"Wasn't her name Beniamina?", she asked with sarcasm. "I've seen the two of you at some party or other. She was dying after you."
"What... oh, wait!" Jack's face brightened. "Do you mean that... italyan who oversees to the production of sweets and candies? I have nothing going on with her!", he hastily assured. "Well, perhaps I told her some niceties, just to be polite..."
"I'm warning you here, Frost. I don't like competing for what I want." There was a threatening note, now, in Trisha's voice.
"Of course! What competition can there be between a beauty of your caliber and a simple - a mere - an over-grown Santa labourer like her? No one in their right mind would compare..."
Trisha sighed and let her stare roam over the couples dancing around them.
"I don't know whether I should trust you... But I still want to give you a chance, Frost. Something tells me you'll be worth my while." She looked up at him and couldn't hold back a bright smile. "What about continuing where we left off in - ah, somewhere more private? Perhaps we can even reach some agreement about your future."
"Alright", he answered readily. "Where can we meet?"
"I wonder what your end of the Aboveground's like", Trisha murmured absent-mindedly. "Maybe on your way back, you could... wish that the daughter of the Goblin King would come to you. Right now."
Jack Frost smiled triumphantly.
"I most definitely will."
"Oh, and Frost - one more thing", she added casually, while they went back to dancing. "If I was to wait your invite for too long, I might as well decide that I have different plans for the evening. Just so you know", she added, with a sharp smile.