A.N.: Not much of a note this time (I say that, but knowing me, it will probably take up half a page), but I did want to say this: we're going to get some of the fey elements I've been teasing since the first author's note starting in this chapter, and I know that can be a big turn off to some people, and with very good reason. Thinking about it, I've found that when I dislike a fic with entirely way too much fey goings on, it's because it's lost the flavor that makes it uniquely Labyrinth and become "Overly Sexy Lord of the Rings." It's one of the reasons I have tried to stay away from Jareth's family in my writing almost entirely – not because that couldn't be interesting, but because I think it's really hard to do well (I've only seen it done well twice, myself) and I just don't want to throw that millstone round my neck. For that reason, I feel content and confident saying the emphasis for this is going to be strongly on "fantasy" and not on "traditional fey." I'm writing it in a way that it is sensible and authentic to me – because that's the only way that I can write it and make it seem authentic to you, the reader. However! If I don't succeed, if there's too much fey-ness, or there's any other problems as we go, tell me. I'll want to fix it.
Another interesting note: my folks are massively not fond of my fanfiction, but since I was excited about this project, I was telling my mom about it anyway. She was of the opinion that Sarah should have definitely sacrificed the driver. No doubt the Goblin King would agree!
And now, my favorite part: the reviews.
Mauradergurl2010: It's meant to be short and teasing! It's the nature of their relationship! At least right now. It's meant to tease them and it's meant to tease us! Not to worry, I think some of the UST will be well resolved this chapter – is that a teaser, oh no, it might be! It's amazing how many people wanted Toby to sock it to Jareth – as if he'd even let him. Or, perhaps more importantly, would Sarah even let him? Oooooh! But yeah, I have been looking forward to Toby's entrance so hardcore, and he's only going to get better and more satisfying.
GodlyJewel: Now this one is very clearly not my fault! I warned from the start that this would be going up in rating. "The Riddle," though, was the fault of all of you readers who kept asking for more. But rest assured – however graphic it gets, it's not like we're going to take a trip to Porn Land. There's an entirely different website for that sort of fanfiction. And when have I ever pulled punches with you guys? If/when Toby and Sarah reunite, there will be no, "Well, if he makes you happy, I guess it's okay, let's all be friends!" B.S. Don't you worry your lovely head about this becoming a fluff-fest, not while my evil brain is at work.
FrancesOsgood: Again, wow, thank you so much for that. It was really important to me that Toby's feelings make sense, grieving is a massively complicated, personal experience, and I haven't even had to suffer a loss like he has. So that I was able to pull this off is the highest possible praise, and I really appreciate everything you and the other great reviewers had to say.
EllenWeaver: I know I have thought this at other times in my life, but I feel like maybe I'm hitting my stride here. I actually feel massively proud of every chapter that has been going up, I feel excited about where this is going, and you all really help make this possible. I've had a hard last few years, feeling like maybe my writing was gone forever. This fic is bringing some of that joy back, and you all make it possible. That you seem to think so highly of the way I write is the greatest proof and assurance I could ask for, so again, I thank you.
And my own two hands will comfort you
Tonight, tonight
Say when
And my own two arms will carry you
Tonight, tonight
- "Say When," The Fray
Jareth was wise enough to leave after they found themselves in the master suite once again. Sarah found her roiling emotions torn: she wanted to find something heavy to hurl at his head, though she wasn't sure it was his fault she'd been unable to reach her brother; she wanted to beat him to a bloodied pulp with her fists; she wanted to twine her hands firmly into the smooth silk of his shirt and sob.
But she was glad when he was gone. She wept and howled like a banshee, like she had not allowed herself to cry this whole wretched time. She cried the way she hadn't cried when she found out about the accident, she cried to have lost her whole life, her family, for the pain and suffering they were going through. She cried hardest of all for Toby, for how he hurt for her, for what his life would be without her there to guide him. She was glad Jareth was gone, because she would have hated him if he'd seen her in this open, vulnerable and wounded state.
And the Goblin King did not come to her that night when she flung herself onto his bed and at last exhausted herself with her tears. Before, she might have cared, might have felt guilty for taking his bedroom from him. Right now, she didn't care if he curled up to sleep at the bottom of the Bog of Eternal Stench. Damn it, she deserved some peace for all she was suffering, and he could rot for needling her for it. He was not there when she awoke in the morning, either, and so Sarah had no idea if he had ever gone to bed or not. She was still dressed in the clothing she'd been wearing last night, her face still puffy from all her tears, and her neck ached painful from an awkward angle of sleep. However...there was a silver tray with hot cereal on it, waiting for her by the bedside table. And on it was a cup of what looked like – glory of glories – coffee.
Sarah sat up, sniffled to herself, and smacked her forehead with the heel of her palm. "Okay, Williams," she scolded herself, drawing her knees to her chest. "If we're done being freaking three years old, let's stop having tantrums and act twenty eight." The woman sniffled a little, pulling the coffee close to her chest and enjoying the heat of it in her hands. She'd take a hot bath, she decided, and... "And maybe I should apologize to Jareth." Honestly, she wasn't sure. She had needed that time to go absolutely out of her mind with grief and despair, but whether her actions and feelings were perfectly justified or not, she felt...inexplicably guilty. Not over any particular thing she'd done or said (or not done, nor said), but just...in general. "Oh jeeze," the girl sighed, combing her fingers through her tangled, dark hair. "I really do not owe that prancing, feathered jackass anything. He's been polite – but he should be polite, it would be wrong of him not to be." Yet even so...
He'd stood with her, there, in the reception hall. He'd been pushy and cold and aloof – but he'd been there.
"...yeah. I guess I will apologize, just...because."
Sarah was quiet the entire day: she ate the breakfast and had no appetite the rest of the afternoon. She spent more than an hour in the bath, working out her stiff muscles and trying to sort through the mess that was in her mind. Her friends and family, her mother and father and their significant others, their images played over and over in her mind. But Toby stood at the center of it all; she could try to focus on her costars or high school friends, her old roommates and ex-boyfriends, but her mind always went back to Toby. Poor, lonely Toby, a lost young man without a big sister to guide him. What was to become of her baby brother? He was so much more sensitive than those around him, and why shouldn't he be? And Sarah had always understood that, had always done her utmost to protect and shelter him. What would become of him now? And did he See, after all, after all the care she'd taken to hide him away from prying, fey eyes? What would the cost of that be?
Sarah felt young and small again in the hours inside the Goblin King's bedroom. She walked round and round again in circles, examining every book on the shelf, every tapestry and portrait along the walls. She tried to read, but could not get settled. She stole breaths of air from behind the curtain to the balcony, but found the cold painful on her skin. Most of the day, she just stared into the fire, her whole body tense as if waiting for something to happen, like she'd spent her whole life just waiting for one breaking, breath-taking moment-
It happened. It happened when an unseen clock in a faraway hall clearly tolled eight, the bells ringing through the entire castle and, it seemed, her mind as well. When the last of the chimes finished, when the vibrations of the noise began to fade, the bedroom door opened, and Sarah pivoted on unsteady feet, muscles set, ready, ready for-
For what, exactly?
Her tongue could not have formed into words what she was expecting when he came through that door, her logical mind would have had a difficult time trying to explain the situation to an outsider. She had meant to open her mouth to give her apology, but found that the words died in her throat. For when Jareth walked in – all tall, all imperial, mouth set in a sultry scowl, eyes catching the low light of the fire – her soul and body knew exactly what she'd been waiting for, perhaps for her entire life, this one moment.
They stared at one another, Sarah and the Goblin King, their lips parted and breath dry. There was no reason on earth that this type of union made any sense: he was as old as the puff of wind upon the earth, unreal and otherworldly, some ancient thing created when there was still much magic in the world. She was so incredibly human, lovely, but just mortal, simple in her personal purity. In no particular way did the pair make any kind of sense, no one would have looked at them and understood why they fit together, palm to palm and soul to soul. The reasoning was much older than themselves – yes, older, even, than Jareth's considerable magic. They fit in the way almost all women and men do, but so much more intensely: like had the world been torn apart and reformed, and only one pair would do to make it start again, this would have been the pair to pick, like God himself had formed the union and they two had no idea about it.
It was for this reason they crashed into one another, a collision of frantic lips and grasping hands that tore at one another's clothing as though the restriction were deeply offensive. Words explaining desire or longing or curiosity would have defiled this moment. To say it was merely the biological reaction of two complimentary genders would also have been far too crude and simple. For reasons beyond any person's comprehension or understanding, Jareth had been designed to clasp Sarah in his embrace – and Sarah had been born to smooth her hands across his wild hair, to cover his sharp face with the softest, the most desperate of kisses.
One century ago, had a prophet come to the Goblin Kingdom and told its King he would be so entranced by a paltry, mortal girl, he would have found the accusation both disgusting and ludicrous. Now, when he laid Sarah across his bed and caught her lips with his, tangled his long fingers in her rich hair, he felt absurdly grateful; like he had been dying of starvation, and here she was to sate him at long, long last. He had bedded women of far greater beauty, for grander character than Sarah Williams – but then no, he hadn't. In some wordless, nameless way, it was she who was the grandest and captured him the most completely. He pulled the gown from her soft skin with tearing hands and shuddered when she did the same to his coat and to his shirt, when she pet her hands down his lithe arms and corded abdomen. Rich, wonderful Sarah kissed his collarbone and wrapped her arms around his shoulders and drew him in, because she knew within her the rightness of this moment, how destined it had been.
Jareth had no idea if this woman loved or hated him – or perhaps both. He felt he knew nothing at all, looking down at her with labored breath, trying to memorize every inch of her soft, pale skin: the rise of her rosy breast, the tight curve of her hip, the redness of her intensely kissable lips and the greenery of her eyes that could have been the ocean for how he felt he may drown at any moment. It was possible she loved and hated him, and right now it really didn't matter which she felt more strongly. He needed her like nothing he had ever needed in his long and ancient life. The King was willing to use and be used tonight, so long as it was Sarah, and with soft insistence, he pressed his mouth to hers and gently moved his hand to the joining of her hips and purred to catch her delicious gasp of pleasure in his mouth. Thirteen years had he waited for, dreamed of this moment. It was far better awake than asleep. He was not rough with her, but he was passionate. He felt too much to be slow or gentle the first time. But Sarah was no blushing, virgin sacrifice: she was a woman, she knew what a man needed and what she herself longed for.
The Goblin King's fingers grasped his silken sheets as he began to know her in the ways Fate had always meant for him to; though he did not even gasp her name, he felt very vulnerable to each encouraging stroke of her soft hands, each insistent kiss from her full lips. He took her passionately, and Sarah received him with equal fervor, and not a single word was spoken in the King's bed as they made love to one another.
It was like something outside of themselves had driven them into each other's arms when he stepped through that door, like they had warred against an unstoppable force that drove them together, in spite of themselves. It was better to give in, for the both of them.
Like a deep itch had been satisfied, a need fulfilled after too long a denial – that was what it felt like, the Goblin King decided, as rose and golden light stole into the sanctuary of his bedroom. To his surprise, Jareth didn't mind being awakened. His sharp teeth formed a crooked smile, his strange eyes lay half-hooded by their lids, and he sighed almost contentedly, like a cat might purr under the hands of its gentle mistress. He didn't even mind when Sarah stole from the bed, wrapped like a Grecian goddess in one of the bedsheets. Instead, his feral, utterly masculine grin spread over his entire face, and he watched her with great satisfaction; watched where he knew he had put his hands and lips and teeth in certain tasty spots the night before, and enjoyed the recollection.
Sarah had never been the type for anonymous sex or one-night stands, so she was relieved that she didn't feel...foolish or loose or stupid in the harsher light of the morning. She knew how Jareth was looking at her, the way any man might gaze on a hard-earned conquest – and yet, it was far more than that. Jareth had that annoying talent of doing everything with ten times more intensity than any other man she had ever made the acquaintance of; everything with more intensity, she mused, and shuddered a little as she felt his eyes coast up and down her robed figure. She wasn't sure exactly what she was looking for, but she felt just a tad too self-conscious for pillow talk or discussions of what kind of relationship this new development meant, so it made better sense to her to steal from the bed and go looking for something.
She was actually relieved Jareth did not bid her good morning, or try for a standard, normal opening as any human male might. Her tension lessened noticeably when he instead directed at her, "I am willing to hazard a guess you'll find something clean to put on in the closet; the goblins are shockingly good at knowing where to put things."
Sarah turned to him at last, and he felt the core of his body alight with flame. Gods, how beautiful she looked in just that sheet and the knowledge of what lay in wait underneath it. He would take her again, he decided – in the bath or against the wall, he was starving for her body and he would have her again and again and again- "Thanks," she said with a very small smile, and disappeared into his closet.
The Goblin King sighed, swinging his legs from over the bed and debating whether he should continue to seduce her in his unfettered glory or bear some modesty; he decided on the latter, as innuendo was always more arousing than bawdy display. He slipped into a blue and black dressing gown, but left the belt loose to showcase the pale, hard planes of his chest. Sarah liked his chest, he remembered with a goblin grin. She had kissed and nibbled and moaned into and against it with excessive fervor, and a shiver of pleasure trickled down his spine. The pleasure increased when a thin dress was thrown from the closet door – well, well, did his little minx crave more action, then?
"Jareth." It seemed not, she was looming in the closet doorway, thin eyebrows dipped in a rather angry looking grimace. She was still wearing the sheet, he was saddened to note.
"Yes, precious thing?" he purred to her, stooping to pick up the silky garment and letting it spill through his fingers: he liked seeing her clothes on his bedroom floor, but it was more satisfying if she put them on first.
"Enough with all the skirts and dresses and old fashioned clothes. I want to wear some pants already."
The King stared at his new lover for a moment before doing something that was sure to set her anger alight: he laughed at her. "Sarah," he scolded in a guffaw, sinking onto the divan by the bed. "You're a girl. What would you need with a pair of trousers, hm?"
Sarah was a girl – but she was a modern girl, and she did not look happy to be the source of his amusement. "And what do I need with dresses? Just something that gives you easier access?"
"Mm, that is one excellent benefit, yes."
The woman stared at him with her icy green eyes for a moment, before she flicked her delicious dark hair over one pale shoulder. "Fine," she replied, and turned to stalk back into the walk-in closet.
Jareth tilted his head like an owl might, and raised one taut eyebrow. "Fine what?"
"You'll see."
The King stood, face dipping into a scowl of his own. "I have a feeling I'm not going to like surprises with you."
"You don't think so?" She was back, and she was wearing-
She was...wearing...
His breaches, for a start; a pair made of doe-skin leather, softly fawn in color and buttery and supple to the touch. They hugged each delicious curve of her slender legs with aching closeness, though he noticed they were still far too big for her. She'd pulled the excess around the waist into one long twist (which irritated him, she'd ruin the leather doing things like that) and was securing this with a small, red handkerchief tied around it with a knot. She'd selected one of his shirts as well, tying the cloth into its own knot so that just a peak of the pale skin of her stomach shone through, the sleeves rolled up past her delicate wrists. Drips of lace from the collar fell along her sternum and just highlighted the gap between her breasts.
She was going to ruin his wardrobe and she looked delicious.
"Fine," he conceded, mouth dry and eyes staring, unblinking. "You look better in my clothes than I do."
"Uh huh." Sarah flicked her hair again, knowing the kind of picture she presented, and stalked to the door of the boudoir to freshen herself up. "We can trade any time you want, Goblin King."
"Or you can accept your own wardrobe as Goblin Queen." Sarah turned in the doorway, a brush secure in her hand, but was stopped to see him like that; he was no longer in the robe, instead dressed already (how did he do that so fast?) and looking serious and dark and regal. Most importantly, however, his black gloved hand was extended toward her, and pinched between forefinger and thumb was-
Was...a ring. The band gleamed golden in the slowly filtering sunlight, and at its crest was a jewel she could not begin to recognize. It was round, perhaps the size of her thumbnail, and looked a combination of the most perfect earthly diamond and the most glittering opal. It looked like a miniature crystal, she realized, set as it was in the gold.
Sarah gulped a little, mouth dry. Honestly, men had proposed to her before: generally it was drunk cast members at the wrap party, but one of her directors had once been very sincere, even though they hadn't ever even been on a date together. He'd explained she had an air about her that made a man willing to risk his life on a future of happiness with her with very little to guarantee it beforehand – just that kind of magical girl a man had to possess. Sarah always said no, kindly, graciously, blushingly. She wasn't ready to get married, she said, and the part she didn't say was that even if she were, they weren't the kind she was willing to make the same gamble on.
Today would be no different.
Slowly, the young woman shook her head. "I'm sorry – but you shouldn't ask me that."
Jareth huffed with annoyance, not some sad and bleeding broken heart. Sarah was honestly relieved. Had he begun to pine and wail for her, the awkwardness of the situation would have skyrocketed. No, he was the same aloof, irritated Goblin King she knew and lo- well, maybe not loved. Knew and liked?
Knew and appreciated.
"I don't have to ask you this, you know," sharp nose in the air with a put-upon and haughty gesture. "There is nothing that requires it of me, nothing that makes you particularly worthy of the Throne."
"Gee, thanks."
"I would be well within my rights to keep you as nothing more than my concubine. You really owe me some gratitude."
"Wow, Jareth." Sarah just stared at him a moment, shaking her head disbelievingly and putting her hands on her hips before marching back into the boudoir to tackle the tangle of her tresses. "You want a pat on the back or something? A gold star? You don't get points for not being an asshole. And by the way, thanks for caring so fucking much about my feelings."
He leaned into the antechamber doorway, looking her up and down with a slight curl of his thin lips. It was the kind of reaction that she knew would often set his ire off, but he actually didn't look that upset. He was so odd – making passionate love to her in the dark, and a few hours later with the lights on, as cold and temperamental as a December day. It was enough to make a girl dizzy. "I have some business to attend to, but I will be coming to fetch you before the noon hour."
"To 'fetch,' me?" she asked, a little irritated at the word choice. She was attempting to pull her hair into a rough bun, but curls kept falling out as she tried to pin them into place.
"Yes." He'd stepped closer to her, so close she could feel his heat, and she gasped a little when his fingers gently touched the stray locks of her hair – and carefully and gently pinned them back for her. "So keep your schedule open, will you, my lover?" he purred in her ear and she fought with the warring emotions of anger and desire. He kissed her on her shoulder before walking straight out of the boudoir and disappearing beyond the bedroom door. "Until the afternoon," his voice echoed in the room and in her brain.
Jareth didn't say a word when he returned to the master suite shortly before the stroke of twelve; instead, he merely took Sarah's hand and led her straight out the door. It actually made her breath catch in her throat a little. Four days just sitting in his bedroom, and suddenly she was walking through the rest of the castle. Given what she'd seen when peeking out the door before, Sarah had expected dark hallways, lined with cobwebs and sprinkled with dust. Yet the passageways Jareth was leading her through were all well lit, straightforward as opposed to twisting, and neither dirty nor damp. It was a short walk, no more than a minute or so, and he released her hand before a high, carved door. Oak leaves, Sarah realized, were etched into the sturdy paneling, and before she could ask any questions, the Goblin King's gloved hands were covering her eyes. "It's a surprise," he whispered in her ear, and Sarah shivered a little at the sensation.
Hesitantly, the woman's hand gripped the crystal handle of the doorknob and gave it a soft turn. She could feel the change in the air as the door swung open, and Jareth nudged her ankles with the toe of his boot, urging her to step forward. Sarah did so, hands outstretched, but she knew that with Jareth holding her head so close to his chest, there was little chance of falling. Slowly, his cool hands came away from her eyes, and Sarah blinked, rapidly.
A...bedroom suite. It seemed to be as big as Jareth's, or at least nearly so, and where his was dark and deeply colored and just heavy looking, this one was light and airy; the bed linens were all white, the bedspread edged with an eyelet pattern, and the furniture was done in light wood. Crystals hung from delicate strings in the corners of the room, refracting and reflecting the wintery light in a rainbow of colors. She could recognize snowdrops in crystal vases, and a smile touched her red lips. A girl who was more insecure than Sarah Williams would have bristled at this room: Jareth had gotten what he wanted from her, and now she was relegated to separate quarters? But either she was grown up enough, or confident enough, or knew this man well enough to understand the intent behind it. Now that he felt closer to her, he felt he could trust her out of her sight. This was a gift.
"It's a lovely room," she turned to him with a light, easy smile. "It was nice of you to think of me."
The Goblin King seemed to preen just a little, but he kept his aloof, unaffected mask firmly in place. "Women need separate quarters, for dressing or time to themselves. At least, this is my understanding."
"It would be nice to have a little room to myself, yeah."
"However..." Sarah blinked as his gloved fingers intertwined with her bare ones, and the King pulled her a little closer to him; close enough that he could whisper in her ear and she could feel the heat of his breath upon her skin, and shiver a little. "It is my intention to keep you with me at night."
Sarah refused to be effected by his amorous displays, and instead raised a brown eyebrow at his antics. "Then why is there a bed in here?"
"Oh, if you are fatigued during the day..." He suddenly planted a slow kiss on a soft point of her throat. "Or we choose to use it together."
The young woman smirked a little, sliding her hand between their bodies in order to wedge him off. "Keeping me as your concubine after all, Goblin King?"
"Only because that is all you will allow me, precious thing. Now," he suddenly released her, and she briefly missed the warmth of his hand against her palm. "I'm afraid I must return to my duties as a monarch. If you choose to wander, that is up to you, but I would ask you stay in the Castle for the present." Sarah nodded her assent. "Wag will be by shortly with the afternoon meal, no doubt, and I will see you for dinner." He bent over her hand and kissed the tips of her fingers.
"His name is Wog."
"Till the evening, my Sarah." He did not leave by the door; oh no, ever the flashy Goblin King, he dissolved into the air around her, and the girl could not help but smile a little.
"Who do you think you're impressing?" she addressed the empty space where he had been. "I'm not fifteen anymore, you know." Still, she tilted her head and took the room in, a smile playing across her lips. "Might as well take a look around, though, I guess."
Sarah had contented herself for most of the afternoon, to her credit. She examined the wardrobes full of clothes and noted she'd have to really hammer home the point about pants at a later date. She ran her fingers along the spines of ancient looking books on shelves, and she'd even tested the supple softness of the bed. She carried on a conversation with Wog (such as it was) when he brought her a meal of round shrimp swimming in a buttery sauce with a hunk of bread – and mustard, of course – and this was amusing for a time. But the problem was that her mind was in that peculiar state of boredom where no one activity was satisfying. She would begin reading lovely old books with ancient, dry smelling pages, but she couldn't concentrate on the words. She tried on the various lavish gowns and arranged them in ways she found pleasing, but it quickly grew tiresome as opposed to whimsical. Time to face facts, she'd tired of bedrooms. It was time for a little exploration.
After all, Jareth had given her his express permission – and while that was a thought that might normally make Sarah snort with derision at best, it was his Castle, and she was his guest, such as her situation was. She still found herself hesitating slightly as she cracked open the bedroom door, peering down the dark hallway. She could see torches flickering in their sconces and wondered what time it was. Her sense of time had gotten entirely screwy since coming to the Underground; lack of daylight, for one thing. Adjusting to a twenty six hour clock, for another. Still, she'd never been one to let fear hold her back, and Sarah strode boldly down the passageway.
Remembering all the things she learned in her first visit to the Goblin Kingdom, Sarah kept her right hand on the smooth stones of the wall, reasoning that if she only made right turns, she couldn't possibly get lost. It was, however, no surprise to her that the Castle beyond the Goblin City was just as labyrinthine as the rest of the Kingdom. She could turn one corner, and suddenly find herself in a perfectly circular entryway, without any corners to have turned through at all. She opened one door and found a wall, opened it again and saw buckets and mops floating patiently, awaiting use. This is nuts... Sarah sighed. Maybe I'm not dead. Maybe I'm just totally schizophrenic.
She was about to give up, to sit down in the middle of the floor and wait for rescue, when she turned away from the floating closet – and bumped straight into the figure of a man. She almost gasped out Jareth's name, not knowing any other men in the Underground, but it was very clearly not the Goblin King.
This one was shorter, for a start, only barely as tall as Sarah was. Rather than the unruly shock of Jareth's platinum hair, this man had thick, fluffy locks of a deep, auburn red, and it was much more conservatively cut. His clothes followed this bent as well, looking very officious, but without the tight trousers of the Goblin monarch. In one way, however, they were similar, and it made Sarah stare: they both had very slanted eyes, very...animalistic in their sharpness. This man's, however, were a kind of golden yellow, they caught the light and seemed to throw it right back. Strange eyes indeed, stranger even than Jareth's.
"I-I'm sorry," Sarah stammered. "I didn't mean to run into you, I'm kind of lost."
The man gave her a quick once over, and Sarah almost regretted wearing the King's pants. She certainly looked provocative. "I'd ask why there is a mortal in the Castle, but it seems to answer its own question."
Sarah pursed her lips, but tried to keep her temper in check. "My name is Sarah," she began again, a soft hand extended.
The strange fellow just stared at it, as though her hand were some foreign object. "Not the Sarah, surely?"
"Depends on who the Sarah is," she smiled, smoothing her hands over her hips and trying hard not to feel self-conscious.
The red-haired man simply fixed that yellow gaze on the girl, eyes narrow, mouth scowling. "The girl who rejected her dreams, won back her brother, and solved the Labyrinth." He seemed to have little patience for this line of inquiry.
"That's me," Sarah nodded, a little pleased to be known among fey men as well as goblinkind. "I'm afraid I didn't see you on my last...visit."
"And why should you?" Sarah noticed now that the stranger had a long nose – but in this he was also dissimilar to Jareth. Rather than like a beak, it seemed to come to an almost sharp point, and this point was lifted in the air in obvious disdain. "I don't bother myself with mere runners."
"Hey." She snapped now; she'd been trying to be polite, but this guy was obviously spoiling for a confrontation. "This mere runner won, and she beat the Goblin King, and I have a feeling you're not half so tough. So if you really want to go, let's go."
"My word." A coward, then? He had to be, his yellow eyes had widened in distinct alarm, and he drew away from Sarah, his haughty demeanor significantly diminished. He tried to use his vanity as some kind of shield, for he took a few careful steps back, saying, "I do not have time for this. I have business to attend to." The craven was scuttling away in the direction he came from, and it was only then Sarah realized she hadn't been able to ask him for directions back to her suite.
"Oh well..." she sighed. "He'd probably try to give me directions to an oubliette."
"What man would not wish so lovely a lass in a dark, secluded room with him, hm?"
Sarah nearly jumped straight out of her skin, gripping Jareth's silk shirt on her skin at the sound of his voice behind her. She immediately spun, her hand lifted to strike, but the Goblin King caught it with a smirk, pressing a hot kiss along the inside of her wrist. "You scared the hell out of me!"
"Too amusing an opportunity to deny myself, I'm afraid. Of whom were you speaking?"
"I don't know," she muttered, pulling her hand back once the King released it, rubbing it absentmindedly against the swell of her hips. "Some red-headed jackass who was too important for me."
"Hm." Jareth seemed amused, his strange eyes twinkled with a kind of mischief Sarah was starting to get used to. "Sounds like Balgaire, then. Never you mind him, precious thing, he's only my steward. I shall soon set him to rights about who is the superior."
"Steward?" she repeated it, blinking her green eyes and not even noticing when the fey's hand linked with her own and he began leading her back down the maze of hallways. Had she been paying any attention, she might have noted that Jareth's steps were unerring, his destination apparent and easy to find. It was well she did not notice, however, as it might have only served to annoy her further.
"A steward," Jareth nodded, turning left to take her back to her quarters. "A majordomo, a head of house, if you will. He ensures things in the Castle run smoothly."
"No wonder he doesn't like me," Sarah smirked a little, her lip curling up with just a bit of self-satisfaction. "Since I broke the thing last time."
Jareth flicked a narrowed glance back at her. "You know, you're really not amusing."
"Sorry," but her tone was completely insincere, and the girl was grinning ear to ear. "I have to take my victories where I can get them."
"Obviously." The King's tone was still dry as he deftly opened her suite door, and Sarah stepped inside. "Now, I see you became a bit turned around on today's adventure, did you?"
Sarah settled herself in a broad armchair, pretty mouth dipped into a scowl. "You don't have to rub it in, Jareth."
"And here I thought your sense of direction was so keen?"
"You know, you should be glad I said no to marrying you. I'd be putting you on the couch right about now."
"Ah." The Goblin King elegantly placed himself on the ottoman in front of the young woman, his thin mouth still drawn into a smirk. "And what a lonely, sad husband I should be then, hm?"
"Look, Jareth," Sarah sighed, leaning forward. "Let me say again that I really appreciate all this – helping me with my family, saving me from death, all of it. But what am I doing here? I know what you want from me – but I can't sit around here and be your bed buddy all night and then just kick my heels during the day. And don't," she warned, lifting her hand as he opened his mouth to speak, "say I could be better occupied as your Queen. I appreciate the thought, but as I've said, I am in no kind of place to be getting hitched. And one nice night doesn't make for a lifelong relationship, alright?"
The King raised one of his arched eyebrows. "A nice night?"
Sarah huffed, blushing slightly. "You know what I mean."
"I'm afraid I am at a total loss. Do enlighten me, precious."
"...it was good."
"Just good?"
"Oh my God," Sarah rolled her eyes, flopping back in her chair. "You ravaged me senseless, will that satisfy you?"
The Goblin King's grin was positively monstrous. Men, Sarah thought with a sigh, flicking back a stray lock of hair. "For the moment, but only for the moment."
"Obviously you're trying to settle me in here – and again, I appreciate the gesture. I just...feel like maybe I need a job, or maybe I don't belong in this fairytale castle, or-" She stopped, wisely, noticing the flash and fire in his mismatched eyes.
"You are not leaving, Sarah."
The girl sighed. She didn't like being treated possessively, but this one really was not worth arguing about, at least right now. "Okay, I'm not leaving." Not like I'd be going anywhere anyway...
"And if it's occupation you are looking for...something to cheer those beautiful eyes..." He was purring like a cat, running a gloved hand up her leather clad leg, and if she were being honest, it was an electric feeling. "I am happy to provide you with that."
"Beyond the sexual."
He snorted lightly. "If you insist."
"Well..." Sarah hesitated, head tilting in slight curiosity. "What did you have in mind?"
Sarah's breath caught in her throat as he pulled a crystal seemingly out of thin air, watching as it balanced delicately on his fingertips. She wasn't sure if she'd ever get tired of seeing that... "What did you have in mind, Sarah?" His voice was its own kind of spell, stealing across her mind and drawing her in deeply. Her green eyes swam as she gazed into the crystal's opalescent depth, mind reeling with possibilities.
"What...I had in...?"
"Anything you want..." Seeing his magnetism was overwhelming her, Jareth's lips pulled into a sharp, smirking smile, and he gestured about the room. "Something you couldn't have in New York, perhaps? A walk-in closet." He stood and motioned as a door appeared. "An olympic-sized bath?" He snapped his fingers and a glittering cloud of steam rolled out from the bathing room doorway. "A-"
"A dog?"
The Goblin King started, and he almost dropped the crystal. "I beg your pardon?"
Sarah was awake and alert now, as enthusiastic and energetic as if she were still a child. "I couldn't have a dog in my apartment – and I miss having one – and Merlin died a while back, you know?" Her brow suddenly scrunched in thought. "There are dogs in the Underground, right? There have to be, Sir Didymus has one."
The Goblin King sighed, pinching the bridge of his sharp nose. "I offer to create matter from nothing, anything to dazzle your senses, and you wish for a canine?" Sarah just nodded her assent. "...very well."
Before Sarah could blink or thank him or make any noise at all, a large box appeared before her, lined with old, wooly blankets. She leaned over to find a mother dog, stretched out with a weary expression on her knowing face, a litter of six puppies climbing and clamoring all over her. Sarah covered her mouth with her hands to keep from squealing: six adorable little fluff balls, mainly a reddish brown in color, though some bore splotches of white or tips of black. They weren't anything like Merlin or Ambrosius, which was too bad, as Sarah had always been fond of shepherd dogs. No, these dogs had elegant paws and pointed noses, softly hanging ears and whip-thin tails. If Jareth told her these were hounds specially bred for the Wild Hunt, she would have believed him.
"I would ask," he interrupted her cuddly reverie with his dry, unamused voice, "that you only pick one mongrel for the present, will you?"
Sarah nodded, her hands going over each enthusiastic, cavorting little pup. They licked and nibbled her fingers and she felt like she was ten all over again, picking out Merlin from among his litter mates. How long ago that was now...she sighed, her green eyes giving over to a kind of haze, but sensing Jareth's impatience behind her, she at last let her palm rest on one particularly excited little whelp. As soon as she'd made her decision, the box full of mother, brothers and sisters disappeared, and Sarah quickly scooped the little thing against her breast.
Jareth tried to ignore the sense of burning jealousy as his Sarah kissed the top of the dog's smooth little head, or gently tugged on his floppy ears, and otherwise cooed and giggled and adored him. He was not going to be jealous of a dog. It was beneath him. "Have you decided on a moniker for the little fellow?"
Sarah nodded again, eyes bright once more as she stood, the pup still in her arms. "Uh huh. Tristan!"
Jareth snorted just a little. "Let me guess. Like Tristan and Isolde?" Sarah smiled bashfully. "You and your fairy stories."
"Jareth." She suddenly lay her small hand on his arm, and her skin felt wonderfully hot to the touch. The King looked from her grip upon him to the intense and sincere look in her eyes. "Thank you for this. Really."
He blinked briefly, before a casual smile graced his lips and he pulled the puppy from her, gently placing the dog Tristan on the floor. "Thank me," he replied in his smooth, tenor way, "by being my company for dinner this evening. Ah," he stopped as she began to nod, a finger to his lips. "Maybe change attire first – not that I don't love knowing my clothes are touching you in the most intimate of ways, but you may cause a bit of a stir."
Sarah's lips pursed and her brow furrowed. He wasn't always so charming as he thought he was.