Disclaimer: I do not own the Labyrinth, it's characters, or Dora the Explorer trays, but I can try baking cookies for you. However, I advise that you throw them away immediately, for my baking skills are rather appalling.
Chapter 1: Chilly down, Chilly down. Or why you should always make sure your flowery heart has a bungee cord.
Sarah eyed the Goblin King as he desperately tried to resist making grabby hands at the plate of cookies that she was carrying. The smell that wafted from them was enough to send her into a trance.
"Listen, GK," she said, deftly swinging the tray out of the way of his grabby hands. "No cookies until I get some answers."
"You do realize whom you are talking to," he replied snootily. This girl seemed to think that she could jostle him about, like he was some sort of magic puppet ready to do whatever she wished.
Oh the irony, he thought.
"I am fully aware of whom I'm talking to, but you're in my kingdom, pal. There aren't any oubliettes or bogs here that you can toss me into."
She had a point. Jareth resorted to pouting regally.
Sarah took a deep breath. "Why couldn't I call my friends all these years? You know, Hoggle? Ludo? What did you do?"
She was fuming, he could tell. He reclined gracefully on the seat, and motioned for her to sit. She did, after moving the cookies behind her, and out of reach.
"After you became Champion, everyone insisted on blabbing about you incessantly. There were crudely draw posters of you stuck to the walls, and even a song written in your name. If I can recall, it's called "Shiny brown hair lady kicks Majesty's butt", or something of that nature."
Sarah bit back a laugh, and gestured for him to go on.
"Worst of all were the new summons. That blasted Hogwash insisted on mentioning your name every second. 'Sarah found the gate quicker than you', 'Sarah didn't cry when she smelled the bog', believe me, it was frustrating for both the runner and me. Your other friends, and a considerable part of my kingdom, thought it necessary to compare every one of the runners to you, which made them curl up in a ball and cry, at which point my brainless subjects wholeheartedly joined them in the weeping. My ears bled, Sarah. And so did my sanity when that Ludo troll's wails summoned an entire landslide." He narrowed his eyes. "I wanted to skin him and make a cloak out of his fur."
He ignored her death glare, and continued speculating about what a fantastic coat he could make out of her friend. It took a poke in the arm to get him back on track.
"I had to take matters in hand, Precious. I need my runners to be filled with blind hope, and having my goblins continually…. What is that term you mortals enjoy saying?... ah yes, "throw shade" at them was really not helping."
Sarah snickered.
"So I do hope that you would forgive me. I am positive that they have not completely forgotten you, as I do come across the occasional 'Sarah' figurine carved out of a potato every now and again."
Sarah considered this. It felt good to be recognised as a National Hero, with a ballad and her own merchandise to boot, and she did understand why Jareth did what he did. Sacrifices must be made, even if they turned her batshit crazy.
"Fine. I'll forgive you. But a little card might have been nice. Something like 'Hi Sarah. Due to technical difficulties, I'm closing the mirror portal for a while. Love, Jareth.' would be okay."
She noticed his look of revulsion.
"Or maybe 'You will not contact your friends anymore. You have refused my gifts, and deserve nothing.'"
Jareth raised a perfectly arched brow. "I can be cruel, Sarah."
"I've noticed that. I, however, having the moral high ground, shall not be cruel. Want a cookie?" She waved it enticingly in front of his nose, secretly relieved that her friends hadn't abandoned her after all.
There was just something about having the Goblin King in your living room, drinking out of your teacup, and eating cookies that you just baked the day before that made you feel oddly satisfied. Sarah found it exceptionally refreshing to watch Jareth in such a docile and cookie-crumb-encrusted state. They had been getting along surprisingly well for the past half an hour, and he was currently watching the commotion outside with keen interest, almost that of an intrigued child.
She only realised that she was staring at him fondly when she heard him clear his throat and ask, "Sarah?"
"Hmm, what?" she replied, halfway between dazed and mortified at being caught staring at him. He appeared not to have noticed, much to her relief.
"There seem to be children outside throwing diseased fruit at each other. I'd expect them to be having a good time about it, but they appear to be pelting the fruit with intention to kill. A mortal tradition, perhaps? Or a requirement to fight your duels with decaying apples?" he inquired. He was dead serious, and clearly wanted answers.
Sarah knitted her eyebrows and looked out the window. The neighbour's children had started a decidedly loud brawl in their backyard, throwing ornaments at each other and shoving unsuspecting victims into snow piles. They were an unruly bunch, and Sarah made it a point to always carry an umbrella whenever she walked past them, in case she ever needed to deflect snowballs and the odd plastic cup. By the looks of it, they had started to put up a Christmas tree, and ended up fighting about it.
"Oh, Jareth. They're not diseased fruit. They're Christmas ornaments!" She paused, and pondered for a while.
"But in this case, diseased fruit wouldn't exactly be a surprise, given the fact that these people have a penchant for flinging around whatever's in the general vicinity." She laughed. "And no, decent people don't go around throwing fruit at each other for Christmas. Nor is it any sort of law. Can you imagine the smell that it would bring?"
As she was happily conjuring up an image of her neighbourhood filled with organic waste and maggots, while people celebrated Christmas cheer surrounded by waves of noxious fumes, she did not notice that Jareth had shot up, and that eyes had widened in shock. Unbeknownst to her, her simple words had made tiny flowers grow in his heart. For starters, she had used his name. Not his title, but his name. Something about that made him all tingly inside. Secondly, this was the first time he had ever heard her laugh, and it was marvellous. But best of all, she didn't seem angry, or wary of his presence. She seemed at ease, and nothing like the wild mess that he had encountered an hour ago. A teeny tiny part of him congratulated himself for bringing about her sudden pleasant state of mind, and immediately started watering the flowers in his heart.
However, it is important to note that the rest of Jareth's heart was too prideful to admit that these things pleased him. Naturally, he attributed the warm feeling to the tea, stamped all over his feelings, locked them up in a box, and sat on said box. He curled his lip in disgust ay this sudden burst of touchy-feely weakness.
Sarah noticed his expression of distaste. "Yeah, I know. Living near them is like living with the goblins. Never a minute of peace and quiet."
That brought him back to his senses. He glared forcefully at the pink, plastic Dora the Explorer tray that Sarah had brought the food with.
"Oh, Precious. This does not even amount to HALF the agony and tedium that comes with spending every waking minute with those loathsome creatures," he grumbled, making a mental note to send the group of hedge-dumping goblins into an oubliette. Covered in thorns. Infested with maggots. And filled with prune juice. At the mention of that diabolical substance, his lips curled into an equally diabolical smile. Prune juice. That'll show them.
He watched as Sarah slumped over and covered her face with her hands. Nothing like hearing about other people's responsibilities to remind you of your own. He could finish my entire novel with a wave of his hand, she thought bitterly, and a sequel. But authors are authors, and writing a book would be worthless if it wasn't crafted with sweat, tears, and blood.
It was then that Jareth noticed the dark circles under her eyes and the way that her hair stuck up in a very beaver-resembling fashion. His eyes travelled down to observe the smear of ketchup on her shirt, and the odd cornflake adhered to her knee.
He felt a twinge of pity for her, and yet a perverse sense of gladness that he wasn't the only one going through a painful ordeal.
He also understood that it was Christmas, and while it was in his opinion a disagreeably absurd event that entailed garish decorations, suffocating family gatherings, and now beastly children assaulting each other with elements of yuletide festivities, it seemed to be something of utmost importance to Sarah. He had noticed how wistful she looked when she had mentioned it. And of what he had seen of her house, there wasn't even a hint of a Christmas twig lying around. He wanted to rebuild a connection between him, Sarah, and the Labyrinth, and it would be impossible if she was in a funk. If its Christmas she wants, its Christmas she'll get. Let it not go unsaid that he was generous.
Sarah felt highly uncomfortable as Jareth scrutinised her, then proceeded go into deep thought and frown at nothing. She was worried that he disapproved of her appearance, and started to feel a little bit self-conscious. It must have been quite traumatic to visit the human world, only to be greeted by a grumpy and dishevelled woman who looked like she just stepped out of a tornado.
It thus came as a surprise when Jareth announced that she was to return with him to the Labyrinth.
In fact, she was, lack of a better word, flabbergasted.
"What? For how long? I have stuff to do! Hang on a minute, we've only spent a little more than an hour together, and you want to whisk me off to a place I haven't been in years? You know, only yesterday, I was convincing myself that it wasn't real! Don't you think this is a little bit too rushed?" she sputtered out, as she floundered about on the window seat in panic.
And just like that, Jareth's heart plummeted. No, his heart cannon-bombed into a bottomless oubliette without even a bungee cord attached to it. Sarah was trying to forget the Labyrinth. It wasn't lost in the current of time; it was an act of will.
He turned away from her. So much for paying her a visit. Never in his dreams had he imagined that Sarah would cast the Labyrinth away. Things could be recovered when accidentally lost, but when thrown away? He knew a worthless cause when he saw one.
"But you have no idea how relieved I am that it exists. And I would love to go, if I didn't have to work."
Somewhere, in the depths of a virtual oubliette, a bungee cord appeared and bounced Jareth's heart back to where it used to be. It laughed and proceeded to do eight cartwheels in quick succession. He couldn't believe his ears. Sarah wanted to forget the labyrinth, but it obviously wasn't because she never wanted to see it again.
She smiled at him. "I'm glad I'm not crazy. You should have seen the psychiatrist's face when I told him about the Labyrinth." She made a face, the kind of face that you would make when confronted with the sight of Ludo in a tutu.
Sarah could have sworn there were stars in Jareth's eyes. And when he laughed, she couldn't resist the urge to giggle along with him. She'd only heard him laugh scornfully at her and poor Hoggle, and his genuine laugh reminded her of birds flying in the sky and waves breaking against rocks; free, alleviated, like the release of a huge burden.
"Sarah, it matters not," he told her, after a considerable amount of burden-releasing. He grinned wolfishly at her confused stare. "As you may recall, I have reordered time, and I can do it again," he said resolutely.
That made her freeze. Of course. That way, she could have possibly the most interesting Christmas ever, and not worry about the chapter. Then again, it seemed too good to be true. She had grown increasingly astonished at the way they had gone through half an hour of conversation without pissing each other off, and she had almost believed that it was an (arguably cheerier, and excitable) impostor that had beat the Goblin King up, wrapped him up with duct tape, disposed of him, and taken his place, all in the five minutes that she was gone.
Well, until she accidentally dropped a cookie on the floor and earned a patronizing look from him. All Goblin King there.
But what's a good story without risks, she mused, remembering her old literature professor's words as she bit her lip. Twenty years of mundane everyday routines and work, work, work… She was critically in need of some fun.
Her scepticism was interrupted.
"Worry not, Sarah. Seeing as your last visit there involved bashing up my army, turning my own subjects against me, and causing large scale destruction in my kingdom," He narrowed his eyes. "Which I should have asked you to repair, by the way, do you know how difficult it is to restore an entire city ravaged by boulders?"
Sarah rolled her eyes, and despite her better judgement, chuckled at his obvious dismay.
"I'm sure you'll be able to survive," he finished, tutting at her. She seemed rather proud of herself -as she should be, he begrudgingly admitted. She had taken on his previously unsolvable labyrinth and pretty much danced through it, making friends along the way, and stomped all over his ego within thirteen – no, ten – hours.
I suppose that is true, Sarah thought, and when he put it like that, she felt a surge of undisputable power. Her mind supplied images of her arsenal of kitchen tools that had the potential to inflict some serious harm on all who crossed her path. Test me, she imagined herself saying, and it will be head-bashing time. She was infinitely comforted by that.
It would be good to see her old friends, too, after being wrongfully denied of her contact rights.
She looked at Jareth, and then looked at her computer screen.
"I'll get packed," she told him. She almost missed his not-so-secretive smug grin of triumph.
Oh yeah, first thing in the bag is an iron saucepan.