Title: That's What Friends Are For
Author: Yodeladyhoo
Beta: Anij
Summary: The party's over
Genre: Fantasy
Pairings: Jareth x Maurasoon ( OC )
Rating: T
disclaimer (dĭs-klā'mər): noun
1. (law) a voluntary repudiation of a person's legal claim to something
2. denial of any connection with or knowledge of
syn: disavowal
c.1986, 2007 The Jim Henson Company.
LABYRINTH is a trademark of The Jim Henson Company.
Labyrinth characters c.1986 Labyrinth Enterprises.
All rights reserved, but not by me.
All rights are reserved, but not by me. This short story is a work of fiction. All original characters in this story are fictional. Any similarities to actual persons, either living or deceased, are purely coincidental. Permission for the use of the non-original characters has not been requested by the author or granted by the licensor. This short story was written for your perusal and pleasure. No compensation, either financial or actual, has been collected or requested.
Maurasoon and Devlin are mine.
Plea for Reason: The long awaited Ballroom Scene awaits you in this chapter. Now, to show you the amount of work that went into this, I promise you that both Maurasoon and Devlin are featured in the Ballroom Scene in the movie. My challenge to you is to go and find them. Happy hunting!
It was quite the party, if she did not say so herself. Not as organized and polished as one of Devlin's arrangements, but when there are a good number of guests with enough wine and spirits to lift spirits and lower moralities, it would make for a fabulous fete given any amount of notice.
Devlin was in attendance, with his usual scowl. The fact that this ball was a masquerade only added to his petulance, let alone to have been left out of the logistics for this party. Sometimes, Maurasoon wondered if he enjoyed planning a party more than attending the party. Knowing him, she thought ruefully to herself, he's the only guest that would have been put off by the short notice of the invitation. He needed to magick himself to the seat of the Kingdom to attend, something he rarely did. His foul mood was beginning to tip her attitude against him; she found herself answering him snidely, if she bothered to answer him at all.
They were at the mercy of the castle's stores to procure appropriate attire for the affair. Although the butler's closet had an ample supply, it simply was not prepared for an elaborate masquerade ball. She settled for undyed articles of men's clothing, imitating wraiths of the creatures who would be attending the event. It was easier for Devlin, or so Maurasoon thought, for him to dress in men's clothing than for her. At least the breeches did not sag and bag around his hips in an unflattering manner and most would not think twice about a man in men's clothing at a masque. All he could complain about was the fact that the tri-corner hat was too large, the mask did not fit his high forehead, and there were no breathing holes on his mask.
"Well, I should be thankful that there isn't an opening for the mouth, either." She groused to him as she pinned a burgundy arisaid to her left shoulder. Let Jareth give her an argument about how she has chosen to wear it! At least her hair did not have to be ornately dressed to match this costume; she wore it loose from underneath her tricorne. She threw a thin leather jacket to him. "Put that on, too. You look like you're ready to go to bed."
"Now, there's a thought."
Maurasoon pursed her heavily rouged lips in a sarcastic pucker before they were both encapsulated in the transporting bubble.
No amount of teasing or flirting with Maurasoon or any of the other attendees present would change the fact that he did not like to be distracted when he had his own provisions to attend to. She could tell that, for the entire duration of the party, he was keeping his temper in check while attempting to corral Jareth alone to ascertain just what he was trying to do. He had no luck in cornering the king, who was busy being the host and the center of attention. She did notice Jareth and the challenger exchange glances more than once during the course of the soirée as she whirled around with her own partners in the dance. But, Maurasoon had other things on her mind than to worry too much after them.
She did not stay as long as she would have liked. Maternal instincts are hard to overcome, even when it is not your own child. Maurasoon left the enchanted crystal ballroom with an uneasy feeling that she needed to return to the castle and see to the King's charge. Upon her arrival, Tobias was in such a state that he was at the point that he was crying for the sake of crying. It took her most of the remainder of the evening just to calm him down with walking the corridors and balconies, then into the night to get him to sleep. She was exhausted by the time she laid him in the makeshift crib the wet nurse had arranged for the boy.
If it were not for the human wet nurse and some of the more seasoned staff, Maurasoon had no idea how Jareth was able to handle a challenger and a child with the cavalcade of moronic goblins in attendance within the castle. They were worse than a drunken babysitter who could not care less about the charge they were supposed to be watching. The best they could do was to engage the toddler with silly sounds and exaggerated expressions. Most looked on mutely, barely registering that Tobias was upset. It was all Maurasoon could do to not kick them out of her way to get to the child.
Now, she was sure the gala was continuing on in full swing as she walked the quiet corridors alone with her thoughts. She wondered how Jareth was faring with the challenger and his own challenge. Not to worry, when has he ever not gotten what he wanted? But is this what he wants, or is it what he needs? Her brow formed uncustomary furrows in response to her contemplations. Just because she was lucky enough to have found her soul-mate in Gary Elbridge, did that give her the justification to recommend that this human girl-child as a possible match for the King of the Goblins? More so, she did not even know the moral fiber or fortitude of this person to have even made the suggestion. She shook her head in self-accusation. Oh Mauri, what a pickle you might have just caused! Maurasoon pulled the heavy golden brocade dressing robe closer around her body. Although the days were long and warm, the stones gave off their heat too quickly to last through the night. She had a chill that for all the world she could not understand.
She had tried to sleep after putting the boy down, but her rest was uneasy. Rather than get more tangled in the sheets, Maurasoon donned on the robe and paced the halls once again, this time to soothe herself. Not so lost in thought, she noted that the shutters on the high windows were closed to the night and the winds that usually accompany it. She listened to the sounds of gentle snores of the goblins and animals strewn in different rooms that she walked past on silent bare feet. Although her mind could not wander in its exhaustion, it most definitely was not directing her path. Her feet led her past dimly lit candles whose flames gently flickered in the wake that she created. She presently found herself facing the imposing oak doors leading into the Throne Room.
Without a thought, Maurasoon entered. Her brain barely notated her surroundings as she looked within the chamber. Even in repose, the goblins were in a complete disarray. Snoring and grunting in their sleep, the minions of the land slept like sibling young of some wild beast, nuzzling each other for comfort and warmth. There were no sleeping quarters, no beds, cots or mats for them to rest their bodies on. It appeared that they merely fell asleep where they were when they shut their bulging little eyes, in the midst of whatever they were doing. There were goblins asleep on the floor, in the pit, by the kegs, on the kegs, on ledges, shelves--any flat, horizontal surface it seemed--except for the throne.
Illuminated by the moonlight flooding in from the unshuttered circular windows sat Jareth deeply within his throne. Its radiance poured over him, highlighting the crests and creating shadows in the creases of his wardrobe. The soft curves of the ruffled jabot were turned into luminescent mother-of-pearl by the crystal moon. His head was encapsulated by a halo created by phosphorus hair; his face in shadows, lighter in contrast to the darkness of his high collared battle cloak. The edging of the handkerchief detail of the cloak became defined with the natural muted lighting. The cape was thrown open as to enshroud his arms that were resting along the horn that was the back support of his cathedra.
Maurasoon guided herself towards the focal point of the room on soundless feet, wrapping the dressing gown around her form tightly, both for warmth against the night chill and to keep the edges away from the filth of the goblins. She stepped gingerly over grubby limbs, half-filled tankards that had not spilled like their brethren, horn adorned helmeted heads, plates of half eaten meals that were now detritus, fouled by slopped ale and chickens that had walked across them. Mutely she approached the dais, intent on the task of crossing the room without waking the inhabitants.
"She rejected me."
Slightly startled by the sound of a voice, Maurasoon stopped to look up at the seated figure. "My Lord?" She inquired softly.
Without so much as a shift in position, he continued more vehemently. "She rejected me! She ran from me! I removed the memory of her purpose so that she would see me as I am; just a man--a king--not her nemesis, and she still rejected me."
Maurasoon continued her ascent of the dais and stood before her king, trying to assess his mood in the night. Cautiously, she lowered herself onto his knee, wrapping her arms around his torso, offering comfort as if towards one of her own sons. Stoically, Jareth allowed this intrusion of his space; perhaps the only one who he would allow to do so. So near to him now, she could see the expression that would not allow his pain to show. She gathered his shoulders within her embrace and guided his face towards her. Her shoulders had been used many times in the past for comfort, now they would be serviced again.
Jareth, within the enclave of Maurasoon's embrace, knowing that he was shielded, allowed himself the privilege of his release. Wrapping his own arms around her waist, he buried his face in the curtain of her unbound hair. Only the sound of his ragged breath gave the suggestion of his great emotional pain. She understood. She did not need to hear any more from the evening. She also knew by his reaction that this could not be the end.
Not wanting to startle him, Maurasoon tried to comfort him with words. "My Lord, she is young still. She doesn't know nor is she in control of her own emotions. You will not woo her in one meeting. Try again." Jareth's breathing had started to even out now, she could feel it against her own chest. Lifting his head away from her shoulder and cradling his face within her hands, she gazed tenderly upon the face of her dear friend. Gently, ever so lightly, Maurasoon placed a kiss on his lips.
Jareth accepted the comforting kiss, but demanded more. His pride and ego were wounded deeply, a mere application of salve would not do. Strengthening his embrace, his hand moved up her spine to her neck as he poured all of his pent-up frustration onto her mouth. The kiss that Jareth returned was so fierce that Maurasoon thought she would be overwhelmed if she did not meet his passion. Her hands slipped from his cheekbones to allow her fingers to intertwine in his hair. Interpreting this as a signal to continue, Jareth attempted to deepen the kiss, requesting entrance with his tongue. Maurasoon broke the kiss by pulling gently on his hair in an attempt to lift his face from hers.
"You will see her again at the end of the contest?" She tried not to pant in her effort to regain her composure.
He pulled her in closer with his arms, more for comfort than for passion. Placing his chin on her shoulder, Jareth closed his eyes, enjoying the press of a mature woman against his masculinity. "Of course."
Maurasoon gentled the embrace. "Try then. It's worth an attempt. But now, it's been a long day. You're exhausted." At this, she stood up, allowing her hand to travel down his arm until she caught his fingers within her own. "You need to rest. Come to bed, Jay."
Without releasing her hold, she slowly started down the steps. The connection was lost when she realized that Jareth was not following her; he had not even risen out of the seat.
"I can't sleep."
His statement paused her descent. It was her turn for her face to be in the shadows with the window granting access to the moon. She looked back over her shoulder, her loose hair split over it with the torque of her neck. Her dressing gown hung open, revealing the plain cotton sleep chemise she wore underneath. In the moonlight, the soft, unrestrained curves of her body were highlighted to a soft sheen.
"Who said anything about sleep?
Author's Note:
In the lands that the Gaels occupied, what we now know as Ireland, Scotland and Wales, the land was divided by ruling families, or clans. In Scotland, as a means of distinguishing each other on the battlefield and on hunts, each family devised a distinctive weave to their cloths, known as tartans. As the Victorian Age progressed and the fashion swept the nation, tartans, (which were banned by the English rule in 1745) became a means to denote family, or clan, status.
How a Scottish woman wore her family tartan became a badge of her rank and availability. The width of the sash also denoted the ranking within the clan. The wider the sash, or if the sash was so wide that it needed to be pleated, the higher up in the echelon your family was in the clan.
If a woman wore her tartan sash pinned to her right shoulder with the drape coming across her chest diagonally, it meant that she was an unmarried woman of that family. If a woman wore her family tartan sash pinned to her left hip, with the band of cloth coming around her torso over her right shoulder, it meant that she was married. If she married out of her clan (a bride of peace), then the tartan she would be wearing would be her family's tartan, not her husband's. The only time a woman would wear a tartan sash on the left shoulder would be if she were married to the family clan leader or to a colonel in the Highland brigands.
An arisaid is a larger, wider piece of tartan shawl that was used as an outer garment. It was worn pinned to the shoulder and draped over the back, instead of over the front as with a sash, and then tucked into the waistband or belt of a woman's dress. Wearing the family tartan sash as an arisaid became popular due to the requirements of the dance and the need for free movement of the arms. For Maurasoon to wear the arisaid on the left shoulder was a statement that she was a married woman, either to the King or to a colonel.
Okay folks, this is the second to the last chapter. Never fear, I'm hard at work with the sequel, Brick by Brick. So, for all of you that have been reading along and not reviewing, now would be a good time to show your appreciation.