Chapter Nine: Midnight Waltz, part two.
Among psychologists and dream analysts there's a phenomenon known as the waking dream: a state in which one realizes that they are asleep and are thus able to control the dream itself. It never worked that way for Sarah. She'd had these sort of fantasies before, knew she was dreaming, and yet never seemed able to influence whatever was going to happen. Normally it wouldn't have bothered her—after all, it was largely inconsequential what her mind cooked up while sleeping—but her waking dreams almost always involved Jareth, and the lack of control made her uneasy.
A lazy golden sky spilled into a green ocean, the waves lapping quietly on a black sand beach. Sarah buried her toes into the whispering surf and wondered why she never had power over these things. It stood to reason that if this was her sleeping mind, then she ought to be able to change the scenery or make something interesting happen. But then, therein laid the problem: perhaps it wasn't her sleeping mind. The connection between her and Jareth was deeper than she could begin to fathom, so deep that, even when sleeping, his thoughts and feelings were still a part of her.
She shivered, even as the summery sun warmed her skin. Sarah hadn't had one of these dreams in five years, and back then they had definitely leaned toward the sexual. If Jareth was around—and she had no doubt that he was; probably skulking about until the right moment presented itself—then she was in definite trouble. She wasn't sure how well she'd be able to fend him off after the intense make-out session they'd engaged in after dinner; her control had always been a little shaky in real life, but in the dreams she'd barely had any defenses against him at all.
It truly wasn't fair that this was happening again; they had managed to get through all of the previous night without sharing dreams. Was tonight different because they were sharing a bed?
Sarah finally admitted the truth to herself: she'd fallen asleep a lot sooner than she should have. But Jareth's presence had been familiar, perhaps even a little comforting, despite that his vaguely gentlemanly behavior raised her suspicions. The magic that was so much a part of who he was had wrapped around her, like sinking into a warm bath after a day of toiling in the bitter cold. And it scared her, more than she would ever like to admit. Time and again, she stood resolute against him and his actions, and yet—in the quiet hours, when her mind could not ignore what her soul knew—she felt as though they were two halves of the same whole; constantly fighting, and yet knowing that, if they could just find the right angle, they would fit together perfectly.
So perhaps, she mused grimly, she had allowed the dream to happen, had slipped into the familiarity of Jareth's presence and allowed their sleeping minds to share the same dream. It was a scary thought because it meant that, in five years and through all the grief and regret that she had been through, her response to him had not changed.
Sarah started as something rustled in the tall beach grass behind her, something small and pale that darted out to wade through the green surf. It was a little boy with luminous silver skin, golden hair that fell in wild riots around his shoulders, and more energy than such a languid sunset warranted. He skipped and jumped through the calm waters, whooping and splashing and absolutely soaking himself. After a while, nature seemed to become infected by his attitude, the gentle ripples becoming crashing waves as the lazy sky bled from a warm gold to a fiery red.
The boy whooped again, the strange utterance sounding nearly like a battle cry, before he dove under the turbulent waters. Sarah surged to her feet in panic. Less than a minute ago she wouldn't have cared whether the child went under or not, but now the water was white-capped and roaring and more than capable of trapping a small boy in a wicked undertow. The fact that this was a dream suddenly wasn't registering at all as she quickly stripped off her her pullover and ran into the green ocean, looking for any sign of the little silver imp.
Her feet sank into the warm sand and she was about two seconds away from diving under the frightening surf when something wrapped around her ankle and pulled her under. For one panicked moment she thought the riptide had gotten her and she was about to be dragged out to sea, then she realized it was a hand that had clamped around her. She surged to her feet—which turned out to be slightly difficult because her body merely wanted to follow the motion of the waves—coming face to face with the boy.
His impish face was split in a wide smile, laughter bubbling between his lips; his hair hung wildly about his face in wet clumps of gold. Peaking out from under his hair was a pair of blue eyes, icy in color but warm in nature, one pupil larger than the other.
Jareth. He looked about ten years old, but it was Jareth all the same.
"Couldn't resist, could you?" he asked, water trailing in narrow rivulets down his face and neck. "You looked so bored on the beach, I knew you'd come in to play."
Sarah wiped the stinging salt out of her eyes and regarded the young boy. "I was afraid you'd drown," she replied hotly.
A wave reared up behind him, twice as tall as he was, but split around the boy and crashed against the beach behind her. "Drown?" he sounded confused. "A prince cannot drown!"
"I assure you, they can," she answered, frowning at his statement.
"Well," he quipped, "maybe a prince can, but not this prince! The waves dance for me, not against me."
She stayed silent as he regarded her, unsure of what to say in light of that strange speech. He shook his head after a moment, a confused smile quirking his lips, and led her back to the beach. The minute he shook free of the water, the waves calmed and returned to their gentle lapping, only one or two errant swirls marring the serenity.
His statement finally clicked. 'The waves dance for me,' he'd said, but it probably would have been more accurate to say that they danced because of him. Jareth had once explained to her that his kind was born with an inherent gift, a power that was uniquely theirs, and for him that power was to make the environment match his mood. He had said that the change was usually small and unnoticeable, like a subtle shift in temperature or the colors around him. She had only seen a dramatic change once, back in the Labyrinth when the Escher Room had fallen apart. Now there was this. But it made sense, at least; a young boy was filled with boundless energy, and he had run into those waves like a little hellion. His gift had taken over and reshaped the surf into something more appropriate.
"What are you called?" he finally broke the silence, settling both of them on a little black dune that overlooked the whole beach.
Well that was a strangely phrased question; was he asking for her name or her species? "Excuse me?"
He titled his head. "I'm Jareth the Incorrigible, who are you?"
"Sarah the Confused," she answered. This was a shared dream, wasn't it? It hadn't even crossed her mind that he wouldn't know her. And why was he a child? Jareth had never changed forms within their dreams, which had been a blessing because most of them had involved some light petting.
He laughed. "That's a funny name! My Sire has a funny name, too; most people call him Oran the Brash but, behind his back, Amyl and the kitchen staff call him Oran the Stew Decimator. He hates it, but I think it's great." He paused and took a deep breath. "So how'd you get to be called the Confused?"
Her brain stuttered to a halt once she realized he's asked a question. The boy spoke so fast it was all she could do to keep up with him. "I just am," she replied. "Confused, that it."
Jareth shrugged and his gaze wandered out to the darkening water. Small lights flitted beneath the surface, growing brighter as the sun slipped lower beneath the horizon. They seemed to fascinate him. "I hope I'll get a good name when I'm king," he said quietly. "Something that'll make people think twice before trying to take me on, like Jareth the Violently Impatient."
Sarah laughed. That was such a boyish thing to say, and she had a feeling that were the older him to hear that name he wouldn't think it nearly so wonderful.
Oran sat between the realms, his starry-silver hair glowing faintly in the gloom, looking for the Twins, though Leshia wasn't entirely certain why. Imm and Laim had never expressed an interest in going Above, why start now? Unless it had to do with Sarah, she mused. After all, that was what had drawn her back after so many centuries. The Twins loved their brother deeply and, though they had only known her for such a brief time, she knew they had come to care for Sarah as well.
"Why do you search so desperately, my floundering husband?" she asked quietly, curling her fingers into his hair.
He leaned into the caress. "Our boys are in trouble."
"When are they ever not?" Leshia asked, resting her chin on his shoulder.
"Serious trouble," he emphasized.
Her fingers slipped from his hair, her arms draping themselves around his shoulders. "My statement stands firm."
"Against Jareth's explicit, contractual wishes, kind of trouble," Oran pressed, turning his iridescent gaze to meet eyes with her for a moment.
"Ah," she said simply.
"Yes, ah," he replied wearily.
She was silent for a moment, watching him sift through the gauzy images that the between-world produced of the Above and Under. "We are talking about the same Twins, yes?"
"As long as there aren't any children that you forgot to tell me about—but I rather think I'd notice my wife being pregnant," his gaze never wavered from his work.
"Our Twins are tricky but smart, Oran; you have no cause to worry on their score," Leshia replied, fiddling with a button on the front of his robe.
He sighed. "It is not for them I worry, my little forest demon, it is for humanity at large."
"Humanity at large?" she asked with a raised eyebrow.
"The Williams family, in particular," Oran conceded.
"Speaking of which, I had the most wonderful conversation with Karen this evening," she said girlishly. "She seems a little hesitant, understandably, but I think she would be willing to help, should we ever need it."
He threw up his hands in exasperation. "Am I the only one who bothered to read Jareth's contract? Honestly, are the rest of you completely without sense?"
"Speaking of which," she replied sternly, ignoring his outburst, "I believe it is once again time for you and I to have that marvelous talk about why it's bad to drunkenly accost toddlers."
"A dance for your Prince, my beauty?"
The beach had faded away and the boy along with it. A ballroom had replaced the black sand, candle flame chandeliers had taken the place of the golden sun, and gently swaying dancers had usurped the taciturn waves. Around her was a sea of colors, some quiet and pale, others loud and bright. But, even amid the endless tide of outstanding women, Sarah could feel that she stood out. Her dress reminded her greatly of the green confection of silk and lace that Jareth had dreamed up for her, only this one was a velveteen blue with silver accents, glittering like the night sky; a single shadow of darkness that invaded the bright gowns of the dance floor. Silver ornaments pulled her hair back from her temples, but left the silky mass largely unbound. Aside from that, she was unadorned, no gaudy jewelry like the rest of the ladies, or a bejeweled fan that she could flirt with.
And there was a prince staring at her.
He was dressed in a regal outfit that looked as though he had made it from the night sky, blue velvet studded with magic and precious jewels; a match to her own dress. His face was matured, yet still had a boyish air, blue eyes made all the more vivid by the color of his clothes, while silvery-golden hair spilled around his face in studied elegance.
"You will meet no better dancer on this floor," he coaxed, holding his hand out to her.
She had no choice but to take Jareth's hand, propelled by some morbid curiosity. Their last real dance had been in the Crystal Ball, a moment that Sarah was always reluctant to remember but, after having spent time with the boy-Jareth, she was curious to see how he had changed or if he would remember her.
"No better dancer?" she asked as he pulled her closer and began a slow waltz.
Jareth smiled roguishly. "Perhaps one or two better, but they will soon find themselves with two left feet should I find myself without a dancing partner."
He was charming, just like her own princely version that she had curled up in her bed, but she could already see the vindictive streak that would come out in full force when he was king. For the first time she found herself wondering how it had gotten there at all, but conceded that perhaps he had always been a little mean when it suited his purposes.
"So, to whom do I owe the pleasure of this dance?" he asked, steering her about the dance floor effortlessly.
"No one important," she replied.
He raised a brow. "A Cinderella, then? Come now, you have little to fear in giving me a name. Even Jareth the Caustic knows when to hold his tongue."
From incorrigible to caustic; it wasn't quite what the little Jareth had been hoping for, but it seemed accurate all the same.
"Sarah," she answered quietly, trying to ignore how close they were pressed together or how a wonderful burning warmth seemed to be bleeding into her from his hands.
Something flashed in his eyes, a confused moment of recognition, before the scene began to melt around her.
Leo Knight sat in a dark room, staring off into space, a blank look on his face. He spoke desperately into the darkness and voices whispered back to him.
"She was with someone."
"Forget about him."
"I've never seen her with anyone before."
"You can out charm him. He's probably a pushover."
"What if she's in love with him?"
"Then you'll just have to break it up, won't you?"
Leo Knight smiled in the dark.
A lake bathed in the moonlight, surrounded by ancient trees. It would have looked like any other park, if not for the fact that the willowy branches of the trees ended in thistle-like flowers that were made out of fire. A rich glow came from them, dimming and dancing in the night, casting orange and gold shadows around the quiet woodland park. Sarah had been here only once before, but the scene had stuck in her mind.
K'shent Mier. The capital city that Jareth often ruled from. And this was the park where he liked to walk for stress relief. They had walked it together five years ago, and it was here that Sarah had caught her first glimpse of the man who wasn't just the Goblin King. Before that moment she had never thought that he ruled over more than the Labyrinth, had never realized that he was world-weary and lonely.
"Does the memory haunt me, or are you really Sarah?" Jareth's voice whispered behind her.
A moment passed in which she knew, with absolute certainty, that she did not want to turn around, yet she turned anyway. The sight that met her eyes was heartbreaking. Jareth looked wrung out, ill. His face was lined with weariness, the skin deathly as opposed to unearthly pale, and the blue depths of his eyes looked tortured. He bore a stark contrast to the man she had known or the modal of male vitality that was sharing her bed.
"I'm real," she answered, finally understanding what she had been unable to at the beginning of the night. This was a shared dream, but with the real Jareth whose mind flitted from age to age, no longer focused enough to live in the present for more than a few minutes.
He stepped closer, his hand caressing her cheek. "Are you ready to accept responsibility for what you have done?" he asked quietly, reveling in the simple feel of her.
Sarah swallowed, fighting down tears at the pain of everything that had gone wrong between them. "Sometimes I think I am; other times I don't think I'll ever be ready."
He nodded sagely as a small smile ghosted over his lips. "You must be ready soon, darling, the Twins have a way of making things happen." Jareth quickly leaned forward and wrapped his arms around her.
For a moment Sarah stiffened, frightened of him and yet at the same time yearning for his touch.
"Shh," he coaxed, stroking her back, "let me hold you. Give me one pleasant memory to hold onto while adrift in a sea of dark mindlessness."
She relaxed, laying her head on his shoulder. "For what it's worth... I'm sorry," she whispered painfully.
"So am I," he replied, holding her tighter.
They stood that way for longer than Sarah was able to keep track, and when she finally woke up from the dream she was still locked within the embrace.
A/N: References from D.O.: Amyl—chapter 34 and on; Oran's bad luck with stew—chapter 30; the green dress—chapter 34 and on; K'shent Mier—chapter 16.
I'm not generally one to complain about reviews; I consider myself lucky to have readers at all… but I noticed something and it's kind of been bothering me. Over the last couple of chapters there has been a pretty noticeable decline in reviews, like a 10 to 18 review difference from one chapter to the next, and it just makes me wonder if I'm doing something you guys don't like. So please, if there's something that's bothering you, a certain scene you didn't care for, or you just thought the chapter was boring, tell me and I'll do my best to improve in the future. If you're dissatisfied, then silence is the worst thing you could give me, because without any direction I will continue to do what it is that I've been doing.
Thanks to everyone who reviewed the last chapter and sent me birthday wishes (I had a blast at Les Mis, even though it rained most of the time (see my deviantart page for the full story)).
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