Exchange Fic #10: Precious Illusions, Part One
The actual identity of the writer will remain secret until all the submissions are in and posted.
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Title: Precious Illusions, Part One
Author: rikkitsune
Recipient: tallulah99
Prompt: I picked two of the three that were offered: Jareth and Sarah start a family; and How do Jareth and Sarah finally end up together?
Rating: R for smut, sexual references, mentions of mental health issues.
Plot Summary/Author's Notes: A few years after her return from the Labyrinth, Sarah embarks a mission of bringing the story to the world in the hope it will repair the damage she caused. Numerous encounters with the Goblin King over the span of more than a decade eventually convince Sarah that he wants something other than revenge.
First of all, I had no idea that the fic was going to take the direction it did. I hope you can stick with it right till the end. I decided to try writing it from the "Sarah and Jareth are real, but were played by actors in the movie" angle, which meant constructing a timeline that actually saw Sarah run the Labyrinth in 1974, twelve years before the 1986 film.
I make no apologies for taking liberties with 1990s recording artists, nor for the fact that my writing may show influences from certain books I am reading right now. :D
Spring, 1993
With a sigh and a satisfied smile, Sarah set her guitar down beside her and hit the 'stop' button on the Talkboy tape recorder. It was 1 o'clock. Time to stop and have lunch. She had promised Toby she would eat the sandwich he had made for her today. It was peanut butter and jelly, with the crusts cut off. He did tend to spoil her when it came to food.
"The music's rough, but it'll do," she muttered to herself, picking up the piece of paper on the table in front of her and scanning the lyrics. She didn't have Toby's talent with the strings, but she made the best of it.
Sarah could only hope that the lyrics were to Ms Carey's liking. She'd wanted an upbeat kind of song, wishing for a 'dream lover' to rescue her from her previous bad relationships.
They lyrics weren't as dark as what Sarah ordinarily preferred to write, but her newest client was tipped to emerge as the next big pop super-power, now that she'd just landed-er-married the head of Columbia Records. Sarah certainly didn't want to alienate a potentially long-term, successful customer just because of her own silly preferences.
She pulled the little tape out of the recorder, labelled it 'Dream lover' and dropped it into a large brown envelope. The courier was due in half an hour.
Beside her, the phone rang loudly, making her jump. Shoving her hair behind her ears, Sarah snatched it up.
"Sarah Williams."
"Sarah! Robyn Crawford."
Sarah smiled, she liked Robyn. "Hi! How are you Robyn!"
"I'm well," Robyn answered. "Have you had a chance to tweak those lyrics I sent back to you?"
"Ye-e-es," Sarah replied, drawing out the word into three syllables as she scrabbled among the papers and folders on the large desk in front of her, looking for the Houston portfolio. "Just give me two seconds, I have it right here."
"Busy day?" Robyn sounded amused. She could obviously hear the shuffling papers.
"Busy month," Sarah corrected her. "Tobe and I barely see each other anymore - he does so much session work, ships passing in the night and all that. Then there's the kids… aha! Here it is!"
Sarah pulled the slim manila folder out from under a pile of papers and flicked it open on her lap, shouldering the chunky olive green receiver as she thumbed through the contents.
"I added an element of longing and imagining, I tried to make it as angsty as I could," Sarah went on. "Did you want me to read out the new chorus?"
"It's ok Sarah, I know you're flat out," Robyn answered. "Just send it over to me and we'll go from there."
"All right." Sarah was somewhat relieved she didn't have to do any extra work. She already felt totally wrung out and the day was only half over.
"I'll let Whitney know where we're at and we'll contact you when the courier brings the package over," Robyn was saying.
"No problem."
They rang off and Sarah dropped the receiver back into the cradle. She paused to take a breath, then spun around in her chair as she heard a noise at the studio door. It wasn't the courier, as she'd expected, but the UPS. A large bundle of letters held together by elastic bands fell onto the doormat with a thwump.
Sarah dragged herself over, not really wanting to open the mail, but knowing she had to, in case there was a bill. She smiled suddenly when she saw an Ottawa postmark. The fat envelope was addressed to both her and Toby.
Ripping it open, she saw that it was indeed from her young Canadian friend, Alanis. Sarah and Toby had met her in Canada a couple of years ago. Their quiet, uneventful winter retreat had suddenly become loud and interesting when the teenage girl had accidentally spilled her coffee in Toby's lap at a local diner.
Alanis had reacted with guileless delight when she found out Sarah and Toby did song-writing and session work, and proceeded to regale them with stories about her current foray into the music world. She had a two-record deal with MCA Records Canada and was just about to release her first album. Sarah had found her enthusiasm refreshing, since the industry had long turned her jaded.
Two years later and the three of them still kept in touch. Toby, of course, had been far too dense to notice the rather obvious crush Alanis had developed on him, something that amused Sarah no end. She supposed her obliviousness to anything important had rubbed off on him.
Hi Sarah, hi Toby,
Guess what!!!! I'm moving to Toronto! Can you believe it? I barely can.
My deal with MCA ended - seemed they didn't want to keep me after the second album didn't do so well. I don't care though, because they introduced me to this guy Scott Welch, he's my manager now. He thought it might be a good idea to move to Toronto, to get my career going. And I thought, why not?
Once we get there, we're going to start approaching producers and get to work on my next album. I'm sure this is going to be the big one - the songs are already pretty much sketched out!
Anyway, I got this fragment in my head the other night and couldn't sleep till I'd scribbled it down. I thought I'd share it with you guys, see what you think. I don't know where it'll fit on the new album - maybe I'll save it for when I'm an international star! Hahaha.
Love you guys (and pick up a pen sometime, all right?),
Alanis xxx
A few lines of lyrics were scribbled at the bottom of the letter.
these precious illusions in my head did not let me down when I was a kid
and parting with them is like parting with a childhood best friend
Sarah stared into space with a lopsided grin. She could suddenly see her childhood best friends, a grumpy dwarf, a gentle giant and a bossy knight. And of course…
Images of thunder, lightning and glitter danced across her mind. As well as a devastating, crooked smile with too-sharp teeth.
Blindly, Sarah snagged her notebook and a pen, and began to write.
As she scrawled furiously, a graceful, gloved hand smoothed Sarah's hair back from her face. "You are working too hard again, precious," a soft male voice murmured. "We are missing you dreadfully."
Sarah looked up towards the owner of the hand with an affectionate smile. "Time is money, money is power. You know that."
"Ah, because we are in desperate need of both money and power." The hand began to creep down the front of Sarah's shirt. She swatted it away playfully.
"The courier will be here any minute, and you are disrupting my creative flow."
A dark chuckle, and then Sarah found herself sitting on the edge of her desk, with her legs wrapped around a slim, masculine waist.
"That's cheating," she admonished him half-heartedly, her hands already unlacing the white poet's shirt in front of her pulling it out of the tight grey breeches below. "Using sex to win an argument is hardly fair."
"Playing fair is so very boring beloved, don't you think?" was his response. "We wouldn't have nearly as much sex. The courier shall arrive when I say so. In the meantime..."
On the end of Sarah's desk, the peanut butter and jelly sandwich lay forgotten.
***
Upon her return from the Labyrinth on that rainy winter night in 1974, Sarah had felt a burning, explicable urge to write her extraordinary experiences down. She had not wanted a single detail be lost to the passage of time. It was somehow urgent.
So, after the victory party, while the feathers, tufts of goblin hair and scraps of paper streamers still littered her bedroom floor, Sarah sat down at her vanity with the journal Karen had given her for her birthday, and painstakingly wrote down the whole thirteen hour adventure from start to finish.
It had taken her an entire day and night and had been more than a little wince-worthy. In a burst of freshly discovered maturity, Sarah had decided to be completely honest in her depiction of herself and her journey.
At the beginning of Sarah's final year of high school in the fall of 1976, there had been a creative writing contest at her high school. What the hell, Sarah had thought. I'll enter. What harm could it do? She already had a complete fantasy epic written, after all. What did she have to lose?
But some small, shame-faced part of her shied away from the self-insertion element of the story as it stood, so she'd changed herself into a girl called Mia, changed Toby into Mia's little cousin Isabelle and changed Karen into an overbearing aunt called Chloe. Everything else, she'd left exactly the same.
She hadn't been entirely surprised when it won first place, but she was definitely pleased. What she hadn't expected, however, was the encouragement she received from her Art and Drama teachers (who had been on the contest's judging panel) to expand on the story.
"Have you considered turning The Labyrinth into a script, Sarah?" Miss Middleton, the drama teacher, had asked her as they were packing up after class one afternoon.
"No," Sarah had answered slowly as she shoved some cushions into a box with her elbow. "It was just a creative writing piece. I hadn't given it much more thought past being a story."
"Well, I think it has a lot of potential!" Miss Middleton had exclaimed, her blonde curls bobbing enthusiastically. "In fact, I am very interested in using it for the final year performance!"
Sarah was completely taken aback. "Oh… um… I don't know," she said hesitantly, wondering how to politely wriggle her way out of it. She wasn't sure she was comfortable with the story getting that much exposure…
Miss Middleton suddenly had a sly smile on her face. "You know Sarah," she said, her tone wheedling, "Transcribing the story into a script would count as extra credit towards your Drama marks…"
And so, Sarah had eventually agreed.
A couple of days later, she'd been accosted by her rather vague, but otherwise lovely Art teacher, Miss McKinnon.
"You know Sarah dear," she'd twittered, fluttering her braceleted and bejewelled hands about as Sarah worked in front of her easel, "I was talking to Maureen about that lovely story you wrote that the final years are going to be performing. She was wondering if I could help with costuming, make up and concept art."
"Oh?" Sarah had said politely. She had a feeling where this was going. But at least it was an opportunity to earn some extra credit towards her Art marks as well.
***
Summer, 1977
Sarah watched her classmates throwing themselves into the opening night's performance of The Labyrinth from the comforting darkness of the empty wings. A mixture of excitement, nerves and pride were knotting up her stomach. This was her play and hundreds of people were watching it. She smiled to herself, trying not to be smug and just barely managing it.
Sarah was glad not to be performing - a confession she'd never in her wildest dreams thought she'd be making to herself barely two years ago. She had amazed herself by gaining a huge amount of satisfaction from working behind the scenes.
Miss Middleton had given her a surprising amount of freedom and artistic licence over the course of the year, allowing her to co-direct the play, produce and run the front of house. Sarah had taken to the project with relish and enthusiasm, positive she would come out with top marks.
The months had passed by in a happy blur of set design and construction, trawling flea markets for costumes and props, sewing (so much sewing, Sarah's fingers would never be the same), make up development and trials, making programmes and, of course, directing alongside Miss Middleton.
There had been many lunch hours, late evenings, school holidays and even two school drama camps devoted to rehearsals of The Labyrinth. Sarah had never worked so hard in her life. If she hadn't felt the love and passion for the project that she did, she would surely have burnt out only a quarter of the way in.
There had been a point, she supposed, where the play had stopped becoming an academic endeavour and more of a personal crusade. Sarah found herself wanting to ensure the audience could connect with the story on an individual level. She felt that The Labyrinth had something special to offer to everybody. All her spare time had been devoted to making it just right.
It was as she stood there, watching the Class of '76 perform the first scene, reaping the rewards of almost a year's worth of hard work, that she suddenly realised she wasn't alone.
"Hello, Sarah." The silky whisper came from the darkness directly behind her.
She knew that voice.
"What-," she squeaked in fright, starting to spin around, but she was seized from behind and hauled back against a rock hard chest.
"Shhhh." A leather-gloved hand effectively silenced her as she attempted to struggle and call for help. Silvery blonde strands of hair slipped over her shoulder as her assailant leaned down to speak directly into her ear.
"Hush Sarah, I am not here to hurt you."
Sarah told the hand gagging her exactly what she thought of that statement, and the chest against her back and shoulders vibrated with a quiet chuckle.
"Truly," he insisted, drawing his hand away from her mouth, but not before tracing her lower lip with the lightest of touches. The shock of it, and Sarah's tingling mouth, was enough to silence her at least for a few moments.
"I am merely here to witness the fruits of your labour," Jareth continued, his other arm joining the first in locking around her waist, holding her still. "I'm sure you don't mind." It wasn't a question.
Sarah scrambled for words. It was incredibly disconcerting to be actually touching the Goblin King. Her brain, unhelpfully, seemed to have short-circuited and was playing gaudy technicolour loops of said Goblin King leaning over her in the Cleaner's Tunnel, except with his shirt off.
She wasn't even going to think about thinking about why that image came so easily. No siree.
"Why?" she hissed at last, squirming for a bit of distance, but to no avail. It was like being embraced by a carved marble statue. "Why would you want to come and see some two-bit high school play I directed, even if it is about the Labyrinth?"
"I wanted to see who you cast to play the Goblin King, of course," was Jareth's response.
Sarah paused to consider the truthfulness of this answer. She couldn't help a tiny grin to herself. So the Goblin King's ego certainly hadn't changed. She began to relax, infinitesimally. Perhaps he wasn't here for revenge after all?
An affronted sniff interrupted her thoughts. "He is nowhere near good-looking and talented enough to represent me," Jareth pronounced darkly. "Look there, Sarah! He can't even manipulate the crystals properly!"
Jareth sounded totally indignant and offended. Sarah stifled a giggle as she watched her friend Alan-tonight playing the Goblin King-awkwardly roll a couple of glass spheres in his hands. At least he wasn't dropping them like he had in rehearsal.
Thank God for heavy, chunky glass paperweights, Sarah thought. Real crystal balls hadn't exactly been in the faculty's prop budget.
"Don't be such a jerk," she reprimanded him in a whisper, sounding braver than she actually felt. "I had to work with what was available."
"Jerk? Hmph. At least you got my apparel more or less correct," Jareth said grudgingly, as Alan theatrically threw his cloak back to reveal the tight breeches and open poet's shirt. "And that is a passable recreation of my pendant, I suppose."
"You suppose?" Sarah responded acidly, trying not to bristle. She had worked hard on getting things right, dammit, and she wasn't about to let him walk all over her efforts!
But Jareth, apparently, had become distracted.
"My, my." His voice was dangerously soft. "I do believe those are the very garments you were wearing that fateful evening in my Labyrinth. Don't tell me you kept them all this time?"
Sarah felt her cheeks heat a little. She didn't answer. She felt an additional stab of embarrassment as the girl playing Mia began to whine about unfairness to the Goblin King.
A rich chuckle. "It would appear you've pulled no punches in the portrayal of yourself Sarah dearest, even if you have renamed three of the cast members. Fascinating."
Sarah folded her arms defensively - unfortunately, they came to rest over the top of Jareth's. She quickly unfolded them again and let them hover awkwardly, with elbows bent. Another attempt to free herself from the Goblin King's grasp proved unsuccessful. She gave up with a sigh.
"I wanted to tell the story as accurately as I could," she said quietly.
(Later, Sarah would kick herself repeatedly for missing the opportunity to ask just why the Goblin King was paying such close attention to the clothing of a 15 year old girl and make many not-so-subtle insinuations about him being a creepy old pervert.)
"And why did you want to tell the story, Sarah?"
"I don't know, really," Sarah answered. "I suppose some part of me didn't want to forget, and growing up seems to do that to you. It's easy to forget the things that gave you joy when you were younger."
"Joy? I would wager you spent the majority of the time in my Labyrinth feeling exceedingly vexed my dear, rather than joyful."
"Oh, you know what I mean!" Sarah huffed in exasperation.
Sarah could almost feel Jareth's smirk in the dark.
"I didn't expect it to turn into this. It was just a story… but then people got so excited about it, and now here we are, in the middle of a play."
"Ah, but stories are never just stories, Sarah. Words have power, as you no doubt have learnt by now."
Sarah considered this for a moment. The only words she'd managed to wield in the Labyrinth with any real power were... at the end. She was never able to think back on the destruction of the castle without a sharp twinge of guilt.
"How is... the castle?" she blurted out before she lost the courage.
The pause was so tense, Sarah could feel her neck muscles beginning to spasm.
"The castle is... undergoing renovations," Jareth replied at last. "As is the rest of the Labyrinth. Not that it's any of your concern."
Sarah tried to ignore the forest-fire igniting in her cheeks. It was all her fault.
"Is there... anything... that I could do to fix it?" she whispered.
"The Labyrinth is recovering well enough without any more interference from you," Jareth told her stiffly.
"I thought that… the Underground depended on human belief to thrive," Sarah ventured. "What if this play... stirred up some of the belief you needed?"
"I would hardly think so," Jareth snorted derisively. "You give yourself far too much credit."
Sarah, chagrined, remained silent for a while.
"You've surely noticed that I edited The Words out of the play," she informed him dryly, making a brave attempt to restart the conversation. "You can't take anything for granted, as I have learned. I don't mind fixing the damage I've done, but I'm not handing you any more potential goblin citizens."
"Clever girl." His tone was condescending.
"I am not a girl," Sarah snapped, then wished she could tear her own tongue out. In the brief quiet that followed, Jareth's gloved hands slid purposefully up, over her ribcage. They ghosted over her breasts, so close she wasn't sure if they touched her or not.
Let nothing be said of whether Sarah wanted them to touch or not.
Despite this, she felt it was right and proper to let out an indignant squawk and spin out of his grasp (finally!), facing him with flaming cheeks and arms crossed over her chest.
"No, I suppose you are not a girl," he said, his voice full of indulgent amusement and something else that made her shiver. "Not any longer."
Sarah couldn't think of a single way to respond without entering dangerous (and possibly embarrassing) territory. So, she kept her mouth shut and turned her back on him again.
After a silence that seemed to stretch on forever, Sarah turned back around to ask Jareth how long he intended to stand there ogling her classmates.
But he had disappeared.
Somehow, Sarah felt a little disappointed that he hadn't said goodbye.
***
Life seemed to quieten down considerably after that, at least for a few years anyway. Sarah got good results in her end of high school exams and decided to go to college and study a degree in Creative Arts.
College passed in a rush of complaining about tutorial readings and exams and completely taking her flexible timetable and four-day weekends for granted. The last of the 1970s seemed to slip away while Sarah wasn't looking.
It wasn't until Sarah had graduated and was looking for a job just to pay the bills, that she really appreciated the freedom and relative safety of a student lifestyle. She'd learned fairly quickly that one could not eat passion and creativity. Or use it to pay the rent. It had been an unwelcome revelation.
But Sarah did not forget her second encounter with the Goblin King. Their conversation played on her mind, particularly his stiffness when she had mentioned bolstering belief as a method of repairing the Labyrinth. It was like he'd been... offended at the idea of her interfering.
Sarah supposed that Goblin Kings were not in the habit of accepting help from petulant teenagers that were largely responsible for trashing their kingdoms in the first place. But surely, it was fair that she wanted to make amends?
She had lain awake many a night, mulling over the possibilities. What if she could bring the story of The Labyrinth to the world? To children especially? To girls craving a fairytale they could immerse themselves in?
Girls like she had been, not so many years ago.
And what if, just what if... she could actually fix it? Her conscience would be absolved!
Maybe Jareth would pay her another visit if she managed it? Sarah tried not to dwell on why this idea made her feel a bit hot in the face and squirmy on the inside.
Her motives were altruistic, dammit, and had nothing to do with the fact that the Goblin King put all the other men she'd ever fancied in the shade.
***
Fall, 1980
"I suppose you think you're really clever, writing a book when you should be resting."
Sarah blinked at the sarcastic tone and looked up from her dog-eared notebook to see Toby leaning against the doorjamb.
It was hard to believe that the quiet, overly serious little person in her doorway was only seven years old. Toby had seemed to age a decade or two in the six years since their return from the Labyrinth.
Of course, Sarah had told him their story as soon as he was old enough to understand. His calm acceptance of the fantastic adventure confirmed Sarah's suspicion that her younger brother retained memories of his time with the Goblin King, though he'd been little more than a baby at the time.
His capacity for forgiveness astounded Sarah, but in the end, she attributed it to the fact that he was very young and the issue probably wasn't as "complicated" for him as it was for her. She'd wished him away, sure, but she'd got him back. End of story. Sarah's sense of guilt was a little more far-reaching than that.
"I need to do something with my time in here," Sarah shrugged, non-repentant. "And besides, there isn't really that much left to be done. I've almost finished adapting the script I wrote in high school."
Let nothing be said of the fact she'd be working instead of writing a book, if her father hadn't confiscated her pager and banned the courier from visiting her hospital room. They had even put a bar on her hospital phone, so that she could only make internal phone calls.
Toby would stop by each day after school, on the pretence of just wanting to see her, but also to make sure she was resting and eating regularly. Sometimes he came alone and her parents collected him after an hour or so, sometimes all three of them came together. Meddlesome relatives.
It had been about six months since her big brainwave.
Sarah was going to adapt The Labyrinth into a young adult novel.
The original red velvet bound version of the book had mysteriously disappeared upon her return from the Labyrinth, but Sarah remembered it in vivid detail. She had initially wanted her book to be just like it in every way, but it had occurred to her that illustrations would be helpful in bringing the exact image of the Labyrinth and its inhabitants to the world. She imagined she could commission an artist to complete illustrations as per her specifications, once the book had been accepted by a literary agent.
Failure, clearly, was not an option on this endeavour.
So, Sarah had worked in her dreary full-time clerical job by day, and then lived at her desk by night, feverishly pounding away on her dilapidated typewriter. She hadn't had much time to eat, or sleep, but she didn't care. She was creating. It was the most important thing she'd done to date.
It was just too bad that the fatigue, malnutrition and obsession with her project had eventually caused a nervous breakdown. Sarah couldn't sleep first, then she couldn't leave the house. She lost her job and fell behind on the rent. She hadn't found it in herself to care. The book was all that really mattered.
When Sarah's family entered her apartment (led in by the concerned landlord, who hadn't seen her for weeks), they had found her hunched over her typewriter, pounding the keys by lamplight with the curtains drawn. She hadn't even known what day it was, let alone that it was one thirty in the afternoon.
They had convinced her to admit herself to the local psychiatric care facility, The Briars, to "get better".
Well, by "convincing", Sarah thought bitterly, it was more like "threatening to commit her themselves if she didn't." They had guilted her into it, by telling her they had expected to find her dead body in that apartment. But if that were true, Sarah told herself resentfully, they wouldn't have brought Toby with them.
About a week into her stay at The Briars, when Sarah was well enough to have her drip taken out and have sessions with the psychiatrists, they had thrown around a lot of different diagnoses that made Sarah both panic and snort derisively by degrees. Her scorn didn't prevent them from forcibly medicating her, however.
The pills they gave her made her drowsy all the time, no matter how much sleep she got. Her scalp was sore, and her hair was falling out in handfuls. Her hands and feet went numb and then got uncomfortable pins and needles if she rested them against each other, or on hard surfaces for too long.
Most disturbingly, Sarah frequently forgot words, places and names, often mid-sentence. It was as if there were suddenly black holes in her vocabulary and imagination. It impacted heavily on her ability to write and create.
But it was all for the greater good, the clinicians and the nurses assured her. Surely she wanted to get out of The Briars sometime soon? Take your medicine, there's a good girl...
Toby's irritated sigh brought Sarah out of her reverie. She'd obviously been staring into space for too long again.
Her younger brother flung his slender little body into the chair next to her hospital bed, pulled a worn, tatty teddy bear out of his tiny messenger bag and plopped it onto the mattress beside his sister's elbow.
"Have you had lunch?" he asked.
Sarah gratefully scooped up Lancelot for a cuddle, then proudly displayed the tray on the other side of her bed, complete with empty dishes and cups. "I wouldn't let the nurse take it. I said I had to show you first."
Toby frowned sceptically. He eyed the wastepaper basket next to her bed with the obviousness of someone too young to know discretion.
"I swear to God Toby, I ate it all," Sarah told him indignantly, seeing the look.
"Or you flushed it down the toilet, so that he wouldn't find it," a voice admonished from the doorway. Sarah looked up, half-smiling, half-exasperated, to see her father and Karen entering the room.
"Face it Sarah, if you ate properly and took care of yourself, you probably wouldn't be here," her father continued, noting his daughter's expression. "So don't act all offended when I don't take you at face value anymore."
Sarah smoothed down the immaculate white cotton hospital blanket and tried not to scowl. There was nothing like being admonished by a parent to make you feel like a kid again.
"What have the doctors said about me today?" she asked, trying to keep the petulance out of her voice. She didn't bother greeting them properly. There wasn't much in the way of pleasantries and small talk between the Williamses these days.
"Apparently, you're being less of a handful," Karen answered, with a small, terse smile. "They say you're eating regularly, taking your medication and staying in your room. Although I suspect that is largely due to your writing project, yes?"
Sarah shrugged. "It keeps me busy. It keeps my mind off things."
Karen and Robert exchanged a look. Sarah tried not to roll her eyes but didn't quite succeed. She glanced at Toby, who was staring out the window. He hated conflict and tended to zone out whenever things got tense.
"Well, they are a little worried that you're... obsessing a little over this book you're writing," Robert said carefully. It was obvious he was picking his words delicately, trying to prevent one of Sarah's blow-ups. "You're not interacting with the other in-patients anymore, and you've declined group therapy three times in a row now."
"I don't need group therapy," Sarah told him through clenched teeth. If they tried to take her book away, she would raise merry hell. "I don't feel like talking about my 'problems' in front of a group of strangers who are equally likely to either plait my hair or throw their own shit at the windows!"
"Sarah!" Karen scolded. "Toby is here! Watch your language!"
Sarah just shrugged sullenly and didn't apologise. He'd heard worse.
"We would have thought you would want to be more pleasant and cooperative during our visits," Robert said, sounding disappointed. He frowned in that way that said you're embarrassing yourself. "When you get like this, it's uncomfortable for everyone. This is the second time this week--"
"Uncomfortable?" Sarah snapped. "You want to feel uncomfortable? Why don't you spend a few weeks here as an in-patient? How's about I ask you when they're going to let me out of this loony bin? Or ask you how long you intend to leave me locked up in here, while you all go home and go about your every day lives?"
"Sarah, it's for your own good--," Robert started to say, but Sarah was suddenly and completely done with her parents for the day. She turned away and pressed the call button next to her bed. A nurse appeared within seconds, wearing an expression of polite enquiry.
"I've had enough of visitors today," Sarah said brusquely, her eyes on her lap. "I'd like to be alone now."
The nurse sighed a little and nodded to Robert, Karen and Toby. Sarah's parents turned and trudged out of the room. Sarah ignored their reproachful stares.
Toby was the last to leave, rising quietly from the chair next to Sarah's bed. As he let go of his sister's hand, she silently slipped a piece of candy, saved from her lunch, into his palm. It was her apology for ending their visit so abruptly. It seemed to happen a lot.
Toby understood. He always did. He put the candy in his pants pocket and left with a small wave over his shoulder. He would put the candy in a box in his room at home with all of the other pieces she had given him.
He was going to split it all with her when she came home from the hospital.
***
Summer, 1981
By the time the book signing came around, Sarah was quite secure in the fact that she was All Recovered. The admission to The Briars had been a bit of a low point, yes. She'd been stuck there for almost two months, only just making it home in time for Christmas.
But since she'd left, she was eating at least once a day, and sleeping for a minimum of four hours a night. It was a vast improvement. Of course, if Sarah tended to exaggerate how many meals and hours of sleep she was getting, it was only because she didn't want Toby and her parents worrying about her unnecessarily.
It had taken surprisingly little time for Sarah to find a literary agent. She had sent the manuscript to around twenty agents as a "first attempt". After the initial wave of expected rejections, she got a phone call from a woman who seemed genuinely interested in the story. Things had sort of snowballed from there, as anything to do with The Labyrinth tended to do. Now, due to popular demand, Sarah was breaking her butt on this hideous plastic chair, signing copies of her book for her adoring fans.
"And who should I make this out to?" Sarah asked a young, freckly girl with braces. The girl seemed a little tongue-tied, so Sarah smiled encouragingly through her fatigue, her pen poised over the flyleaf of a paperback copy of The Labyrinth.
"Alice," the girl answered timidly after a pause. "Alice Rothwell."
"Sure thing, Alice Rothwell," Sarah grinned, and scrawled: To Alice, there is always time for fairytales and daydreams. Best wishes, Sarah Williams.
She handed the book back with her left hand and held out her right to shake Alice's hand. The girl left quickly, clutching her paperback to her chest like a priceless treasure. The next person in the queue stepped forward, a balding, middle-aged man, multiple copies spilling out of his arms that Sarah assumed were intended to be gifts.
Sarah's agent surreptitiously slid a stack of paperbacks across the table to rest near her right elbow as she greeted the man and held out her hands to take the books. The publishing rep sitting on Sarah's other side conversed quietly and discreetly with his bookstore liaison as she changed the till over.
The line in front of Sarah's table was hideously long and the surrounding area uncomfortably crowded with people of all ages. She couldn't help noticing that there seemed to be a lot of girls in their early teens standing in clumps, whispering excitedly, as well as numerous elementary aged boys and girls with their harassed-looking parents. The book was clearly appealing to the demographic she'd hoped for.
Sarah was glad her agent had chosen to have the book signing in the middle of a huge shopping mall, rather than in a bookstore. She didn't like to admit it, but she didn't deal well with crowds and confined spaces. Thankfully, the handful of Valium tablets she had taken earlier were keeping the anxiety at bay.
As the squealing teenagers, tongue-tied children, unabashed adults and put-upon parents and relatives slowly came and went, Sarah stifled a yawn and wished she had a watch. It felt like she'd been sitting here for hours, with only some cold coffee and a stale cookie for sustenance. Her backside was numb and her neck and shoulders were aching. She had a vicious hand cramp from all the signings. Not to mention, her brain was ragged and frayed from the pressure of interacting with so many strangers.
Sarah couldn't wait to get home to a nice hot bath, after which time she planned to sleep--actually sleep--for at least a week.
Rather abruptly, an elegant hand encased in black leather appeared in Sarah's field of vision as she was arranging her stack of books. It hovered for an instant, before plucking one from the top of the pile. A short pause, then a rich, masculine chuckle caressed her ears.
Oh… crap. Trust him to show up when she was exhausted and her temper was hanging by a thread.
"I would love to get an autograph from the venerable Miss Williams here," a velvety, cultured voice drawled, sounding deeply amused. "This is my very favourite book."
Sarah supposed she should have expected to see Jareth here. It was a significant event involving the Labyrinth. The rush of human interest in the Underground and its citizens surely would have captured his attention. Particularly now that the book included detailed illustrations of many of the creatures Sarah had encountered there during her thirteen hour run. Including a fairly accurate likeness of the Goblin King himself. Cod piece and all.
Refusing to blush, Sarah looked up and met a pair of familiar mismatched eyes, full of mischief.
Jareth had obviously used some kind of glamour to make himself appear human. The markings around his eyes were gone, making him look as though he merely had an exotic tilt to his cheekbones and eyebrows. His wild hair had been tamed into a smooth and perfectly respectable-looking ponytail. He was wearing a long black coat with a stiff, high collar, black tailored pants and shiny leather shoes. He looked, well... mouth-watering.
Still, Sarah privately thought that she liked him a lot better in his boots, sprayed-on breeches and revealing shirts. The blush she had successfully fought down only seconds before began to rise in her cheeks again.
"I was so inspired to read your book," Jareth continued with a look that clearly said I've got you cornered, Sarah. "Such an original plot and such endearing characters. Particularly that Goblin King. What a perfectly misunderstood villain. Where do you get your ideas? I'm sure I'm just dying to know."
Each emphasised word was like an irritating flick on the nose from a childish tormentor. Sarah felt the sudden inexplicable urge to fling a book right into Jareth's smug, handsome face.
"Surely you can't expect me to give away my trade secrets, sir?" Sarah responded, spitting the salutation out like a cuss-word. Maybe he wouldn't notice her pink cheeks. She was not looking at his crotch.
"Oh, I wouldn't tell a soul," Jareth responded airily, with a twirl of his leather-clad fingers. Sarah scowled and broke eye contact, pretending to rearrange her books.
What was he playing at, showing up here and trying to rattle her? Sarah wondered. Maybe he was pissed off she was trying to pursue her plan of making reparations to the Labyrinth. Well, he could take his big fat ego and shove it up his Royal--
"Would you be kind enough to sign my book now?" Jareth cut into her thoughts, extending the little red volume towards her. "As much as I would love to stay and chat, I'm afraid I am in rather a hurry."
"Well, it's been a pleasure to meet such a big fan," Sarah told Jareth, pretending to smile sweetly at him but really just baring her teeth instead. She snatched the book out of his grasp and banged it open on the table. "Who shall I make it out to?"
"Oh come now Sarah," Jareth laughed, sending not entirely unpleasant shivers down Sarah's spine. "Do you really need to ask?"
"Friend of yours?" Sarah's agent asked, finally cottoning on to their verbal sparring. She was staring at Jareth, looking a little dazed. Sarah couldn't blame her. The Goblin King was rather difficult to ignore when he was trying to get your attention.
"No," Sarah answered in annoyance, just as Jareth answered "Yes" with a mischievous grin.
Her agent grinned knowingly and Sarah puffed out an exasperated breath. Fantastic. She hastily scrawled: To the most Royal Pain in the Ass I know, enjoy your latest flavour of immortality on the flyleaf of the book, snapped it shut, and shoved it back across the table.
"Thank you for your kind gift Miss Williams, I am much obliged," Jareth said, all courtesy and sharp, white teeth. He picked up the little red book with an unnecessary flourish and tucked it into his coat pocket. Sarah scowled again, feeling particularly ungracious.
"And, my gift to you," he drawled and there was suddenly a long-stemmed red rose in his gloved hand. He laid it lightly on the table next to her clenched fists. Sarah blinked at it in surprise.
"For me?" she asked incredulously before her brain could shut her mouth. She looked up at him.
Jareth grinned down at her, and it was a slightly different grin than the mocking one he'd given her moments before. This grin was still a dangerous one, but it made her knees feel a bit wobbly, and she was glad she was already sitting down. The grope-but-maybe-not-grope moment the last time she'd seen him forced itself into the front of her mind.
Belatedly, Sarah wondered if Jareth had actually been... flirting with her? Was this how his kind flirted with each other? It was kind of like boys who would pull your hair at school because they had a crush on you. The thought made her smile. It seemed absurd.
"No handshake for your biggest fan?" Jareth pressed Sarah after a short pause, an eyebrow lifted in challenge. She realised he had been watching her wool-gathering.
Glaring at him, Sarah extended her hand to shake. Jareth took it, and the leather of his glove was surprisingly warm. Somehow, holding his hand felt far more intimate than the way he'd held her in the wings during the high school play.
Instead of shaking her hand, Jareth flashed Sarah a predatory smile and bent over, bestowing an open-mouthed kiss over her knuckles. Sarah felt heat rush from her hand, through her body and straight down to her… err…
Sarah quickly crossed her legs, squirming a little and feeling a mixture of shock, arousal and embarrassment as she snatched her hand back. How pathetic that a kiss on the back of the hand was enough to get her panting like a dog in heat. She obviously needed to get laid.
"Until we meet again, Sarah," Jareth said smoothly, turning and disappearing into the crowd. Her heart gave funny jolt at the implied promise of seeing him again.
And then, every week after that day, a long-stemmed red rose would mysteriously appear on Sarah's bedside table.
***
Winter, 1983
"Sarah," Toby said. His voice sounded so out-of-character that Sarah whipped around to stare at him. He looked strange, like his attention was focussed elsewhere. He had been busy on the floor with his Meccano, while Sarah, babysitting, pored over some reports for work at the dining room table.
"What is it, Tobe?" she asked, a bit concerned at the look on his face.
"I hear music," he replied matter-of-factly.
Sarah was startled. Music? Odd. The house had been quite silent, but for Toby's pottering and her intermittent shuffling of papers. Maybe it was the neighbours? Sarah strained her ears, but couldn't hear a thing.
"What kind of music?" she asked her brother, figuring it had been a passing ice cream truck she hadn't registered.
The ten year old scrunched his face up in thought. "It comes and goes," he said solemnly. "It's hard to describe. I'll play it for you."
He climbed to his feet and crossed the den to where the dilapidated old piano sat against the wall, more a decoration than a musical instrument. Sarah watched him with mild surprise. "Toby," she said slowly, not wanting to hurt his feelings, "you don't know how to play the piano."
Toby sat himself down, opened the cover and positioned his hands over the keys like a seasoned concert pianist. To Sarah's astonishment, he began to play like he'd been studying for years.
When she recognised the tune, she felt as though she might faint. It didn't translate well to piano, but it was unmistakeably the song Jareth had sung to her in the crystal ballroom.
She gazed down at the hand she was resting on Toby's shoulder. She didn't even remember crossing the room.
"That will do," she said softly. Toby looked up at her curiously, took in her expression, and obediently lowered the case over the keys again. Toby knew that Sarah only got that look on her face when they spoke about the Labyrinth.
"You know the music?" he asked tentatively.
"Yes," Sarah replied. To Toby, it looked as if his sister had suddenly gone somewhere very far away. "It was a song the Gobin King sang once."
Toby and Sarah were silent for a long time after that. She did not question her little brother further. She cringed inside at the thought that perhaps this was Jareth trying to exact some kind of revenge on her through Toby. But she had pushed the thought away. Someone that sent you anonymous red roses every week couldn't want revenge… could they?
She had worried for years about whether Toby would eventually fixate on the Labyrinth and go a bit mad, like she had. He hadn't shown any obvious signs so far, but this development didn't exactly bode well.
But what if Jareth was giving Toby a gift? Sarah herself had certainly come over unexpectedly creative upon her return from the Underground and she harboured a suspicion that it may be the Goblin King's doing or at the least as a result of her exposure to him.
And that creativity was taking her to interesting places. Right now, in fact, she was working on a massive Labyrinth-related project…
Maybe it would be worth cultivating Toby's sudden abilities? Maybe Toby had a bright musical future in store?
When her father and Karen arrived home, Sarah mentioned that it might be worth getting her little brother some music lessons.
Part Two
****
Title: Precious Illusions, Part One
Author: rikkitsune
Recipient: tallulah99
Prompt: I picked two of the three that were offered: Jareth and Sarah start a family; and How do Jareth and Sarah finally end up together?
Rating: R for smut, sexual references, mentions of mental health issues.
Plot Summary/Author's Notes: A few years after her return from the Labyrinth, Sarah embarks a mission of bringing the story to the world in the hope it will repair the damage she caused. Numerous encounters with the Goblin King over the span of more than a decade eventually convince Sarah that he wants something other than revenge.
First of all, I had no idea that the fic was going to take the direction it did. I hope you can stick with it right till the end. I decided to try writing it from the "Sarah and Jareth are real, but were played by actors in the movie" angle, which meant constructing a timeline that actually saw Sarah run the Labyrinth in 1974, twelve years before the 1986 film.
I make no apologies for taking liberties with 1990s recording artists, nor for the fact that my writing may show influences from certain books I am reading right now. :D
Spring, 1993
With a sigh and a satisfied smile, Sarah set her guitar down beside her and hit the 'stop' button on the Talkboy tape recorder. It was 1 o'clock. Time to stop and have lunch. She had promised Toby she would eat the sandwich he had made for her today. It was peanut butter and jelly, with the crusts cut off. He did tend to spoil her when it came to food.
"The music's rough, but it'll do," she muttered to herself, picking up the piece of paper on the table in front of her and scanning the lyrics. She didn't have Toby's talent with the strings, but she made the best of it.
Sarah could only hope that the lyrics were to Ms Carey's liking. She'd wanted an upbeat kind of song, wishing for a 'dream lover' to rescue her from her previous bad relationships.
They lyrics weren't as dark as what Sarah ordinarily preferred to write, but her newest client was tipped to emerge as the next big pop super-power, now that she'd just landed-er-married the head of Columbia Records. Sarah certainly didn't want to alienate a potentially long-term, successful customer just because of her own silly preferences.
She pulled the little tape out of the recorder, labelled it 'Dream lover' and dropped it into a large brown envelope. The courier was due in half an hour.
Beside her, the phone rang loudly, making her jump. Shoving her hair behind her ears, Sarah snatched it up.
"Sarah Williams."
"Sarah! Robyn Crawford."
Sarah smiled, she liked Robyn. "Hi! How are you Robyn!"
"I'm well," Robyn answered. "Have you had a chance to tweak those lyrics I sent back to you?"
"Ye-e-es," Sarah replied, drawing out the word into three syllables as she scrabbled among the papers and folders on the large desk in front of her, looking for the Houston portfolio. "Just give me two seconds, I have it right here."
"Busy day?" Robyn sounded amused. She could obviously hear the shuffling papers.
"Busy month," Sarah corrected her. "Tobe and I barely see each other anymore - he does so much session work, ships passing in the night and all that. Then there's the kids… aha! Here it is!"
Sarah pulled the slim manila folder out from under a pile of papers and flicked it open on her lap, shouldering the chunky olive green receiver as she thumbed through the contents.
"I added an element of longing and imagining, I tried to make it as angsty as I could," Sarah went on. "Did you want me to read out the new chorus?"
"It's ok Sarah, I know you're flat out," Robyn answered. "Just send it over to me and we'll go from there."
"All right." Sarah was somewhat relieved she didn't have to do any extra work. She already felt totally wrung out and the day was only half over.
"I'll let Whitney know where we're at and we'll contact you when the courier brings the package over," Robyn was saying.
"No problem."
They rang off and Sarah dropped the receiver back into the cradle. She paused to take a breath, then spun around in her chair as she heard a noise at the studio door. It wasn't the courier, as she'd expected, but the UPS. A large bundle of letters held together by elastic bands fell onto the doormat with a thwump.
Sarah dragged herself over, not really wanting to open the mail, but knowing she had to, in case there was a bill. She smiled suddenly when she saw an Ottawa postmark. The fat envelope was addressed to both her and Toby.
Ripping it open, she saw that it was indeed from her young Canadian friend, Alanis. Sarah and Toby had met her in Canada a couple of years ago. Their quiet, uneventful winter retreat had suddenly become loud and interesting when the teenage girl had accidentally spilled her coffee in Toby's lap at a local diner.
Alanis had reacted with guileless delight when she found out Sarah and Toby did song-writing and session work, and proceeded to regale them with stories about her current foray into the music world. She had a two-record deal with MCA Records Canada and was just about to release her first album. Sarah had found her enthusiasm refreshing, since the industry had long turned her jaded.
Two years later and the three of them still kept in touch. Toby, of course, had been far too dense to notice the rather obvious crush Alanis had developed on him, something that amused Sarah no end. She supposed her obliviousness to anything important had rubbed off on him.
Hi Sarah, hi Toby,
Guess what!!!! I'm moving to Toronto! Can you believe it? I barely can.
My deal with MCA ended - seemed they didn't want to keep me after the second album didn't do so well. I don't care though, because they introduced me to this guy Scott Welch, he's my manager now. He thought it might be a good idea to move to Toronto, to get my career going. And I thought, why not?
Once we get there, we're going to start approaching producers and get to work on my next album. I'm sure this is going to be the big one - the songs are already pretty much sketched out!
Anyway, I got this fragment in my head the other night and couldn't sleep till I'd scribbled it down. I thought I'd share it with you guys, see what you think. I don't know where it'll fit on the new album - maybe I'll save it for when I'm an international star! Hahaha.
Love you guys (and pick up a pen sometime, all right?),
Alanis xxx
A few lines of lyrics were scribbled at the bottom of the letter.
these precious illusions in my head did not let me down when I was a kid
and parting with them is like parting with a childhood best friend
Sarah stared into space with a lopsided grin. She could suddenly see her childhood best friends, a grumpy dwarf, a gentle giant and a bossy knight. And of course…
Images of thunder, lightning and glitter danced across her mind. As well as a devastating, crooked smile with too-sharp teeth.
Blindly, Sarah snagged her notebook and a pen, and began to write.
As she scrawled furiously, a graceful, gloved hand smoothed Sarah's hair back from her face. "You are working too hard again, precious," a soft male voice murmured. "We are missing you dreadfully."
Sarah looked up towards the owner of the hand with an affectionate smile. "Time is money, money is power. You know that."
"Ah, because we are in desperate need of both money and power." The hand began to creep down the front of Sarah's shirt. She swatted it away playfully.
"The courier will be here any minute, and you are disrupting my creative flow."
A dark chuckle, and then Sarah found herself sitting on the edge of her desk, with her legs wrapped around a slim, masculine waist.
"That's cheating," she admonished him half-heartedly, her hands already unlacing the white poet's shirt in front of her pulling it out of the tight grey breeches below. "Using sex to win an argument is hardly fair."
"Playing fair is so very boring beloved, don't you think?" was his response. "We wouldn't have nearly as much sex. The courier shall arrive when I say so. In the meantime..."
On the end of Sarah's desk, the peanut butter and jelly sandwich lay forgotten.
***
Upon her return from the Labyrinth on that rainy winter night in 1974, Sarah had felt a burning, explicable urge to write her extraordinary experiences down. She had not wanted a single detail be lost to the passage of time. It was somehow urgent.
So, after the victory party, while the feathers, tufts of goblin hair and scraps of paper streamers still littered her bedroom floor, Sarah sat down at her vanity with the journal Karen had given her for her birthday, and painstakingly wrote down the whole thirteen hour adventure from start to finish.
It had taken her an entire day and night and had been more than a little wince-worthy. In a burst of freshly discovered maturity, Sarah had decided to be completely honest in her depiction of herself and her journey.
At the beginning of Sarah's final year of high school in the fall of 1976, there had been a creative writing contest at her high school. What the hell, Sarah had thought. I'll enter. What harm could it do? She already had a complete fantasy epic written, after all. What did she have to lose?
But some small, shame-faced part of her shied away from the self-insertion element of the story as it stood, so she'd changed herself into a girl called Mia, changed Toby into Mia's little cousin Isabelle and changed Karen into an overbearing aunt called Chloe. Everything else, she'd left exactly the same.
She hadn't been entirely surprised when it won first place, but she was definitely pleased. What she hadn't expected, however, was the encouragement she received from her Art and Drama teachers (who had been on the contest's judging panel) to expand on the story.
"Have you considered turning The Labyrinth into a script, Sarah?" Miss Middleton, the drama teacher, had asked her as they were packing up after class one afternoon.
"No," Sarah had answered slowly as she shoved some cushions into a box with her elbow. "It was just a creative writing piece. I hadn't given it much more thought past being a story."
"Well, I think it has a lot of potential!" Miss Middleton had exclaimed, her blonde curls bobbing enthusiastically. "In fact, I am very interested in using it for the final year performance!"
Sarah was completely taken aback. "Oh… um… I don't know," she said hesitantly, wondering how to politely wriggle her way out of it. She wasn't sure she was comfortable with the story getting that much exposure…
Miss Middleton suddenly had a sly smile on her face. "You know Sarah," she said, her tone wheedling, "Transcribing the story into a script would count as extra credit towards your Drama marks…"
And so, Sarah had eventually agreed.
A couple of days later, she'd been accosted by her rather vague, but otherwise lovely Art teacher, Miss McKinnon.
"You know Sarah dear," she'd twittered, fluttering her braceleted and bejewelled hands about as Sarah worked in front of her easel, "I was talking to Maureen about that lovely story you wrote that the final years are going to be performing. She was wondering if I could help with costuming, make up and concept art."
"Oh?" Sarah had said politely. She had a feeling where this was going. But at least it was an opportunity to earn some extra credit towards her Art marks as well.
***
Summer, 1977
Sarah watched her classmates throwing themselves into the opening night's performance of The Labyrinth from the comforting darkness of the empty wings. A mixture of excitement, nerves and pride were knotting up her stomach. This was her play and hundreds of people were watching it. She smiled to herself, trying not to be smug and just barely managing it.
Sarah was glad not to be performing - a confession she'd never in her wildest dreams thought she'd be making to herself barely two years ago. She had amazed herself by gaining a huge amount of satisfaction from working behind the scenes.
Miss Middleton had given her a surprising amount of freedom and artistic licence over the course of the year, allowing her to co-direct the play, produce and run the front of house. Sarah had taken to the project with relish and enthusiasm, positive she would come out with top marks.
The months had passed by in a happy blur of set design and construction, trawling flea markets for costumes and props, sewing (so much sewing, Sarah's fingers would never be the same), make up development and trials, making programmes and, of course, directing alongside Miss Middleton.
There had been many lunch hours, late evenings, school holidays and even two school drama camps devoted to rehearsals of The Labyrinth. Sarah had never worked so hard in her life. If she hadn't felt the love and passion for the project that she did, she would surely have burnt out only a quarter of the way in.
There had been a point, she supposed, where the play had stopped becoming an academic endeavour and more of a personal crusade. Sarah found herself wanting to ensure the audience could connect with the story on an individual level. She felt that The Labyrinth had something special to offer to everybody. All her spare time had been devoted to making it just right.
It was as she stood there, watching the Class of '76 perform the first scene, reaping the rewards of almost a year's worth of hard work, that she suddenly realised she wasn't alone.
"Hello, Sarah." The silky whisper came from the darkness directly behind her.
She knew that voice.
"What-," she squeaked in fright, starting to spin around, but she was seized from behind and hauled back against a rock hard chest.
"Shhhh." A leather-gloved hand effectively silenced her as she attempted to struggle and call for help. Silvery blonde strands of hair slipped over her shoulder as her assailant leaned down to speak directly into her ear.
"Hush Sarah, I am not here to hurt you."
Sarah told the hand gagging her exactly what she thought of that statement, and the chest against her back and shoulders vibrated with a quiet chuckle.
"Truly," he insisted, drawing his hand away from her mouth, but not before tracing her lower lip with the lightest of touches. The shock of it, and Sarah's tingling mouth, was enough to silence her at least for a few moments.
"I am merely here to witness the fruits of your labour," Jareth continued, his other arm joining the first in locking around her waist, holding her still. "I'm sure you don't mind." It wasn't a question.
Sarah scrambled for words. It was incredibly disconcerting to be actually touching the Goblin King. Her brain, unhelpfully, seemed to have short-circuited and was playing gaudy technicolour loops of said Goblin King leaning over her in the Cleaner's Tunnel, except with his shirt off.
She wasn't even going to think about thinking about why that image came so easily. No siree.
"Why?" she hissed at last, squirming for a bit of distance, but to no avail. It was like being embraced by a carved marble statue. "Why would you want to come and see some two-bit high school play I directed, even if it is about the Labyrinth?"
"I wanted to see who you cast to play the Goblin King, of course," was Jareth's response.
Sarah paused to consider the truthfulness of this answer. She couldn't help a tiny grin to herself. So the Goblin King's ego certainly hadn't changed. She began to relax, infinitesimally. Perhaps he wasn't here for revenge after all?
An affronted sniff interrupted her thoughts. "He is nowhere near good-looking and talented enough to represent me," Jareth pronounced darkly. "Look there, Sarah! He can't even manipulate the crystals properly!"
Jareth sounded totally indignant and offended. Sarah stifled a giggle as she watched her friend Alan-tonight playing the Goblin King-awkwardly roll a couple of glass spheres in his hands. At least he wasn't dropping them like he had in rehearsal.
Thank God for heavy, chunky glass paperweights, Sarah thought. Real crystal balls hadn't exactly been in the faculty's prop budget.
"Don't be such a jerk," she reprimanded him in a whisper, sounding braver than she actually felt. "I had to work with what was available."
"Jerk? Hmph. At least you got my apparel more or less correct," Jareth said grudgingly, as Alan theatrically threw his cloak back to reveal the tight breeches and open poet's shirt. "And that is a passable recreation of my pendant, I suppose."
"You suppose?" Sarah responded acidly, trying not to bristle. She had worked hard on getting things right, dammit, and she wasn't about to let him walk all over her efforts!
But Jareth, apparently, had become distracted.
"My, my." His voice was dangerously soft. "I do believe those are the very garments you were wearing that fateful evening in my Labyrinth. Don't tell me you kept them all this time?"
Sarah felt her cheeks heat a little. She didn't answer. She felt an additional stab of embarrassment as the girl playing Mia began to whine about unfairness to the Goblin King.
A rich chuckle. "It would appear you've pulled no punches in the portrayal of yourself Sarah dearest, even if you have renamed three of the cast members. Fascinating."
Sarah folded her arms defensively - unfortunately, they came to rest over the top of Jareth's. She quickly unfolded them again and let them hover awkwardly, with elbows bent. Another attempt to free herself from the Goblin King's grasp proved unsuccessful. She gave up with a sigh.
"I wanted to tell the story as accurately as I could," she said quietly.
(Later, Sarah would kick herself repeatedly for missing the opportunity to ask just why the Goblin King was paying such close attention to the clothing of a 15 year old girl and make many not-so-subtle insinuations about him being a creepy old pervert.)
"And why did you want to tell the story, Sarah?"
"I don't know, really," Sarah answered. "I suppose some part of me didn't want to forget, and growing up seems to do that to you. It's easy to forget the things that gave you joy when you were younger."
"Joy? I would wager you spent the majority of the time in my Labyrinth feeling exceedingly vexed my dear, rather than joyful."
"Oh, you know what I mean!" Sarah huffed in exasperation.
Sarah could almost feel Jareth's smirk in the dark.
"I didn't expect it to turn into this. It was just a story… but then people got so excited about it, and now here we are, in the middle of a play."
"Ah, but stories are never just stories, Sarah. Words have power, as you no doubt have learnt by now."
Sarah considered this for a moment. The only words she'd managed to wield in the Labyrinth with any real power were... at the end. She was never able to think back on the destruction of the castle without a sharp twinge of guilt.
"How is... the castle?" she blurted out before she lost the courage.
The pause was so tense, Sarah could feel her neck muscles beginning to spasm.
"The castle is... undergoing renovations," Jareth replied at last. "As is the rest of the Labyrinth. Not that it's any of your concern."
Sarah tried to ignore the forest-fire igniting in her cheeks. It was all her fault.
"Is there... anything... that I could do to fix it?" she whispered.
"The Labyrinth is recovering well enough without any more interference from you," Jareth told her stiffly.
"I thought that… the Underground depended on human belief to thrive," Sarah ventured. "What if this play... stirred up some of the belief you needed?"
"I would hardly think so," Jareth snorted derisively. "You give yourself far too much credit."
Sarah, chagrined, remained silent for a while.
"You've surely noticed that I edited The Words out of the play," she informed him dryly, making a brave attempt to restart the conversation. "You can't take anything for granted, as I have learned. I don't mind fixing the damage I've done, but I'm not handing you any more potential goblin citizens."
"Clever girl." His tone was condescending.
"I am not a girl," Sarah snapped, then wished she could tear her own tongue out. In the brief quiet that followed, Jareth's gloved hands slid purposefully up, over her ribcage. They ghosted over her breasts, so close she wasn't sure if they touched her or not.
Let nothing be said of whether Sarah wanted them to touch or not.
Despite this, she felt it was right and proper to let out an indignant squawk and spin out of his grasp (finally!), facing him with flaming cheeks and arms crossed over her chest.
"No, I suppose you are not a girl," he said, his voice full of indulgent amusement and something else that made her shiver. "Not any longer."
Sarah couldn't think of a single way to respond without entering dangerous (and possibly embarrassing) territory. So, she kept her mouth shut and turned her back on him again.
After a silence that seemed to stretch on forever, Sarah turned back around to ask Jareth how long he intended to stand there ogling her classmates.
But he had disappeared.
Somehow, Sarah felt a little disappointed that he hadn't said goodbye.
***
Life seemed to quieten down considerably after that, at least for a few years anyway. Sarah got good results in her end of high school exams and decided to go to college and study a degree in Creative Arts.
College passed in a rush of complaining about tutorial readings and exams and completely taking her flexible timetable and four-day weekends for granted. The last of the 1970s seemed to slip away while Sarah wasn't looking.
It wasn't until Sarah had graduated and was looking for a job just to pay the bills, that she really appreciated the freedom and relative safety of a student lifestyle. She'd learned fairly quickly that one could not eat passion and creativity. Or use it to pay the rent. It had been an unwelcome revelation.
But Sarah did not forget her second encounter with the Goblin King. Their conversation played on her mind, particularly his stiffness when she had mentioned bolstering belief as a method of repairing the Labyrinth. It was like he'd been... offended at the idea of her interfering.
Sarah supposed that Goblin Kings were not in the habit of accepting help from petulant teenagers that were largely responsible for trashing their kingdoms in the first place. But surely, it was fair that she wanted to make amends?
She had lain awake many a night, mulling over the possibilities. What if she could bring the story of The Labyrinth to the world? To children especially? To girls craving a fairytale they could immerse themselves in?
Girls like she had been, not so many years ago.
And what if, just what if... she could actually fix it? Her conscience would be absolved!
Maybe Jareth would pay her another visit if she managed it? Sarah tried not to dwell on why this idea made her feel a bit hot in the face and squirmy on the inside.
Her motives were altruistic, dammit, and had nothing to do with the fact that the Goblin King put all the other men she'd ever fancied in the shade.
***
Fall, 1980
"I suppose you think you're really clever, writing a book when you should be resting."
Sarah blinked at the sarcastic tone and looked up from her dog-eared notebook to see Toby leaning against the doorjamb.
It was hard to believe that the quiet, overly serious little person in her doorway was only seven years old. Toby had seemed to age a decade or two in the six years since their return from the Labyrinth.
Of course, Sarah had told him their story as soon as he was old enough to understand. His calm acceptance of the fantastic adventure confirmed Sarah's suspicion that her younger brother retained memories of his time with the Goblin King, though he'd been little more than a baby at the time.
His capacity for forgiveness astounded Sarah, but in the end, she attributed it to the fact that he was very young and the issue probably wasn't as "complicated" for him as it was for her. She'd wished him away, sure, but she'd got him back. End of story. Sarah's sense of guilt was a little more far-reaching than that.
"I need to do something with my time in here," Sarah shrugged, non-repentant. "And besides, there isn't really that much left to be done. I've almost finished adapting the script I wrote in high school."
Let nothing be said of the fact she'd be working instead of writing a book, if her father hadn't confiscated her pager and banned the courier from visiting her hospital room. They had even put a bar on her hospital phone, so that she could only make internal phone calls.
Toby would stop by each day after school, on the pretence of just wanting to see her, but also to make sure she was resting and eating regularly. Sometimes he came alone and her parents collected him after an hour or so, sometimes all three of them came together. Meddlesome relatives.
It had been about six months since her big brainwave.
Sarah was going to adapt The Labyrinth into a young adult novel.
The original red velvet bound version of the book had mysteriously disappeared upon her return from the Labyrinth, but Sarah remembered it in vivid detail. She had initially wanted her book to be just like it in every way, but it had occurred to her that illustrations would be helpful in bringing the exact image of the Labyrinth and its inhabitants to the world. She imagined she could commission an artist to complete illustrations as per her specifications, once the book had been accepted by a literary agent.
Failure, clearly, was not an option on this endeavour.
So, Sarah had worked in her dreary full-time clerical job by day, and then lived at her desk by night, feverishly pounding away on her dilapidated typewriter. She hadn't had much time to eat, or sleep, but she didn't care. She was creating. It was the most important thing she'd done to date.
It was just too bad that the fatigue, malnutrition and obsession with her project had eventually caused a nervous breakdown. Sarah couldn't sleep first, then she couldn't leave the house. She lost her job and fell behind on the rent. She hadn't found it in herself to care. The book was all that really mattered.
When Sarah's family entered her apartment (led in by the concerned landlord, who hadn't seen her for weeks), they had found her hunched over her typewriter, pounding the keys by lamplight with the curtains drawn. She hadn't even known what day it was, let alone that it was one thirty in the afternoon.
They had convinced her to admit herself to the local psychiatric care facility, The Briars, to "get better".
Well, by "convincing", Sarah thought bitterly, it was more like "threatening to commit her themselves if she didn't." They had guilted her into it, by telling her they had expected to find her dead body in that apartment. But if that were true, Sarah told herself resentfully, they wouldn't have brought Toby with them.
About a week into her stay at The Briars, when Sarah was well enough to have her drip taken out and have sessions with the psychiatrists, they had thrown around a lot of different diagnoses that made Sarah both panic and snort derisively by degrees. Her scorn didn't prevent them from forcibly medicating her, however.
The pills they gave her made her drowsy all the time, no matter how much sleep she got. Her scalp was sore, and her hair was falling out in handfuls. Her hands and feet went numb and then got uncomfortable pins and needles if she rested them against each other, or on hard surfaces for too long.
Most disturbingly, Sarah frequently forgot words, places and names, often mid-sentence. It was as if there were suddenly black holes in her vocabulary and imagination. It impacted heavily on her ability to write and create.
But it was all for the greater good, the clinicians and the nurses assured her. Surely she wanted to get out of The Briars sometime soon? Take your medicine, there's a good girl...
Toby's irritated sigh brought Sarah out of her reverie. She'd obviously been staring into space for too long again.
Her younger brother flung his slender little body into the chair next to her hospital bed, pulled a worn, tatty teddy bear out of his tiny messenger bag and plopped it onto the mattress beside his sister's elbow.
"Have you had lunch?" he asked.
Sarah gratefully scooped up Lancelot for a cuddle, then proudly displayed the tray on the other side of her bed, complete with empty dishes and cups. "I wouldn't let the nurse take it. I said I had to show you first."
Toby frowned sceptically. He eyed the wastepaper basket next to her bed with the obviousness of someone too young to know discretion.
"I swear to God Toby, I ate it all," Sarah told him indignantly, seeing the look.
"Or you flushed it down the toilet, so that he wouldn't find it," a voice admonished from the doorway. Sarah looked up, half-smiling, half-exasperated, to see her father and Karen entering the room.
"Face it Sarah, if you ate properly and took care of yourself, you probably wouldn't be here," her father continued, noting his daughter's expression. "So don't act all offended when I don't take you at face value anymore."
Sarah smoothed down the immaculate white cotton hospital blanket and tried not to scowl. There was nothing like being admonished by a parent to make you feel like a kid again.
"What have the doctors said about me today?" she asked, trying to keep the petulance out of her voice. She didn't bother greeting them properly. There wasn't much in the way of pleasantries and small talk between the Williamses these days.
"Apparently, you're being less of a handful," Karen answered, with a small, terse smile. "They say you're eating regularly, taking your medication and staying in your room. Although I suspect that is largely due to your writing project, yes?"
Sarah shrugged. "It keeps me busy. It keeps my mind off things."
Karen and Robert exchanged a look. Sarah tried not to roll her eyes but didn't quite succeed. She glanced at Toby, who was staring out the window. He hated conflict and tended to zone out whenever things got tense.
"Well, they are a little worried that you're... obsessing a little over this book you're writing," Robert said carefully. It was obvious he was picking his words delicately, trying to prevent one of Sarah's blow-ups. "You're not interacting with the other in-patients anymore, and you've declined group therapy three times in a row now."
"I don't need group therapy," Sarah told him through clenched teeth. If they tried to take her book away, she would raise merry hell. "I don't feel like talking about my 'problems' in front of a group of strangers who are equally likely to either plait my hair or throw their own shit at the windows!"
"Sarah!" Karen scolded. "Toby is here! Watch your language!"
Sarah just shrugged sullenly and didn't apologise. He'd heard worse.
"We would have thought you would want to be more pleasant and cooperative during our visits," Robert said, sounding disappointed. He frowned in that way that said you're embarrassing yourself. "When you get like this, it's uncomfortable for everyone. This is the second time this week--"
"Uncomfortable?" Sarah snapped. "You want to feel uncomfortable? Why don't you spend a few weeks here as an in-patient? How's about I ask you when they're going to let me out of this loony bin? Or ask you how long you intend to leave me locked up in here, while you all go home and go about your every day lives?"
"Sarah, it's for your own good--," Robert started to say, but Sarah was suddenly and completely done with her parents for the day. She turned away and pressed the call button next to her bed. A nurse appeared within seconds, wearing an expression of polite enquiry.
"I've had enough of visitors today," Sarah said brusquely, her eyes on her lap. "I'd like to be alone now."
The nurse sighed a little and nodded to Robert, Karen and Toby. Sarah's parents turned and trudged out of the room. Sarah ignored their reproachful stares.
Toby was the last to leave, rising quietly from the chair next to Sarah's bed. As he let go of his sister's hand, she silently slipped a piece of candy, saved from her lunch, into his palm. It was her apology for ending their visit so abruptly. It seemed to happen a lot.
Toby understood. He always did. He put the candy in his pants pocket and left with a small wave over his shoulder. He would put the candy in a box in his room at home with all of the other pieces she had given him.
He was going to split it all with her when she came home from the hospital.
***
Summer, 1981
By the time the book signing came around, Sarah was quite secure in the fact that she was All Recovered. The admission to The Briars had been a bit of a low point, yes. She'd been stuck there for almost two months, only just making it home in time for Christmas.
But since she'd left, she was eating at least once a day, and sleeping for a minimum of four hours a night. It was a vast improvement. Of course, if Sarah tended to exaggerate how many meals and hours of sleep she was getting, it was only because she didn't want Toby and her parents worrying about her unnecessarily.
It had taken surprisingly little time for Sarah to find a literary agent. She had sent the manuscript to around twenty agents as a "first attempt". After the initial wave of expected rejections, she got a phone call from a woman who seemed genuinely interested in the story. Things had sort of snowballed from there, as anything to do with The Labyrinth tended to do. Now, due to popular demand, Sarah was breaking her butt on this hideous plastic chair, signing copies of her book for her adoring fans.
"And who should I make this out to?" Sarah asked a young, freckly girl with braces. The girl seemed a little tongue-tied, so Sarah smiled encouragingly through her fatigue, her pen poised over the flyleaf of a paperback copy of The Labyrinth.
"Alice," the girl answered timidly after a pause. "Alice Rothwell."
"Sure thing, Alice Rothwell," Sarah grinned, and scrawled: To Alice, there is always time for fairytales and daydreams. Best wishes, Sarah Williams.
She handed the book back with her left hand and held out her right to shake Alice's hand. The girl left quickly, clutching her paperback to her chest like a priceless treasure. The next person in the queue stepped forward, a balding, middle-aged man, multiple copies spilling out of his arms that Sarah assumed were intended to be gifts.
Sarah's agent surreptitiously slid a stack of paperbacks across the table to rest near her right elbow as she greeted the man and held out her hands to take the books. The publishing rep sitting on Sarah's other side conversed quietly and discreetly with his bookstore liaison as she changed the till over.
The line in front of Sarah's table was hideously long and the surrounding area uncomfortably crowded with people of all ages. She couldn't help noticing that there seemed to be a lot of girls in their early teens standing in clumps, whispering excitedly, as well as numerous elementary aged boys and girls with their harassed-looking parents. The book was clearly appealing to the demographic she'd hoped for.
Sarah was glad her agent had chosen to have the book signing in the middle of a huge shopping mall, rather than in a bookstore. She didn't like to admit it, but she didn't deal well with crowds and confined spaces. Thankfully, the handful of Valium tablets she had taken earlier were keeping the anxiety at bay.
As the squealing teenagers, tongue-tied children, unabashed adults and put-upon parents and relatives slowly came and went, Sarah stifled a yawn and wished she had a watch. It felt like she'd been sitting here for hours, with only some cold coffee and a stale cookie for sustenance. Her backside was numb and her neck and shoulders were aching. She had a vicious hand cramp from all the signings. Not to mention, her brain was ragged and frayed from the pressure of interacting with so many strangers.
Sarah couldn't wait to get home to a nice hot bath, after which time she planned to sleep--actually sleep--for at least a week.
Rather abruptly, an elegant hand encased in black leather appeared in Sarah's field of vision as she was arranging her stack of books. It hovered for an instant, before plucking one from the top of the pile. A short pause, then a rich, masculine chuckle caressed her ears.
Oh… crap. Trust him to show up when she was exhausted and her temper was hanging by a thread.
"I would love to get an autograph from the venerable Miss Williams here," a velvety, cultured voice drawled, sounding deeply amused. "This is my very favourite book."
Sarah supposed she should have expected to see Jareth here. It was a significant event involving the Labyrinth. The rush of human interest in the Underground and its citizens surely would have captured his attention. Particularly now that the book included detailed illustrations of many of the creatures Sarah had encountered there during her thirteen hour run. Including a fairly accurate likeness of the Goblin King himself. Cod piece and all.
Refusing to blush, Sarah looked up and met a pair of familiar mismatched eyes, full of mischief.
Jareth had obviously used some kind of glamour to make himself appear human. The markings around his eyes were gone, making him look as though he merely had an exotic tilt to his cheekbones and eyebrows. His wild hair had been tamed into a smooth and perfectly respectable-looking ponytail. He was wearing a long black coat with a stiff, high collar, black tailored pants and shiny leather shoes. He looked, well... mouth-watering.
Still, Sarah privately thought that she liked him a lot better in his boots, sprayed-on breeches and revealing shirts. The blush she had successfully fought down only seconds before began to rise in her cheeks again.
"I was so inspired to read your book," Jareth continued with a look that clearly said I've got you cornered, Sarah. "Such an original plot and such endearing characters. Particularly that Goblin King. What a perfectly misunderstood villain. Where do you get your ideas? I'm sure I'm just dying to know."
Each emphasised word was like an irritating flick on the nose from a childish tormentor. Sarah felt the sudden inexplicable urge to fling a book right into Jareth's smug, handsome face.
"Surely you can't expect me to give away my trade secrets, sir?" Sarah responded, spitting the salutation out like a cuss-word. Maybe he wouldn't notice her pink cheeks. She was not looking at his crotch.
"Oh, I wouldn't tell a soul," Jareth responded airily, with a twirl of his leather-clad fingers. Sarah scowled and broke eye contact, pretending to rearrange her books.
What was he playing at, showing up here and trying to rattle her? Sarah wondered. Maybe he was pissed off she was trying to pursue her plan of making reparations to the Labyrinth. Well, he could take his big fat ego and shove it up his Royal--
"Would you be kind enough to sign my book now?" Jareth cut into her thoughts, extending the little red volume towards her. "As much as I would love to stay and chat, I'm afraid I am in rather a hurry."
"Well, it's been a pleasure to meet such a big fan," Sarah told Jareth, pretending to smile sweetly at him but really just baring her teeth instead. She snatched the book out of his grasp and banged it open on the table. "Who shall I make it out to?"
"Oh come now Sarah," Jareth laughed, sending not entirely unpleasant shivers down Sarah's spine. "Do you really need to ask?"
"Friend of yours?" Sarah's agent asked, finally cottoning on to their verbal sparring. She was staring at Jareth, looking a little dazed. Sarah couldn't blame her. The Goblin King was rather difficult to ignore when he was trying to get your attention.
"No," Sarah answered in annoyance, just as Jareth answered "Yes" with a mischievous grin.
Her agent grinned knowingly and Sarah puffed out an exasperated breath. Fantastic. She hastily scrawled: To the most Royal Pain in the Ass I know, enjoy your latest flavour of immortality on the flyleaf of the book, snapped it shut, and shoved it back across the table.
"Thank you for your kind gift Miss Williams, I am much obliged," Jareth said, all courtesy and sharp, white teeth. He picked up the little red book with an unnecessary flourish and tucked it into his coat pocket. Sarah scowled again, feeling particularly ungracious.
"And, my gift to you," he drawled and there was suddenly a long-stemmed red rose in his gloved hand. He laid it lightly on the table next to her clenched fists. Sarah blinked at it in surprise.
"For me?" she asked incredulously before her brain could shut her mouth. She looked up at him.
Jareth grinned down at her, and it was a slightly different grin than the mocking one he'd given her moments before. This grin was still a dangerous one, but it made her knees feel a bit wobbly, and she was glad she was already sitting down. The grope-but-maybe-not-grope moment the last time she'd seen him forced itself into the front of her mind.
Belatedly, Sarah wondered if Jareth had actually been... flirting with her? Was this how his kind flirted with each other? It was kind of like boys who would pull your hair at school because they had a crush on you. The thought made her smile. It seemed absurd.
"No handshake for your biggest fan?" Jareth pressed Sarah after a short pause, an eyebrow lifted in challenge. She realised he had been watching her wool-gathering.
Glaring at him, Sarah extended her hand to shake. Jareth took it, and the leather of his glove was surprisingly warm. Somehow, holding his hand felt far more intimate than the way he'd held her in the wings during the high school play.
Instead of shaking her hand, Jareth flashed Sarah a predatory smile and bent over, bestowing an open-mouthed kiss over her knuckles. Sarah felt heat rush from her hand, through her body and straight down to her… err…
Sarah quickly crossed her legs, squirming a little and feeling a mixture of shock, arousal and embarrassment as she snatched her hand back. How pathetic that a kiss on the back of the hand was enough to get her panting like a dog in heat. She obviously needed to get laid.
"Until we meet again, Sarah," Jareth said smoothly, turning and disappearing into the crowd. Her heart gave funny jolt at the implied promise of seeing him again.
And then, every week after that day, a long-stemmed red rose would mysteriously appear on Sarah's bedside table.
***
Winter, 1983
"Sarah," Toby said. His voice sounded so out-of-character that Sarah whipped around to stare at him. He looked strange, like his attention was focussed elsewhere. He had been busy on the floor with his Meccano, while Sarah, babysitting, pored over some reports for work at the dining room table.
"What is it, Tobe?" she asked, a bit concerned at the look on his face.
"I hear music," he replied matter-of-factly.
Sarah was startled. Music? Odd. The house had been quite silent, but for Toby's pottering and her intermittent shuffling of papers. Maybe it was the neighbours? Sarah strained her ears, but couldn't hear a thing.
"What kind of music?" she asked her brother, figuring it had been a passing ice cream truck she hadn't registered.
The ten year old scrunched his face up in thought. "It comes and goes," he said solemnly. "It's hard to describe. I'll play it for you."
He climbed to his feet and crossed the den to where the dilapidated old piano sat against the wall, more a decoration than a musical instrument. Sarah watched him with mild surprise. "Toby," she said slowly, not wanting to hurt his feelings, "you don't know how to play the piano."
Toby sat himself down, opened the cover and positioned his hands over the keys like a seasoned concert pianist. To Sarah's astonishment, he began to play like he'd been studying for years.
When she recognised the tune, she felt as though she might faint. It didn't translate well to piano, but it was unmistakeably the song Jareth had sung to her in the crystal ballroom.
She gazed down at the hand she was resting on Toby's shoulder. She didn't even remember crossing the room.
"That will do," she said softly. Toby looked up at her curiously, took in her expression, and obediently lowered the case over the keys again. Toby knew that Sarah only got that look on her face when they spoke about the Labyrinth.
"You know the music?" he asked tentatively.
"Yes," Sarah replied. To Toby, it looked as if his sister had suddenly gone somewhere very far away. "It was a song the Gobin King sang once."
Toby and Sarah were silent for a long time after that. She did not question her little brother further. She cringed inside at the thought that perhaps this was Jareth trying to exact some kind of revenge on her through Toby. But she had pushed the thought away. Someone that sent you anonymous red roses every week couldn't want revenge… could they?
She had worried for years about whether Toby would eventually fixate on the Labyrinth and go a bit mad, like she had. He hadn't shown any obvious signs so far, but this development didn't exactly bode well.
But what if Jareth was giving Toby a gift? Sarah herself had certainly come over unexpectedly creative upon her return from the Underground and she harboured a suspicion that it may be the Goblin King's doing or at the least as a result of her exposure to him.
And that creativity was taking her to interesting places. Right now, in fact, she was working on a massive Labyrinth-related project…
Maybe it would be worth cultivating Toby's sudden abilities? Maybe Toby had a bright musical future in store?
When her father and Karen arrived home, Sarah mentioned that it might be worth getting her little brother some music lessons.
Part Two