Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Part One: A Candle  

“Always, for ever and new. What was before 
Is left behind; what never was is now; 
And every passing moment is renewed.” 

- Ovid  

Chapter One  

 Sarah was a believer of celebrating birthdays; she felt once you stopped, that’s when you really started aging. So, it was with some confusion that upon waking up—December 4 th , the day of her thirtieth birthday—she felt utterly and inexplicably like doing nothing . It helped that it was Monday, so her friends were busy, and her family was across the country. 

 Sarah had taken the day off work—easy enough as a freelance copywriter—and spent the afternoon reading and puttering around in her home. The early evening, before the sun set, was spent having a simple meal, while generously sipping a Brut Rosé, lounging in her patio deck chair, and enjoying the way the sun felt on her skin. 

This little oasis of hers was in North Scottsdale, on a slight rise, which gave a gorgeous view of the valley. The planned housing development was still up and coming, so there were only a few houses built around her, including the cul-de-sac where her adobe-style two-bedroom currently sat. At night, the stars shined like bright diamonds caught in black velvet. She was waiting to see those stars—and the moon, which would be a perfect half-slice pie tonight. 

As the sun set, the shadows elongated, and Sarah wondered at what point “drinking festively” becomes “overindulgence.” When she felt a pleasant warmth in her belly? Or when that warmth spread even to the tips of her fingers? Or when her vision got fuzzy around the edges unless she focused really hard? Or when she began to feel drowsy? 

The sky erupted in breath-taking colors of orange, violet, crimson, and yellow. She should stop with the Brut; it was making her feel strange. Oddly emotional. Or maybe that was the sunset. She filled her glass up one last time, the bottle now empty. 

 Her Nokia tinged . A message. It took her a moment to grab the phone in clumsy fingers and press the tiny buttons on the Nokia until the small screen lit up with the SMS message: Dearest Sarah, happy birthday! Enjoy yourself. Wish you were here. Will give you a call this weekend. Love you, Dad, Karen, & Toby.  

 Sarah wondered how long it took her Dad to painstakingly type out each character on his cellphone, especially with all those commas and periods. She giggled, imagining her father with his spectacles and white hair, frowning over his cellphone, each tap of the button making a tonal sound. 

 Surprisingly, like a sudden crescendo to the mix of emotions she’d had all day, she felt a sharp pain in her heart. She absently rubbed the spot, even though it was an emotional thing and not an actual ache. Am I missing my family? She wondered, which was doubly ridiculous because she would speak to them this weekend, and then see them in a few weeks at Christmastime. By then, it would be snowing, the house would look magical, and she and Toby would do all that snow stuff—build snowmen, sled, ice skate. Then, straight on the heels of those thoughts, another came: Am I lonely?   

 What a ridiculous notion. She was the one who moved from New England all the way to Arizona, leaving her old friends and her family behind. She was the one who took today off. She was the one who didn’t tell her current friends she would be alone today, her thirtieth birthday, even though she was sure one or two of them would have insisted they go to dinner to celebrate if they had known. In fact, she was the one who avoided people all day, staying in her house instead of even going to a coffee shop or a restaurant herself. 

 And yet, this was her thirtieth birthday, and there was significance to that, wasn’t there? A decade closed; a new one starting. Maybe it was that fact making her morose and self-reflective—or maybe it was the Rosé and its bubbles that tickled along her tongue as she took another generous sip. 

 The sky was dark, burnt violet at the edges, and the stars were coming out. She may have moved away from her family and chosen this house—in its sparsely populated housing community—because of a sudden and inexplicable need for solitude as she grew older, but the beauty around her was oftentimes worth it. Only downside was battling the occasional wildlife—snakes and scorpions were the worst.  

The backyard didn’t have a pool—that type of real estate was out of her budget—but she did have a nice garden of hearty, desert fauna and a terracotta-colored tiled patio. And, every time she visited her family and friends back in New England, everyone cooed over her near-constant tan. 

As the first twinkly stars shown in the black velvet sky, she thought: Thirty years old , testing out the new reality. It felt so strange. Yesterday, she was twenty-nine; now she was thirty. Her twenties were behind her. Shouldn’t she feel wiser? She was fairly disappointed she didn’t wake up this morning knowing more, having a game plan for her life. Instead, she felt exactly the same. 

“Sarah Williams, thirty-year-old freelance copywriter,” she muttered to herself. Hm, that doesn’t feel interesting at all. “Sarah Williams, thirty-year-old still with college debt, now a mortgage.” Even worse. “Sarah Williams, thirty-year-old with a dual major in English and Theater, at your service.” 

The soft, sweet taste of the wine spread through her mouth as she took another large sip. She wished she could say more about herself—that she was well-traveled or spoke many languages or had an amazing job or did adventurous things in her free time. 

“Happy birthday Sarah Williams,” she said. “Thirty years so far, and here’s to thirty more!” 

Maybe I should shut up and just eat the cupcake . She finished the tiny bit of wine left and set the glass down. Next to it was a small dish with a rainbow-frosted, large cupcake from the grocery store. There was already a candle in it, and a matchbook nearby. She took a match, struck it, and held it to the wick. It caught easily, and she stared at the yellow candle with its yellow flame for a moment. 

She sighed and said, “Wish I knew what the hell I was doing with my life.” She blew out the candle. 

As she watched the smoke float into the air and dissipate, she decided she needed to stop drinking wine—it was definitely making her morose. Her friends would laugh if they could see her now. Ashley would roll her eyes and say something like, “What does thirty matter? What did twenty-five matter and what will thirty-five matter? You look great, Sarah, you’ve got good genes and good health. Shut up and have some carbs. It’s your damn birthday.”  

Sarah slowly ate her cupcake, even getting frosting on her nose, which she slicked off with her fingertip. When the dessert was gone, she licked her fingertips clean and leaned back, her mouth filled with the taste of cloying sweetness. 

After staring up at the sky for a little while, and finishing off the last of the wine, she went inside, readied for bed, and fell asleep easily. Her night was fueled by wine-tinged dreams. 

The next morning, as she took her cup of coffee outside in preparation for a new workday, the desert smelled like dust and Creosote. Probably rained a little last night, although it was now dry, and the sky was shockingly blue. Sarah rubbed a hand tiredly across her face. She drank too much last night—she felt fuzzy-brained and slow. Wonderful start to the day. She sighed and walked around the patio, sipping coffee, and hoping the exercise, with the caffeine, would get the blood warmed in her body and her brain working. 

Something caught the edge of her eyeline as she walked past a few paloverdes—a flash of color that shouldn’t be in her backyard. She frowned, blinking, and turned toward the two trees at the edge of her backyard. The branches of the trees were spindly, with tiny leaves and wicked-looking thorns. The tree on the right, closer to the house, had something hanging from a branch. It was heavy enough that the branch dipped under its weight. She walked slowly to it, her footsteps crunching on the hard desert soil. 

A wink of soft, pinkish-red. She batted a branch out of her way, careful of the thorns, and leaned close to see—a peach. 

There was a peach growing from her paloverde, hanging on the green branch like a jewel, causing the entire thing to dip. A fully ripened, beautiful peach. Sarah reached out a disbelieving finger and gently touched the fruit, running the back of her fingers along it like a caress. 

It was warm from being in the sun. 

It was also shockingly real. 

Sarah jerked her hand back. She couldn’t comprehend how this was happening, but the peach meant something. Something in her memory was prickling. 

It came slowly to her—like something bubbling up from the sea—and she remembered what she hadn’t thought of in many, many years. Of a king with dandelion fluff hair, austere and sharp features, and a cruel smile. She hadn’t thought of him in a decade, at least, because by then it had been two years since she’d moved to college and her friends no longer peeked at her through mirrors to say hello. And she had begun to wonder if everything had been in her head, anyway; a long hallucination to cope with a sudden, young brother on the heels of a new stepmother, and a lonely transition into womanhood. 

But in the face of a peach growing where a peach should not grow, it all came flashing back to her in shuddering clarity. And what did this mean?  

She remembered taking a bite of the sweetest fruit she’d ever had and then the strange dizziness, the way her world trembled, and having a dream that had reached into the very essence of her and shook her to the core. Of a king who danced with her. 

“The bastard,” she muttered, glaring at the peach a moment longer before whirling away and stomping back inside. 

Why this? Why now? More than a decade later and trying the same gimmicks again! And she wasn’t a child anymore; she wouldn’t fall for it. She wasn’t weak, and the Goblin King didn’t scare her. 

And worse, the peach ruined her entire day, because she left it. She thought that was safest. But, then, it was always there —and she was always aware it was there . As she distractedly worked in her home office, the window view was to her backyard and she could see the flash of the fruit through the leaves if she stared. And she thought about the Goblin King, and what it meant that the peach appeared—and on her birthday, no less. The more she thought about it, the angrier she got. The longer that peach hung there, the angrier she got. 

And no answers. Was the bastard after Toby? But calling “just to say hi” and procuring her brother and trying to needle him with questions had made the young boy annoyed. He had more time for friends, soccer, and his recent (and first) girlfriend than for her.  

Was the Goblin King trying to trap her again? Hadn’t that been the purpose of the first peach? Well, she wasn’t stupid—she was definitely not eating that fruit. 

But, as she got angrier and angrier, Sarah began to wonder why what the Goblin King was trying to achieve even mattered. She’d said the words; he had no power over her. This was just some game to him. A game to play on her thirtieth birthday because it probably made him laugh. He probably had nothing better to do. Maybe it was a slow day in the Labyrinth. 

After work, Sarah sat watching the TV. The sun had set. She was in her pajamas. She should be in bed, but she couldn’t sleep. The day had been shot by her constantly working mind. 

It doesn’t matter. She gritted her teeth and turned off the television. In her memories she could see him with his stupid, glittery flourishes and his wicked smile, saying to her: “You asked that child to be taken. I took him.”  

Sarah felt shame mixed in with her anger.  

She stood, went outside, and glared at the peach. She could see the expression on the Goblin King’s face as he said, “Isn’t that generous?” A glass bubble in his hands—offering her everything and nothing, because she selfishly wished away her brother. The brother she loved. And that knowledge—that shame—that regret—it never fully went away. 

Was that why he was doing this? Mocking her young mistake? 

“You cowered before me. I was frightening,” he had said. 

Sarah’s anger felt like a hard piece of coal in her throat. She gasped, stomped forward, batting aside the branches, and ignoring when a few thorns caught in her skin and scratched. She grabbed the peach, gripping it so hard the flesh broke and juice ran down her palm. 

“I was a child,” she growled, moving away from the tree and toward the fence at the edge of her property. Beyond it was open, yet undeveloped desert. “I was a child and now I’m an adult. You don’t frighten me anymore, Goblin King!” 

She threw the peach, watching it arc and tumble somewhere in the desert. She heard the wet splat of it landing, felt the sticky juice on her hand, and smiled. 

She felt better. Maybe now she could sleep. 

# # # # 

Her dreams, unsurprisingly, were full of her and Toby running. She didn’t know what they were running from. Suddenly, she was in a Jeep, driving haphazardly on the edge of the Grand Canyon. When she looked to her left, she saw the dip into a beautiful precipice, but when she looked to her right, she saw a beautiful forest and knew something was in there and it was coming for her. She saw something moving in the forest when she stared—something with white wings and reflective eyes. Toby shouted at her to not let him go, to not wish him away, and she turned back (why was he sitting in the back of the Jeep?) to see he had somehow tumbled over and was hanging off the side, dangling over the canyon. She screamed… 

…and jerked awake so suddenly that she flailed in bed, gasping. Her body was cold and wet with perspiration. She threw the blankets aside and sat up. 

“Jesus,” she muttered, running a hand through her hair. She checked the clock—half past five in the morning—and a quick glance at the window confirmed that dawn was just breaking.  

And I’m wide awake and probably not going back to sleep tonight. Not that I want to.   

She got up and brushed her teeth, then made some peppermint tea, her stomach feeling oddly sensitive. She sipped it on the patio, curled up in the deck chair. Five o’clock here meant almost eight o’clock where Toby was, and he would be getting ready or heading to school. Feeling silly, Sarah called him on the landline. 

“Hey,” Toby said, confusion in his voice. 

“Hey Tobes.” Now she was stuck; what to say to her brother? He didn’t remember the Goblin King, so her dream would sound silly and explaining the peach would make her sound crazy. Instead, she lamely said, “How—how are you doing?” 

“Um, fine. You okay?” 

“Oh yeah…yeah, I just had a really stupid nightmare and I…I dunno, just wanted to hear your voice.” 

“Oh, sorry to hear that, sis.” They were close—Sarah’s doing, mostly, as she had struggled with guilt and shame after the Labyrinth. She had tried to channel those emotions into being there for her younger brother—being a good sister afterward. As a result, he trusted her fully. When he had problems, he came to her first and talked to her. But, now, she could hear impatience in his voice. 

“You doing okay?” Sarah asked. “Nothing—weird happening?” 

“Yeah, everything’s fine, why?” 

“Just—that dream—” 

“It was just a dream,” Toby said. “Hey, I gotta go, I’m leaving for school. I’ll talk to you later. Bye.” And he hung up. 

Sarah shook her head. Yeah, everything was fine, and she was being stupid. And now, the last of her peppermint tea was cold. 

The paloverde trees rustled. Sarah looked up and saw a white shape. Her heart picked up speed, the dream still fresh in her memory. She stood. Whatever that white shape was, it was moving in the tree, making tiny leaves flutter down. 

Like glitter…  

No, not like that at all. 

She took a step forward, frowning. She wished she’d trimmed those damn trees like she’s been saying she would. 

The leaves were rustling. Whatever was moving in there didn’t care about the thorns. 

Another step forward and now she could clearly see feathers. Another step—and then suddenly it burst through the foliage straight for her face. She cried out, instinctively raising her hands and protecting herself. 

Nothing happened. 

Instead, she heard strange noises—the crack of bones, much like the sound of cracking knuckles, but a litany of it. A smell came next, so overpowering she gasped—a smell from her memory, a smell that she associated with magic. A smell of leather, oudh, saffron, and blackberry—and yet something ancient beyond her ability to identify. But that smell, of course, gave it away. Even as she lowered her arms and opened her eyes, she knew who she’d see. 

Standing in front of her, giving her that small smirky smile, was the Goblin King.  

Chapter Text

The First Interlude: 

It’s good to be the king. Or so mortals believe. Jareth lounges on his throne and wonders if he really believes that anymore. Because what those mortals don’t mention is that it’s also messy and boring to be king.  

Like right now. Usually, the Labyrinth is a well-oiled machine of chaos; his subjects happily doing whatever they do to fill their little lives. But, sometimes, the king must make sure that—well, the machine must stay well-oiled, after all. So, once a month, Jareth makes sure to do some “clerical work,” so to speak. Like audiences with his subjects, so he can help them fix their little problems.  

Which is incredibly dull.  

Jareth is supposed to be listening to a mushroom troll wax poetic about increasing the garden sizes in the West Labyrinthine Swamps. The troll’s knobby skin is peppered with gray mushrooms, growing in abundance over him. He likes the red mushroom trolls better—more relaxed fellows, and generally a hoot at parties, always talking about how colorful the moon is and claiming they can see music as they dance to melodies only they can hear. But gray mushroom trolls are more down-to-earth, earthy folks and this one means business. He’s been talking about spore development for fifteen minutes. Or is it two hours? Time can get wonky in the Labyrinth.  

Is it lunchtime yet? Jareth wonders, scratching his chin. At the sidelines, where the goblins keep audience, he sees many of them are eating—chicken, mostly. He never understands their proclivity for the fowl creatures—as companions, as victims to their games, and as food. One does not make friends with creatures of the same species you eat. It seems uncouth .  

“Barnaby,” Jareth says, making a gesture at the house gnome near the throne.  

A short gnome with a rotund face and long, white, hay-like beard turns to him. In his hairy-backed hands is the parchment with today’s supplicants. Barnaby is one of the few house gnomes in the Labyrinth, as they prefer to stay Aboveground, but the best clerical creatures are house gnomes. Tactful, knowledgeable, and good with details—and Barnaby is the best of them. But he always looks so morose . No matter how many crystal spheres Jareth throws at him.  

“Yes, sire?” he asks in that dour voice that makes Jareth’s back prickle.  

“Is it time for lunch, yet?”  

“Sire, you have…” Barnaby nods to the mushroom troll, who has fallen quiet after being interrupted. “What is your decision here?”  

Jareth sighs deeply, sitting up and turning back to the mushroom troll. Truly a ghastly-looking creature. Jareth wonders if he plucks the mushrooms on its back and cook them in bog water, will the resulting soup be delicious or poisonous—or both? Bog water can be extremely sweet, despite its horrible stench.  

“Give the creature his spores, then,” Jareth says magnanimously, waving his hand in a flourish.  

“He doesn’t want spores, sire,” Barnaby says.  

“I don’ wan’—” the troll begins at the same time but fades away when Jareth glares at him.  

“What does he want then?”  

Barnaby clears his throat and says, “Another five plots at the swamp-lands, which will encroach on space toward the mangroves.”  

Mangroves. Jareth sighs again. Bunch of whiners. But, Jareth can’t think of swamps and spores and flora a moment longer, so he waves a hand and says, “Fine, fine, give it to him Barnaby. And then find me some lunch .”  

Barnaby’s thin lips compress even thinner and Jareth knows what he’s thinking. That next month the mangroves will be in this throne room complaining about the spores from the mushrooms and the resulting encroachment, and it’ll mean more clerical work. Well, it will mean more work for the king, as well. Maybe he’ll do a little Labyrinthine reordering—make both parties happy.  

“We have one more supplicant, sire, and then we will be finished. Shall I call him in before or after your luncheon?”  

Oh, that tone. Jareth sighs. “Before. Carry on, Barnaby.”  

Two guards open the doors to the throne room. The room is large, but colorless. Just gray stone walls and gray stone floors. At the sides of the room are slightly sloped trenches made for the goblins to muck about in—and generally stay out of the way. The floor has a long runner carpet, leading from the doorway to just before the dais where the throne sits. At one time—if Jareth remembers correctly—the carpet was a beautiful, dark violet. He’s fairly sure, after all he created it, and violet is one of his favorite colors. But now, after centuries of goblin and supplicant feet, it has lost all color—unless dark and muddy is a color.  

And yet, Jareth finds himself with little initiative to create a new runner carpet. Which is odd, one would think, for a magical king that once danced with goblins and a wished-away child. That could, if he wanted, make soap bubbles that give dreams. But he hasn’t wanted in an exceptionally long time…  

A weak beam of light comes through one of the slatted windows at just the perfect angle to illuminate the supplicant and the throne room falls silent as all eyes turn to the being that walks in.  

Beautiful, the Goblin King thinks, amused and surprised. But then, asrais usually are.  

This one is a young woman, looking no older than twenty. Her skin is as white as milk, her hair white as freshly fallen snow, her eyes white so no iris or pupil shows. Her lips and fingernails are bloodless, colorless, to match the pallor of her skin. She wears a blanket around her shoulders that hangs down over her petite form, blocking it from view—probably a thoughtful gift from one of the castle staff. Water constantly drips down her skin in icy droplets, like little diamonds, and falls to the carpet.  

Never before has an asrai graced the Goblin Castle. Jareth hasn’t seen one in centuries. They rarely leave their ponds, especially since a touch from another being outside their pond is death to them—turning them into water that shines with rainbow hues upon its surface.  

Now, this is interesting. Jareth leans forward, staring at the asrai intently.  

“What do you seek, asrai?” Jareth asks.  

“Sire, I seek your immediate action regarding the bog at the southeast juncture of the Labyrinth, below the Gently Rising Mountains and surrounded by the Golden-Leaf Forest.”  

Boring. Asrais can live in any type of smaller body of water, like a bog, so this is probably an audience for more land, just like the mushroom troll. Just like all the supplicants this month—and last month—and the month before.  

Jareth huffs and flops across his throne, disappointed. “What care I of a bog?”  

“Sire,” the asrai says with a trembling, bell-like voice, “just a few days ago, it was a crystalline lake. A small lake, but my home. Not a bog.”  

The goblins murmur to themselves, shocked.   

“Someone changin’ things without the Kingy’s say-so?”   

“Magic runnin’ amok, maybe?”  

“Lake to bog! He losin’ his touch?”  

“Quiet!” Jareth snaps and the goblins nervously chuckle but eventually quiet. He turns to the asrai, considering her words. “That is impossible. All things in the Labyrinth are in my purview. Things do not change unwittingly, not without my say-so. What game is this?”  

“No game, sire,” the asrai says. “I slept in my lake, content, ereyesterday and woke up to—to—” The asrai chokes on a sob and suddenly throws down the blanket.  

Gasps ring out around the room, although Jareth wonders what they are from: the nude form in front of them or the devastation to her body. For circling around her flesh, from foot to hip, are black jagged lines. At first, they look like a type of necrosis, the edges of which are red and inflamed, but as the asrai shuffles a step closer, her eyes anguished, Jareth realizes they are welts.  

“What has done this?” Jareth hisses, sitting up again and gripping his throne. The abuse of his subjects by another, using magic like this, fills his belly with a fiery anger he has not felt for years —not since his world fell down.  

“My lake is no longer my lake,” the asrai cries. “Something else lives there now. A witch!”  

Jareth sneers. “A witch has taken residence without my permission? Barnaby?”  

There’s the sound of shuffling parchment as Barnaby checks the large book he always carries, which says the minutes from the previous court days. Finally, he hesitantly says, “No witch has come, sire.”    

“A seditious witch in my Labyrinth ?” Jareth says, angrily, slamming a fist to the throne’s arm. “Then I must thank you, asrai, for bringing this to my attention. You have my promise that I will reinstate your lake back. There are no bogs in the Labyrinth besides the Bog of Eternal Stench! So it has been and so it will be !”  

The goblins cheer, which does calm Jareth and lifts his spirits. He grins and waves a hand at his subjects.  

The asrai trembles as she bends and picks the blanket back up, sheathing her form in its protective layers. There is a beauty in its Otherness, and its crystalline tears. However, such vulnerability and strangeness are lost upon the occupants of this throne room—except maybe fleetingly by the Goblin King.  

He says to the asrai, “There is a pond in the inner bailey garden. You are free to house there until this matter is settled. And when it is settled, I will provide a coach to ferry you back to your lake at night. No one will touch you.”  

His subjects are not handsy, but the goblins are like little children sometimes and aren’t careful. He will post guards to keep any curious subjects away—and maybe call that dwarf to spray for fairies.  

The asrai gives a trepid smile and bows deeply. Pearlescent drops of moisture fall from her in soft pit-pats onto the blanket. “Thank you, my lord Goblin King.”  

Jareth waves a dismissive hand and the asrai is led away. The goblins chuckle to themselves—what a grand show that was!—and break for proper lunch. Jareth, though, finds his immediate appetite thwarted by frustration-tinged curiosity. Beings come and go from the Labyrinth, but not without the knowledge of its king. Every time the perimeters are breached, he knows; every time some Labyrinth creature traverses to the Aboveground, he knows; every time a new thing comes to stay in this strange land, he knows. Where has this witch come from? How did she sneak past him?  

“Barnaby!”  

“Yes, sire?”  

“We are done for today, you said?”  

“Yes, sire. Ah—there is a note on today’s agenda.”  

“A note?” Jareth picks at a thread on his elegant, carefully tailored pants.  

“The date today is circled in your calendar, my liege, with a note.”  

Jareth frowns. He rarely looks at his calendar—that’s what Barnaby is for. Suddenly, he stiffens.  

“What is the note?”  

“It simply says ‘Dec 4 th ’, sire. The Aboveground da—”    

But Jareth has waved his hand and now Barnaby finds himself outside the throne room with the doors shut. Whether Barnaby huffs or simply trundles off without any emotion, Jareth doesn’t know and doesn’t care. How could he let the days bleed together so? Was it not just yesterday he stared into a crystalline ball and saw…?  

He pauses, his hands already cupped and ready to bring a sphere to his fingertips. What did he see last time? Her, happy and singing and laughing. And what did he see the time before last? Her, happy and singing and laughing. And the time before—and the time before—for all the years where she did not call him .  

But, the Goblin King cannot stop himself. The tradition is fixed. A bit of magic, and there is the crystal sphere poised on his hand. He thoughtfully rolls it over the palm and across his forearm, then back. This is a weakness, he thinks. And I cannot have weaknesses.  

“You have no power over me,” her youthful voice says, tentatively and bravely.  

His heart lurches and he sighs, but still he brings the crystal to his face and whispers across its surface: “Show me Sarah Williams.”  

And it does, just like his magic always obediently does when he asks. He peers into it, seeing her face framed by long dark hair, heavy eyebrows over those beguiling eyes. Those eyes that can stare into the soul of a man and seem to change with her mood. Brown one moment, hazel the next, green in certain lights.  

He is surprised to find her alone, though, and thoroughly in her cups. He watches her take sip after sip from a glass by her side and her expression—she isn’t laughing or surrounded by loved ones. Her expression isn’t happy, either. And to his shock, he misses seeing that Sarah. This one…this one leaves an unpleasant feeling inside him.  

The Goblin King frowns, and then a thought occurs. What mischief could be made with this moment? After all, the last time he had seen Sarah discontented, she had invited him into her life—had wished away her brother by an enchantment he had provided. So, what mischief could he provide this time?  

And would Sarah take the bait and invite him back into her life?  

By hook or by crook, as the humans say, Jareth thinks, grinning. And Sarah is human.  

So, he gently blows on the glass ball and the surface ripples slightly, distorting Sarah’s face. Jareth can hear her wish, and he watches her blow out the candles. Perfect; a wish made on birthday cake under a young night’s sky is doubly powerful. A wish of longing opens her to influences—to magic.  

I hope you like my surprise, Sarah Williams, Jareth thinks, the grin widening.  

# # # #  

It was later, after lunch, that Jareth decides to scratch one thing off his “To Do List”.  

He travels over the Labyrinth in owl-form. The giant maze is laid out before him like a dizzying carpet, stretching as far as the eye can see. It grows and shrinks like a living being and only it’s ruler, the Goblin King, can know its true edges, nooks, and crannies. There should be no secrets—and soon, there won’t be.  

The southwest juncture is bordered by the Gently Rising Mountains which, just like their name, increase in elevation gradually. The Labyrinth wall cuts right in the middle of them, haphazardly following the rounded peaks up and over. At one point, there’s a large clearing space—a yawning area of the Labyrinth. This area is dotted with the Gold-Leaf Forest and one area that should house a small lake, but instead is now flatlands for a bog. Even the Gold-Leaf Forest has retreated away from the bog, as if the very trees moved so they could not touch the wet soil.  

That should not be there.  

Jareth veers so he is flying straight to the bog. It is about a mile in diameter and little grows there except grass and spindly shrubs. The bog water is dark and dirty. The place feels desolate and heavy. For some reason, the light is darker, perhaps because of the large forest trees all around like silent observers. In the center, where there are the most circles of water visible, so the ground looks like swiss cheese, is the huge trunk of a dead tree and…something underneath it.  

Jareth changes, so as he lands it is with his feet and in human form. He knows the impression is one of power and grace. He is wearing his black armor and owl-feather cape. He has landed a few feet away from the dead tree and can now see that there is someone sitting under it.  

He makes his way carefully across the bog, even though his shoes still squelch on the wet ground. His cloak softly swishes behind him as he walks. He realizes then that these are the only sounds he can hear. The bog is deathly quiet—unnaturally so—and considering there are parts of his Labyrinth with no animal or insect noises, nor any wind, and yet this bog seems far quieter, that’s saying something.  

As he nears the woman, he realizes it is a crone. Her back is bent painfully, her spine making a C-shape as she stares at something in her hands. Her hair is dry like thistle and a colorless gray which matches the rags she wears. Across her lined face is a thick, black blindfold. It nearly hides her wide-set nose. And yet, despite being blinded by the cloth, she stiffens as Jareth nears and immediately turns toward him. Her thin, chapped lips jerk into a small smile, showing off twisted and yellow teeth.  

“Hello,” she says, and her voice belies her age. It is soft, deep, and melodious. A voice a minstrel would pay dearly for.  

Jareth pauses, wondering how he should proceed. His instinct is to rail at this woman for trespassing in the Labyrinth—for surely, she’s the witch that the asrai mentioned—but some instinct inside him cautions him.  

Instead, he grits his teeth and forces his voice to sound calm, cool, as if he has merely come upon an old woman on his travels. He says, “What place is this?”  

The crone’s lips twitch again in amusement and she answers, “Why, ’tis a bog.”  

“I know that,” Jareth says, somehow keeping his cool, “but does this place have a name? It’s new, is it not?”  

“New—and very old,” the woman answers. “It’s had many names. You may call it Feverdream, if you wish.”  

For the first time, Jareth thinks how annoying it must be for those traversing the Labyrinth to come face-to-face with one of the many riddling creatures that make their home within the stony walls. New and very old, indeed! He scoffs.   

“Feverdream Bog? I’ve never heard of it and that is not possible because I am king of this place. Are you the witch of the bog I’ve been told about?”  

The crone cocks her head and Jareth notices she is sitting straighter. She fiddles with that something in her hand and he sees it’s an egg with a robin blue shell and light brown spots.  

She says, “Feverdream exists where the borders are weakest, Goblin King. We’ve always been here—and never been here before.”  

He ignores the riddle and says, “So you do know of me. Then you know you are trespassing, witch. All beings must petition the ruler—me—before making a home in the Labyrinth. You have not done so.”  

“Feverdream exists without these rules— despite these rules,” the witch chides, gently.  

“Impossible,” Jareth hisses. “ I make the world here. I reorder time here. I am the Goblin King . You must be on your way, witch. Change this space back to the lake it once was!”  

“I refuse, my liege,” the witch says. Now, he realizes, she has slowly unbent her back. She looks more imposing this way; sitting at the edge of the large, dead tree and her back straight, looking at him as if she can really see him despite the blindfold.  

Jareth feels a growing unease. All the subjects in the Labyrinth know their king is not to be trifled with. Refuse? His creatures do not refuse!  

“Why do you come to the Labyrinth?”  

Instead of answering, the woman begins turning the egg in her fingers, end-over-end. Keeping her covered eyes trained on the Goblin King, she says, “Tell me, my liege, how are your dreams? Do they plague you at night? When the sky is dark and the moon is new, do you regret ?”  

Jareth is thrown off by this question, and the teasing way it is put forth. Before he can think, he answers, “I dream fine. I do not regret—at night or otherwise.”  

“Ah,” and the old woman suddenly stands, lithe on her feet now despite her wizened skin and wrinkled neck and trench-marked hands with dirty fingernails, “you know what they say, milord: show me a man with no regrets and I will show you a liar or a fool. So, which are you, sire? Liar? Or fool?”  

Jareth hisses, his anger rising steadily, which caused his eyes to glow with barely restrained magic and his hair to ruffle in an unfelt breeze. He snarls, “Neither. How dare you—”  

Suddenly, she takes a step forward. Something about the way she stood tall—a crone with straight shoulders, straight back, and strong legs underneath the ragged gray dress—causes Jareth to step back, in surprise.  

She gives a chittering laugh, her teeth straight and white. “Feverdream comes from the cracks and the pits and the little tiny bits that people promise themselves don’t exist. Except,” and she takes another step, which crowds the Goblin King, and forces him back a step, “when the night is at its darkest and you lie there thinking about how many days have passed in your long life and how many remain. What keeps you awake? What makes you hate? What makes you ashamed, Goblin King?”  

She shows the egg in her palm. “I can show you, if you want. I can show you everything you are too scared to show yourself.” Suddenly, she flexes her thumbs, digging into the eggshell, and Jareth hears a crack. With a quick jerk, the egg opens in her palm and out slides an underdeveloped bird. Red fluid covers it and drips from the witch’s palm.  

Jareth jerks back, aghast, as the bird suddenly moves in her palm and lets out a little screech. It jerks in its death throes, its wings scrawny bones encased in wet and glistening, translucent skin.  

“What do you see?” she holds the bird out, jarring it in her palm and showing off its chest where a red lump flutters under the skin.  

Jareth moves again to keep from having that bird’s flailing, featherless wing touch him. It is an irrational fear and he doesn’t know why that bird causes the reaction—he is the king of the Labyrinth, with magic that should be able to blink this witch away—and yet he feels shocked.  

A slight splash is the only warning that he’s stepped into the bog. The water instantly goes up above his ankle. He growls, annoyed by all this. Before he can say anything, or slap the offending creature from the witch’s hand, something grabs his ankle and pulls him deeper.  

He gasps as his other foot slides into the muck to maintain balance, and immediately he feels something grabbing that, too. Strong grips, pulling him deeper into the bog. He looks down, surprised, as he slides a little more. All he sees is dirty bog water and black shadows moving underneath it. He pulls back, trying to wrestle out of whatever has ahold on him, and finds he cannot. This has never happened to the Goblin King before. His struggles only get him further into the muck; now the water is to his knees and he can feel it entering his boots.   

He nearly falls face-first but braces himself at the edge of the water with his hands. In a few moments, he finds both feet in the water.  

The water is cold. Jareth’s legs are blocks of ice, particularly where he is being grabbed. That kind of cold aches, straight to his bones. It sucks the energy from him; makes his breaths short and shuddery. He’s never felt anything like it. With a shivering hand, he rips off his glove with his teeth, his hand glittering. The magic flows through his body—he can feel it, it’s a part of him—and yet when he reaches out to twist the bog, like he can with any part of the Labyrinth, nothing happens. Its like this spot in the Labyrinth isn’t there; he can feel the forest beyond it, but there’s nothing to twist here. His magic flows and bubbles around him—the trees beyond the bog wave as if in a gale and his own hair whips about his face—but nothing changes immediately around him. The bog is still silent except for the churning water. He can’t even chase away the cold seeping through him.  

The witch woman giggles and says, “What do you see?” She holds out her hand and the bird gone. Now, it’s a bracelet with amber and brown beads. Worthless, cheap, but given freely as a gift—and he knew, because he saw . A gift he could never hope to receive.  

Jareth growls, angrily. He slaps the woman’s hand and the bracelet flies off. The witch merely smirks, knowing she’s wheedled her way into his mind. She says, “It doesn’t matter,” as she cups Jareth’s cheek. Her fingers are so cold, he shudders.  

He jerks his head, tries to take a step away from the woman but he can’t move. The grip on him is painful. And the witch, undeterred, cups his cheek again, forcing him to look at her.  

For the first time in a long time, Jareth feels a frisson of fear glide through him like an eel.  

He hears a great splash behind him and suddenly something grabs his arm, wrenching it back and causing him to slide even deeper into the bog. He is wearing his black leather breastplate, but his shirt is cloth and the sleeve rips off. Something grips his elbow, twisting, and he snarls in pain—yet he can’t look away from the witch. Whatever touches his skin is so cold it burns. He manages to grab her wrist with his other hand and his magic flares. The witch doesn’t flinch.  

“It doesn’t matter,” the witch says, caressing his cheekbone with her thumb. “My Crawling Horrors have you now, my liege.”  

Her blindfolded gaze meets his mismatched eyes. Even if the linen blocks her view, Jareth knows she can see him. She smiles and her teeth are sharp.  

Something jerks at his legs and he falls deeper, the water now ice cold at his thighs and he releases the witch’s hand as it scrabbles for purchase on the soft, peaty ground. He shudders, gasps. The grip on his forearm and legs are like needles trying to pierce his skin.   

“Ah! I can feel it,” she says, her voice sing-song and mocking. “My Crawling Horrors can bring it up. Those emotions you don’t want in your dark heart. You haven’t felt it since the world fell down.”  

Jareth gasps, “What did you say?”   

“Feel everything, my lord,” she murmurs, her voice barely above the splashing as Jareth weakly pulls at his deadening limbs. “Feel it so deep and so impossibly black. Regret it. Let me taste it.”  

She smacks her lips, hungrily.  

His magic doesn’t work on her, he can’t move the things holding him. He’s helpless.    

And Jareth does something he has never done before. He lets the fear overtake him. It’s crystalline and hard-edged panic in his chest and its screaming at him to run—so he does. With a snarl of fear, of disbelief, and of pain, he lifts a weak hand that trembles but still manages to bring forth a crystal.  

And the crystal lights up like a little sun. The witch hag hisses, shrinking away, her back curving once again, and then the light is too bright to see anymore. It encases Jareth and the grip of the Crawling Horrors fades away and Jareth can move again.  

He finds himself on his hands and knees on the floor of his throne room, half-drenched, shuddering, and taking long, gasping breaths. His bones still ache from cold. The crystal disappears as he haunches over and tries to calm himself.  

When the shudders have reduced to trembles, and the cold has turned into just numbness, he hears the double doors open and the steady thump of feet—that stop suddenly. He looks up to see Barnaby there, parchments in hand, and eyes large in surprise.  

Jareth takes a few more uncertain breaths, then forces himself to his feet, trying to muster some dignity. He waves his hands and the leather pants change to soft linen ones—still black, though—and he has a new black shirt without breastplate. His cape is gone. His hair is in order, as well. He doesn’t look like he wrestled with any horrors in any bog.  

He says, “On further thought, Barnaby, I have decided to consider the asrai’s predicament more fully and do something about the bog later.”  

“Speaking of the asrai, sire,” Barnaby says, shifting uncomfortably. “Uh, she’s dead, sire.”  

“What?” Jareth frowns.  

“The asrai is dead—”  

“I heard you, gnome. Why? How? ”   

“Sometime recently, no one knows for sure, but the rainbow water is there, in the pond. No one touched her,” Barnaby quickly assures, “it was not us. Frankly, it’s a mystery.”  

Jareth thinks of the black welts on her body and the way the Crawling Horrors grabbed his limbs and he wonders if it really is so much a mystery. Even now, his flesh feels numb from cold.  

A tiny fleck of fear remains like indigestion in his stomach and he doesn’t like it.   

He says, “How tragic. Thank you for letting me know. I’m going to my chambers now, and I don’t want to be disturbed.”  

He materializes in his chambers and immediately paces, rubbing a hand over his face. His legs still feel weak and rubbery like he ran for many miles in the cold. He stops and a thought crosses him that leaves a stone of dread in his stomach. They touched flesh—like the asrai. He waves away his clothes and stands in front of the full-length mirror. His legs are blemish-free, but swirling from elbow to wrist, where the Crawling Horrors had ripped his sleeve off, are black welts. Jareth touches one and hisses in pain. It’s cold. 

He sits on the edge of his bed, disbelieving as he stares at the wounds. What does this mean? He is a being of immense age, and yet nothing has affected him like this before. Nothing should be powerful enough to make him afraid.  

He can’t remember the last time he felt fear.  

No, that’s not true, a voice whispers in his head, chiding him. You’ve felt fear before…when the world fell down…The witch knew. Somehow, she knew.  

And in his memories, he can hear his voice, singing softly, sadly:   

“Yes, I do live without your sunlight.   Love without your heartbeat.”  

Jareth gives a shaky gasp and leans his head into the cradle of his hands. Yes, he felt a little fear then because he knew he would lose; deep down he knew he would lose.  

But how did the witch know?   

Regret, she said. Jareth toys with the necklace he wears. Since he wore no sigil rings or crowns, the pendant with its triangular, inverted horns and the swirling infinity-esque symbol on it is the only symbol he wears of his monarchy.  

He’s feeling vulnerable, and so it isn’t surprising he thinks of her, of Sarah. What feels like days ago—but is merely a few Underground hours—he had sent her a birthday gift. Now, he conjures a crystal and it shows him what he wants to see: Sarah touching his gift. Much to his amusement, it also involves the moment Sarah angrily grabs the peach and throws it over the fence.  

He lets the crystal change into a soap bubble. It pops when he closes his fist. Foolish, he thinks. He wanted to cause mischief—wanted to tempt Sarah. But, that’s silly. So many years have passed, and his name has not once been on her lips. She’s so strong-willed, she was the girl who beat him at his own game, who won her brother back, and who said those hated words to him.  

“You have no power over me.”  

And when she threw the peach, she was saying the same thing again.  

His birthday gift was ill-advised anyway. Mischief that went nowhere. Better to take a warm bath—hopefully bring more feeling back into his cold limbs—and sleep. He will worry about Feverdream tomorrow—and Sarah? Sarah can remain a memory, tinged with so many feelings that the Goblin King only allows himself to think of her once a year.  

The bath helps the welts, although they are still strangely cold to the touch. But, his sleep surges with horrible nightmares. And the Goblin King usually doesn’t dream—a strange quirk, considering his powers. He makes dreams; he doesn’t dream himself. Yet, this night, it is one horrible dream after another. Dreams full of lost hope, longing, pain, and regret. But the last…it is the worst and the most vivid.  

He sees himself once again seeking out Sarah amongst the clusters of dancers. At first, he expects to see her as she was then: a girl on the cusp of womanhood. He had been so focused on winning —get her to admit his power, get her to give up the child—and that determination is back in his dream self, as well. It feels odd, like a badly tailored tunic, because he has not felt that fiery determination—the kind that destroys everything in its path no matter what—in so long.  

When he pushes past a group of dancers that are nearly neck-to-neck as they swirl around the dancefloor, he sees her in the crystal-and-snow dress and is shocked. She’s older—she looks the same as when he’d seen her in the crystal ball. He likes the look of her better. Her movements are more confident; her gaze flits around, taking everything in without that fear he remembers. He gives a predatory smile—how sweeter conquest will be now—and sidles towards her, reaching out to grab a gloved hand.  

She starts, turning to stare at him thoughtfully, then inclines her head and says, “Goblin King.”  

“Sarah,” he answers, and here he knows this is just a dream, because he immediately launches into his Speech. The Villain Speech. “You’re beautiful, Precious.” He kisses her knuckles. “But you’re human. And there’s still such a sad love deep in your eyes. You can’t fight me, your will is not as strong. But I swear to you, Precious,” and he pulls her forward into a close dance, hip-to-hip, even as he rubs her knuckles with his thumb. He can feel the heat of her through the dress and his smile grows. “I promise, I will be so generous. Your world will be fresh cream and sparkling jewels. And I ask for so little. Just let me rule you and you can have everything that I am.” He presses her hand to his chest. He’s wearing the black satin with the deep V-neckline. Good choice.  

Sarah parts her lips, her gaze on that expanse of skin, and then frowns.  

Jareth worries, so he leans forward and says, “Forget the child. Just fear me, love me, and I will be your slave …”  

Her frown deepens and she looks up, meeting his gaze. She says, “What child?”  

Jareth blinks, surprised, and steps back. Her hand falls away from his skin and hovers between them. He says, “The—the child…”  

“Jareth, that child is a boy,” she chides, “and you are old and forgotten.”  

“What—?”  

“Look,” she says, grasping his hands and bringing them up to his view. “Look, you let the world fall down and it’s passed you by. Look .”  

He does look, although his dream self knows he shouldn’t—doesn’t want to, in fact—but as if drawn by a magnet he looks at his hands and to his horror, they’re the lined, ancient hands of an old man. He jerks back, staring at them, confused and aghast. This can’t happen—he’s the Goblin King!  

“What kind of power does an old, tired, forgotten king have?” Sarah asks, and there’s a pitying smile on her face. That smile cuts him deeper than anything before this has. “Once, you may have reordered time. Once, you may have cracked open the sky and made a whole world for me. But then your coward’s heart won and now? All that’s left…” and Sarah presses her warm, gloved hand to his chest, feeling his heartbeat which pounds with growing alarm, “is a sickly cavernous space. Opened, and left half-worked, and so in this ragged hollow rank weeds grow.”  

Jareth grabs her hand and flings it away from him, shocked. Sarah just looks with that pitying smile and those eyes, her gaze a dark green. He says, “I am no coward.”  

“Ah, soft, sweet king. Look at yourself. Like a rock, slowly you are worn smooth. And those rank weeds growing in your coward’s heart—a day shall come soon when someone will come by and see you and there will be no trace of what might have been.”  

“Enough!” Jareth yells, and he hears cracking glass behind him. The music has stopped, the dancers freeze and turn toward the couple. No one moves. Louder, Jareth says: “Be gone!”  

The ground beneath him shatters like a glass window, and he falls even as he keeps his eyes on Sarah. She watches, emotionless, as he plummets. He twists his face up to see her get smaller and smaller as he falls away from her; until all he can see is a white speck; her dress, like a star in the black sky.  

The ground is almost welcome, despite its hardness. Jareth pushes the tangle of sheets away from him and lies back, infinitely thankful he fell off his bed and the dream is over. He’s breathing quickly, the shoulder he landed on will most likely bruise, and there’s a sheen of sweat across his brow. The words, however, are harder to forget. He looks at his hands, but his skin is normal—unlined, no indication of time passing.  

As the emotions from the dream settle, the unease spikes and unpleasant questions rotate in his mind. Was he cowardly? An unpleasant thought, but he forces himself to consider it. He considers himself a good king—mostly a fair king—but also a strict king. Maybe, sometimes, a selfish king (Barnaby might argue more than sometimes). His patience is short, his desires plentiful, but his will iron-clad—and yet there is in one thing he has been unable to ignore.  

She looked beautiful even in my nightmares, he thinks, smiling ruefully.   

Yes, he has been very patient when it comes to Sarah Williams. She made him taste defeat for the first time in his long life. And now, she is a woman…and he’s still the Goblin King. He still has so much to offer her. Maybe she’d be more inclined to listen now. If she accepts…well, then the girl was wrong. He does have power over her.  

And what else does he have to do? His role is so boring most days.  

A soft, logical voice in his mind reminds him: There’s still Feverdream Bog…    

But it is contained, and he can tell his subjects to steer clear of it. The asrai, sadly, is dead. That gives him time to puzzle it out at his leisure—something else that will break the monotony of his life.  

His will, after all, is iron-clad. The Goblin King does not lose, he delays .  

Jareth laughs.  

But, it has been Sarah’s birthday—and she didn’t like his first gift. Jareth smiles, thinking of how interesting it would be to just prod a little, poke a little at her. Sarah is never boring. And humans say birthdays are important times.   

Feverdream will keep. And it is more fun to be the selfish king.  

Jareth smiles and lifts a hand. Immediately, a crystal appears, and he whispers into its depths, “Sarah Williams.”  

Chapter Text

Chapter Three:

“You look so shocked,” was the first thing the Goblin King said to her in more than a decade, but his voice was dripping with amusement. Suddenly, his smile faded and he tilted his head, thoughtfully.

He added, “I hope you haven’t forgotten about me, precious.” His tone was almost challenging.

“Don’t call me that,” she said, automatically. She nervously smoothed a hand through her hair.

The Goblin King grinned and Sarah stared because he looked fantastical—exactly as he had before and yet completely changed. In her memories, he had been this scarily magical figure that she could never truly harm—never truly touch. But now, he didn’t look so much older than her—and yet the way he dressed, the way he stood, and the look in his eyes were ageless. It took her a moment to realize she wasn’t afraid, and that realization surprised her. He’d seemed so imposing and untouchable.

She noticed the same sharp cheekbones, the mismatched eyes, and the sweeping eyebrows. Even the thin lips were as she remembered. He looked otherworldly yet handsome. He wore a black peasant shirt with glittery black thread and a deep V-neck, and tight breeches with leather boots. His hair was golden, long, with tendrils that framed his face. Somehow, it still worked for him.

What years ago had made her uncomfortable and confused now made her—well, uncomfortable but not confused. The tight pants were hard not to stare at—still.

She quickly looked back at his eyes and noticed the smirk on lips. I hope I’m not blushing. She fought the urge to press her palms to her cheeks.

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

“I know it seems odd, but I heard on the wind a little birthday wish,” the Goblin King said and suddenly there was a crystal in his hand.

Oh jeez, when will I learn? I should have just told him to go. A tendril of misgiving unfurled in her chest.

She said, “I didn’t wish anyone away.”

“I know.”

She frowned. “I don’t live with my family anymore.”

“I know.”

“Toby is on the other side of the country and you can’t have him.”

“I know—and I am not interested in the child.”

“How do you know?” Sarah snapped.

Jareth grinned again. “I know, Sarah.” He twirled the crystal on the back of his hand, then switched it to the other hand.

Had he been keeping tabs on her? She didn’t like that thought. “You have no power over me,” Sarah said, nervously.

“Oh, I know.” Jareth wasn’t looking at her now, he was looking at the crystal as if it were immensely interesting.

“Why are you here?” Sarah asked again, impatiently.

“I had time, and I was bored,” Jareth said. “And then I heard a little birthday wish. I told you already. It made me think to visit.”

Suddenly, the crystal stopped on the tips of his fingers and flared brightly, causing Sarah to flinch and briefly close her eyes. When she opened and blinked away the afterimages, she saw Jareth was holding out a red carnation toward her.

She stared at the flower, surprised. Shocked, if she was honest. Then, she thought, A carnation? Why a carnation? Is this a middle school dance? But, the flower was so perfectly shaped, with a dark green stem and deep red petals, that that thought faded quickly and was replaced with general satisfaction—and then the surprise came back.

Why is he giving me a flower? She didn’t take it, instead she said, “I didn’t wish for a birthday gift.”

The Goblin King said, “I didn’t say which birthday wish I was fulfilling.”

Sarah frowned. Did she ever wish for a flower? Or anything from the Goblin King? Maybe when I was younger. There were a few puberty-enflamed years where she had thought of the Goblin King and remembered his…tight pants…

“Why are you here now, then?”

“I told you, I was bored.” He was still holding out the flower. “Come now, precious. You can’t blame me. You mortals have such little time. I blink and years have gone by. Imagine my surprise to hear your wish and peek in—just to see how you were doing, as old friends—” He ignored her scoff, “and to find so much time has passed!”

This only confused her further. Why come see her now, then? What had she wished for that would call the Goblin King?

“Will you take the flower?” The Goblin King asked. “Since you rejected my first gift?”

“What first gift?”

“The dance, of course.”

“That?” Sarah gave a bark of an unbelieving laugh. “That was considered a gift?”

“Then the flower?” He cajoled, leaning forward. “The dance was harmless, precious. So is the flower. Remember—as you said—I have no power over you.”

Sarah hesitated for a moment then reached out and took the flower. Their fingers momentarily brushed, and she was very aware of every point of contact. She purposefully didn’t meet his gaze, unsure what she would say at that moment. That she didn’t want him here, maybe? That she didn’t trust him? That she had no idea why he would pop up in her life after fifteen years?

The carnation was beautiful, and at that perfect moment of bloom, just before peak, where each petal looked its best. She idly touched the soft petals with the pad of her thumb. “Thanks,” she murmured. “I’ll put it in some water.”

She glanced at the Goblin King and felt strangely shy as she walked into her house and into the kitchen looking for a small vase. She would put the flower in water, go back outside, and ask him what he wanted. Just point blank, just like that. Any gift from the Goblin King couldn’t be without strings or stipulations.

Don’t trust him, Sarah, she told herself, firmly, as she reached up for a vase on the second shelf on tip-toe. Whatever he says, there’s an agenda.

She only had a moment’s warning—the smell of magic filled her senses again. Then, before she could process, a gloved hand appeared just above her shoulder, easily reaching up and taking the crystal vase down. Sarah jumped, almost falling backward into the person behind her, but grabbing the countertop just in time. Thankfully, the Goblin King had already moved back a few steps, so it was easy for her to put some distance.

He smiled amicably, but even that looked suspicious in her mind.

“I didn’t invite you in,” she said, before she could help herself.

The Goblin King chuckled. “I’m not a vampire, Sarah.”

“You have no power over me, though.”

“Yes, we’ve established that already.” The smile faded from his lips and he glanced at the flower on the counter.

Sarah turned her back to him and filled the vase with water, then added the flower. It looked beautiful in its solitude. She put it at the center of the counter. An awkward silence descended.

Just ask him what he wants, she thought, nervously pressing her fingertips into the countertop. She could feel the Goblin King’s gaze on her skin, but she couldn’t turn and meet that mismatched gaze. In some ways, this all felt so surreal, like a dream she would wake up from. He couldn’t really be here? Maybe she should first just poke him in the shoulder or pinch herself just to make sure all this was real.

She heard a soft sigh and then his lilting, masculine voice murmured, “I feel I’ve erred again with this gift.”

“Oh—I—”

“What birthday gift would you like, Sarah?”

Sarah blinked. “Excuse me?”

“I’m offering you a gift—one gift—from the Goblin King. Your choice.”

Sarah met his gaze then. She felt uncertain and was she projecting, or did she hear uncertainty in the Goblin King’s voice? It wasn’t there in his stance, his gaze, or even his expression. He was the same man from when she ran the Labyrinth. She saw the arrogant, unthinking confidence in the way he leaned against the counter, his arms crossed over his chest. Yet, for a moment, his voice hadn’t matched him. And it was that tiny sigh he had issued that made her hesitate.

A magical being, one that she overcame in her youth, was back in her life. She was an adult now and her oldest, greatest challenge was here. If she told him to leave, what was she saying about herself?

That Sarah Williams had become too old and frightened and uncertain? That now that she was thirty, she didn’t want adventures anymore?

There was a quote from Peter Pan she had always liked: “The moment you doubt whether you can fly, you cease for ever to be able to do it.” Had she become too grown-up for magic? Or, worse still, did she think now that she was grown-up, she couldn’t take a challenge like the Goblin King anymore—that her magic had dried up somewhere and left her?

“I…” Sarah floundered, her heart beating fast. “Is this real? I didn’t eat that damn peach somehow?”

The Goblin King chuckled. “No, and just for the record—again—the peach was harmless. Delicious, but harmless.” His smile quirked in a corner, becoming self-depreciating, and he added, “Perhaps not the brightest idea I’ve had. I do tend to do things impulsively.”

“I remember,” she said, dryly. “Something about throwing the Cleaners at me…”

“I’m not here as the villain this time,” he said, then made a mark on his chest, just below the pendant that hung low, following the V-neckline. “Cross my heart, Sarah.”

The human gesture was unexpected from him and Sarah’s lips quirked despite herself. She said, “What are you here as?”

The Goblin King frowned, thoughtfully. “Good question. I must admit, I am exhausted from keeping up with your expectations, but perhaps I should ask you. If I am not the villain this time, then who am I? Who do you expect me to be?”

“I…am having trouble with that answer, too.”

“Oh, no rush,” the Goblin King said, his face smoothing into a smile that was a tad too untamed to be friendly. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out. Please tell me when you do.”

“Of course.”

“My offer still stands, though. What birthday gift would you like? If not a peach, not a dance, and not a flower, then…?”

“The flower is good; I like the flower.” Sarah hesitated again. She remembered the Cleaners—running down dark hallways, afraid she would die. She remembered tons of scary memories from her time in the Labyrinth. Being grabbed by the Helping Hands; fighting in the Goblin City; the Oubliette; the dizziness after that first—and only—sweet bite of the peach. It was these memories that made her hesitate to talk to the Goblin King. Why were so many memories of her time in the Labyrinth filled with fear?

And excitement, a tiny voice added inside of her mind. Yes, she’d been excited too—alive, excited, but afraid.

Sarah then made a decision that was just as impulsive as the Goblin King. She said, “I haven’t seen the Labyrinth in a long time. And you know, a lot of what I saw was kind of weird or dark or…scary. So, here’s my wish for my birthday gift, Goblin King,” Sarah said, straightening her spine and meeting his gaze.

Jareth straightened too, his expression becoming expectant—hopeful. “So you will wish?” he murmured.

“Yes,” Sarah said. “I’m not afraid.”

He waited.

“I want to see something beautiful in the Labyrinth,” Sarah said. “Something I didn’t see when I was there at fifteen. Something fun and pretty and exciting and not dangerous at all. Can you do that?”

The Goblin King’s eyebrows rose. “You realize this means you are asking to go back, Sarah?”

“Yes.”

“You are wishing me to take you back?”

“For this purpose,” Sarah said, firmly. “I want to see something fun and pretty and exciting and not dangerous at all. For a visit. For a limited time. I want to come home soon. I have work tomorrow.”

“Of course.” Jareth waved away her stipulations. “I told you, I’m not playing villain today. I guess I will be tour guide instead, then.”

And the Goblin King held out a gloved hand. Sarah stared at it. He has nicely shaped fingers, she thought. She lifted her gaze to meet his mismatched eyes. They never gave away what he was truly feeling—or maybe she just didn’t know how to read them. They were beautiful though. One was the color of the afternoon sky, the other the color of a moonless night. And both were trained on her. He was waiting, patiently.

Sarah took a deep breath and reached a hesitant hand out.

What am I doing? She wondered, just before she grasped the Goblin King’s hand.

He closed his fingers around her palm and smiled. He pulled her a step closer, lifting a crystal between them, held in his other hand, and added, “Oh, and Sarah? You may call me Jareth.”

The crystal flared like a small, bright sun—and Sarah’s world disappeared.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER FOUR

The first thing that let her know she was somewhere new was that the sunlight wasn’t as strong as the Sonoran Desert. Then the smell was different; she smelled green trees and moisture in the air. She hesitantly opened her eyes, and her mouth opened slightly in shock. 

 In front of her was a beautiful lake with the bluest water she had ever seen. Not azure blue like white-sand beaches, but a dark, jewel-blue that almost hurt her eyes to look at. Dotted along the sides were skinny evergreen trees. The lake was small and a wiggly-round shape—and, she realized, it was on top of a mountain. The edge—a way away from her—butted up against the lip of the mountain.  

The view was phenomenal.  

She could see the Labyrinth roll out like a carpet from the foot of the mountain. In fact, the mountain seemed to be inside the Labyrinth as part of the western, outer wall.  

I’ll tackle that amazing view in a minute, she thought, looking back at the lake. There was no beach around this lake; the land just ended at the water’s edge. In fact, the grass continued right up to the edge. Sarah smiled, realizing what she was looking at. 

“A tarn,” she breathed, then turned to look behind her. The lake was close to the mountain peak; the headwall was small, but there was a waterfall that flowed from the top peak where a glacier was precariously balanced. 

 “Oh,” she said, overcome by this new beautiful scenery. The glacier was made of jagged, flawlessly blue-white ice. The waterfall came down in a shower, slipping down the mountain and into the lake. 

 Sarah realized she was still holding Jareth’s hand, and she was squeezing it as she looked around her, emotions flowing through her at the breathtaking beauty. She turned to look at him. His expression was unreadable, but he was watching her carefully. Sarah blushed and let go of his hand. 

“Is it satisfactory?” Jareth asked. 

“More than,” she said. “It’s…I don’t remember this. To think this was in the Labyrinth.” She turned back to the lake and pointed at the view. “I didn’t know the Labyrinth was so big.” 

“How do you know I didn’t make this vista for your visit?” Jareth grinned. 

Sarah rolled her eyes. “It’s annoying that I can see you doing that, so I can’t guess to the truth. You’re the tour guide, remember? Tell me—did you?”  

His expression shifted from mischievous to merely mirthful. “The Labyrinth’s size grows and shrinks as needed,” Jareth said, enigmatically, “but this mountain is always on the western side. If you look there, the west wall goes around the base.” He pointed, but the tree line made it hard for Sarah to see. 

“What is this mountain called?” 

“Firemouth Mountain.” 

“That’s…not what I expected with a glacier up there and a tarn here. Isn’t the water cold?” 

“Not once it’s in the tarn,” Jareth answered. He took a few steps towards the edge and waited for Sarah, who after a moment’s hesitation, followed him. “The story goes this mountain was once a giant—so large, it could cross the Labyrinth in half a dozen steps. But at the end of its life, it grew tired and so it sat in this spot and slowly became this mountain. However, the fire in its belly never went out. The giant was always a stubborn one, you see. Even in death. So, the mountain’s center is warm, volcanic, and while it never gets hot enough to erupt, the flame stays alive and it heats the tarn.” He crouched by the edge of the lake and with brisk, graceful movements, pulled off his glove. Sarah watched, fascinated despite herself as long, pale fingers were revealed with perfectly manicured fingernails. She shivered as those fingers plunged into the tarn. 

“Ah, the temperature is perfect,” he said, smiling with satisfaction. “Try it, Sarah.” 

Sarah neared and crouched next to him. “What is the tarn called?” 

“The Sapphire Eye.” 

The water was indeed the perfect temperature. Despite coming from ice, it wasn’t so cold; just perfectly cool. Refreshing. The kind of temperature one would like on a warm day. And here, in the Labyrinth, winter had not touched the landscape; it felt like one of the last humid days of summer. Perspiration was already misting her upper lip. Sarah made a soft noise of satisfaction as she swirled her hand in the water. “This would be perfect for a swim.” 

Jareth flicked water drops from his fingertips, watching the ripples across the surface. “So, swim,” he said. 

“What?” 

“This place is quiet and safe, so swim.” 

Sarah said, “I don’t have my swimsuit.” 

Jareth considered this, turning toward her. His eyes twinkled mischievously as he eyed her outfit. It took Sarah a moment to realize what he was considering suggesting. She said, “I’m not swimming in my underwear! What if there are snakes in there?” 

Jareth grinned. “Scandalous, Sarah, I wasn’t going to suggest that, even though there are no snakes on Firemouth. Snakes? Really, I feel you’ve been in that desert too long.” 

“Yeah, you say there’re no snakes. I like to think I’m being cautious and pragmatic. And, I saw that look! You totally were going to suggest swimming in my underwear.” 

“Tsk,” Jareth said, even as the grin widened. “Actually, I was going to offer you a swimsuit.” 

“Oh…” How many times had she blushed in front of the Goblin King already? Way too many times. Where was the Sarah that, in college, had gone to bars and flirted shamelessly with boys? She could really use that kind of chutzpah right now, if only to feel on equal footing with Jareth. Instead, she turned away from him and considered the tarn. 

The Sapphire Eye, on Firemouth Mountain. There were things those names suggested, if Jareth’s story was true. She wondered if the giant had had blue eyes. She said, “It’s safe?” 

“We made a bargain, don’t forget. I will bring you back to the Aboveground unharmed,” he said, the grin gone and his voice slightly chiding. 

Right. Still, she hesitated. She didn’t quite know why. Perhaps the whole situation was making her hesitant. Her, in the Labyrinth for a visit. Her, talking genially to the Goblin King. Or maybe it was being offered this adventure on a silver platter? 

After a moment, she nodded and stood. “I’d like a swim then. It’s so beautiful here.” 

Jareth made a gesture just in her peripheral vision and when she turned back to him, he was still crouching but now he held something dark green in his hands. He stood and offered it to her. It was a swimsuit. She took it and felt a little uncomfortable at realizing it was a bikini, but as she held up each piece of it in her two hands, she saw it wasn’t very skimpy. Just a normal bikini. In fact, it was like the one she had at home—although that was a sunset orange shade. But the green was better against her skin. If the color wasn’t so pretty and the material obviously well-made, with gold embellishments at the straps, this was comparable to anything she would have purchased at JC Penney or Macy’s. But no, it felt expensive. Designer. It was nicer than any bikini she’d ever owned. 

Another movement brought her gaze back to Jareth. Now, he held out sunglasses and an inner tube. She grinned and said, “Perfect. Are you joining me?” 

He eyed the lake. “I think for now, no. I will enjoy the nature instead; this peace is something I don’t often get.” 

“Oh?” Sarah said, surprised. What was his life like? That was an intriguing thought, but she forced her mind back to the bikini and she scanned the area. It was deserted, but the tree line was on the slope of the mountain. There wasn’t a lot of shrubbery in this area, so she said, “You’ll have to turn around and promise not to peek.” 

“How disappointing, you do take all the fun out of this, Sarah,” Jareth teased. 

“Be a gentleman, Jareth,” Sarah answered, drolly. 

“Is that what I am now? I thought I was tour guide.” But he turned his back to her.  

She paused, staring at the Goblin King’s back. It was broader than she thought, considering how slim he was, and the dark material of his clothes accentuated his shoulders and hips. His face was turned just slightly toward the valley, as if he was staring intently at the tree-line. Sarah waved a hand, but the Goblin King didn’t react. She pulled a few funny faces, sure that if he had seen them, he would have chuckled. Nothing. 

Feeling safe, Sarah moved some distance away toward the shrubbery and quickly changed. She folded her clothes and laid them on a nearby rock, then she looked back at Jareth. The Goblin King. It was strange staring at him like this without him knowing—even if it was just from the back. She considered the banter they’d had so far and realized, with a shock, she was having fun . Even his teasing was fun to reply to. 

She looked at the slight curve of his cheek and his thick eyelashes. Butterflies fluttered in her stomach. Shaking herself slightly, as if she could shake off the thoughts in her mind like a dog shakes off water, she forced herself back to the present and stepped up next to him. She said, “What are you looking at?” 

“Hm? Nothing...” Jareth started, and Sarah turned to look in the direction he was staring. She could see, between the trees, glimpses of the Labyrinth. If she went closer to the edge, the view would have been clearer—but Jareth was a magical being, maybe his eyesight was better. However, she did notice the Labyrinth wasn’t just endless walls like she had first thought; there were other landscapes dotted amongst the walls. Large expanses, clearings, which had small forests or plateaus or dry deserts—as varied as the inhabitants of this place. Everything was encased in the labyrinthine borders, partitioned off from one another, so it wasn’t surprising she hadn’t realized it when she was here last. She was glad the sky was blue, though; the strange red cast when she’d first been transported, as a fifteen-year-old, had only been an additional fright. She squinted and saw that in the distance was a very green area, she guessed a forest, but that in the middle of it was flat greenery, marred by a black speck. Like a dirt spot in a carpet. 

No, not dirt. Not burned—it didn’t look like a fire had ravaged it, but it didn’t look right either. From this distance, the marred area was tiny, but how big would it be closer? 

Before she could ask about it, Jareth suddenly turned to her and said, “It’s been a while since I’ve had this vantage point. Even the Goblin Castle is not this high...” The sentence faded away as he caught sight of her, looking over her swimsuit critically and then nodding. “It suits you.” 

“Thanks, it fits perfectly. I should be a little creeped out, but I want to swim too much,” Sarah said. 

“I would not be ‘creeped out’, as you say. Magic is very good with intent,” Jareth said, softly, like he was only half answering. “One of the reasons it’s so dangerous.” 

“Jareth?” 

Jareth blinked and smiled. “Just remember, you are safe here. I wouldn’t go further than this area, though. I will be very close by, I promise. If there is anything wrong, just call my name and I will come.” 

“Okay, thanks.” 

Sarah turned and went toward the lake, slipping the sunglasses on and gripping the innertube. She couldn’t believe she was about to go swimming—for fun—in the Labyrinth. And that Jareth had made this all possible. And she wasn’t freaking out or in danger. In fact, this felt like a mini-vacation—just a break in an otherwise unremarkable week. 

When she turned back, she didn’t see him. But there was an owl flying toward the summit of the mountain. A white barn owl. Sarah watched for a moment, then looked back at the Sapphire Eye and took a deep breath. 

She was safe. The Goblin King had promised, and for some reason, she believed him. He’d told her with too much sincerity—not even a little twinkle in his eye. 

She put the innertube and the sunglasses on the edge of the tarn. She stepped into the water. 

It was cool enough that she shivered with delight. This was much better than one-hundred-degree desert summers any day! She walked into the lake, the water closing around her like an embrace. It was cool enough to be refreshing, yet warm enough that she didn’t even goosepimple. And the color—that shocking, almost electric blue. So blue it hurt her eyes. She cupped her hands, and it was like she held liquid jewels. She imagined a giant with eyes the shade of the tarn, smirking even as it died because it knew the fire in its belly would last. 

Sarah dived into the water and swam to the edge, coming up with a cascade of azure drops. She flicked hair from her eyes and leaned her elbows on the stony edge of the tarn, staring out at the Labyrinth valley through this more tree-sparse area. The water tasted fresh as she licked the moisture drops off her lips. She flopped backward, letting the water keep her afloat, and lazily stroked backward as she stared at the blue sky. Already, what a different place this is to what I experienced before, she thought. 

She did a circuit around the tarn, which didn’t tax her very much as she paused often and enjoyed the views from every angle—even the boring ones that just showed the flat mountain plateau and sparse shrubbery. She went back to the tarn’s lip, closest to the edge, and stared out at the Labyrinth once more. This was the best view, by far. The trees narrowed it significantly, but she could still see how vast the Labyrinth was. How twisted, as well. What adventures were in each nook and cranny? What creatures? 

She remembered, back when she had run the Labyrinth, trying to mark her path with lipstick. She had thought she was so clever—and yet, the arrows made no sense when she looked at them again. She had felt such anger at the Labyrinth and Jareth, then, for managing to foil her. “It isn’t fair!” she had no doubt proclaimed. Sarah grinned, remembering her younger self almost fondly at that moment—how naïve and young she had been. 

She turned and looked at the mountain. Truthfully, she was a little disappointed she was alone; she had thought the Goblin King would keep her company. Which was silly; why had she thought that? Although, she wished she wasn’t alone. 

The trees rustled. Sarah jerked her gaze towards them, but besides the noise, she saw nothing. She was very much alone, on top of a mountain, in a place she had no idea about. Once again, Sarah, she chided herself, be careful what you wish for. She slowly turned her whole body, so she faced the rustling. Her heart was pounding in her chest and her breath quickened. The rustling continued. She was sure she saw small shadows at the edge of the forest line, as well, darting back and forth. Looking at her—and then melding with the greenery once more. 

Icy cold fingers of unease slithered up Sarah’s back. Her gaze was fixated at the rustling, unable to look away, as she wondered what was there. She was afraid to even call Jareth’s name, in case it would encourage whatever was out there to attack her. Suddenly, she longed for the Goblin King to come back—or if not him, she found herself remembering Ludo, her furry friend who had sung rocks to fall on her enemies’ heads. That would have been handy at this moment. 

The rustling grew stronger and Sarah took a sharp intake of breath, trying to move as little as possible. The ripples stilled around her. She was affixed in a pool of blue, every muscle rigid and waiting. 

She heard whispering; she was sure of it. Soft, high-pitched whispering. 

And then, just as she was sucking in breath to scream the Goblin King’s name and summon him, the leaves and low-growing shrubbery parted and out waddled...a chicken. Little, mottled hands grabbed at it and missed before disappearing back into the forest. 

She heard: “Grab it! Grab it!”  

Then: “I can’st! Too quicksy!”  

And, finally: “Aw hex, Boss Man gonna be so mad. It’s goin’ straight for her!”  

Sarah frowned as she watched the poultry, its feathers dirty brown-with-white-splotches, waddle forward curiously, stopping just at the edge of the tarn to peck at some wild grass. 

Sarah’s mouth opened a little in disbelief. The chicken, at that moment, looked up and met her eyes. Animal and human stared at each other and both seemed surprised to find the other there. 

Sarah looked at the tree line and she once again spotted shadows. She finally said, “Who’s out there?” 

Rustling; soft, quick whispers. Did they sound alarmed? 

“Is this your chicken?” Sarah asked, and then in her best friendly voice, she added, “Is it a girl or a boy chicken?” 

There was a hesitation, and Sarah felt like the whole mountain held its breath. Then, a small and nasal voice said: “Girl!” 

Sarah relaxed. The slight movement caused ripples on the tarn’s surface. She said, “What’s her name?” 

Soft rustling and a quick back-and-forth of whispers. Then, a new voice that was deeper but also nasal said, “Edwina.” 

Sarah grinned, now not afraid at all. She said, “Edwina the Chicken?” 

She swam slightly closer and Edwina, who had gone back to the wild grasses, stilled and once again stared, warily watching her, probably wondering if Sarah was foe or friend. However, the poultry had terrible survival instincts because, after a few moments, it went back to its grazing. It left that clump of wild grass and came a bit closer for some other soft, small vegetation. 

“She’s a very tame chicken,” Sarah said. She leaned at the edge of the tarn and would have tried to pet the bird, but at that moment, Edwina turned her back on Sarah and with a soft cluck , walked a few feet away to continue grazing. Sarah let the chicken go and stared at the forest line. 

“And your voices,” she said, genially, “wouldn’t happen to be goblins, would you?” 

Again, some rustling and furious whispering back and forth.1

Now that Sarah was closer, she could hear some of it.  

The higher-pitched voice was saying: “She said it! She knows it’s us!”  

The other voice: “She don’t know!”  

Then: “Yeah, she does, she’s the Lady!”   

Sarah hesitated, then said, “I really am friendly, so if you want to come out and introduce yourselves—maybe play in the lake, too—you can. I won’t mind at all.”  

Soft whispering, then: “Don’t!”  

The foliage parted and a short, fat goblin—waddling much like Edwina had—came forward. He had cute, chubby cheeks and a lemon-shaped head. His nose was so squat it looked like a mound of flesh with two slits. His lips protruded slightly, almost lizard-like, and he had large, coin-round and black eyes. On his head was scraggily, straw-dry, white hair. Dressed in patchwork leather shirt and pants, as well as a colander on his head, he looked ugly and yet adorably cute. 

Sarah smiled. “Hi!” She walked out of the lake slowly, seeing the goblin’s large eyes widen as he took in her stature—which looked like a giantess’s next to him. The goblin came up to Sarah’s knees. She squatted down next to the creature and said, “What’s your name?” 

Now out of the water, she felt a little chilled and gooseflesh erupted on her arms. She rubbed them, trying to dissipate the unpleasant feeling, and the goblin watched in fascination. 

He said, “Booch.” 

“Your name is Booch?” 

“Aye,” he said, proudly. 

“And your friend?” Sarah asked, trying to catch sight of the other goblin in the forest. 

“Ah, that’s Tud.” 

“Don’t be tellin’ that girl my name!” came an angry reply and the leaves furiously shook as a slightly taller but equally fat goblin came out of the forest. She guessed another male. He had a full snout, and slight white mottling on its skin. He wore dirty white gloves, but otherwise dressed similarly to Booch. On his head was a soft, felt hat with a feather and little curly cues of white hair poked out. 

“Booch, nice to meet you,” Sarah said, sticking out her hand. 

Booch stared at it for a moment before recognition flashed across his eyes. “Oh! I’ve heard of this!” And then he proudly shook Sarah’s hand. “Been up Aboveground one or two times, Lady. ‘Twas great fun. I knows you ain’t dangerous. Unlike Tud there, I was there in the beginning.” 

“The beginning?” Sarah asked. 

Booch leaned forward and whispered loudly, “When ya wished the first time.” 

“Oh.” Sarah flushed, feeling that familiar guilt. “That was a mistake.” 

“Eh? Why? ‘Twas great fun!” Booch said. “We laughed and danced and sung more’n we’d done in an age! Ain’t that right, Tud?” Booch leaned forward again and just as loudly whispered, “Tud tried to poke the baby’s head but I was like, nah Tud! Leave the mite alone!” 

“Glad you did,” Sarah said, glancing at Tud. The goblin had bristled, then crossed his arms over his body and huffed. The stance was so reminiscent of another friend from the Labyrinth—her memory, which was supplying more and more details of her time in the Labyrinth, whispered in a familiar voice: “I knew you were gonna get in trouble as soon as I met you, so I come to give you a hand.” — that Sarah felt a slight pang. 

“So,” she said, “you came to visit me because you were curious?” 

“Sure,” Booch said. 

“And why bring Edwina?” Sarah asked. 

“Why not?” Tud answered, frowning. 

“Fair enough.” Sarah eyed their clothes. “Would you like a swim? The water is great.” 

“Oh yes!” Booch pulled off his shirt and trousers to show off a white undershirt and long white shorts underneath. He happily ran past Edwina — who looked up to cluck at him curiously before going back to eating plants — and jumped into the water. Sarah quickly turned away so the splash wouldn’t get her full in the face. She felt the droplets rain on her back, instead. 

She thought about approaching Tud, but his whole demeanor screamed, Don’t! Instead, she smiled invitingly to the grumpy goblin and said, “Join if you want, Tud.”  

She ran back into the water with a laugh. When she glanced at Tud again, she saw the goblin had taken off his boots and rolled up his trousers and sunk his feet into the water.  

Sarah and Booch started a game of Marco Polo, but instead of calling out the explorer’s name, the “it” person would yell “dance” and the response would be “magic dance!” Sarah wasn’t sure why Booch insisted this was the correct phrase, but in some ways, this was far more amusing, and Sarah chortled whenever she was “it,” yelling “dance?” in a loud voice. Interestingly, every time she yelled it, more and more voices yelled back. The first time, it was just Booch, but the next, three new voices popped up. Sarah accidentally cheated—opening her eyes from surprise—and the goblins jeered until she quickly closed them again. But she had caught sight of three more in the water—one balancing a yellow hardhat on its large head. The next time she was “it”, nearly a dozen voices cried, “Magic dance!” in answer to her. She laughed and continued, going with it. As the game progressed, she added splashes, sweeping her arm across the surface to send a curtain of water towards whoever seemed closest. She knew it wasn’t exactly fair — her splashes were like waves in comparison to the tiny ones the goblins did — but since they would laugh and yell, “Again, Lady!” she wouldn’t feel bad about her advantage. By this point, she had lost the sunglasses somewhere—only later spying it perched on a goblin’s nose—and somehow, Tud had stolen her innertube and was lazily lying on it, balancing so he wouldn’t fall through, as it meandered around the Sapphire Eye. 

When she wasn’t “it,” goblins would stack on time of each other, all of them yelling, “Dance!” in harmony, their little arms waving in the air like a strange centipede. But she still managed to easily dodge them as their teamwork skills were mediocre at best. Oftentimes, what happened was the stack would fall and then they would start roughhousing each other in the water.  

Of course, eventually, the Marco Polo game devolved into just splashing and swimming to avoid goblins. They would gang up, trying to make smaller splashes into bigger ones. They mostly missed her—instead, they had better aim at each other—but sometimes they would catch her with a wave of freshwater, and she would sputter and laugh, her head thrown back. She didn’t know how long she played in the tarn—the sun hadn’t meandered very far in the sky, but then in the Labyrinth, what did that mean anyway? —but, at some point, she realized she was enjoying herself immensely. In fact, the last time she enjoyed herself this much was the last snowball fight with her family. This realization made her stop, planting her feet at the bottom of the lake on its shallow side as the emotions of that realization lapped through her like a small splash from a goblin's hand. 

She was having a good time— in the Labyrinth . Her fingers were pruney and she was getting hungry—and yet she didn’t want it to end. She had laughed more today than she had in months. She was glad she’d asked the Goblin King for this wish. 

At that moment, a stack of goblins collided with another stack and all of them fell into the lake, laughing and yelling. A wave of water washed over Tud, who scowled and said, “Mind yourselves, ya trash heaps! You got me clothes...” 

Sarah glanced at him when he trailed off. He was looking over her shoulder and she turned. Standing on the lip of the tarn, near the edge of the mountain, was the Goblin King. And he’d done a wardrobe change, she noticed with amusement. Gone was the peasant top; now he wore a simple, black sleek tunic with a gold belt and black leggings. His boots had gold buckles and ended at the knee.  

There were stray, white feathers on his shoulders. Sarah had the strangest urge to brush them away. 

He was looking towards her, a small smile tugging at his lips. He said, “Ah, don’t stop on my account, precious.” 

“Don’t call me that,” she said, automatically, and then a devious thought entered her head and she grinned. 

Jareth looked at her warily as she half-walked, half-swam to where he stood. On this side, the ground didn’t gently extend out of the water into a shoreline; there was a distinct lip where the tarn was contained. Just a few feet away was the edge of the cliff. This spot was deeper—the goblins didn’t go this far. They quietly watched as Sarah leaned against the lip, her upper body out of the water. If she did this, her elbows almost brushed the Goblin King’s booted toes. 

“Where have you been, Goblin King?” 

Jareth indicated the top of the mountain with a flourish. “The view there is magnificent.” 

“Maybe, some time, you can show me,” she said, pitching her voice lower. 

Jareth’s eyebrow arched, but he didn’t take the bait. Instead, he said in a convivial voice, “You seemed to be enjoying yourself so much with my subjects, I thought why disturb you?” 

“Mm, they are a lively bunch. It’s kind of like playing with my younger cousins during Thanksgiving,” Sarah said. 

“I’m glad someone has the time, patience, and energy for their antics...” He frowned, looking over her shoulder. 

Sarah glanced back and saw Edwina lazily floating by, letting the eddies of the lake push her along toward the shallow areas.  

She looked toward them as she passed and said, “Cluck.” 

Jareth snorted and said, sarcastically, “Truly, will wonders never cease?” 

“That’s Edwina,” Sarah said. 

“I see.” 

Sarah turned back to the Goblin King and said, “Are you busy now?” 

Jareth frowned. “I suppose not. Why, precious?” 

She let the pet name slip by— just this once, she assured herself—and instead teasingly said, “Because you said you’d play tour guide, but you’ve been remiss so far, just disappearing.” 

“This is not good enough?” Jareth asked, spreading his arms wide. He didn’t look offended; he acknowledged her teasing tone and even seemed intrigued. He tsk ed and said, “Those expectations again, Sarah. How will I ever meet them?” 

She crooked a finger and said, “I’ll tell you. Come closer.” 

Jareth’s expression smoothed, eyeing her as if she was a puzzle he hadn’t expected. There was caution in him. He was watching her intently, as if he wanted to memorize this moment of her. He said, softly, “Why?” 

And suddenly, Sarah’s grin faded, and the moment was much weightier than she intended. It suddenly seemed so quiet—and the goblins were watching with wide eyes. She fought the feeling, trying to inject some of her jovial tone, but still, she spoke more softly than before: “Come closer, find out, Goblin King. Only Edwina is the chicken here, right?” 

She leaned back, forcing Jareth to crouch with his weight on his toes. He was much closer to the edge—and to her—and if she had pushed herself up onto her arms, coming out of the water like a mermaid in a Disney movie, she would have been in the perfect position to kiss him. 

She reached up, toward his face, and something sparked in the depths of the Goblin King’s eyes. Something twitched in Sarah’s own chest. At the last minute, she changed course and lightly rested a cool hand against the back of his neck. When she touched Jareth’s warm flesh, her fingers quivered just slightly. Jareth’s gaze fixed on hers, his lips slightly apart. Her mouth curved into a mischievous smile and his gaze flicked to it. 

And then with her other hand, she grabbed Jareth’s arm, then pushed off against the tarn’s wall. Jareth, who had been affixed on her, and balancing on the tips of his toes, was immediately off-balance, tumbling forward. With a loud, satisfying splash, he landed in the Sapphire Eye. 

The goblins gasped collectively. At first, no one said anything, but when Jareth surfaced sputtering, their voices rang out like chimes: 

“She got the Boss Man to swim!”  

“If he fell in, he lost, right? Is he ‘it’ now?”  

“Boss Man’s haaaaair! He gonna be so mad!”  

The last was a half-wail. Sarah glanced at the goblins and then at their King. 

Jareth looked like a water-logged lion, and just as happy as any cat to be thrown into water. He pushed hair out of his eyes, causing it to stick up around his face in tufts now that it was wet. He grabbed the edge and stared at Sarah in disbelief. 

Maybe I should have thought this through, Sarah thought. She’d been thinking of Jareth like her younger, male cousins. She’d gotten caught up in the atmosphere, the jovial joy of it all—thinking about how this was like horse playing with her cousins—and tossing them into the pool had resulted in laughter and promises of revenge. 

But he wasn’t her cousins, of course. She knew that.  

He said, his eyes wide, “Sarah, this is silk .” 

I must have gone temporarily insane, she thought, flushing at her own behavior. And then she glanced at the silk shirt in question and noticed how it clung to his shoulders, chest, and arms. Oh, dear god, what would the leggings be like? Her flush deepened. 

She mustered her courage. In for a penny, in for a pound.  

She said, “Oh come on, Goblin King. Surely your magic dry cleans? Otherwise, what’s the point?” 

For a moment, they stared at each other. All that they had been to each other flashed between them, the old roles shadows behind them. Hero and villain. Mortal and immortal. Commoner and king. Champion and Temptation. Shadows that felt like heavy mantles and in that moment, what Sarah wanted more than anything, was to let it all go. Please, let it all go.   

She wished it. 

And Jareth’s face smoothed, his eyes sparking. He sighed, pinching the fabric of his tunic, lifting it a little from his chest as he turned to the silent, wide-eyed goblin audience and said, magnanimously, “Well? Laugh!” 

And the goblins laughed, probably from relief. Jareth turned back to Sarah and his lips twitched into a smile. He said, “You win again, precious.” 

Sarah said, “Don’t call me that.” But she was smiling back. 

Jareth laughed. 

Chapter Text

CHAPTER FIVE

Jareth joined in with the pool party fun—that's what it felt like, anyway. A pool party. He kept his wet clothes on, but there was something strangely distracting about the way the wet material clung. There was also something distracting about the way he would glance at her, over the tops of goblin stacks.

With the addition of the Goblin King in such a laidback role, the goblins took the opportunity to forget about Sarah and their games of Marco Polo; instead, they focused all their energy on trying to overpower the Goblin King. Sarah, without minding, meandered to the shallow areas, the churning water lapping at her collarbone as she watched. The goblins would climb onto each other's shoulders—she kept an eye on the ones on the bottom, it wouldn't do to have anyone drown—until there were a few of the goblin stacks. They would approach the Goblin King, who would give them bored and droll looks that clearly said: "Do your worst, I will win." As they approached, the top of the stacks would launch at him in flailing, wet limbs. And he would casually flick them away with the move of his hand. The goblins would fly through the air, splashing back into the water, laughing. Always laughing. The first time this had happened, Sarah had stiffened, but the goblins had quickly surfaced and giddily cried out in joy. It reminded her of the Williams family reunions in the summer, when it had been humid enough to get out the Slip-and-Slide, turn on the sprinklers, and her nephews had been young enough to try and crawl all over Sarah as water flowed down their faces in rivulets. She would go "Fee, fie, fo, fum! I smell the blood of children," in a bad half-rhyme, and as they squealed, she'd peel them off her legs like leeches and launch them down the Slip-and-Slide. She'd ignore Karen's warnings to be careful. The children loved every minute of it, stopping only when Sarah's arms were noodley and she'd pat her stomach and proclaim herself too hungry to continue. "Pesky children always running away, now I'm a hungry giant and I'll have burgers instead," she'd say, to their great amusement.

As she watched, she wondered if the goblins were just like children, or if sometimes they acted like grown-ups. At that moment, the Goblin King met her eye and smiled. Sarah smiled back. If this was how they were all the time, who did Jareth talk to? She froze, chasing that thought, the smile fading from her face. Luckily, the Goblin King had turned away so he could bat at a stack of goblins lazily, water dripping off the ends of his eyelashes like diamonds.

Who did Jareth talk to? Sarah wondered. He's the only human I've ever seen in the Labyrinth. Now that she thought about it, the residents of the Labyrinth had a fairy tale innocence to them. She thought of Ludo, Sir Didymus, and even Hoggle. She had felt safe with them, because there was nothing more to them than they presented—and what they presented was idyllic and innocent. Even the banter they'd done while traversing the Labyrinth had been innocent. Jareth wasn't like that at all; everything about him was enigmatic and filled with possibilities. Adult possibilities, Sarah's mind whispered.

After a while, Sarah pulled herself from the water. Her arms and legs were tired, her fingertips pruney, and she sat on a larger rock and let the goblins try to overtake their king. Of course, they didn't have a chance. When Jareth noticed her there, he called a halt to the game and confidently—somehow, even wading through water, he looked graceful—navigated out of the tarn toward Sarah.

She got a brief view of a white silk peasant blouse, the low neckline hugging his chest muscles. The pants, wet and hip-hugging, would have left little to the imagination before and now—

With a wave of his hand, Jareth's clothes were dry, and his hair styled in that familiar way. The sun was low in the horizon, so Sarah shaded her eyes and tipped her head back. She smiled and said, "Handy trick," and ignored any disappointment she felt. Which was very marginal. Very. Really.

"I have many handy tricks," Jareth answered. "Were you bored?"

Sarah also noticed he'd changed slightly. His shirt was now a blue that matched the tarn, but it still had a deep V, showing off pale skin. Sarah tried not to stare. She said, "No, just getting a bit tired. The goblins are cute and fun, but they definitely change the atmosphere, don't you think? They remind me of little kids."

"Mmm," Jareth said, glancing at the empty lake. "They'll have gone now to find food. They eat early, quiet down in the dark...yes, they're different in the dark."

"Different how?"

Jareth gave a non-committal shrug without answering. The lake, which had been a churning font of jewel blue and white froth, was placid once more. Jareth turned back to her. "I'm sorry if they broke the relaxing time you were having. I did not send them to you."

"Oh no!" she assured him, and without thinking, she reached out and patted his arm in assurance. "They were lovely, reminded me of my time as a teaching assistant in kindergarten. I did that for two years during my college studies."

"Kindergarten?"

"Mm, little kids. They're a handful. By the end of the day, I was ready to go home and have some herbal tea and read a book in silence. I imagine goblins are a little like young children—chaotic, full of energy, and saying all kinds of crazy stuff." Sarah grinned at her own memories.

"Goblins…they…" Jareth was thoughtful for a moment, and Sarah waited, wishing she could decipher the expression on his face. He was staring out at the Labyrinth again and there was such a still quiet about him as unnamed emotion flitted across his face. He didn't finish his thought.

After a moment, Sarah said, "They what?"

"Hm?" Jareth shook his head, his expression smoothing into his usual overinflated confidence. "Nothing, Precious. They are magical creatures, silly, and I'm quite convinced without a smart thought in their head. All they care about is fun, food, and friends."

"Simple creatures." Sarah paused. "What about you, Jareth? What do you care about?"

He looked at her in surprise, and maybe if she'd asked that question first, when the emotion on his face had still been raw and unguarded, he'd have answered differently. As it were, he drew himself up and smirked. "Why, the game, of course."

"Game?"

"The runners. The Labyrinth. Winning that game."

"Have there been many?" Sarah asked, curiously.

"Quite a few—not a lot recently. My time is mostly my own to spend—well, no, that's a lie. I have kingly duties, after all," he said in a very self-important voice. "And the Labyrinth is a maelstrom of chaos. I keep that at bay. But, at one time, the runners came often and provided a...welcome distraction. Yes. A bit of a challenge keeps your hand in the game."

"Were you always the villain?"

He looked at her, raising her eyebrows. "Of course. Always. A child needs someone to struggle against, don't they?"

She tipped her head in acknowledgement, perhaps to say he had done an excellent job of that very thing when she had run the Labyrinth. She said, "You never wanted to play hero?"

Jareth laughed. "Hero? Me? I wouldn't know how."

Sarah wasn't sure she believed him, anymore. He'd been downright pleasant so far. She said, "I think you've type cast yourself, Jareth."

"Type chasted?"

She smiled, shaking her head, and instead asked another question. One she only asked because they were so congenial at this moment. "If you're always the villain, do you always hit the same beats? Do you always send the Cleaners after runners, or have them meet the Helping Hands? Or—let's see, what else?"

"No." Jareth moved next to her, sitting on the grass and staring at the vista around them. "Each runner is unique, and the Labyrinth is unique to each runner."

Sarah licked her lips and said, softly, "And you? Are you unique to each runner?"

"I am the Goblin King, Sarah." He shrugged and didn't meet her gaze. "I am always terrible and frightening, threatening and tempting."

"So...the peach dream? Is that always the same?"

"No," he murmured, thoughtfully. "That was...a fancy. First and only. Something in your eyes..."

Sarah's scalp tingles at this revelation, and she wonders if she's flushed. She doesn't know what to say; she's half-amazed Jareth even said those words, although he said them so softly, almost to himself, as if he'd forgotten who he was saying them to. But there was also something magical happening, something that allowed the Goblin King and the Champion to, for this brief time, stand on equal footing. To talk candidly.

Sarah had the overwhelming urge to reach out and take the Goblin King's hand—something in his voice made the urge powerful, so much so that her fingers twitched. But ultimately, she sat quietly wondering what she should say next.

It was only a couple of dozens of seconds, maybe, that both sat quietly in their own thoughts. It was Jareth who roused himself first, perhaps remembering where he was, and who he was, and who he was talking to.

He stretched; his entire demeanor different from the reflective, quiet Goblin King of a few moments ago. He said, "I don't know why I did that silly dream! I think you read a lot of romance novels, Precious, and I picked up on it. Something in your eyes—yes, something just screamed ballroom dance and big, puffy dress."

Sarah sputtered. "I did not!" she lied. She didn't care if he knew she loved romance novels, she told herself, but there was something about Jareth that just made you want to argue.

He ignored her and said, "Are you cold? The mountain is a bit nippy. Not that I'm complaining about the wardrobe choice. If you want to stay in the outfit, I can magic a coat for you."

Sarah looked down at herself. Oh yes, the bikini. She flushed—again, she didn't care she was in a bikini, per se, but something about the way Jareth said it made it seem like a challenge. When she had been in the warm waters of the tarn, she hadn't noticed the cooler temperatures of the mountain; in fact, getting out and sitting had been nice to cool off a bit after the horseplay with the goblins. But, yes, now that he brought her attention to it, she realized it was nippy and goosepimples dotted her skin.

"I'll change back," she said. She stood, and then perhaps because it was the last thing he'd be expecting, or because it was the right thing to do, she moved closer and reached out, taking Jareth's hand and giving it a brief squeeze—something she would have done with any friend—and said, "Thank you, this was a lot of fun."

She moved toward her clothes, turning her back on the Goblin King, but saying over her shoulder, "Now, don't peek!"

She heard Jareth sigh and said, "Since when did the villain become so well-behaved? Only a Champion would get me to promise such a thing!"

Sarah grinned.

She changed quickly in the bushes, sliding her T-shirt on and then removing the bikini top. The cold whipped across her skin and she shivered, glancing at the sky. The sun was closer to the horizon, and she guessed it must be around five o'clock in the evening. When did the sun set here? What time was it back at her home?

I don't want to leave yet, she realized, and paused in buttoning up her jeans. She was having a lot of fun. She hadn't even seen her friends yet. What were Ludo and Sir Didymus and Hoggle up to? Could she ask Jareth to arrange a meeting? Time didn't matter; after all, didn't the Goblin King say he could rearrange time?

And as for the Goblin King...

She'd asked him so many questions, things she'd wondered for so long after her trip Underground, and yet she felt like she hadn't even scratched the surface of her curiosity.

She continued dressing, finishing with her jeans and sliding her feet back into her backyard sandals. She sighed, softly. Adventures came to an end, she supposed, whether she wanted them to or not.

She came back to Jareth's side and tapped him on the shoulder. "Okay. Now what? Tap my feet two times and say, 'there's no place like home'?"

Jareth turned and said, "You could stay."

Her eyes widened. "What?"

In the dimming light, he looked more imposing. He said, "You could stay for dinner."

"I—dinner?" Sarah floundered, caught off guard.

"Yes. I admit, it's usually an affair in the Labyrinth. The Goblin King never dines alone, my dinners are always in the banquet hall and always surrounded by high-ranking goblins—"

"There are goblin ranks?" Sarah said, eyebrows raising.

"It's a rotating system," Jareth said. "And so, they always want to come to dinner. Eating in the castle is one of the perks of a high rank. Also, the privilege of a plus one guest, and don't I regret adding that rule."

"Why?" Sarah asked, curious.

"Because those pesky buggers usually choose chickens as their plus one!"

Sarah grinned, charmed despite herself. "Chickens? The Goblin King, surrounded by goblins and chickens, in the banquet hall?"

Jareth nodded and muttered, "And, if I'm lucky, with the candlestick and a lack of witnesses. Damn Labyrinth chickens. Magic makes them...opinionated."

"Well, count me in, Goblin King!" Sarah said, her grin widening. "This I got to see!"

Jareth jerked, his expression clearing. "Well, well. You surprise me once again, Sarah. I thought I'd have to do more to convince you to dine with your once-enemy."

Okay, let's get one thing straight... Sarah shook her head. "All jokes aside, Jareth, the emphasis I'd like is once-enemy. You said a truce, after all." She had had many friendly thoughts about the Goblin King in the last few hours, and despite them, she wasn't ready to call him friend so she hoped he wouldn't ask to define their new, fragile relationship. Not-quite-friend-not-quite-enemy? No, not enemy at all, she thought. That time in Sarah's life—when the Goblin King had been frightful and evil and the kidnapper of her brother—was gone. And she didn't miss it.

And, even more surprising, Sarah realized, this dynamic, whatever it was, felt more exhilarating.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER SIX

"Where is the castle?" Sarah had asked when silence had lulled between them, and Jareth had pointed out at the view, to a distant speck. It looked like a dark building, but from this distance, she couldn't tell what it was.

Sarah looked at it and murmured, "It looks so small from here."

"Indeed," Jareth said, his voice close and deep. "Everything seems so small from this vantage point. Even problems seem small from here."

"Problems?" Sarah asked, turning to look back at him. He was very close to her. She wasn't sure how she felt about that, so she put a bit of distance between them. She said, "What's that?"

It was a strange pyramid-looking thing, rising from a section of the Labyrinth. She saw, as she traced backward from it, that it was a dead-end in the maze structure. Not that dead-ends always meant a real dead-end, at least not in the Labyrinth.

He glanced there and said, "The double-crusted sand mammoths like to create them. I think they worship their ancestors there."

"The double-crusted what? Jeez, that makes only more questions."

"I'm sure, but we would be here all day if I answered what everything is," Jareth said. He paused, a diffident expression flittering across his face. "Sarah…you said you would come to dinner, yes?"

"I did." She smiled, but a thought came and the smile wavered. "What time is it now, anyway?"

Jareth looked at the horizon, thoughtfully. "Perhaps a bit after four o'clock? Dinner is promptly at eight in the banquet hall. And, of course, I will make sure you get back Above with plenty of time, Sarah. I promised. Reordering time a smidge is no big trick for me."

"Of course. It's not that. It's just…Well, there's time before dinner so…Jareth, I was wondering if I could see my friends."

To her surprise, he stiffened. He said, "Your...friends."

"Yes," she answered, hesitatingly. "Ludo and Sir Didymus and Hoggle. Will they be at dinner?"

His lip curled slightly. "No, I don't think they will be."

"Please, Jareth. Can I see them beforehand, then? It's...been a long time."

He was silent for a few long moments. The jovial glint was gone; his expression was unreadable again. Sarah chanted in her mind: Please just say yes. I was beginning to like this new you. Please don't ask for something in return.

"I'll gather them." His face was now a mask of disinterest. He leaned down, fixing a crease in his otherwise immaculate trousers. She noticed that when he straightened, the color had changed slightly; a darker indigo, and probably made of silk. "But let's go to the castle first. If that suits you?"

Sarah frowned. She'd said something that had put some distance between them—further than the few feet literally between them. Was it just asking to see her friends? What did he have against that? She felt a slight buzz of annoyance, but she pushed it away. Mentally shrugging—after all, what else could she do?—she held out her hand and took Jareth's gloved one before he even offered it. He looked at her for a second and then his fingers flexed around hers.

He held up a crystal and just like before, it flared to life like a small sun, too bright for Sarah to look at. She turned away, shutting her eyes, already dark spots dancing behind her closed eyelids. While there was no indication they moved, her body felt something. It always felt slightly off in her stomach, akin to dropping in those fast elevator rides at amusement parks, but on a smaller scale. She took a deep breath and slowly let it out, then opened her eyes.

She smelled crushed grass, and she was in front of the Castle. She looked at it properly now that she wasn't running against the clock, having just escaped the chaos of the Goblin City, or trying to save her brother. It was a strange mix of off-putting and inviting. She remembered that the castle, itself, was surrounded by walls with dark spikes on them. However, Jareth had teleported them into the courtyard. Had she seen the courtyard before? Her memories from when she was fifteen were fuzzy, clouded by panic and adrenaline and battle. But it didn't quite align with what she could remember—which was everything being barren. The courtyard was spike-free, thankfully, and soft grass grew over most the courtyard, except for a white-stoned, low divide that circled around the grass, probably to keep inquisitive feet off it. For the most part, the grass was well-manicured, the few shrubs that lined the walkways or by the entrance areas, or under the windows, were all trimmed. In the center of the courtyard was a fountain, a stone sculpture of a barn owl perched on a marble plinth, with gaily bubbling water dripping down the sides of the plinth and into the bowl. The owl's wings were outstretched, and it was very detailed and beautifully carved.

Sarah turned to the castle itself, which was on the far side of the courtyard, opposite to them. It had two wings that jutted from either side, ending with two tall towers. The main structure in the center rose to a grand height, bedecked with gargoyles along the curved roofs and balconies, the faces cherub-plump but grotesque. The castle's stones were light terra cotta colors, and the gargoyles were made of a stone that matched—maybe sandstone—while the spires, slanted roofing, and detailing in the castle arches and windows were closer to Ottoman style. It was a strange mishmash, and Sarah wondered if this was what Jareth imagined a castle should look like.

It certainly was big and opulent. Staring at it, Sarah whispered, "The view of a castle of romance…such a place as would somehow take all the color out of storybooks and fairytales."

"What, precious?" Jareth asked.

She turned to Jareth and found him watching her. She smiled, uncertainly, and said, "It looks nicer under a blue sky."

"Hm," Jareth murmured. "Actually, it has changed since you last were here. I made it less—er, uninviting. So many spikes in the old design. I suppose I didn't want to be that Jareth any longer. It is strange how change is an inevitability of life, isn't it? Even for one such as I." He shrugged, glancing around.

"Indeed," Sarah matched his tone and grinned at him when he shot his gaze back to her face.

His lips twitched upwards slightly. "Come." He hadn't released her hand, so she dutifully followed. He spoke as they walked, following the white walkway toward the large main entrance. "I have a room prepared for you—well, for guests. It will be good to freshen up, I'd think. This is exciting, I don't get human guests often."

"Too busy being villainous, I'd imagine," Sarah teased.

"Indeed."

The double door entrance was huge—eight feet tall, at least, and four people could have walked shoulder-to-shoulder through it and not touch the sides. It was also Moorish in design, opulent with inlaid colored marble making soft, floral designs along the edges. The door opened and closed by itself, and Sarah shivered as they walked through, impressed by this magic almost more than the teleportation. The entrance hall was huge, as well, but Jareth was picking up speed and so she got a flash of numerous doors, orangey-red brickwork, and dark, old tapestries before they ascended the stairs.

Interestingly, the castle was empty. Their footsteps echoed as they walked.

There were portraits higher on the walls; they showed usual court scenes, but with Jareth and goblins instead. One was a portrait of Jareth, the kind Sarah had seen in museums showing old monarchies, and similarly, Jareth was painted in rich, red brocade with his hand resting on a short table. His expression, though, was annoyed—probably because there were goblins swarming around his legs, including one that seemed to be climbing up his brocade cape. Sarah stopped to look at the painting for a moment, and Jareth gently tugged her hand.

"Come, just one more flight."

She followed, and another painting caught her eye. This was Jareth leaning with his head propped in his hand, a bored expression on his face, as he watched goblins dancing and jumping around.

They got to the third floor and the carpeted stairway ended with scalloped edges. The landing branched on either side, the banister ran the length, and the walls were also dotted with tapestries and paintings. Jareth led her through the right side, into a hallway. The ceiling was lower here, and it made the place seem darker. While there was carpeting, it was threadbare and old.

They passed a painting that showed a hunting scene. Jareth brought up the rear of the hunting party on a beautiful white stallion, a sharp contrast to his dark riding clothes. The goblins were all on the backs of dogs of various breeds. Some were holding spatulas, large spoons, paper swords, and other random items. She couldn't see what they were chasing, it was out of frame, but they all were pointed toward the right side of the canvas. In the background was a stylized Labyrinth.

"These paintings are nice," Sarah said, breaking the silence.

Jareth glanced at the one they are passing now—a simple landscape, with the castle in the foreground—on a threadbare tapestry. He shrugged. "After dinner, if you are willing, I'll give you a tour. There are very big paintings in the throne room—and the dining room as well, now that I think of it."

"Cool," Sarah answered.

Silence lapsed again, and before Sarah could think of something else to break it, they stopped in front of a golden door. The frame had carved flowers and the knob was made of shiny bronze. Jareth opened the door and with a grand gesture, ushered her inside. She stepped into a sitting room with a large fireplace, which had a seating arrangement around it—a loveseat and two plush purple armchairs. Across from it, the wall was lined with bookshelves—mostly empty, although there were a few books and knick-knacks strategically arranged—and a writing desk facing towards the balcony. In the very center of the room was a large, circular table made of heavy, dark wood. A huge vase of flowers was on it. The large balcony with double doors allowed light to stream in and give the whole room a welcoming feel. The place was painted in rich jewel tones, with matching carpeting and tapestries. The vase was gold filigree. Royal was what this room screamed. And this was a guest room?

Sarah realized her mouth was slightly agape at the sheer opulence and closed it. She glanced at Jareth. His face was glowing; if he wanted a reaction from her, then she delivered as he hoped.

He pointed to a smaller door partly hidden by matching wallpaper. "Through there is the bedroom and en-suite bathroom. You can change there. The wardrobe has options, choose what you like."

"I—I mean, isn't this okay?" Sarah nervously waved at her jeans and blouse. This isn't a date, after all, she wanted to add, but didn't.

Jareth answered, "Oh, do indulge me, Sarah. This is a momentous occasion, after all. The Champion, back in the Underground, and not at odds with its king. We should have a banquet."

"A banquet?" she repeated back, her voice low and nervous. When Jareth had told her about silly goblins and plus one chicken guests, it had seemed innocuous, but now...seeing this beautiful room and remembering that this was the Goblin King, with all his magic and mystery, was making her nervous. "Um...with goblins, right?"

"Well, yes. As I said. The Court, of course."

"The—the people from the ballroom dream?" She just wanted to be sure.

It took a minute for Jareth to realize what she was talking about, but then he shook his head firmly. "No, no, of course not. That was just a dream. Here, in the Labyrinth..." he hesitated, then finally said, "there aren't...people."

That's right, he mentioned that before. And she'd wondered who Jareth had talked to, but she had been distracted from further dissection of that thought.

"Jareth," Sarah said, slowly, a thought suddenly coming to her, "when there are runners in the Labyrinth...is that the only time there are people in the Underground, uh, besides you?"

"Really, Sarah, I am hardly human, as you are. I am the Goblin King," Jareth said, then added before she could ask more questions, "Humans without my blessings of safe passage would not stay human here. They will slowly change, until they were Labyrinth creatures."

That was an interesting bit of information, but Sarah didn't want to stray from her original thought, so she filed it away. Instead, she asked, softly, "Jareth, does that mean...you are the only human-looking thing in the Underground?"

Jareth grinned, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. It was more a sneer than anything. He said, "What an odd question, precious. Are you curious about me?"

Sarah shrugged. "Yes. Why wouldn't I be?"

"How flattering. Ask me during dinner, maybe I will tell you my life's story."

The tone was teasing and flippant, which immediately made Sarah distrust his intentions. He probably wouldn't tell her anything, instead it would be him flirting and avoiding questions—or even worse, answering with riddles. Sarah rolled her eyes and said, "Sure...oh, what about my friends?"

Jareth paused. He'd probably forgotten. He sighed and cupped his palm. Suddenly, between one blink and the next, there was a crystal perched on his fingertips. She watched, fascinated, as Jareth stared into the depths as he swirled it around his fingers and palm thoughtfully. He said, "Yes, I did promise, didn't I? Your friends are in the garden, waiting."

"How do I get there?"

"When you are ready, exit and turn left," Jareth indicated the direction with a nod of his head. "Around the corner will be a staircase. Go down it and out the door, it will open to the garden." He paused. "But remember, Sarah, dinner is at eight o'clock. Please don't be late."

Sarah nodded. "I won't." She felt like there was something she was missing about this dinner, but she didn't ask anything further. She entered the room.

"Speak soon, Sarah," Jareth said, causing her to look back at him. He was handsome, and it was annoying. He shut the door, leaving her alone in the room. The silence settled heavily around her.

Sarah looked around again, then took a deep breath. A banquet. In a castle. With a magical king. What kind of fairytale have I stumbled into? Is it a dark one? Or a fun, light one? And what moral at the end am I supposed to learn?

Sarah went through the door and stopped, just staring at the bedroom. It was slightly smaller than the sitting room. The jewel-toned theme followed here, too, with the centerpiece being a big bed, easily wide enough for two, with a headboard that was carved to look like gentle waves eddying around the edges with a ship cresting them. The curtains around the bed were the blue-green of the deep ocean. There was a floor-to-ceiling window that bowed outward with a window seat. Against the bed was a bench. And, near the door that Sarah assumed led to the bathroom, was a huge wardrobe of wood made to match the headboard.

He's trying to impress you, a soft voice whispered in Sarah's mind. The part of Sarah that was more aware of others.

"It's working," Sarah muttered.

She went to the bed and jumped onto it, landing on the mattress with a soft oof! And of course, it was just the right firmness, and the sheets felt like butter against her skin. She rolled over onto her back, staring at the canopy. It was made of wood and had a mural of the ocean, teeming with marine life. So many little details. Had all this been here when the castle had been spikey and unwelcoming? She didn't think so. Was the Escher Room still there?

For a moment, Sarah considered looking for it, then shook herself and got off the bed. Her friends were waiting in the garden.

She went into the bathroom—which was also large and luxurious. The floors were tiled in soft blue and, with the off-white walls, it gave a relaxing feeling. One side of the bathroom was a small platform with a large, claw-footed, ivory bath with silver fixtures to match the cool colors of the wall and floor. On the opposite side was a matching sink. Behind a nearby partition was the toilet. Sarah went to the bathroom, washed her hands, and splashed water on her face. The towel was fluffy, soft, and smelled like flowers.

Sarah had a brief thought that if she'd been traveling, this kind of sized room would come in five-star hotels with a high per night price tag.

Sarah went back into the sitting room and glanced at her watch. "Banquet at eight," she muttered. "Hour and a half."

She left the room then, and with quick footsteps, she followed Jareth's directions. First, she went left down the hall, and as soon as she followed its curve, there was a staircase at the end. None of the tapestries looked the same, but she wasn't really paying attention. She went down two flights of carpeted stairs and at the end was a single doorway with flowers carved in its frame. She turned the brass knob.

For one silly moment, she expected it to be locked, like some kind of gothic horror. But, of course, that was silly. Jareth had promised her safe passage and no tricks.

The door opened easily. The sun was dimming now that evening was rushing closer; the sun wasn't quite setting yet, but the shadows were long. Despite that, the garden was a welcome sight. The bailey walls bracketed the area, creating a little oasis of greenery. The garden was mostly manicured lawns with boxes of flowers at the edges. Across the way was a pond with stones, floating lilies, and a little bubbling fountain.

But she barely noticed that, because at the center of the garden was Ludo, sitting with a flower in his fist. And in his shadow sat Sir Didymus, petting Ambrosius. And at one of the flower boxes was Hoggle, with a spray-can, muttering to himself.

She smiled. "Guys!"

They looked up and smiled. Sir Didymus said, "Ah! The Champion has arrived!"

Chapter Text

Sarah ran to Ludo. He dropped the flower and said in a low, slow voice, “Sa-rah.”

Sarah hugged the large creature. His fur smelled like sunshine, moss, and peat, a strangely comforting and earthy smell, and it was so soft against her cheek. He hugged her back, and Sarah was transported to her youth, after running the Labyrinth, when she’d been so sure of herself and her new friends and the future.

She felt Ludo’s large hand tenderly caress her head and he said, “Long time.”

“It has been a long time, Ludo. I’m sorry for that.”

“I was surprised ya remembered us,” Hoggle said, walking away from the bordering plants, the spray-can leaning against his shoulder like a musket. “Was real surprised when I got the summons to come to the garden to say a hello to the Champion.”

“Yes,” Sir Didymus said, “but joy knows no bounds to see you again, my lady!”

“Come on, guys.” Sarah grinned, pulling away from Ludo. “It’s just Sarah, you know that. None of this Champion and lady nonsense.”

“It’s not nonsense,” Sir Didymus said. “You won the Labyrinth.” He paused, his white fur-brows pulling down with worry. “Have you come for similar reasons again?”

“Oh god, no!” Sarah shook her head. “I’ll never wish anyone away ever again! No...um, I asked to see the Labyrinth again, and Jareth obliged. And then...he invited me to dinner, and I agreed.”

“Dinner? With that...?” Hoggle sputtered. “Are ya crazy? Ya can’t trust him, Sarah!”

“It’s fine,” Sarah said, waving a dismissive hand. “He’s agreed not to be the villain anymore.”

“Said like a true villain,” Hoggle muttered, darkly.

Sarah changed the subject by asking, “By the way, why aren’t you guys at the banquet?”

There was an awkward silence. Ambrosius looked around, giving off a soft whine which quieted when Sarah reached out to give him a ruffle behind the ears. Finally, Hoggle said, “Bein’ part of the Court is on a rotatin’ basis. We ain’t ‘on’ right now. And frankly,” he added, “I say good! Always more trouble’n it’s worth. Gotta dress up, so I gotta launder my shirt ’forehand. Such a chore.”

“Jareth mentioned there’s a rotating thing for the Court,” Sarah said. “But I’m sure he’ll make an exception for you guys. You’re my friends, and I haven’t seen you for so long.”

She didn’t mention how their mirror-parties had broken up all too quickly, as soon as she went to college. How through high school she’d managed to pop in at the vanity mirror in her room to talk to them even briefly amongst the whirlwind of homecoming and prom, final exams and college essays, but once she’d moved to college it became harder and harder. How did someone sneakily talk to a mirror in a dorm room with a roommate just a couple feet away, after all? Sometimes, she’d find a quiet spot in a single study room at the library, but she was always scared she’d come off as crazy, murmuring into a handheld mirror. Also, if Sarah was honest with herself, she had to admit she’d let herself grow apart from her old friends. It wasn’t just Hoggle, Ludo, and Sir Didymus. She’d been horrible at keeping in touch with her few high school friends, too. In college, things had really changed for her; she’d grown and found herself and found a group she really jived with through the theater program there. She was busy in ways she’d never been before—happily busy. Finally, she started missed seeing her friends for weeks—one turned into two, then three, and finally, she just stopped calling their names. No goodbye...just nothing.

However, she could feel that lack of goodbye in the awkward silence between their words, now. A couple of times, she opened her mouth to apologize, but then shut her mouth each time. What could she say? “Sorry I just disappeared one day. I hope you didn’t miss me—or notice, even—too bad. I just—school, ya know? It got real busy there.” And then? It wasn’t like she sought them out after college, either. In fact, she’d done much worse.

She’d forgotten.

She hadn’t thought of the Labyrinth for years and years. It wasn’t until the peach had grown on her paloverde that she had felt that jolt of memory, like plunging into warm water, or hearing an old song on the radio.

She said, now, “I missed you guys. I’m sorry I was so shit at keeping in touch.” She felt tears prick her eyes. “I’m sure you could come to the banquet...if you wanted...”

Sir Didymus said, “Ah...Sarah, we’re not on rotation right now. Our, uh, punishment for sedition.”

“Sedition?” Sarah gaped. “He’s punishing you still?”

Sir Didymus shrugged. “We have been taken off rotation since that day. We’ll be told when it’s over.”

“Like I said, I take this as a reward,” Hoggle said, cheerfully. “I ain’t wanna go to no banquets in that castle!” He pointed at the castle. “Look at it! Ain’t look like a proper castle anymore! Where are the spikes?”

“I—I guess if you’re okay. He hasn’t hurt you, has he?” Sarah asked. “No Bog of Eternal Stench?”

“Oh no,” Sir Didymus said, smiling. “He was strangely reluctant to bog us, perhaps because of our proximity to the Champion. I suspect he knew of our mirror talks. No, he gave us a choice. Bog or exile.”

“Exile?” Sarah frowned.

“Exile from the dinners and Court viewings,” Hoggle said, then grumbled, “I still gotta work, of course!” He jiggled the spray-can on his shoulder. But then he brightened. “Course, that was an easy choice. Exile, no doubt! Who in their right mind wants to make nice?” He shook his head.

“Have you been to one before the exile?” Sarah asked, suddenly curious. “What are they like? Is it a lot of goblins?” She thought about the afternoon at the tarn. A banquet with goblins may be fun, like taking kids to Chuck E. Cheese.

“No,” Sir Didymus answered. “Any of the Labyrinth creatures in rotation can come. It’s actually all fairly done, quite impressive considering the breadth and scope of the Labyrinth.”

“It’s cuz the King has a house gnome, they make the best retainers,” Hoggle said. “Whaz his name? We’re related, ya know. Distantly, by marriage. My ma’s sister’s husband’s cousin was his aunt—or somethin’ like that. Oh, whaz his name?” Hoggle snapped his fingers, as if the noise could jog his brain. “Started with a ‘D’...”

Sir Didymus said, “Didymus?”

“No, course not, ya fool!” Hoggle snapped a few more times. “Darren, Drack, Dostoevsky...” And then suddenly, he yelled, “Barnaby! That was it!”

“A ‘D’, huh?” Sarah grinned.

Hoggle sniffed. “Anyhow, ya’ll prolly meet ’im at the dinner.”

“Right,” Sarah said. She sighed. “I don’t get the Goblin King, to be honest. Punishing you still? It’s been fifteen years.”

“Time matters little in the Underground.” Sir Didymus shrugged.

“Yeah, you all look exactly the same.” Sarah smiled. She glanced down at herself, thoughtfully. “I’m different though.”

Hoggle had gone to the nearby boundary wall and leaned his spray-can against the wall. He said, quiet enough his words were almost lost by the distance, “We still change.”

“Indeed,” Sir Didymus said. “We change inside.” He pressed a paw to his heart. “Even the Goblin King changes.”

Sarah said, “Jareth is different this time. He’s...well, he’s been nice.”

Hoggle snorted.

Sarah ignored him and continued, “He’s also been fun to be around.”

Again, Hoggle snorted.

“I’m as shocked as you, Hoggle,” Sarah said, dryly.

“The Goblin King...” Sir Didymus looked thoughtful as he let his paw drop to Ambrosius’s head, smoothing through the fur. “I think he changed a lot after you ran the Labyrinth.”

“Oh, whatcha sayin’ that for?” Hoggle rolled his eyes and huffed. “Like she cares.” He turned to Sarah. “Jareth is always gonna be whoever he wants to be.”

Sarah considered this for a moment. What does that mean, ultimately? Because Jareth was nice and fun at the tarn. And he showed me that guest room. Last time, he just showed me an oubliette and the Bog of Eternal Stench. What if...what if Jareth wants to be nice? What if he’s tired of playing the villain?

And the next thought that popped into her head, close to the heels of all the previous musings, was: In which case, what does that mean for you? And she had no answer to that—didn’t even know how to begin answering that question—so she instead cleared her throat and said, “Let’s talk about something else instead of this banquet. How’ve you guys been doing, anyway? What have you been up to?”

Ludo, who had been quietly listening thus far, said, “Mountains.”

“Hm?” Sarah asked.

“Ah yes.” Sir Didymus patted Ambrosius again, the dog looking relaxed and happy at the fox’s feet, then looked at the large creature next to him. He said, “Sir Ludo went back to the mountains. A rock singer’s home, after all. This is the first time I’ve seen you in quite a while, my friend.”

“I’ve been here,” Hoggle said, shrugging. “Plenty of work.”

“You still spray fairies?”

“Yes—but I got a promotion!” Hoggle grinned. “I do some gardenin’ now, too!”

“Oh, that’s wonderful, Hoggle. I didn’t know you liked to garden.”

Hoggle sniffed. “Ya never asked.”

“Yeah,” Sarah murmured. “Sorry.”

A lull descended; silence that seemed too heavy. Sarah turned to Sir Didymus. “And what have you been doing, Sir Didymus?”

Sir Didymus said, “I did protect the Bog, but I, too, have been promoted and now I protect the southern edge of the Labyrinth entrance.”

“Oh, nice!” Sarah smiled, happy that despite her friends helping her, it seemed they hadn’t been completely punished unduly—in fact, they may have ultimately benefitted.

“And you, Sarah?” Sir Didymus asked. “While you say you have changed, your eyes still twinkle merrily, which I am happy to see.”

“I moved away from the New England area,” she said, scratching her shoulder and wondering what to tell them. “Um, I work as a copywriter. Oh! But I am part of an amateur theater troupe. We put on small plays at the community theater once or twice a year. Last year, we did The Importance of Being Earnest. I was Cecily.” She smiled with pride, remembering how exhilarating the entire thing had been. It had been the troupe’s most ambitious production yet, which was why they hadn’t done anything this year, besides some fund-raising events. Little things like bake sales and monologues in the park. She continued, “I live in the Southwest now. It’s really pretty out there—but hot.”

“It sounds like you’ve made a good life for yourself.”

“Yeah...yeah, it’s great,” Sarah murmured, but she thought, And I explained all of it in a couple of sentences. The only thing I’m proud of is my theater work. I enjoy my job—in the sense that I’m freelance and can mostly work from home, but is it fulfilling? And why haven’t I traveled? I haven’t even really seen my own country much, let alone outside it. I promised myself I’d see the world, that I’d do things and have no regrets.

When she’d been young, the entire world had seemed like a pearl ready to be plucked; that nothing could stop her or stand in her way. Now, leaving her twenties behind, she was bogged down by the usual adult things: bills, her job, her mortgage. Dating had been boring, mundane, disappointing, and mediocre. Karen often made comments, asking if she was “seeing anyone,” and Sarah would always diffidently chuckle and say no. She’d had boyfriends—one, she’d had for an entire year. They’d tip-toed around not talking about marriage, until it was an elephant in the room that took up all the space. Marriage, kids—she knew her parents worried she was letting time fall through her fingertips. But, Sarah felt like she wasn’t developed enough to even consider those things. So, nobody interested her; nobody stuck around long enough to interest her. They were fun, but the fun never lasted.

Nothing was like how she imagined in her late teens, early twenties.

And then, she thought: Did I peak in the Labyrinth? Was that the best, worst, and most magical time of my life? It was a silly thought—logically, she knew that—and yet it made a ball of emotion form in her throat, full of prickly edges when she swallowed. Tears pricked her eyes again.

“Sarah?” Sir Didymus asked.

“What? Sorry, didn’t hear you,” Sarah said, huskily. She took little sips of air until the emotional wave subsided and the ball disappeared, hoping nobody noticed.

“I asked how the babe is.”

“Oh! Toby!” Sarah brightened. “He’s a teenager now, can you believe it?”

“Time does move swiftly,” Sir Didymus said, pleasantly.

“Sarah happy?” Ludo asked, suddenly.

Sarah hesitated. Was she happy? She said, “Yeah, I think so, Ludo. I’m doing great.”

Ludo smiled, his lips pulling back from his large mouth. It might look terrifying if Sarah didn’t know how gentle he was, and that he was smiling. She smiled back and said, “What about you, Ludo? How’s the mountains treating you?”

“Ludo happy,” Ludo said. He paused, then added, “Missed Sarah.”

“Yeah, I missed you too, big guy.” Sarah sighed. She leaned back until she was lying on the soft grass, looking at the darkening sky. There was just the start of sunset hues; the few fluffy clouds limned in gold. A promise of orangey scarlet on the horizon. She said, “I was stupid for not reaching out to all of you. I’m sorry—I'm sorry I haven’t talked to you in so long. But,” she turned her head so she could see them in her peripheral vision, “maybe this is an opportunity to right that wrong. Maybe now—I mean, once I go back home—we can go back to mirror-chats, like we used to.”

“Maybe,” Hoggle said, looking away. “Maybe ya will get busy again, too.”

Sarah frowned, feeling a small stab of pain at his words.

“It would be difficult now, anyway,” Sir Didymus said, gently.

“What do you mean? Does the mirror not work anymore?”

“It...may not.” Sir Didymus glanced at Hoggle, but he was looking at a flowerbox near the fountain, where three fairies lazily flew about the flowers. “You’ve been without magic for a long time, my lady. It may be all gone from you, in which case, when you call...we won’t be able to answer.”

“Oh.” Sarah swallowed, feeling that lump back in her throat. “Oh, I guess...well, I guess I’ll see when I go back.”

“Of course, the Goblin King could fix that—or may have already,” Sir Didymus continued, thoughtfully. “He is the one who gifts magic.”

“Shut up,” Hoggle muttered. “We don’t need no trouble from the likes of the King!”

“What do you mean, Sir Didymus?” Sarah asked, curious.

“Just that,” Sir Didymus said, as if Hoggle hadn’t interrupted. “The Labyrinth is a carefully balanced ecosystem of magic, and all that magic syphons through its ruler. Like a gate. The King makes sure it’s divvied out properly. He can’t keep all of it for himself, you see, it would be too much for anyone. So, each creature allowed to stay in the Labyrinth gets a small puff of it. When you called us in the mirror before, that was a small puff of magic not called back by the Goblin King—a gift for a Champion.”

“He...might have let me keep the magic?” Sarah murmured. She turned onto her side on the grass, propping her head up with a hand at her cheek, and stared at Sir Didymus, surprised. “That sounds almost kind of him, and he seemed anything but kind back then!”

Sir Dydmus shrugged. “All runners are given a small kernel of magic as a runner, to ensure they don’t change while they’re in the Underground. Also, so they can keep going. Running the Labyrinth is grueling, no? But didn’t you notice, you were never overly hungry or thirsty? Anyway, I think the Goblin King just gave you a little more at the end.”

“Why?” Sarah asked.

“I’m afraid I can’t answer that, for I don’t know, my lady,” Sir Didymus said.

“Oh, come off it, hairball!” Hoggle muttered, angrily. “The King has got reasons for all his deeds, and mark my words, they’ll be something sneaky in his reasons! Can’t trust him, Sarah. He may be all buddy-buddy today, but what about tomorrow, eh? Who knows what he’ll be tomorrow.” Hoggle shook his head. “Can’t trust him as far as ya can throw him!”

Sarah wondered why Hoggle hated Jareth so much, and she almost asked him. But, then she remembered how Jareth had interacted with the dwarf during her time in the Labyrinth. A villain, and if that’s all Hoggle knew, it made sense to hate him. Sarah had hated him a few times during that night—maybe would have kept hating him, except she’d forgotten her adventure and now, as a grown woman, she had the time and distance to change.

He’s like a bad boss, Sarah thought. She’d have to ask Jareth why he was like that to Hoggle.

I don’t hate Jareth at all, she realized. In fact, the warmth in her belly as she thought of the way he’d stared directly into her eyes on the edge of the tarn, just before she’d pulled him into the water—flustered her. If she had leaned forward, she could have kissed him. What would Jareth have done?

To stop that train of thought, she restlessly got to her feet and said, “This garden is beautiful. Is it one of yours, Hoggle?”

Hoggle stiffened. “I work away from the Castle, in the Labyrinth proper. My next promotion is for the Goblin City.”

“Oh. Some time, you’ll have to show me. I bet your garden is beautiful.”

Hoggle’s chest puffed a little with pride. “Planted some ferns the other day. It should have flowers soon.” He looked around. “The head gardeners work in the Castle.”

“Well, this is pretty impressive.” Sarah moved along the flowers that lined the edges. The garden was shaped roughly rectangular, with rounded edges, and a simple design; mostly the lawn, with white marble benches at either end. Edging the lawn were flowers, except where the pond was. She looked at the flowers. They were mostly tulips. She wondered if the Labyrinth had seasons. Did the flowers always bloom?

She paused when the pond came into view. The fountain was shaped like a dragon lounging on a pearl in a clamshell. She smiled at the sculpture. Bubbling from under the dragon and parting around the pearl, came the water which cascaded over the clamshell and down to the pond. The bubbly sound felt cheerful and mischievous, much like the expression on the dragon’s face.

Sarah frowned. There was a strange, rainbow pearlescent film on the water. It reminded her of oil, but that wasn’t right, either. Sarah knelt by the stone edging of the pond, watching the film float on the water. It broke where the fountain’s water dropped onto the pond’s surface, but then it reconnected again past it. It looked like when she had done tie-dyed T-shirts; the way the pigment had floated on the water was similar.

She wondered if she touched it, would her fingers sparkle with color? She held out her hand, inching a bit closer to the edge.

The fountain burbled. She leaned a hand against one of the rocks edging the pond. The hard material scratched lightly at her palm, warmed slightly by the sun. The fingers in her outstretched hand twitched.

“Sarah?” Ludo called.

Sarah jerked, blinking. She was a half inch from touching the surface. She leaned back, shaking her head, clearing the cobwebs that had suddenly overcome her mind. She stared at that rainbow-colored film a moment longer. She didn’t touch the water.

“What’s wrong with the water?” she asked, dropping her hand into her lap.

“Whaddya mean?” Hoggle asked, coming over to her. He looked at the filmy water and frowned. “No idea, maybe the head gardener ain’t what he used ta be.” The idea made Hoggle smirk.

The longer Sarah looked into the water, the odder she felt. Like something was tugging at her heartstrings. It made her...sad. Like she’d just heard a sad song, but forgotten the next moment, with only the emotions remaining behind. Weird. She got up and moved back to Ludo, leaning against the large creature’s side so the fur brushed her cheek, and trying to shake the melancholy that had risen, unbidden, from somewhere within her.

It didn’t take long. Ludo caressed her hair like she was a dog he was petting, and Sarah laughed despite herself.

She gave him a playful tickle, her fingers disappearing in the fur at his side. He opened his mouth and released the driest-sounding laugh. Like when a hot balloon operator pulled the cord to heat the balloon. The sound intrigued her so much, she added another hand and tickled with more directed purpose. He shuddered and wiggled his big body, and there was a bit of a wrestling match until Sarah was sitting on Ludo’s stomach and triumphantly tickling him under his chin.

Sir Didymus had helped Sarah at first, sitting on Ludo’s arm, but then switched sides and now he was trying to wrestle Sarah off by climbing her leg while yelling happily, “Avast, ye dastardly scoundrel!” Ambrosius was barking excitedly, hopping from one side of Ludo to the other. And Hoggle, who had left the pond and come back toward them, was watching the entire display incredulously, but he was playing with something hanging from the side of his belt.

When Sir Didymus’s hands started poking into her side and she shuddered, laughing at the ticklish feeling, she raised her hands and said, “Okay, okay! Uncle!” He slid off and they all pillowed their heads against Ludo’s arms and side, looking up at the sky, all three of them catching their breath.

Sarah glanced at Hoggle and realized what he was messing with from the many trinkets hanging on his belt. She lifted her head and murmured, “Oh! You kept it!”

Hoggle blushed, releasing the plastic bracelet. “I...well...”

“I get it,” she said, and smiled. “Missed you too, Hoggle.”

Hoggle sniffed. “I got a lot to do, I didn’ notice the years passin’.”

“Of course.” Sarah decided to change the subject, pointing at a cloud. “Doesn’t that cloud look exactly like a rabbit?”

It was a pleasant time. Good friends talking, idly mentioning the shapes of the clouds, and laughing. After a little bit, even Hoggle had leaned back, pillowing his head on his folded arms. He liked to disagree with whatever Sir Didymus said a cloud looked like, and his own suggestions were interesting—one cloud, he claimed, looked like a “three-starred squash fruit, but with missing a leaf from the stem”—but he was smiling by the end, too.

And the end did come, much to Sarah’s dismay. She was so relaxed with her head pillowed on Ludo’s arm, the fur soft on the back of her neck. They had been mostly watching the sunset, which lit the sky in beautiful hues of goldenrod, indigo, and crimson—a sunset that could even rival the ones she’d seen at her house overlooking the desert—when Sir Didymus turned to her and said, “Milady, when do you need to meet with the king?”

Sarah jerked, startled. She glanced at her watch and hissed in surprise. “Oh crap, it’s seven!”

She leaped up, and the outing ended on her promises to visit again, to call their names in her mirror when she got back home. She hugged each one—even Hoggle which was a strange mix of soft, plump body and knobby elbows and knees—and gave them a kiss on the cheek. Even Hoggle, who fidgeted and complained as she did so, and then she walked backwards toward the door so she could wave goodbye.

She tried to imprint the memory of her friends with the sunset behind them, now a glorious orange-red color. Ludo was in the center, bracketed by Hoggle and Sir Didymus, who was already on Ambrosius’s back. The fox waved. Hoggle just watched, quietly. At the last moment, Ludo raised a large hand and waved, too.

Sarah reached back and after a moment of scrabbling, she found the doorknob. One final wave, and then she stepped into the castle.

# # # #

Finding her room was easy, as well. She just backtracked. And, she ran, conscious of the ticking time. How beautiful that outing in the garden had been with her friends. It was like time had stood still and yet gone too fast at the same time.

Back in the room, she leaned against the door for a moment and murmured, “Okay, time to get ready for a banquet.”

She went to the bathroom and considered the clawfoot tub, longingly, but she didn’t have time to take a full bath. Instead, she washed her face in the sink with a soft bar of soap that smelled like jasmine and sponged herself off with a washcloth. There was a porcelain table near the tub that had a few cut-crystal bottles and a silver brush on it. She uncapped them, sniffed, and identified shampoo and conditioner, hair oil, lotions, and one with perfume. She slathered lotion along her skin. The scent was heady, exotic, with jasmine hints, as well. And the perfume complimented it, so she dotted some behind her ears and along her pulse points.

Her hair had some nasty snags in it from rolling in the grass with her friends, and swimming in the tarn, so it took her long minutes to work her hair to smoothness. Afterwards, she left the bathroom and opened the wardrobe.

“Holy moly,” she muttered, looking at least half a dozen gowns hanging in the wardrobe. How on Earth was she supposed to choose one? And who had chosen these?

She pulled out the first gown, which was such a dark green it looked almost black, with the most beautiful gold brocade. The neckline was low, she noted, while the sleeves were puffed at the shoulders and then tight down to the wrist. But, the skirt was way too full. It would bubble around her, stiff and confining. Would she have to wear a bustle or cage? A corset? She shook her head. It reminded her of the silver ball gown from the bubble dream—except the opposite in color scheme. Dark and gold, instead of white and silvery.

She remembered feeling the confining shape of whale boning in the bodice of that silvery gown, and carefully mincing her steps so she could walk in the full skirt. She didn’t want that again; thinking about it now made her feel vulnerable. It was too intense. This wasn’t a peach dream, nor was this banquet so...serious. While she wanted to make the Goblin King take notice—And why do you want that? Her traitorous mind whispered, but she ignored it—she didn’t want to overdo it.

The next gown was a plain red design. The color was amazing, something for a femme fatale, with an even riskier neckline. But the satiny fabric pooled down to the floor, like a little train. She would be kicking that out of her way all night.

The next gown was the silver ball room gown.

She stared at it, feeling the familiar fabric. She pinched the tulle and lace puff sleeves, feeling the scrape of material along her skin. She sighed, both from the memories—and for how much she had changed since she was fifteen. The gown was beautiful—a perfect princess gown—but just not her anymore. And being the third gown in the wardrobe, not the first? That seemed like a joke on Jareth’s part. Like a “hey, remember this?”

“Absolutely not,” she muttered, putting it back.

She flicked through them faster now. A beautiful, simple indigo sheath. Definitely the winner so far, she thought, continuing. A passionfruit-orange frock with a knee-length, tulle skirt. And something silver at the back. She pulled this last one forward and considered it.

The fabric was silky, and it had a similar cut to the sheath dress, but the color was a textured silver, with black dotting it. Like unworked silver ore, Sarah thought. The sleeves were long, and would come to triangular points at her wrists. The edges had pearl and onyx embellishments. It was off-the-shoulder, and as Sarah pressed the gown to her body, she realized the neckline would just skim her cleavage. A tease without showing anything. However, the long skirt, which just skimmed the gown, had a slit in it all the way to the thigh. An even bolder tease.

Sarah couldn’t help but compare it to the other dress, the princess gown. This was a darker, heavier, more textured silver color. Color rich with life, she thought, smiling at the fanciful idea. There was nothing innocent and young about it—nothing princess. This was a gown for a Champion. For a witch, for a sorceress. For a queen.

Her smile grew and she shook her head. She was being silly.

Then her smile shuttered out as she realized she had no makeup or embellishments for this gown. It was a shame, a waste of something so beautiful, and she wondered if she’d look like a joke in it. Something so fancy with plain hair and plain face.

Oh well, she thought, firmly pushing the thought away. What could she do? She’d keep her hair loose, comb it out again so it would be relatively smooth, and hope for the best.

She knew her time was running out, so she slipped the gown over her head and let it pool onto her, shivering at the soft fabric brushing against her skin. She moved to the bathroom for her comb but stopped as she passed by the mirror over the sink. Her hair was in an elaborate coif. She’d been in such a rush, she hadn’t noticed her hair was suddenly off her neck. The coif had dark purple jewels threaded through the stylistic braids and knots that it was made up of, with curling tendrils that framed her face. It wasn’t as large or puffy as the princess look—after all, times had changed—this was sleeker and more elegant. Also, she was in full makeup. Her eyes were rimmed with kohl and dark purple eye shadow. She had foundation, blush, lipstick; all perfectly complimentary. Her skin had a faint, glittery sheen. She lifted a hand, entranced, to see her fingertips were manicured and painted dark purple.

She went back to the wardrobe. On the back of the door was a full-length mirror, and she angled it in a way to see her full appearance. The dress hugged her curves. Silver eardrop earrings adorned her ears, a simple silver chain as delicate as spiderweb with a glittery, dark amethyst drop circled her neck. Delicate silver rings were on her fingers. Something peeked out of the wardrobe, catching the light, and when she reached under the other gowns, she pulled out a pair of shoes. They were a dark purple—so dark that without direct light they looked black—and embellished with crystals and silver spikes. Shoes that were very far from a princess’s image, as well.

Sarah wasn’t sure what to think of all of this. Was the wardrobe—or the magic, she should say—reacting to her wishes or Jareth’s? If it was the former, it seemed the magic knew she didn’t want to feel like a teenaged girl stuck in the Labyrinth; if it was the latter, did that mean she and Jareth agreed on something—that she wasn’t young and naïve anymore? And if that was the case, how did she feel about being in agreement with the Goblin King? Or of him thinking of her like this?

Wait, he couldn’t know what dress I would choose, Sarah thought. Right?

She wondered what his expression would be when she walked into the banquet hall like this. She licked her lips, wondered if the lipstick could smear, and then took a deep breath. Somehow, she felt more nervous now, despite being decked out in such finery.

But, the dress felt like a dream, and she looked like a million bucks. Red carpet ready. Gala ready. Banquet ready, she thought, lifting her chin bravely. The Goblin King could throw anything at her; she would do this dress proud, and act confident and collected.

Easier said than done, she thought.

She sat on the bed and strapped the shoes on. They were surprisingly comfortable for heels—and she wasn’t a big open-toed heel wearer—and they made a soft click-click sound on the hardwood floor as she crossed back into the sitting room.

She paused halfway to the door, realizing she didn’t know where the banquet room was. Well, she figured Jareth would sort something magical out, or she’d try her theory that the castle would rearrange itself to go where she needed to go.

However, when she opened the door, she found a goblin there dressed in a tattered brown pair of shorts and an ironed and laundered, crisp white, button-down shirt with starched collar.

She stared, having never seen such a thing as a dressed-up goblin. He looked at her and said, “Ready lady?”

She cleared her throat and replied, “Oh, uh, yeah.”

“Great! And you’ll be late,” he said, with a grin and a wink. “Follow me!”

The goblin came to Sarah’s lower waist. He had a small head, a snout, large floppy ears like a dog, and long arms so his knuckles nearly touched the ground. So, he easily reached up and grasped Sarah’s hand. His grasp was soft but strong, his skin rough and dry like autumn leaves. Sarah smiled and followed him, her clacking shoes and his slapping bare feet making an odd, rhythmic cacophony on the floor.

The castle was a maze. She tried to remember the route, but she found herself getting confused. There were maybe two left turns, up one flight of stairs, and one right turn? Or was it two?

It didn’t help that everything looked similar. Similar wall colors, floor colors; tapestries, paintings, and sconces went by, but it was hard to remember them all, so they blurred together. Just flashes of color. But ultimately, they had walked for only a few minutes.

Then, Sarah noticed slight changes. The corridor looked newer, kept better, with fresh paint and wallpaper. The tapestries weren’t so threadbare, the paintings grander. And then they turned and in front of them was a large, double door painted white. She stopped in front of the door, uncertainly.

“Lady?”

Sarah blinked, looking down to the goblin and said, “Oh, uh...” and then realized something. “I never asked your name.”

The goblin grinned, showing off pointy eye-teeth. “Crelzug.”

“Well, thanks for bringing me, Crelzug,” Sarah said. She leaned forward and opened the door, and immediately soft, tinkly music came through.

She waited, but Crelzug just looked at her. Finally, she said, “After you.”

“Oh, I’m not going today,” he said. “Kingy just sent me to pick you up.”

Sarah frowned. “Oh. Are you sure?”

“Yes, I stay here.” He waved toward the door. “You go, lady.”

Sarah hesitated. “You ever been to one of these?” She asked, pointing a thumb toward the door.

The goblin nodded.

“Any advice?” Sarah half-joked.

The goblin thought about this carefully, and for a moment, the only noise was the music. Finally, he said, “Keep room for dessert.”

“Oh, good advice. But don’t worry,” Sarah grinned, “I have a separate stomach just for dessert.”

Crelzug’s eyes widened, but Sarah walked past him and through the door.

She was very nervous; her stomach full of butterflies, her breath quick, her heart quickening. The edging on the double doors were carved designs. She barely noticed it as they opened of their own accord, anticipating her arrival. She walked through, remembering her theater training. Back straight, confidence in your role.

And she entered into chaos.

Or, she realized after a moment, the throne room.

But, there were creatures everywhere, frolicking, laughing, talking, roaring, singing. And directly in front of her was a red carpet that rolled up to a large, stone throne. Above it was a giant portrait of the Goblin King, and sitting on the throne was the subject of that portrait, in the flesh. The Goblin King was wearing black satin, edged with black lace, and gold and silver embroidery. His hair was a stark contrast to his outfit. He was lounging in the throne, a leg thrown over the arm, and he tapped the toe of his boot with a riding crop he held lightly in one hand. The colors weren’t new—Jareth liked the theatrics of black with his pale coloring—but every time Sarah appreciated how his outfits tailored perfectly to his build. Perfectly dramatic. Perfectly fae.

Emeralds winked at his fingers, catching her gaze. Sarah followed those long fingers up the arm and chest, the surprisingly wide shoulders, the neck half-obscured by lace, the well-defined jawline and thin lips, the aquiline nose, and finally to the Goblin King’s eyes.

Their eyes met; their gazes caught and held. A little electric pulse jumped along Sarah’s skin, making her shiver.

He was watching her, and in his mismatched eyes were universes made and destroyed. Emotions that were so vast and deep, Sarah couldn’t name them. And yet, something about his expression, the look in his eyes, made her breath catch. All the noise, the frolicking creatures, the flickering sconce-light—it all faded away into the background.

The world fell down, Sarah thought.

In this moment, there was only her and the Goblin King.

And Sarah knew—not for the first time on this magical day—she would never be the same again.