Exchange Fic #20: The Spell of the Black Swan, Part Two
The actual identity of the writer will remain secret until all the submissions are in and posted.
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Title: The Spell of the Black Swan, Part Two
Author: dmacabre
Recipient: wellhollywould
Prompt:A Jareth/Sarah fiction using the tale of 'Swan Lake' as a vague guide.
Plot Summary: Sarah begins a new life in a new city, but there are some things about her childhood that won't be left behind.
Author's Note: This is very loosely based on the ballet of Swan Lake and its background fairy tale. I tried to keep some of the basic elements of the story... with a little Labyrinthian twist.
Part One
Act Three
Sarah lay on the couch, an old quilt pulled up to her chin and a cup of chamomile tea next to her. Jules had gone to bed hours ago, and the apartment was quiet except for the sound of rain on the roof and Merlin snoring softly on the floor. A book sat open in her lap, but Sarah read and reread the same paragraph dozens of times and still couldn't remember the words.
Instead, she thought about the taxi ride home and the way streetlights flickered and went out as they passed. Jules hadn't noticed. What she did notice was Sarah's artificial cheer and sudden silences, but they'd been friends since freshman year of college and Jules knew better than to pry. When they got back to the apartment, she made Sarah a hot cup of herbal tea and told her to get some sleep.
Sarah was trying, but she wasn't sure sleep was the answer. A gust of wind blew the rain against the living room window, the quiet patter like a handful of pebbles bouncing off the glass. Huddled beneath the quilt, she shivered, remembering a pair of large black wings that swallowed the light of the moon.
She'd examined the crystal in the privacy of bathroom after Jules went to bed. Under the fluorescent light, it seemed as ordinary as a glass paperweight. Deep fractures ran through it, bisecting the sphere with silvery scars and occlusions. It was heavy, the interior grey and milk-white, like a stray wisp of cloud trapped inside a lump of ice. She recalled the way it looked in the lady's hand, a miniature moon balanced delicately on the tips of her long, white fingers. It looked nothing like that now, but when Sarah turned it this way and that, she thought she saw an occasional flash of light emanating from within. Not wanting to let it out of her sight, she'd wrapped it in an old t-shirt and hidden it beneath her pillow. Its solid weight pressed against her ribs when she shifted positions on the couch.
First, you must find him. The woman's words came back to her, an ominous challenge.
But how would Sarah do that? Tucked safely between the pages of her book was the owl's feather. She took it out, rolling it between thumb and forefinger until the soft ivory vane fluttered like a ship's sail. For the first time since she left the dark clearing in the woods, she allowed herself to think about what she'd seen, to wonder what she would do, if--
If what? If it were Jareth under a spell, and he needed me? The idea rang mockingly in her head, and Sarah felt stupid for even thinking it. After all, it was she who willingly gave up them all up-- all her adventures, all her friends.
And him, the mocking voice persisted. You gave him up, too.
She hadn't even tried very hard to keep them. It was too easy to touch the vanity mirror, reassure herself that her friends were still there on the other side, still waiting patiently for her to call...
... until the day came that she wasn't so sure. What if she called and nobody came? The tiny fear gnawed at her insides and grew as it fed. If she didn't call, she could keep believing they existed somewhere beyond the looking-glass. Time did not pass in the Underground the way it did for her; for them the wait might seem like hours, or days... not long at all. That was what Sarah told herself. In the meantime, the mirror simply sat there, waiting.
But none of that mattered now. Not if... Not if he needs me.
Sarah nodded drowsily. Thunder rumbled in the distance and the rain slackened to a soft drizzle. The book slid from her hands and hit the floor with a soft thump, but she did not hear it. Sarah was fast asleep.
***
The city at night was a maze. Rain-slick streets stretched in all directions, and the silhouettes of skyscrapers stood like a ragged hedgerow of steel and glass. Sarah's exhaled breath misted in the cold night air. Nothing was familiar. Everything had changed. Blurred panic seized her, a moment of fearful imbalance like a splash of acid in the back of her throat. This wasn't right, she shouldn't be here. There was somewhere else she needed to be...
Her fingers closed upon the crystal, its lambent glow like a watery reflection of the moon. By its light, she cast an eerily elongated shadow on the ground. She could see nothing inside it. A dozen hypnotic colors swirled on the milky surface. My dreams.
A stray breeze fluttered the material of her gown: white silk gathered in at her waist and falling nearly to her ankles, sleeves that skimmed her shoulders and left her arms bare. Sarah examined the underside of her arm. The scratches were healed, leaving only a faint pink lines on her skin. She brushed her fingertips across the scar. It was a reminder of something she once did, that much she knew. Sarah could not remember. The damp cold of the concrete seeped through her thin slippers. If this was a dream, it felt all too real.
From far in the distance came a music box melody, echoing hollowly down empty streets. Sarah strained to listen. There were words in the melody, she was sure of it-- words carried this way and that upon the wind, always just on the edge of her hearing. She knelt, letting the crystal spill gently from her hands onto the wet pavement.
"Find him," she whispered, "Find me the Goblin King."
The sphere kept rolling, and as it rolled it sang a thin, sweet song like someone drawing a wet fingertip round and round the rim of a wineglass.
The way forward is the way back, it sang. The way forward is the way back.
It led her down narrow streets, past sewer grates venting billowing clouds of steam and buildings where the brick and mortar had crumbled away, leaving rusted skeletons behind. Her surroundings shifted around her; sometimes the city was there, and sometimes it was not. Sometimes the skyscrapers became ancient cypress trees rising from a swamp, and the asphalt beneath her feet turned to sodden hillocks of moss and mud. Sometimes the puddles on the sidewalk reflected back the moonlight, and sometimes they were forest pools where lotus blossoms lifted their slender stalks above the surface of the water.
Sarah could not tell what was real and what was illusion; the landscape flickered in and out of her peripheral vision like the passing scenery on a train. She fixed her gaze on the crystal, whose song had faded to a sleepy hum. It was only just visible on the path ahead, a fallen star among the weeds. She concentrated...
Gone was the city skyline, the gleam of glass and steel-- only the forest remained. Sarah followed the crystal through a cypress bog where the air was heavy with a pungent humidity and the ground held water like a sponge. Light shone through the trees and she heard faint strains of music, sweetly dissonant notes hanging in the air. As she drew nearer, a great clock began to chime, tolling the hour in deep, sonorous tones.
Sarah gathered her skirts and ran.
The pealing of the clock echoed over the water; she counted the strikes as she pushed through wet bracken. Five, six... She slid ankle deep into the icy water, cursing as she pulled free. Seven, eight, nine... Above the treetops, the moon had risen full and bright. The muddy path gradually firmed into solid ground, sloping upward in a gentle incline. As she began to climb, a rush of wings swooped overhead, barely grazing her shoulder. Ten, eleven... Sarah stumbled on the wet grass, righting herself with a ragged gasp. She risked a glance behind, but the night was still and silent.
The clock struck twelve.
Countless lanterns hung from the trees, setting the night sky ablaze with light. An airy pavilion stood at the top of the hill, rising above the waters of the bog. A row of marble columns and arches left it open to the elements, and fragrant jasmine crowned its rafters. Laughter, light and music spilled from doorways, echoing through the wood. Within were dozens of dancers whirling in time to a mercurial melody, all clothed in black and white with painted crimson masks.
Sarah's skirt was wrinkled and damp and her hair streamed down her back in a wild tangle. She did not belong here, and yet she couldn't bring herself to leave. The music's dreamy cadence drew her in, a tempo rubato of a dance that filled her with a strange restlessness. She took one step into the pavilion, then another, scanning the room for she knew not what. No one took note of her presence. The dancers parted easily to let her by, then resumed their movements without a single misstep.
Sarah brushed past a woman in a velvet gown, dancing in the arms of a much younger man whose dark cape swirled about him as they spun across the floor. They were far enough apart in age to be mother and son, both of them with hair as glossy as a raven's wing. The young rake lifted the woman's hand to his lips, murmuring something that provoked a wicked, throaty laugh from his partner. They were lovers, Sarah realized, face warming a little at her own naiveté. The younger man swept his partner into a hungry kiss, and Sarah averted her eyes hastily. In doing so, she saw the reason for why she had come: at the far end of the pavilion was a high-backed ivory throne, and seated upon it was the lady in black.
She looked both ancient and ageless, silver-white hair in long braids down her back, pooling at her feet like coils of rope. In one hand she held an enormous fan of white feathers, which she wafted lazily back and forth. Beside her was a tall, fair-haired man; he bent and whispered in her ear and she nodded, smiling. Sarah could not see his face, but she knew him immediately. There was no mistaking the angle of his jaw or the way he casually surveyed the room, confident to the point of arrogance. When his laughter above the music, any remaining doubt vanished-- the sardonic note of mirth was unmistakably Jareth's. He, too, was dressed all in black, cloak thrown carelessly back over his shoulders and gloved fingertips tapping restlessly upon the arm of the throne.
Feeling Sarah's eyes upon her, the sorceress met her gaze boldly. She wore a silver chain as delicate as spidersilk looped thrice over her slender white wrist; it glittered as she caressed the Goblin King's cheek.
Take him if you can, mortal child. You will not get another chance.
Sarah was already halfway across the room, but the dancers did not move aside as they had done before. They tweaked her hair and plucked teasingly at her gown, trying to draw her into the dance and away from the throne. She shook them all off, but could get no closer. If only Jareth would turn and see her, she thought in growing desperation, she could reach him then. She caught a glimpse of him donning a mask of his own, dark red silk, the color of heart's blood.
"Jareth!" Her call was swallowed by the wild skirl of music as the dance began anew.
She swatted away another questing hand, but hard fingers dug into her hair, dragging her back. As she twisted to free herself, more dancers surged between her and the Goblin King. Sarah elbowed someone in the ribs and was rewarded with a squawk of pain. She followed it with a hard stomp on a slippered foot and a vicious kick to a nearby ankle. The dancers pulled away and she pushed forward, aiming resolutely for the spot where she'd last seen him-- she was so close!
Then with a sigh, the crowd parted and he was there, gloves of red silk to match his mask, a black cloak that seemed to unfurl from his shoulders like wings of night.
"Sarah Williams," he said, smiling just enough to reveal slightly pointed teeth beneath the edge of the mask, "How kind of you to come all this way just to rescue me."
Sarah allowed him to lead her out onto the ballroom floor, but she dug her nails into his arm angrily. "What the hell is going on?"
The Goblin King shook his head in warning. "Not yet. Wait until we are away."
He whirled her into the dance, arm securely around her waist as the music carried them both along like leaves on the current. All around them, the other couples fell into place but kept their distance.
"Many years have passed in the Underground," said the Goblin King, speaking low enough that only she could hear, "Spell or no spell, I had not thought to see you again."
The air in the pavilion had grown very warm, the scent of jasmine overpowering in the enclosed space. Sarah felt dizzy and when they executed a particularly elaborate turn, she would've stumbled had it not been for her partner's steadying grip. But Jareth's calm nonchalance unsettled her. This was not the Goblin King she remembered. This was not the same Jareth she'd seen in the wood, trapped and hunted and angry.
"But..." She tried in vain to order her thoughts. "What happens now? She won't let you go so easily."
"She has no choice. Your claim upon me takes precedence, and you came only just in time. Another night, and the spell would've been permanent." The Goblin King was murmuring now, so close to her ear that she could feel his breath upon her neck. "For that, I am forever in your debt."
His hands tightened around her waist. Sarah tilted her head to meet his kiss. His mouth brushed lightly as a feather across her own, and she shivered. It tasted of rainwater, cool and remote as a mountain lake. Sarah opened her eyes.
The creature before her looked like the Goblin King, even moved with his stolen grace and cocked his head in the same imperious manner. But his eyes... Her mouth went dry in shock for not having seen it before. Behind the silken mask, this creature's eyes were not the wintry blue of the Goblin King's, but black as obsidian, emotionless and empty.
She pulled free of his arms. "You're not him. You're not the Goblin King."
The false Jareth stared at her in cool disbelief. "Don't be absurd--"
Sarah placed both hands on his chest and shoved hard. The false Jareth's chest caved beneath the pressure, cracking like a hollow egg. To her horror, a sharp ebony beak tore through the fabric of his shirt, followed by a sleek head. The false Jareth cried out, shuddering as hundreds of blackbirds emerged from the ragged hole above his heart. They screeched and clawed their way free of his clothing, the air so thick with birds that Sarah shielded her face from the blinding fury of their wings.
When it was over, nothing remained of the false Goblin King but his cloak and mask, slashed and torn to pieces at her feet. Beside it stood the sorceress, shaking her head in mock reproach.
"Such a pity, dear child. I'm afraid you've failed your little quest."
The silver chain around her wrist now dangled freely like a lead, and the sorceress gave it a sharp tug. A harsh shriek tore through the air and a blur of white wings descended from the pavilion rafters. The white owl came from nowhere, the snap of its beak like a bone breaking in two. Its wingtips grazed Sarah's cheek as she dropped to the floor, all the breath knocked out of her. She braced for the impact, but the owl came no closer.
It couldn't, she realized. The other end of the silver chain was looped around its taloned foot, tethering to the sorceress' arm. The owl fought its restraints angrily, hissing and hurling itself into the air only to be yanked back at the last moment. Dark eyes hooded, it came to rest upon the back of the ivory throne, talons gripping the arm unsteadily.
"Stop it," Sarah found her voice at last, though it was choked and rough, "You're hurting him."
Still on her knees, she tried to rise and got caught in the tangle of her own skirts. Her hand met with a hard, round object resting against her foot. Sarah risked a glance down. It was the crystal sphere, its light now grown dim, but not extinguished.
The sorceress regarded her in bemusement, head tilted to one side. "I? But I am not the one who betrayed him, Sarah Williams. That," She gave the chain another little tug in emphasis, "Was entirely your doing."
The truth of the statement stung, but Sarah brushed it off. "Then I'll make it right somehow, but that's between him and me." Concealing the crystal in the folds of her gown, she struggled to her feet, fists clenched. "Let him go."
"I'm afraid I cannot do that. You had one chance, and one chance only."
Around her, the empty pavilion had lost its brilliance. Cracks now spidered up the marble columns, and the jasmine vines were nothing more than yellowing stalks and withered blooms. All the dancers had fled and the ballroom floor was quickly disappearing in a mist that rose from the waters of the bog.
No, thought Sarah wildly. Not yet. I can't wake up yet.
"Farewell, child. But do not despair. I will be a far kinder mistress than he deserves," The sorceress held out a conciliatory hand to the owl, who only clacked its beak menacingly, "And the Goblin King could use a lesson in managing his pride and temper, could he not? Perhaps in another thousand years..."
Sarah's fingers were folded so tightly around the crystal that she could feel the sluggish pulse of her own heartbeat. One chance, she thought, adrenaline running through her body like an electrical surge, And one chance only.
With all her might, Sarah hurled the crystal. Blinding light erupted in the pavilion and the sorceress let out a furious screech. Her slender neck lengthened grotesquely, and one by one dark spines pricked through until it bristled with a sheen of black feathers. The fine bones of her face shifted, skin sloughing off in papery sheets to reveal a hard, scarlet beak that parted in a trumpeting call. The swan that had been the sorceress lashed out like a serpent striking and beat the air with her enormous wings.
Sarah did not stop to look. All around her, the pavilion was falling to pieces, broken stone tumbled silently down, the creeping blackness of the swamp rising up to swallow all. In the velvet darkness she could only just see the chain, fine as a thread woven out of pure starlight. She lunged toward it even as the floor shattered and slid away beneath her feet. When her fingers closed upon it, it burned a line of cold fire into the palm of her hand. Sarah did not let go, wrenching it with the whole weight of her body and feeling it slice through the black swan's wing like razor wire, sawing through meat and bone.
The chain bit deep, but still Sarah drew it tight, tight, tighter still. The lanterns had guttered out, one by one, and storm clouds swallowed the moon. She could hear the thunder coming closer, scent the advancing rush of falling rain. But she could not see the Goblin King, strain as she might for a glimpse of ghostly white wings.
The pain was almost beyond endurance. Almost. Sarah flexed the tendons in her wrist, shutting out all the background noise and rolling thunder. He was out there somewhere. Waiting. Goblin King, Goblin King, wherever you may be...
When the silver chain was pulled taut as she could bear, she called his name for the third and final time.
***
Sarah woke up on the living room floor, tangled in the old quilt with her knee throbbing from where it'd struck the coffee table on the way down. Her flannel pajamas were sticky with sweat despite the cool room. She searched the couch cushions and tossed aside bedding until she found the crystal, still bundled in an old t-shirt. It was unchanged. She smoothed her fingers over its now-familiar clouded surface. No answering gleam of light shone within, but she didn't care. Beside her, Merlin whined anxiously, pressing a cold nose against her cheek.
"It's all right," said Sarah, burying her face in his warm fur for comfort, "It was just a dream. Everything will be all right."
Act Four
You couldn't order tea in a diner, reflected Sarah gloomily. Well. You could, but what you'd get was a cup of hot brown water with a tea bag floating limply at the top. It was too bad, because the diner was otherwise perfect: speckled formica counters and a jukebox in the corner, red vinyl booth seats, daily specials, and aproned waitress who called you "hon", as in "You want gravy with that, hon?"
Even gravy couldn't fix all the world's problems.
Sarah arranged and rearranged the contents of her plate, pushing around the same piece of fried egg, runny yolk congealing around what was left of her corned beef hash. The last thing she wanted to do was eat breakfast alone, but Jules wouldn't be up for hours yet, and Merlin had refused to budge from his coveted spot on the couch. Sarah took a bite of buttered toast, gazing idly out the window. The thunderstorm had transformed the city, and now the sky was a washed-out sea blue, clear and cool without a single cloud. It was a good day to go apartment hunting, or maybe visit the museum.
Or I could give up trying to forget that dream.
She examined the palms of her hands by the cool morning light. Unlike the healing talon marks on her arm, there were no scars or cuts, not even so much as a scratch. She'd known there wouldn't be, of course. But when she closed her eyes, Sarah could feel the fine silver chain wound tight around her fingers, slippery with her own blood. When the dream had gone dark, in that last moment before she opened her eyes and found herself back in the living room... She thought she'd felt the chain snap in two.
Sarah wanted to believe it had. She wanted to believe the dream was real.
Scrubbing her tired eyes, she reached for her tepid cup of tea, but it was gone. That's odd. Even at this hour, the diner was busy and the lone waitress spent most of her time running back and forth between the kitchen and the front counter. Sarah hadn't seen anyone come by to collect the cup. Shrugging, she tried to flag someone down to ask for hot chocolate instead. The waitress stopped long enough at her booth to set down a steaming cup of coffee before hurrying away.
Sarah stared at it a moment. "Excuse me, I don't think I ordered a--"
"You didn't. I did."
Slouched and weary in a trench coat, the Goblin King slid into the seat across from her. He looked haggard, as though he had not slept for days. Leaning across the table, he took six packets of sugar, ripped them open and dumped them all into the coffee. Barely stopping to stir it, he gulped it down in three swallows.
At first, it was the shock of seeing him in modern clothing. Everything he wore looked expensive: cashmere coat and impeccably tailored grey suit, a gold watch on his wrist. Even his hair had been slicked back, a far cry from the flamboyant glamor of the goblin city. The only indication that he wasn't a banker or corporate attorney was his tie, a lush confection of purple silk embroidered with a pattern of tiny golden crowns. His hands were bare.
"You." Sarah tried not to gape.
Jareth regarded his empty cup with a mixture of distaste and regret. "Me."
"Then it was real. All of it, the park, the ballet..."
The arch of his eyebrow was just as she remembered. "Did you think it wasn't? You of all people should know better than that, Sarah."
They sat in silence as the waitress refilled the coffee and brought Sarah a cup of hot chocolate with extra marshmallows. In the scattering of spilled sugar crystals, Jareth traced an endless loop of infinity with the tip of his finger.
"I suppose I should thank you," he began, "It was only a matter of time before I extricated myself, of course, but your interference did hasten matters somewhat."
"Glad to be of service." Sarah didn't bother to mask the sarcasm. "Who was she, really?"
He shrugged evasively. "She is whatever she wants to be: witch, sorceress, demon... You mortals might call her one of the sluagh sídhe, but it's far too simple a term for what she is. Her magic is elemental, old as earth, air and water."
Sarah turned the words over in her mind. She knew what they meant, though she'd never heard the term used outside of Irish folklore: sluagh sídhe, the faerie host. When she'd read about the Wild Hunt, she hadn't thought of what it might be like to be the prey.
"It's not how I imagined," she offered lamely.
"Very little ever is. That, too, is something you of all people ought to know." He glanced out the window, scanning the sky. "This is not a fairy tale, Sarah. She's a very dangerous enemy."
She cupped her hands around her mug for its warmth. "Is she dead?"
This earned a dry laugh from the Goblin King. "Hardly. There are ways to kill a creature like that, but none of them are simple, and all come at a high cost."
Sarah chose her next words with care. "She said you'd broken the rules by letting me go."
Jareth leaned back, arm casually resting the back of the booth seat. His face betrayed no curiosity or any other untoward emotion. "Would you have stayed of your own free will?"
Sarah had no answer for that. Her hot chocolate was only lukewarm now, and cloyingly sweet. She drank it anyway. Jareth ate nothing, but followed her every move from beneath half-lowered lashes as though he could see through the fabric of her sleeve to the scratches that still marked her skin. His long fingers tapped out a delicate rhythm on one cashmere-clad arm, almost unconsciously... but not quite.
"I believe you have something of mine."
Sarah reddened, then got angry with herself for doing so. He doesn't mean that. She folded her arms beneath the table just the same, tugging her sleeves as far down as she could. The crystal sphere was in a messenger bag sitting on the seat next to her. She placed a protective hand upon it, wondering what she'd do if he asked for it back.
"She... she gave it to me. She said it was a gift."
"May I see it?"
Sarah gave it up with great reluctance. The crystal was the same: flawed and clouded, looking shabbier than ever. Jareth examined it by the light of the window, turning it this way and that. A few booths away, a group of teenagers paid their bill, gathered their things and left. Sarah was grateful for their cheerful banter as they made their way to the door. Like the diner itself, it was blessedly normal-- a marked contrast to sitting across from the Goblin King, with nothing to do but take note of all the little details of his person that Sarah never thought to see.
She realized that she'd never seen his hands without gloves before. Jareth handled the sphere as delicately as though it were the finest blown glass. A spiky lock of fair hair fell across his forehead and he brushed at it absently with the back of his wrist. His brow was furrowed in concentration, and occasionally, he muttered something too softly for her to hear. For all the notice he took of their surroundings, he could've been completely alone, so absorbed was he in his task.
His eyes are blue. Like the sky after a storm. Sarah was careful not to look too long.
When Jareth was satisfied, he set the sphere back on the table between them.
"That's it?" she asked. "It... it looks the same."
"Did you expect it to change?"
"Well..." She'd been half-expecting him to work some magic.
The Goblin King shook his head. "Your dreams are your dreams, Sarah. Just because they're no longer the shining vision of your childhood does not make them any less precious."
Sarah thought about the castles in the sky she'd built when she was fifteen, and how much they'd changed. Touché. I guess. Very carefully, she returned the crystal to her bag, pushing it down to the bottom where it couldn't fall out.
Jareth consulted his watch, a sleek gold affair with thirteen hours marked neatly upon its face. "Vastly entertaining as this reunion has been, I must go; a kingdom does not run itself. I only came to tell you that our mutual acquaintance will not trouble you again. On that, you have my word."
With a final glance at his watch, he slipped out of the booth and was halfway to the door before she could blink.
Dammit. Sarah grabbed her messenger bag and threw a handful of miscellaneous bills on the table. She caught up to his the Goblin King's long strides half a block away.
"You can't just show up like that and leave again!"
"Can't I? I was under the impression that this is precisely what I'm doing." He turned up the collar of his coat against the wind and kept walking.
She matched his brisk pace with difficulty, messenger bag bumping her hip with every step. "Then why come at all? If you only wanted to tell me everything was back to normal, you could've sent a message. Why travel all this way just for coffee and a conversation?"
"You did me a favor, one not without personal risk. I owed you that much at least."
"And no more than that?" she asked breathlessly.
This earned her a sidelong glance, but the Goblin King's pace slowed perceptibly. "What more would you have of me?"
Sarah's hand hovered over his arm, not quite touching. "Just a little more conversation. Please."
It was enough. Ill at ease, Jareth stood with his hands thrust deeply into his coat pockets. There was a defensive wariness to his posture that reminded her of all the more of the creature he'd been-- feathers ruffled by the wind, wings folded low over his back.
She released the breath she'd been holding. "I just wanted to say... That I was sorry. For not knowing."
I should've known he wasn't you, she thought, searching Jareth's face for any sign that would give away his thoughts. From the moment he took my hand, I should've known.
"How could you have known?" The Goblin King's reply was cool and remote. The sun was behind him, and he resembled nothing so much as a gaunt shadow. "It has been many years since we met, and you were barely more than a child. I didn't expect you to remember."
"But I did remember, always. Even when I tried to forget."
Sarah's hand closed upon his wrist then, and when her fingertips brushed his bare skin, they both stopped breathing. She leaned into him even as he pulled her closer, hand tilting her chin upward as their lips met. Jareth murmured her name, a breathless invocation that ended in a kiss long and slow and sweet, like the summer rain.
When it ended, it was the Goblin King's turn to raggedly exhale. Hair wildly dishevelled, he brushed his thumb across her chin, tracing the curve of her lower lip.
"And do you know me now, Sarah?"
Not yet, she thought. But I will.
****
Title: The Spell of the Black Swan, Part Two
Author: dmacabre
Recipient: wellhollywould
Prompt:A Jareth/Sarah fiction using the tale of 'Swan Lake' as a vague guide.
Plot Summary: Sarah begins a new life in a new city, but there are some things about her childhood that won't be left behind.
Author's Note: This is very loosely based on the ballet of Swan Lake and its background fairy tale. I tried to keep some of the basic elements of the story... with a little Labyrinthian twist.
Part One
Act Three
Sarah lay on the couch, an old quilt pulled up to her chin and a cup of chamomile tea next to her. Jules had gone to bed hours ago, and the apartment was quiet except for the sound of rain on the roof and Merlin snoring softly on the floor. A book sat open in her lap, but Sarah read and reread the same paragraph dozens of times and still couldn't remember the words.
Instead, she thought about the taxi ride home and the way streetlights flickered and went out as they passed. Jules hadn't noticed. What she did notice was Sarah's artificial cheer and sudden silences, but they'd been friends since freshman year of college and Jules knew better than to pry. When they got back to the apartment, she made Sarah a hot cup of herbal tea and told her to get some sleep.
Sarah was trying, but she wasn't sure sleep was the answer. A gust of wind blew the rain against the living room window, the quiet patter like a handful of pebbles bouncing off the glass. Huddled beneath the quilt, she shivered, remembering a pair of large black wings that swallowed the light of the moon.
She'd examined the crystal in the privacy of bathroom after Jules went to bed. Under the fluorescent light, it seemed as ordinary as a glass paperweight. Deep fractures ran through it, bisecting the sphere with silvery scars and occlusions. It was heavy, the interior grey and milk-white, like a stray wisp of cloud trapped inside a lump of ice. She recalled the way it looked in the lady's hand, a miniature moon balanced delicately on the tips of her long, white fingers. It looked nothing like that now, but when Sarah turned it this way and that, she thought she saw an occasional flash of light emanating from within. Not wanting to let it out of her sight, she'd wrapped it in an old t-shirt and hidden it beneath her pillow. Its solid weight pressed against her ribs when she shifted positions on the couch.
First, you must find him. The woman's words came back to her, an ominous challenge.
But how would Sarah do that? Tucked safely between the pages of her book was the owl's feather. She took it out, rolling it between thumb and forefinger until the soft ivory vane fluttered like a ship's sail. For the first time since she left the dark clearing in the woods, she allowed herself to think about what she'd seen, to wonder what she would do, if--
If what? If it were Jareth under a spell, and he needed me? The idea rang mockingly in her head, and Sarah felt stupid for even thinking it. After all, it was she who willingly gave up them all up-- all her adventures, all her friends.
And him, the mocking voice persisted. You gave him up, too.
She hadn't even tried very hard to keep them. It was too easy to touch the vanity mirror, reassure herself that her friends were still there on the other side, still waiting patiently for her to call...
... until the day came that she wasn't so sure. What if she called and nobody came? The tiny fear gnawed at her insides and grew as it fed. If she didn't call, she could keep believing they existed somewhere beyond the looking-glass. Time did not pass in the Underground the way it did for her; for them the wait might seem like hours, or days... not long at all. That was what Sarah told herself. In the meantime, the mirror simply sat there, waiting.
But none of that mattered now. Not if... Not if he needs me.
Sarah nodded drowsily. Thunder rumbled in the distance and the rain slackened to a soft drizzle. The book slid from her hands and hit the floor with a soft thump, but she did not hear it. Sarah was fast asleep.
***
The city at night was a maze. Rain-slick streets stretched in all directions, and the silhouettes of skyscrapers stood like a ragged hedgerow of steel and glass. Sarah's exhaled breath misted in the cold night air. Nothing was familiar. Everything had changed. Blurred panic seized her, a moment of fearful imbalance like a splash of acid in the back of her throat. This wasn't right, she shouldn't be here. There was somewhere else she needed to be...
Her fingers closed upon the crystal, its lambent glow like a watery reflection of the moon. By its light, she cast an eerily elongated shadow on the ground. She could see nothing inside it. A dozen hypnotic colors swirled on the milky surface. My dreams.
A stray breeze fluttered the material of her gown: white silk gathered in at her waist and falling nearly to her ankles, sleeves that skimmed her shoulders and left her arms bare. Sarah examined the underside of her arm. The scratches were healed, leaving only a faint pink lines on her skin. She brushed her fingertips across the scar. It was a reminder of something she once did, that much she knew. Sarah could not remember. The damp cold of the concrete seeped through her thin slippers. If this was a dream, it felt all too real.
From far in the distance came a music box melody, echoing hollowly down empty streets. Sarah strained to listen. There were words in the melody, she was sure of it-- words carried this way and that upon the wind, always just on the edge of her hearing. She knelt, letting the crystal spill gently from her hands onto the wet pavement.
"Find him," she whispered, "Find me the Goblin King."
The sphere kept rolling, and as it rolled it sang a thin, sweet song like someone drawing a wet fingertip round and round the rim of a wineglass.
The way forward is the way back, it sang. The way forward is the way back.
It led her down narrow streets, past sewer grates venting billowing clouds of steam and buildings where the brick and mortar had crumbled away, leaving rusted skeletons behind. Her surroundings shifted around her; sometimes the city was there, and sometimes it was not. Sometimes the skyscrapers became ancient cypress trees rising from a swamp, and the asphalt beneath her feet turned to sodden hillocks of moss and mud. Sometimes the puddles on the sidewalk reflected back the moonlight, and sometimes they were forest pools where lotus blossoms lifted their slender stalks above the surface of the water.
Sarah could not tell what was real and what was illusion; the landscape flickered in and out of her peripheral vision like the passing scenery on a train. She fixed her gaze on the crystal, whose song had faded to a sleepy hum. It was only just visible on the path ahead, a fallen star among the weeds. She concentrated...
Gone was the city skyline, the gleam of glass and steel-- only the forest remained. Sarah followed the crystal through a cypress bog where the air was heavy with a pungent humidity and the ground held water like a sponge. Light shone through the trees and she heard faint strains of music, sweetly dissonant notes hanging in the air. As she drew nearer, a great clock began to chime, tolling the hour in deep, sonorous tones.
Sarah gathered her skirts and ran.
The pealing of the clock echoed over the water; she counted the strikes as she pushed through wet bracken. Five, six... She slid ankle deep into the icy water, cursing as she pulled free. Seven, eight, nine... Above the treetops, the moon had risen full and bright. The muddy path gradually firmed into solid ground, sloping upward in a gentle incline. As she began to climb, a rush of wings swooped overhead, barely grazing her shoulder. Ten, eleven... Sarah stumbled on the wet grass, righting herself with a ragged gasp. She risked a glance behind, but the night was still and silent.
The clock struck twelve.
Countless lanterns hung from the trees, setting the night sky ablaze with light. An airy pavilion stood at the top of the hill, rising above the waters of the bog. A row of marble columns and arches left it open to the elements, and fragrant jasmine crowned its rafters. Laughter, light and music spilled from doorways, echoing through the wood. Within were dozens of dancers whirling in time to a mercurial melody, all clothed in black and white with painted crimson masks.
Sarah's skirt was wrinkled and damp and her hair streamed down her back in a wild tangle. She did not belong here, and yet she couldn't bring herself to leave. The music's dreamy cadence drew her in, a tempo rubato of a dance that filled her with a strange restlessness. She took one step into the pavilion, then another, scanning the room for she knew not what. No one took note of her presence. The dancers parted easily to let her by, then resumed their movements without a single misstep.
Sarah brushed past a woman in a velvet gown, dancing in the arms of a much younger man whose dark cape swirled about him as they spun across the floor. They were far enough apart in age to be mother and son, both of them with hair as glossy as a raven's wing. The young rake lifted the woman's hand to his lips, murmuring something that provoked a wicked, throaty laugh from his partner. They were lovers, Sarah realized, face warming a little at her own naiveté. The younger man swept his partner into a hungry kiss, and Sarah averted her eyes hastily. In doing so, she saw the reason for why she had come: at the far end of the pavilion was a high-backed ivory throne, and seated upon it was the lady in black.
She looked both ancient and ageless, silver-white hair in long braids down her back, pooling at her feet like coils of rope. In one hand she held an enormous fan of white feathers, which she wafted lazily back and forth. Beside her was a tall, fair-haired man; he bent and whispered in her ear and she nodded, smiling. Sarah could not see his face, but she knew him immediately. There was no mistaking the angle of his jaw or the way he casually surveyed the room, confident to the point of arrogance. When his laughter above the music, any remaining doubt vanished-- the sardonic note of mirth was unmistakably Jareth's. He, too, was dressed all in black, cloak thrown carelessly back over his shoulders and gloved fingertips tapping restlessly upon the arm of the throne.
Feeling Sarah's eyes upon her, the sorceress met her gaze boldly. She wore a silver chain as delicate as spidersilk looped thrice over her slender white wrist; it glittered as she caressed the Goblin King's cheek.
Take him if you can, mortal child. You will not get another chance.
Sarah was already halfway across the room, but the dancers did not move aside as they had done before. They tweaked her hair and plucked teasingly at her gown, trying to draw her into the dance and away from the throne. She shook them all off, but could get no closer. If only Jareth would turn and see her, she thought in growing desperation, she could reach him then. She caught a glimpse of him donning a mask of his own, dark red silk, the color of heart's blood.
"Jareth!" Her call was swallowed by the wild skirl of music as the dance began anew.
She swatted away another questing hand, but hard fingers dug into her hair, dragging her back. As she twisted to free herself, more dancers surged between her and the Goblin King. Sarah elbowed someone in the ribs and was rewarded with a squawk of pain. She followed it with a hard stomp on a slippered foot and a vicious kick to a nearby ankle. The dancers pulled away and she pushed forward, aiming resolutely for the spot where she'd last seen him-- she was so close!
Then with a sigh, the crowd parted and he was there, gloves of red silk to match his mask, a black cloak that seemed to unfurl from his shoulders like wings of night.
"Sarah Williams," he said, smiling just enough to reveal slightly pointed teeth beneath the edge of the mask, "How kind of you to come all this way just to rescue me."
Sarah allowed him to lead her out onto the ballroom floor, but she dug her nails into his arm angrily. "What the hell is going on?"
The Goblin King shook his head in warning. "Not yet. Wait until we are away."
He whirled her into the dance, arm securely around her waist as the music carried them both along like leaves on the current. All around them, the other couples fell into place but kept their distance.
"Many years have passed in the Underground," said the Goblin King, speaking low enough that only she could hear, "Spell or no spell, I had not thought to see you again."
The air in the pavilion had grown very warm, the scent of jasmine overpowering in the enclosed space. Sarah felt dizzy and when they executed a particularly elaborate turn, she would've stumbled had it not been for her partner's steadying grip. But Jareth's calm nonchalance unsettled her. This was not the Goblin King she remembered. This was not the same Jareth she'd seen in the wood, trapped and hunted and angry.
"But..." She tried in vain to order her thoughts. "What happens now? She won't let you go so easily."
"She has no choice. Your claim upon me takes precedence, and you came only just in time. Another night, and the spell would've been permanent." The Goblin King was murmuring now, so close to her ear that she could feel his breath upon her neck. "For that, I am forever in your debt."
His hands tightened around her waist. Sarah tilted her head to meet his kiss. His mouth brushed lightly as a feather across her own, and she shivered. It tasted of rainwater, cool and remote as a mountain lake. Sarah opened her eyes.
The creature before her looked like the Goblin King, even moved with his stolen grace and cocked his head in the same imperious manner. But his eyes... Her mouth went dry in shock for not having seen it before. Behind the silken mask, this creature's eyes were not the wintry blue of the Goblin King's, but black as obsidian, emotionless and empty.
She pulled free of his arms. "You're not him. You're not the Goblin King."
The false Jareth stared at her in cool disbelief. "Don't be absurd--"
Sarah placed both hands on his chest and shoved hard. The false Jareth's chest caved beneath the pressure, cracking like a hollow egg. To her horror, a sharp ebony beak tore through the fabric of his shirt, followed by a sleek head. The false Jareth cried out, shuddering as hundreds of blackbirds emerged from the ragged hole above his heart. They screeched and clawed their way free of his clothing, the air so thick with birds that Sarah shielded her face from the blinding fury of their wings.
When it was over, nothing remained of the false Goblin King but his cloak and mask, slashed and torn to pieces at her feet. Beside it stood the sorceress, shaking her head in mock reproach.
"Such a pity, dear child. I'm afraid you've failed your little quest."
The silver chain around her wrist now dangled freely like a lead, and the sorceress gave it a sharp tug. A harsh shriek tore through the air and a blur of white wings descended from the pavilion rafters. The white owl came from nowhere, the snap of its beak like a bone breaking in two. Its wingtips grazed Sarah's cheek as she dropped to the floor, all the breath knocked out of her. She braced for the impact, but the owl came no closer.
It couldn't, she realized. The other end of the silver chain was looped around its taloned foot, tethering to the sorceress' arm. The owl fought its restraints angrily, hissing and hurling itself into the air only to be yanked back at the last moment. Dark eyes hooded, it came to rest upon the back of the ivory throne, talons gripping the arm unsteadily.
"Stop it," Sarah found her voice at last, though it was choked and rough, "You're hurting him."
Still on her knees, she tried to rise and got caught in the tangle of her own skirts. Her hand met with a hard, round object resting against her foot. Sarah risked a glance down. It was the crystal sphere, its light now grown dim, but not extinguished.
The sorceress regarded her in bemusement, head tilted to one side. "I? But I am not the one who betrayed him, Sarah Williams. That," She gave the chain another little tug in emphasis, "Was entirely your doing."
The truth of the statement stung, but Sarah brushed it off. "Then I'll make it right somehow, but that's between him and me." Concealing the crystal in the folds of her gown, she struggled to her feet, fists clenched. "Let him go."
"I'm afraid I cannot do that. You had one chance, and one chance only."
Around her, the empty pavilion had lost its brilliance. Cracks now spidered up the marble columns, and the jasmine vines were nothing more than yellowing stalks and withered blooms. All the dancers had fled and the ballroom floor was quickly disappearing in a mist that rose from the waters of the bog.
No, thought Sarah wildly. Not yet. I can't wake up yet.
"Farewell, child. But do not despair. I will be a far kinder mistress than he deserves," The sorceress held out a conciliatory hand to the owl, who only clacked its beak menacingly, "And the Goblin King could use a lesson in managing his pride and temper, could he not? Perhaps in another thousand years..."
Sarah's fingers were folded so tightly around the crystal that she could feel the sluggish pulse of her own heartbeat. One chance, she thought, adrenaline running through her body like an electrical surge, And one chance only.
With all her might, Sarah hurled the crystal. Blinding light erupted in the pavilion and the sorceress let out a furious screech. Her slender neck lengthened grotesquely, and one by one dark spines pricked through until it bristled with a sheen of black feathers. The fine bones of her face shifted, skin sloughing off in papery sheets to reveal a hard, scarlet beak that parted in a trumpeting call. The swan that had been the sorceress lashed out like a serpent striking and beat the air with her enormous wings.
Sarah did not stop to look. All around her, the pavilion was falling to pieces, broken stone tumbled silently down, the creeping blackness of the swamp rising up to swallow all. In the velvet darkness she could only just see the chain, fine as a thread woven out of pure starlight. She lunged toward it even as the floor shattered and slid away beneath her feet. When her fingers closed upon it, it burned a line of cold fire into the palm of her hand. Sarah did not let go, wrenching it with the whole weight of her body and feeling it slice through the black swan's wing like razor wire, sawing through meat and bone.
The chain bit deep, but still Sarah drew it tight, tight, tighter still. The lanterns had guttered out, one by one, and storm clouds swallowed the moon. She could hear the thunder coming closer, scent the advancing rush of falling rain. But she could not see the Goblin King, strain as she might for a glimpse of ghostly white wings.
The pain was almost beyond endurance. Almost. Sarah flexed the tendons in her wrist, shutting out all the background noise and rolling thunder. He was out there somewhere. Waiting. Goblin King, Goblin King, wherever you may be...
When the silver chain was pulled taut as she could bear, she called his name for the third and final time.
***
Sarah woke up on the living room floor, tangled in the old quilt with her knee throbbing from where it'd struck the coffee table on the way down. Her flannel pajamas were sticky with sweat despite the cool room. She searched the couch cushions and tossed aside bedding until she found the crystal, still bundled in an old t-shirt. It was unchanged. She smoothed her fingers over its now-familiar clouded surface. No answering gleam of light shone within, but she didn't care. Beside her, Merlin whined anxiously, pressing a cold nose against her cheek.
"It's all right," said Sarah, burying her face in his warm fur for comfort, "It was just a dream. Everything will be all right."
Act Four
You couldn't order tea in a diner, reflected Sarah gloomily. Well. You could, but what you'd get was a cup of hot brown water with a tea bag floating limply at the top. It was too bad, because the diner was otherwise perfect: speckled formica counters and a jukebox in the corner, red vinyl booth seats, daily specials, and aproned waitress who called you "hon", as in "You want gravy with that, hon?"
Even gravy couldn't fix all the world's problems.
Sarah arranged and rearranged the contents of her plate, pushing around the same piece of fried egg, runny yolk congealing around what was left of her corned beef hash. The last thing she wanted to do was eat breakfast alone, but Jules wouldn't be up for hours yet, and Merlin had refused to budge from his coveted spot on the couch. Sarah took a bite of buttered toast, gazing idly out the window. The thunderstorm had transformed the city, and now the sky was a washed-out sea blue, clear and cool without a single cloud. It was a good day to go apartment hunting, or maybe visit the museum.
Or I could give up trying to forget that dream.
She examined the palms of her hands by the cool morning light. Unlike the healing talon marks on her arm, there were no scars or cuts, not even so much as a scratch. She'd known there wouldn't be, of course. But when she closed her eyes, Sarah could feel the fine silver chain wound tight around her fingers, slippery with her own blood. When the dream had gone dark, in that last moment before she opened her eyes and found herself back in the living room... She thought she'd felt the chain snap in two.
Sarah wanted to believe it had. She wanted to believe the dream was real.
Scrubbing her tired eyes, she reached for her tepid cup of tea, but it was gone. That's odd. Even at this hour, the diner was busy and the lone waitress spent most of her time running back and forth between the kitchen and the front counter. Sarah hadn't seen anyone come by to collect the cup. Shrugging, she tried to flag someone down to ask for hot chocolate instead. The waitress stopped long enough at her booth to set down a steaming cup of coffee before hurrying away.
Sarah stared at it a moment. "Excuse me, I don't think I ordered a--"
"You didn't. I did."
Slouched and weary in a trench coat, the Goblin King slid into the seat across from her. He looked haggard, as though he had not slept for days. Leaning across the table, he took six packets of sugar, ripped them open and dumped them all into the coffee. Barely stopping to stir it, he gulped it down in three swallows.
At first, it was the shock of seeing him in modern clothing. Everything he wore looked expensive: cashmere coat and impeccably tailored grey suit, a gold watch on his wrist. Even his hair had been slicked back, a far cry from the flamboyant glamor of the goblin city. The only indication that he wasn't a banker or corporate attorney was his tie, a lush confection of purple silk embroidered with a pattern of tiny golden crowns. His hands were bare.
"You." Sarah tried not to gape.
Jareth regarded his empty cup with a mixture of distaste and regret. "Me."
"Then it was real. All of it, the park, the ballet..."
The arch of his eyebrow was just as she remembered. "Did you think it wasn't? You of all people should know better than that, Sarah."
They sat in silence as the waitress refilled the coffee and brought Sarah a cup of hot chocolate with extra marshmallows. In the scattering of spilled sugar crystals, Jareth traced an endless loop of infinity with the tip of his finger.
"I suppose I should thank you," he began, "It was only a matter of time before I extricated myself, of course, but your interference did hasten matters somewhat."
"Glad to be of service." Sarah didn't bother to mask the sarcasm. "Who was she, really?"
He shrugged evasively. "She is whatever she wants to be: witch, sorceress, demon... You mortals might call her one of the sluagh sídhe, but it's far too simple a term for what she is. Her magic is elemental, old as earth, air and water."
Sarah turned the words over in her mind. She knew what they meant, though she'd never heard the term used outside of Irish folklore: sluagh sídhe, the faerie host. When she'd read about the Wild Hunt, she hadn't thought of what it might be like to be the prey.
"It's not how I imagined," she offered lamely.
"Very little ever is. That, too, is something you of all people ought to know." He glanced out the window, scanning the sky. "This is not a fairy tale, Sarah. She's a very dangerous enemy."
She cupped her hands around her mug for its warmth. "Is she dead?"
This earned a dry laugh from the Goblin King. "Hardly. There are ways to kill a creature like that, but none of them are simple, and all come at a high cost."
Sarah chose her next words with care. "She said you'd broken the rules by letting me go."
Jareth leaned back, arm casually resting the back of the booth seat. His face betrayed no curiosity or any other untoward emotion. "Would you have stayed of your own free will?"
Sarah had no answer for that. Her hot chocolate was only lukewarm now, and cloyingly sweet. She drank it anyway. Jareth ate nothing, but followed her every move from beneath half-lowered lashes as though he could see through the fabric of her sleeve to the scratches that still marked her skin. His long fingers tapped out a delicate rhythm on one cashmere-clad arm, almost unconsciously... but not quite.
"I believe you have something of mine."
Sarah reddened, then got angry with herself for doing so. He doesn't mean that. She folded her arms beneath the table just the same, tugging her sleeves as far down as she could. The crystal sphere was in a messenger bag sitting on the seat next to her. She placed a protective hand upon it, wondering what she'd do if he asked for it back.
"She... she gave it to me. She said it was a gift."
"May I see it?"
Sarah gave it up with great reluctance. The crystal was the same: flawed and clouded, looking shabbier than ever. Jareth examined it by the light of the window, turning it this way and that. A few booths away, a group of teenagers paid their bill, gathered their things and left. Sarah was grateful for their cheerful banter as they made their way to the door. Like the diner itself, it was blessedly normal-- a marked contrast to sitting across from the Goblin King, with nothing to do but take note of all the little details of his person that Sarah never thought to see.
She realized that she'd never seen his hands without gloves before. Jareth handled the sphere as delicately as though it were the finest blown glass. A spiky lock of fair hair fell across his forehead and he brushed at it absently with the back of his wrist. His brow was furrowed in concentration, and occasionally, he muttered something too softly for her to hear. For all the notice he took of their surroundings, he could've been completely alone, so absorbed was he in his task.
His eyes are blue. Like the sky after a storm. Sarah was careful not to look too long.
When Jareth was satisfied, he set the sphere back on the table between them.
"That's it?" she asked. "It... it looks the same."
"Did you expect it to change?"
"Well..." She'd been half-expecting him to work some magic.
The Goblin King shook his head. "Your dreams are your dreams, Sarah. Just because they're no longer the shining vision of your childhood does not make them any less precious."
Sarah thought about the castles in the sky she'd built when she was fifteen, and how much they'd changed. Touché. I guess. Very carefully, she returned the crystal to her bag, pushing it down to the bottom where it couldn't fall out.
Jareth consulted his watch, a sleek gold affair with thirteen hours marked neatly upon its face. "Vastly entertaining as this reunion has been, I must go; a kingdom does not run itself. I only came to tell you that our mutual acquaintance will not trouble you again. On that, you have my word."
With a final glance at his watch, he slipped out of the booth and was halfway to the door before she could blink.
Dammit. Sarah grabbed her messenger bag and threw a handful of miscellaneous bills on the table. She caught up to his the Goblin King's long strides half a block away.
"You can't just show up like that and leave again!"
"Can't I? I was under the impression that this is precisely what I'm doing." He turned up the collar of his coat against the wind and kept walking.
She matched his brisk pace with difficulty, messenger bag bumping her hip with every step. "Then why come at all? If you only wanted to tell me everything was back to normal, you could've sent a message. Why travel all this way just for coffee and a conversation?"
"You did me a favor, one not without personal risk. I owed you that much at least."
"And no more than that?" she asked breathlessly.
This earned her a sidelong glance, but the Goblin King's pace slowed perceptibly. "What more would you have of me?"
Sarah's hand hovered over his arm, not quite touching. "Just a little more conversation. Please."
It was enough. Ill at ease, Jareth stood with his hands thrust deeply into his coat pockets. There was a defensive wariness to his posture that reminded her of all the more of the creature he'd been-- feathers ruffled by the wind, wings folded low over his back.
She released the breath she'd been holding. "I just wanted to say... That I was sorry. For not knowing."
I should've known he wasn't you, she thought, searching Jareth's face for any sign that would give away his thoughts. From the moment he took my hand, I should've known.
"How could you have known?" The Goblin King's reply was cool and remote. The sun was behind him, and he resembled nothing so much as a gaunt shadow. "It has been many years since we met, and you were barely more than a child. I didn't expect you to remember."
"But I did remember, always. Even when I tried to forget."
Sarah's hand closed upon his wrist then, and when her fingertips brushed his bare skin, they both stopped breathing. She leaned into him even as he pulled her closer, hand tilting her chin upward as their lips met. Jareth murmured her name, a breathless invocation that ended in a kiss long and slow and sweet, like the summer rain.
When it ended, it was the Goblin King's turn to raggedly exhale. Hair wildly dishevelled, he brushed his thumb across her chin, tracing the curve of her lower lip.
"And do you know me now, Sarah?"
Not yet, she thought. But I will.