Fic Exchange #18: Lost in Translation (or, A Study in Aboveground Courting Rituals)
The actual identity of the writer will remain secret until all the submissions are in and posted.
****
Title: Lost in Translation (or, A Study in Aboveground Courting Rituals)
Author: lady_rhiyana
Recipient: knifeedgefic
Prompt: The goblins have watched one too many romantic comedies. Now that they are ‘experts' on romance, they decide to play matchmaker between Jareth and a post-college age Sarah who has grown a little cynical about love. Wackiness ensues. (Would love it if this one was mainly Goblin POV.)
Rating: G.
Plot Summary/Author's Notes: "…For while it is universally acknowledged that a devilishly handsome, unmarried King in possession of a large -"
There were scattered sniggers from the audience.
"- a large kingdom, I say, must naturally be a very marriageable prospect, our gracious monarch has had more than ten years to secure the Lady Sarah's hand, without success. It now falls to us, as his loyal subjects, to render whatever aid we may."
*****
Prologue #1
*****
It was close on midnight, less than ten minutes before the clock signalled the end of Christmas day. Candles guttered in their sockets, the light flickering dimly over her, curled up asleep on the couch. A half-empty bottle of wine lay on the floor, a glass tipped over beside it; outside, carollers strolled up and down the street, their interwoven harmonies chasing Sarah down into her dreams.
As always, when the darkness lifted, she woke tangled in silken sheets, silver moonlight pouring in through vaulted glass windows, illuminating the Goblin King's exotic, alien beauty.
"Merry Christmas, Sarah Williams," Jareth said, slouched in his chair near the fire. He was dressed in full Goblin King regalia, silk and lace and brocade; a glass of mulled spice wine dangled from his long white fingers.
She rose from the bed, conscious of her long, flowing silken robe. "You've got to stop dragging me into these dreams, Jareth. Surely you have better things to do?"
He took a pointed sip from the glass. "I merely provide the dream-wine, Sarah. It is your choice to drink."
*****
Prologue #2 - 12 months later
*****
"You see?" Hoggle asked, disgusted. "That's all that happened last time. Ten years he's been sending her the dream-wine, and ten years she's drunk of it willingly - and has anything come of it yet? No, they're still dancing around it like cats in -"
"Thank you, friend Hoggle," Didymus cut in, clearing his throat officiously. "Well. Friends. Companions. You all know why we are here tonight. For while it is universally acknowledged that a devilishly handsome, unmarried King in possession of a large -"
There were scattered sniggers from the audience.
"- a large kingdom, I say, must naturally be a very marriageable prospect, our gracious monarch has had more than ten years to secure the Lady Sarah's hand, without success. It now falls to us, as his loyal subjects, to render whatever aid we may."
"What he means is," Hoggle interpreted, "it's our turn now."
"Won't he find out?" someone interjected. "He finds everything out."
Hoggle looked briefly alarmed. He had discussed this point at length and at great volume with his companion.
"Nonsense," Didymus said briskly. "His Majesty is much caught up in councils with the High King. Besides, he has no reason to suspect his loyal subjects of anything untoward." There was a short pause filled with quiet, uneasy murmuring, before Didymus overrode it by sheer force of confidence. "Now, as I have said, we have sent our trusty goblin cousins Aboveground to seek out and discover the intricacies of mortal courting rituals. They have returned to us with a great treasure trove of information."
And with a flourish to rival the most flamboyant of master magicians, Didymus indicated a sad mound of tattered paperback books and scattered DVDs. There was a general indrawn breath of amazement and appreciation. The knowledgeable observer would have made note, amongst the random bodice-rippers and Mills & Boons, of Pride and Prejudice, Romeo and Juliet, what looked like a Japanese pillow-book, and perhaps even the jewel-toned illuminations of the Kama Sutra. The DVDs were equally diverse: old black and white classics; BBC costume dramas; brightly cheerful rom-coms, and - yes, one or two skin-flicks. Dirty Dancing and Titanic stood out prominently.
"The committee has made a careful study of these primary reference materials and, after many weeks, carefully distilled the information and concepts contained therein into four primary categories: Money, Rank and Estate; Snappy Banter; Fine Tailoring and Dancing; and the Heroic Rescue.1 Using this information we have come up, my dear companions, with a Plan. Listen closely, if you will, and I will explain it to you…"
*****
1. Money, Rank and Estate (or, the size of his -)
For surely, if we contrive to show Lady Sarah the true size and wonder of the Goblin Kingdom, she will react as Miss Elizabeth Bennett did on her first sighting of Pemberley.
*****
That night, Sarah dreamed of the Goblin Kingdom.
First, the Labyrinth, an endless procession of twisting, turning paths, mad corridors doubling and even tripling back on themselves. Afterwards her dream perspective pulled back, a soaring panoramic flight over the great expanse of the Goblin Kingdom, taking her to places she had never before seen: great snow-capped mountains, where tiny trickling rivulets ran rust-red over veins of pure iron ore; burning wind-swept deserts where fierce goblin warriors still roamed as their ancient forebears had, before the coming of the King; wide, swift-running rivers pouring into roaring falls; meadows filled with wildflowers stretching in all directions, as far as the eye could see.
And then the great castle where the King himself sat enthroned, lord and creator of the Labyrinth, the brilliant threads of his iron-fisted power and control extending throughout the entire kingdom, ensuring its safety and wellbeing -
At that last, alien thought, Sarah jerked up in a cold sweat, her heart pounding frantically. She was somewhat surprised to find herself in Jareth's chambers once more, the King slouching in his usual chair.
*****
2. Snappy Banter (or, if only we could get them to stop arguing)
We have observed the great enjoyment the Lady Sarah and His Majesty derive from their spirited discussions. Have we not all seen such behaviour in the reference material?
*****
"This is a surprise," Jareth said. "What have you been drinking?" By the light of the fire, flickering and inconstant, he looked somewhat drawn and grim, almost - exhausted. Sarah stared at him. She had not been expecting this.
"Sir Didymus gave it to me for Christmas. He swore it was ordinary goblin wine, nothing more."
Jareth leaned closer. "Let me smell your breath."
"What?" Sarah flinched back. "What do you mean, smell my breath? In case you haven't noticed, I'm old enough to drink now -"
He sniffed at her, the pupils of his mismatched eyes dilating. "Your ‘ordinary goblin wine' smells very like bootlegged dream-wine, Sarah."
She drew in her breath. "Are you saying that Didymus lied to me?"
"Fairy dust and Firey feather, boomslang skin and belladonna, with sloes, ginger, nutmeg and bird's-eye chilli to taste. That's old Snicks' home brew."
Snicks, Sarah knew, was the old, half-blind goblin apothecary, notoriously doddery; his hands shook so much when he measured out his potions and powders that only the most desperate goblins dared to go to him for more than simple cures.
She scowled. "What have you done, Jareth?" she demanded, not - quite - wary; years of shared dreams, of slowly, slowly coming to believe that he wasn't trying to twist and manipulate her with every breath had earned him the benefit of the doubt at least.
He sighed, slouched out of his chair and collapsed next to her on the bed - his bed, she remembered suddenly. There was still a good distance between them, so she restrained her impulse to flinch away, settling for staring down at him in bemusement.
"It has been," he said, looking up at her, "a very long, tiring month. I assure you I've been too caught up in councils and conferences to worry about what my loyal subjects are up to. If your friend Didymus gave you dream-wine it was his doing and none of mine."
"But…why?"
Jareth slanted her a sardonic glance. "You know him better than I. Why would Didymus trick you into drinking dream-wine?"
Sarah frowned, thinking deeply. As she thought, the fire crackled, throwing warm light and flickering shadows over the familiar chambers, and beside her Jareth, exhausted, closed his eyes and drifted into sleep, his breathing soft and regular.
Still puzzled, her thoughts growing slower and lazier, Sarah slumped back against the pillows and slowly joined him in slumber.
**
3. Fine Tailoring and Dancing (or, is that a ruler in your pocket?)
There must be a ball of some sort: a masquerade, a promenade, even, and a beautiful gown. Naturally, His Majesty must be magnificent.
**
They woke - both Jareth and Sarah together - to music, delicate, ethereal; to an ancient forest glade ringed by high towering oaks, translucent shafts of silver moonlight spilling down to illuminate the dancers -
Oh, the dancers.
Bright Lords and Ladies, all clad in shades of evening and twilight, black and grey and silver, midnight blue and charcoal and dusk. Their white faces were painted with shadow and moonlight, emphasising their very alienness; they slipped in and out of the trees with sinuous grace, elusive and unknowable.
Jareth himself wore a textured black frock coat and grey cobweb lace, while Sarah wore a long, slim sheath of ivory silk.
"Well," she said, trying for blithe unconcern, "looks like you partook of the dream-wine too."
He narrowed his eyes thoughtfully.
(The scene flickered in and out, the dancers fading into a blur. Somewhere on the edge of her hearing, she could hear hushed whispers and muttered argument.)
What do we do? He knows, he knows!
Shut up! He only suspects. Now try again.
Blackness descended.
This time the music was passionate, primitive, all pounding, driving rhythm. Colour came first, blinding firebursts of crimson and gold; this time the dancers whirled and spun, the Ladies' skirts flaring as they flaunted and taunted, the Lords stalking and stamping with furious machismo.
Jareth wore a heavily embroidered bolero jacket, long black pants and heeled boots, spurs and all. Sarah burst out laughing, trying desperately to smother her giggles with her hand.
No, no, no! It's all wrong!
Wait, what are you - stop, stop, don't touch that!
Wildly divergent dreamscapes formed and shifted at dizzying speed, only to dissolve into shadow and coalesce once more, variation upon variation of a thousand themes. The whispered argument in the background took on a frantic edge.
By the time the darkness lifted for the third time to reveal the instantly recognisable pseudo-Venetian ballroom and macabre dancers of Sarah's long-ago peach dream, Jareth was clearly exasperated.
"I don't know what you think you're doing," he said to the air at large, "but whatever it is, it stops now."
*****
4. The Heroic Rescue (or, Right, that's enough)
The hero must have a chance to display his strength and capability, to show what a good mate he would make for the heroine.
*****
Lord of illusions, master-crafter of dreams, a monarch most unamused, Jareth snapped a crystal into existence and clenched his black-gloved fist, shattering it into incandescent dust and flinging the dust into the air. As it rained down on them both the recycled ballroom melted away, the dancers dissolved into nothingness, and the elegant strains of harpsichord and violins died a discordant, wheezing death.
Sarah jerked awake in Jareth's chambers. Her eyes flew to the chair near the fire, hoping and dreading to see him there, nursing a glass of wine, but she was quite alone; outside though in the echoing stone corridors she could hear goblins howling and the scurrying of panicked chickens.
She scrambled out of Jareth's huge bed, cursing her slippery silk robe, and ventured out into the corridors. By now, after years of dreaming, she knew her way quite well: she forged her way through the crowd of goblins hurrying away from the throne room (and quite a few hurrying towards) and paused at the inlaid doors to admire the show. In his worst and blackest tempers, there was nothing flamboyant about Jareth at all, and the goblins would huddle together miserably in dark, hidden corners and silently endure. But they found great entertainment in his sudden tantrums and hair-pulling fits, in the flamboyant shouting and goblin-tossing and melodramatic sulks that came when the goblins' idiocy had exasperated him beyond reason.
This was clearly a prime example of the latter.
By the time she had secured a prime spot, Sarah could see that Hoggle, Didymus and a shifting gaggle of goblins (yes, including old Snicks) were kneeling before the throne looking supremely guilty. Didymus, fearless as ever, was trying to explain in high-flown periods; Hoggle's body language was clearly meant to imply that he had had nothing at all to do with it, and that Didymus had dragged him in against his will.
Across the crowded throne room, Jareth's exasperated eyes met Sarah's, and she burst into delighted laughter.
*****
+1. Happily ever after
I don't even know why we have to mention this one.
*****
12 months later, Sarah woke to find a bottle of dream-wine on her dresser, neatly gift-wrapped and trailing curlicues of coloured ribbons. There was a cardboard tag, Jareth's spiky, sprawling handwriting declaring it to be made by his own hands, to his personal recipe and with no interference by helpful goblins.
Laughing, she poured a glass, drank willingly, and woke to find him waiting for her.
1. It should be mentioned that the committee also identified another primary category found in Aboveground romantic media: Tragic Death and Star-Cross'd Lovers. This was an old and familiar theme in the myths and ballads of the Underground, and no doubt in every other world that had ever existed since the dawn of time. But Didymus had argued that the Lovers were already Star-Cross'd and that Tragic Death was counter-productive to their agenda, and so the fifth category had been carefully left out of his Grand Plan.
****
Title: Lost in Translation (or, A Study in Aboveground Courting Rituals)
Author: lady_rhiyana
Recipient: knifeedgefic
Prompt: The goblins have watched one too many romantic comedies. Now that they are ‘experts' on romance, they decide to play matchmaker between Jareth and a post-college age Sarah who has grown a little cynical about love. Wackiness ensues. (Would love it if this one was mainly Goblin POV.)
Rating: G.
Plot Summary/Author's Notes: "…For while it is universally acknowledged that a devilishly handsome, unmarried King in possession of a large -"
There were scattered sniggers from the audience.
"- a large kingdom, I say, must naturally be a very marriageable prospect, our gracious monarch has had more than ten years to secure the Lady Sarah's hand, without success. It now falls to us, as his loyal subjects, to render whatever aid we may."
*****
Prologue #1
*****
It was close on midnight, less than ten minutes before the clock signalled the end of Christmas day. Candles guttered in their sockets, the light flickering dimly over her, curled up asleep on the couch. A half-empty bottle of wine lay on the floor, a glass tipped over beside it; outside, carollers strolled up and down the street, their interwoven harmonies chasing Sarah down into her dreams.
As always, when the darkness lifted, she woke tangled in silken sheets, silver moonlight pouring in through vaulted glass windows, illuminating the Goblin King's exotic, alien beauty.
"Merry Christmas, Sarah Williams," Jareth said, slouched in his chair near the fire. He was dressed in full Goblin King regalia, silk and lace and brocade; a glass of mulled spice wine dangled from his long white fingers.
She rose from the bed, conscious of her long, flowing silken robe. "You've got to stop dragging me into these dreams, Jareth. Surely you have better things to do?"
He took a pointed sip from the glass. "I merely provide the dream-wine, Sarah. It is your choice to drink."
*****
Prologue #2 - 12 months later
*****
"You see?" Hoggle asked, disgusted. "That's all that happened last time. Ten years he's been sending her the dream-wine, and ten years she's drunk of it willingly - and has anything come of it yet? No, they're still dancing around it like cats in -"
"Thank you, friend Hoggle," Didymus cut in, clearing his throat officiously. "Well. Friends. Companions. You all know why we are here tonight. For while it is universally acknowledged that a devilishly handsome, unmarried King in possession of a large -"
There were scattered sniggers from the audience.
"- a large kingdom, I say, must naturally be a very marriageable prospect, our gracious monarch has had more than ten years to secure the Lady Sarah's hand, without success. It now falls to us, as his loyal subjects, to render whatever aid we may."
"What he means is," Hoggle interpreted, "it's our turn now."
"Won't he find out?" someone interjected. "He finds everything out."
Hoggle looked briefly alarmed. He had discussed this point at length and at great volume with his companion.
"Nonsense," Didymus said briskly. "His Majesty is much caught up in councils with the High King. Besides, he has no reason to suspect his loyal subjects of anything untoward." There was a short pause filled with quiet, uneasy murmuring, before Didymus overrode it by sheer force of confidence. "Now, as I have said, we have sent our trusty goblin cousins Aboveground to seek out and discover the intricacies of mortal courting rituals. They have returned to us with a great treasure trove of information."
And with a flourish to rival the most flamboyant of master magicians, Didymus indicated a sad mound of tattered paperback books and scattered DVDs. There was a general indrawn breath of amazement and appreciation. The knowledgeable observer would have made note, amongst the random bodice-rippers and Mills & Boons, of Pride and Prejudice, Romeo and Juliet, what looked like a Japanese pillow-book, and perhaps even the jewel-toned illuminations of the Kama Sutra. The DVDs were equally diverse: old black and white classics; BBC costume dramas; brightly cheerful rom-coms, and - yes, one or two skin-flicks. Dirty Dancing and Titanic stood out prominently.
"The committee has made a careful study of these primary reference materials and, after many weeks, carefully distilled the information and concepts contained therein into four primary categories: Money, Rank and Estate; Snappy Banter; Fine Tailoring and Dancing; and the Heroic Rescue.1 Using this information we have come up, my dear companions, with a Plan. Listen closely, if you will, and I will explain it to you…"
*****
1. Money, Rank and Estate (or, the size of his -)
For surely, if we contrive to show Lady Sarah the true size and wonder of the Goblin Kingdom, she will react as Miss Elizabeth Bennett did on her first sighting of Pemberley.
*****
That night, Sarah dreamed of the Goblin Kingdom.
First, the Labyrinth, an endless procession of twisting, turning paths, mad corridors doubling and even tripling back on themselves. Afterwards her dream perspective pulled back, a soaring panoramic flight over the great expanse of the Goblin Kingdom, taking her to places she had never before seen: great snow-capped mountains, where tiny trickling rivulets ran rust-red over veins of pure iron ore; burning wind-swept deserts where fierce goblin warriors still roamed as their ancient forebears had, before the coming of the King; wide, swift-running rivers pouring into roaring falls; meadows filled with wildflowers stretching in all directions, as far as the eye could see.
And then the great castle where the King himself sat enthroned, lord and creator of the Labyrinth, the brilliant threads of his iron-fisted power and control extending throughout the entire kingdom, ensuring its safety and wellbeing -
At that last, alien thought, Sarah jerked up in a cold sweat, her heart pounding frantically. She was somewhat surprised to find herself in Jareth's chambers once more, the King slouching in his usual chair.
*****
2. Snappy Banter (or, if only we could get them to stop arguing)
We have observed the great enjoyment the Lady Sarah and His Majesty derive from their spirited discussions. Have we not all seen such behaviour in the reference material?
*****
"This is a surprise," Jareth said. "What have you been drinking?" By the light of the fire, flickering and inconstant, he looked somewhat drawn and grim, almost - exhausted. Sarah stared at him. She had not been expecting this.
"Sir Didymus gave it to me for Christmas. He swore it was ordinary goblin wine, nothing more."
Jareth leaned closer. "Let me smell your breath."
"What?" Sarah flinched back. "What do you mean, smell my breath? In case you haven't noticed, I'm old enough to drink now -"
He sniffed at her, the pupils of his mismatched eyes dilating. "Your ‘ordinary goblin wine' smells very like bootlegged dream-wine, Sarah."
She drew in her breath. "Are you saying that Didymus lied to me?"
"Fairy dust and Firey feather, boomslang skin and belladonna, with sloes, ginger, nutmeg and bird's-eye chilli to taste. That's old Snicks' home brew."
Snicks, Sarah knew, was the old, half-blind goblin apothecary, notoriously doddery; his hands shook so much when he measured out his potions and powders that only the most desperate goblins dared to go to him for more than simple cures.
She scowled. "What have you done, Jareth?" she demanded, not - quite - wary; years of shared dreams, of slowly, slowly coming to believe that he wasn't trying to twist and manipulate her with every breath had earned him the benefit of the doubt at least.
He sighed, slouched out of his chair and collapsed next to her on the bed - his bed, she remembered suddenly. There was still a good distance between them, so she restrained her impulse to flinch away, settling for staring down at him in bemusement.
"It has been," he said, looking up at her, "a very long, tiring month. I assure you I've been too caught up in councils and conferences to worry about what my loyal subjects are up to. If your friend Didymus gave you dream-wine it was his doing and none of mine."
"But…why?"
Jareth slanted her a sardonic glance. "You know him better than I. Why would Didymus trick you into drinking dream-wine?"
Sarah frowned, thinking deeply. As she thought, the fire crackled, throwing warm light and flickering shadows over the familiar chambers, and beside her Jareth, exhausted, closed his eyes and drifted into sleep, his breathing soft and regular.
Still puzzled, her thoughts growing slower and lazier, Sarah slumped back against the pillows and slowly joined him in slumber.
**
3. Fine Tailoring and Dancing (or, is that a ruler in your pocket?)
There must be a ball of some sort: a masquerade, a promenade, even, and a beautiful gown. Naturally, His Majesty must be magnificent.
**
They woke - both Jareth and Sarah together - to music, delicate, ethereal; to an ancient forest glade ringed by high towering oaks, translucent shafts of silver moonlight spilling down to illuminate the dancers -
Oh, the dancers.
Bright Lords and Ladies, all clad in shades of evening and twilight, black and grey and silver, midnight blue and charcoal and dusk. Their white faces were painted with shadow and moonlight, emphasising their very alienness; they slipped in and out of the trees with sinuous grace, elusive and unknowable.
Jareth himself wore a textured black frock coat and grey cobweb lace, while Sarah wore a long, slim sheath of ivory silk.
"Well," she said, trying for blithe unconcern, "looks like you partook of the dream-wine too."
He narrowed his eyes thoughtfully.
(The scene flickered in and out, the dancers fading into a blur. Somewhere on the edge of her hearing, she could hear hushed whispers and muttered argument.)
What do we do? He knows, he knows!
Shut up! He only suspects. Now try again.
Blackness descended.
This time the music was passionate, primitive, all pounding, driving rhythm. Colour came first, blinding firebursts of crimson and gold; this time the dancers whirled and spun, the Ladies' skirts flaring as they flaunted and taunted, the Lords stalking and stamping with furious machismo.
Jareth wore a heavily embroidered bolero jacket, long black pants and heeled boots, spurs and all. Sarah burst out laughing, trying desperately to smother her giggles with her hand.
No, no, no! It's all wrong!
Wait, what are you - stop, stop, don't touch that!
Wildly divergent dreamscapes formed and shifted at dizzying speed, only to dissolve into shadow and coalesce once more, variation upon variation of a thousand themes. The whispered argument in the background took on a frantic edge.
By the time the darkness lifted for the third time to reveal the instantly recognisable pseudo-Venetian ballroom and macabre dancers of Sarah's long-ago peach dream, Jareth was clearly exasperated.
"I don't know what you think you're doing," he said to the air at large, "but whatever it is, it stops now."
*****
4. The Heroic Rescue (or, Right, that's enough)
The hero must have a chance to display his strength and capability, to show what a good mate he would make for the heroine.
*****
Lord of illusions, master-crafter of dreams, a monarch most unamused, Jareth snapped a crystal into existence and clenched his black-gloved fist, shattering it into incandescent dust and flinging the dust into the air. As it rained down on them both the recycled ballroom melted away, the dancers dissolved into nothingness, and the elegant strains of harpsichord and violins died a discordant, wheezing death.
Sarah jerked awake in Jareth's chambers. Her eyes flew to the chair near the fire, hoping and dreading to see him there, nursing a glass of wine, but she was quite alone; outside though in the echoing stone corridors she could hear goblins howling and the scurrying of panicked chickens.
She scrambled out of Jareth's huge bed, cursing her slippery silk robe, and ventured out into the corridors. By now, after years of dreaming, she knew her way quite well: she forged her way through the crowd of goblins hurrying away from the throne room (and quite a few hurrying towards) and paused at the inlaid doors to admire the show. In his worst and blackest tempers, there was nothing flamboyant about Jareth at all, and the goblins would huddle together miserably in dark, hidden corners and silently endure. But they found great entertainment in his sudden tantrums and hair-pulling fits, in the flamboyant shouting and goblin-tossing and melodramatic sulks that came when the goblins' idiocy had exasperated him beyond reason.
This was clearly a prime example of the latter.
By the time she had secured a prime spot, Sarah could see that Hoggle, Didymus and a shifting gaggle of goblins (yes, including old Snicks) were kneeling before the throne looking supremely guilty. Didymus, fearless as ever, was trying to explain in high-flown periods; Hoggle's body language was clearly meant to imply that he had had nothing at all to do with it, and that Didymus had dragged him in against his will.
Across the crowded throne room, Jareth's exasperated eyes met Sarah's, and she burst into delighted laughter.
*****
+1. Happily ever after
I don't even know why we have to mention this one.
*****
12 months later, Sarah woke to find a bottle of dream-wine on her dresser, neatly gift-wrapped and trailing curlicues of coloured ribbons. There was a cardboard tag, Jareth's spiky, sprawling handwriting declaring it to be made by his own hands, to his personal recipe and with no interference by helpful goblins.
Laughing, she poured a glass, drank willingly, and woke to find him waiting for her.
1. It should be mentioned that the committee also identified another primary category found in Aboveground romantic media: Tragic Death and Star-Cross'd Lovers. This was an old and familiar theme in the myths and ballads of the Underground, and no doubt in every other world that had ever existed since the dawn of time. But Didymus had argued that the Lovers were already Star-Cross'd and that Tragic Death was counter-productive to their agenda, and so the fifth category had been carefully left out of his Grand Plan.