Return to the Labyrinth

The title for this chapter comes from a poem by Maya Angelou called "When You Come." See the full text at the end of the chapter.
Thank you to all who reviewed, and to Ginny and Leia for their beta help.


Where Memories Lie

Jareth watched through a hovering crystal as Aisling made her way through the hedge maze toward the city. He thought his offer to take her back to the castle had been very generous, but she had flatly refused. She did not trust him yet. He would have to work on that. As she slipped through the stone wall surrounding the city, he wondered at how easily she navigated the twisting paths of the maze, even in the failing light of evening. She was awfully comfortable in the Labyrinth and its environs for having been there for so short a time. How was it that she had found his secret garden in the first place? A puzzle indeed and one he believed he would enjoy unraveling.

Satisfied that she was truly heading back to the castle, Jareth dismissed the crystal with a flourish and traveled back to his study. He arrived, somewhat carelessly, on a pile of books that promptly collapsed beneath him. Scowling, he managed to leap aside from the falling pile with a modicum of grace, landing on a relatively clutter free spot on the floor, until he heard a snicker behind him.

Turning on one booted heel, he looked down his nose with an imperious air at Roarke, who was lounging on the settee, a book open on his lap. A single candle burned beside him on the table. "What," Jareth asked sharply, "do you think you are doing?" With a flick of his wrist the wall sconces roared to life, bathing the room in a cheery glow. Roarke just raised one insolent brow as he closed the tome with a 'thunk' and set it down on another pile. His mouth was still twitching in an attempt to stifle a smile.

"You know, old man," Roarke said cheerfully, ignoring Jareth’s scowl, "Once in a great while I see some merit in my mother’s advice. You definitely need a woman’s touch in this place." He gazed around the study, which was strewn with stacks and piles of papers and books. The shelves were equally stuffed with various tomes and volumes in a distinctly haphazard fashion.

Jareth likewise looked around and admitted to himself that, yes indeed; the room could use some tidying up. He rounded his desk, and sighed at the piles of scrolls and parchment that covered its surface. He threw himself, gracefully of course, into the heavy leather chair and looked at Roarke thoughtfully.

"Did you know that wild creature I picked up is still here?" he asked, producing a crystal with a flick of his wrist and proceeding to absentmindedly roll it back and forth across his hands. Roarke leaned back on the couch with a sigh.

"Mmm…yes," he murmured idly, "She was with Izzy when your harridan of a mistress attacked her."

Jareth’s eyes narrowed at the not so subtle reminder from the younger man. "I have spoken to Leila, as I told you I would."

The younger fey rolled his eyes and leaned forward, giving the king a look. "Forgive me if I do not place great faith in her ability to comprehend your instructions." Roarke drawled dryly.

Jareth merely shrugged. "Nevertheless…" he began.

"Nevertheless, Izzy will no longer be serving her." Roarke interrupted, voice firm when he said it. Jareth gave no outward reaction, other than to turn his head and look at the younger man unblinkingly.

"She is your servant to do with as you wish, boy," he finally said tonelessly. The single crystal was joined by a second one, and together they danced from one hand to the other.

Roarke sighed, his gaze turned inward. "It would be far simpler if she had not come with me on this trip. But my mother insisted on it."

Two elegant brows shot up at Roarke’s admission, and a smile tugged at Jareth’s mouth. "I thought you ran away," Jareth pointed out innocently, "Disappeared into the night, begging me to hide you and risking your father’s wrath."

Roarke gave him a crooked smile, "Well, I might have had some assistance in the matter. My mother seemed to understand my need to get away." Jareth chuckled, having known as much already. After all, the royal parents had contacted him about their son’s impending visit, asking him to keep an eye on the younger man until he got his priorities straight.

"Speaking of your situation," Jareth said slyly. Roarke’s eyes narrowed.

"What about it?" he asked suspiciously.

The King didn’t meet Roarke’s gaze, choosing instead to focus on the crystals in his hand. "Has it occurred to you that I will need to invite them to the ball? Not just your parents, but the lady in question as well. How do you propose to handle that?"

Silence greeted him after his question. Jareth glanced over and smirked as a blush stained the prince’s cheeks. Roarke cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Well, as to that…" he looked at Jareth sharply. "Are you really going to hold one?"

The King just shrugged, but his smile was wide and pleased.

Roarke started grinning in turn. "You know your majesty. I think I’ve had enough time away to think clearly on the subject. I feel sure I can deal with it if it comes up."

"That is a relief," Jareth drawled mockingly.

Roarke just frowned. He ran one large hand through his thick brown locks and sighed. "That aside, there is still the matter of Izzy. She needs something to do. Surely you have some other task she can perform?"

Jareth sighed again and tossed the two globes into the air. They popped in a shower of glitter that floated softly to the floor. The boy had a one track mind sometimes. "Yes, there is still the matter of Izzy indeed." His gazed out the window at the night sky strewn with stars, a faraway look in his eyes. Blinking, he focused back on his guest’s expectant face. "I believe I have just the thing. Shall I tell you over dinner?"

Roarke grinned, shoulders sagging in relief. "Thought you’d never ask. I’m starving."

"Oh yes," Jareth murmured with a lopsided smile, "you look it."


0;0 The next morning 0;0

Sarah spent a restless night fighting off dreams, something she never would have anticipated two months earlier. Although, in this case the experience was mildly different than it would have been aboveground. These dreams were not restful creations of her sleeping mind. Instead, it was like a hundred different people talking at once, all trying to tell her something terribly crucial, pushing and jostling in an attempt to get her attention. The images she saw were disjointed and confusing. Some were benign, others terrifying, but all were unrelenting.

She finally awoke in the quiet, predawn hours with a groan, one hand resting on her throbbing head. The dreams that had plagued her sleep were fading, but not the feelings they provoked. So many of the dreams in her head had felt alien and wrong somehow, like an ill-fitting coat. Her stomach was churning and she felt almost more tired now than she had the night before. Rolling off her pallet bed, she tried to shake off the eerie feeling, but the odd discomfort seemed to enfold her until she felt like a stranger in her own skin.

She sat in the darkness of her closet and thought back to the extraordinary events of the day before, hoping to chase away her current mood. Memories, mazes and magic, she thought to herself whimsically. So much had happened in one day, it was almost overwhelming on its own. And one magnificent monarch, her mind added impishly. A shiver of awareness ran up her spine at the thought of the Goblin King. There was something far different in her perceptions of him now, she thought, than when she was a girl. He unnerved her still, but in an entirely different manner. Then he had been just a specter of villainy, another obstacle to overcome, but now… She thought of his elegant, gloved hands as he had fingered her hair and shivered again. Now she was aware of him as woman, and that made him far more dangerous.

Still, even beyond that, it felt like something important had happened yesterday that she didn’t understand. Something told her she needed to figure it out, and soon. Perhaps the "lesson" that she would be attending with the Goblin King today would help. She vowed not to let stray thoughts of his hands distract her.

One thing was certain. She seemed to be well on the way to her goal of regaining her dreams, which should have made her happy. Instead the thought brought another wave of almost-nausea and discomfort. She shook her head with a frown and wondered if she was thinking too hard. Her headache seemed to be getting worse.

Sighing, she resolved to put the matter out of her mind for the moment. There was too much that wasn’t making sense. She needed more information before she really understood what was going on and right now, she had chores to do. Her priorities determined, she headed out to the kitchens for the day.

When she reached the cavernous rooms she was surprised to see a roaring fire already burning in the hearth. Not only that, but for the first time since her arrival the windows were shuttered and the courtyard doors closed. Niela, her small shoulders covered with a shawl, was stirring a large pot on the stove and muttering to herself. No one else was around yet. Sarah hesitated a moment before speaking. "Nel?"

The brownie turned, a frown on her face. When she saw who was speaking she gave a little sniff and turned back to her task. A savory and comforting aroma wafted from the pot, and Sarah could feel her mouth watering. "Si’down then, beastie," Niela said with her back turned. A small frown appeared on Sarah’s brow, but she complied. Less than a minute later Niela set a steaming bowl of the aromatic brew on the table in front of her, along with a hunk of bread and a mug of what appeared to be water.

Sarah blinked down at the meal. It was the first time in the last two months that a meal had been given to her. Always before she had simply scrounged and scavenged what she could from the leftovers in the kitchen. She had never gone hungry, but neither had the food been very memorable. Sarah looked at the brownie, a question in her eyes. Nel shrugged uncomfortably and set about putting together her own breakfast as she talked. "Figger yer here tae stay. You been a good worker, and hard and well...I ‘spect yer allright for a weirdling. You just eat up, is all."

Sarah was touched by the woman’s gruff words. "Thank you, Nel," she said with a smile as she dug into the meal. The bread was fresh and warm, and the soup was heaven. Sarah couldn’t remember the last time she tasted anything so good, like liquid comfort. Sarah savored it, noticing the radiating warmth it seemed to create throughout her body with each swallow. "This is delicious," she mumbled around bites, "I’ve never tasted anything like it."

Nel just grunted as she started eating her own soup. "Just chick’n’dumplin’s," she muttered, "Don’t thank me none. I don’t need you draggin’ round tired and hungry, what with the Masque coming up. Need all the help I can get, I do."

Sarah paused, the spoon halfway to her mouth, and blinked at Nel. "Masque?" she asked hoarsely, "you mean like a masked ball with guests and dancing and such?" She set the spoon back down and stared at Nel.

"You’ve the right of it," Nel confirmed with a snort. "Right out of the blue, His Highness says to me last night that he wants it held in a fortnight." The brownie woman’s sharp teeth tore a chunk out of her own bread and chewed. "Two weeks, says I," she continued after swallowing, "and how’s I to get ready for a banquet in two weeks? All them fancy guests needin’ meals fer breakfast, lunch, ‘n dinner while they’re here, an’ who knows how long that might be. It’s hassle enough cookin’ fer that hoity-toity lady mistress o’ his and the prince and his folk, an’ now I got tae make meals fer them all, plus a banquet fer more’n three hunert lords ‘n’ ladies the night of the Masque!"

Nel stopped grousing long enough to finish her own bowlful of soup. When she glanced over and noticed that Sarah hadn’t even half finished she scowled. Sarah wasn’t even aware as she stared off into space, her mind whirling. "You’ll want to finish that, beastie," Nel barked, jolting Sarah back to attention, "What with the work and the weather, you’ll need it."

Sarah blinked again. "The weather?" she asked quizzically.

Nel peered at her, before understanding seemed to dawn on her. "Oh aye, ye wouldn’t know would ye? Well, take a look fer yerself," she gestured toward the tightly closed shutters with her empty bowl.

Hesitantly, Sarah left the table and approached the shuttered windows. She was curious and nervous at the same time. What could Nel mean? Reaching out she unlatched the casement, but before she could push it, a hearty blast of wind snatched it open with a clap. As the blustery gusts made her hair dance about her face, Sarah stood transfixed at the change in the world outside.

Autumn had blown in to the underground in a rush of gold and crimson. A chill wind blew, and every tree and shrub, just yesterday crowned in glorious green, was bedecked in leaves of yellow, orange, and red. Not only that, but the entire landscape was covered with a dusting of gold that shimmered in the rosy light of dawn. Sarah reached out and touched the outside of the windowsill, her fingers coming away smudged with the glittering stuff. Rubbing it between her fingers it felt like a soft powder, but sent tingles running up her arm.

"Close the window, ye daft thing," Niela barked from right behind her, startling her. Sarah reached out and pulled the shutters closed again, latching them securely. Her technicolor mane settled round her face and shoulders once again, causing her to sneeze as gold dust tickled her nose. Pulling on a strand of hair, she noticed that every bit of her that had been exposed to the wind was covered in the dust. She sneezed again.

"It’s beautiful, Nel," Sarah said, not a little bit awed at the overnight transformation of the world outside. She brushed glitter from herself where it was clinging to the fine hair all over her front. "What is this stuff?"

"Glitterdust," Nel grumbled, "Left o’er from magic o’ the season’s change. Pretty it may be, but a blessed witch tae clean. Fine as powdered clouds and sticks o’er ever’thin’." She handed Sarah a broom and dustpan. "Might as well get used ter cleanin’ it up. It’ll stick ‘round fer the next week, ‘least. An’ finish yer soup afore ye start yer work. Twill help with the chill in the air." With that she trundled off to start her own morning routine. With a sigh, Sarah looked at the fine dusting of gold on the floor that had come in through the window and began to sweep.

Her morning chores passed quickly enough, even with unrelenting gusts outside. Although the air held a chill it had not had the day before, it was refreshing more than uncomfortable. In fact, the crisp breeze brought with it the kind of smells that only fall can bring, and Sarah found herself daydreaming. She remembered a long ago autumn day when she was a girl, before Karen and Toby and the hospital. She and her father had gone out apple picking. It had been a magical day, the two of them closer than peas in a pod as they filled their baskets, sneaking bites of apple along the way and laughing. She could almost taste the crisp sweetness of the fruit on her tongue.

"Aisling, Aisling!" her reverie was interrupted by Twiggy’s childlike voice. "Nel say…" He stopped talking with a small "erp" sound, skidding to a halt in front of her. His wide eyes stared with what appeared to be horror at something behind her.

"What is it, Twiggy?" she asked with a frown, turning to look behind her.

"Twiggy didn’t do it!" was all he squeaked, darting to hide behind her legs and hiding his face in her fur. Sarah didn’t respond. All she could do was stare.

In the center of the yard, having apparently burst up through the cobblestones, was a trio of trees. Their full leafy branches, which spread to shadow over half of the yard, were bowed beneath the weight of glistening, ripe apples; one tree of ruby red fruit, one of green, and one of yellow. Sarah froze, a kind of sick feeling in her stomach. She thought of the memories of those apples so long ago, and then she thought of what Jareth had said about "dripping" magic. She gulped, realizing she must have done it, but not wanting that to be so.

"What is they?" Twiggy asked in a loud whisper, tugging on her fur. Sarah looked down at the little speckled goblin who was staring at the trees with fascination. "Where they come from?"

"They’re just apples, Twiggy," she muttered, hoping that was true. "And I wish I knew where they came from." She started walking over to one tree, dragging a clinging Twiggy behind her.

"They not spose’ to be here," Twiggy whispered again.

"No kidding," Sarah muttered to herself. She reached the first tree, the one with the red apples, and reached up to pick one. It was cool and waxy to the touch, and fell easily into her hand. She looked at it closely, turning it over and over, searching for a flaw but finding none. She remembered the last piece of fruit she’d eaten in the Labyrinth.

When she went to bite the tempting looking fruit, Twiggy gave a terrified squeak and hid in her fur again. She ignored him and sank her teeth into it. The sweet flesh was better than any apple she had ever tasted, like the memory of those apples from so many years ago. She sighed in contentment as she swallowed the first bite. It was like eating pure happiness. She stopped caring where the trees had come from as the pleasure spread through her.

Twiggy was still hanging off her leg, and she looked down at him. "Do you want one, Twiggy? It’s just an apple. It tastes great." She found herself giggling in girlish delight. She picked another of the red globes and held it out to him. Hesitantly he took the fruit.

"Is apples tasty?" he asked quizzically, looking at it cross-eyed and sniffing at the skin.

"Very," she said, taking another bite of her own, her craggy face grinning from ear to ear. "What did Nel want?" she asked, remembering his earlier aborted comment. Twiggy was still sniffing at the fruit and poking it lightly with the barbs at the end of his tail. One particularly careless poke pierced the skin and a dribble of clear juice oozed out. He jumped with a yelp and nearly dropped the fruit. "Twiggy," she said, "what did Nel want?"

He frowned up at her, as if trying to figure out her question. "Nel?" he mumbled, "Nel want…Nel want you inside." He sniffed at his fingers, which were now smeared with the apples juices. Sarah nodded and headed for the kitchen door. Behind her a little forked tongue zipped out to taste the juice, and a huge grin broke out on Twiggy’s face. "Apples tasty!" he shouted to the now empty courtyard. He took a big bite out of the sweet fruit a groaned.

A short time later, at Nel’s instruction, Sarah found herself on her way to the Goblin King’s study for her first magic lesson. Nel hadn’t seen the trees yet, and Sarah felt guilty at how glad she was that she wouldn’t be there when she did. She wondered grimly if she should tell Jareth of the apple trees in the courtyard, or not. Now that the strange euphoria brought on by the fruit was wearing off, she knew she had to do something about this magic after all. Who knew what might happen next.

She was about to knock on the study door when she noticed it was slightly ajar. She could hear Jareth’s imperious voice speaking from inside, and she paused, not wanting to interrupt. "…am sorry you have received ill treatment in my house. You know I would not desire it so." There was no response. Curiosity overcoming her caution, Sarah peeked through the crack in the door, and caught a full glimpse of the room in the mirror above the fireplace.

The Goblin King, a dark red cloak wrapped over his shoulders, leaned back against the front of his desk, his back to the mirror. His fantastical hair sparkled with gold dust in the light from the window. In front of him stood Izzy, staring silently at her feet while he spoke to her.

Sarah held her breath, struggling to make no noise as she watched the scene playing out. "How long have you been serving our young prince, Isolde?" he asked conversationally. "He seems to have grown quite fond of you." Jareth put a strange sort of emphasis on that last, making Sarah wonder what the subtext of the comment was. Izzy’s head shot up at the statement, and Sarah could see an unexpected anger and sadness smoldering in the other woman’s eyes.

"He has asked that I assign you other duties while you are here," Jareth continued, unaware or uncaring of her stare. "Is that what you want?" Izzy made no move to agree or disagree, and the king sighed. "If so, I will be glad to use your talents as secretary here in my study. As you can see, it needs some organizing, and I know you are capable of such." Still no response from the silent woman, although she was looking around the room with a critical eye. The pause stretched out before Jareth purred softly. "There is one other option as well, Isolde."

Izzy looked at him sharply, a hard suspicious light in her eye. Jareth cocked his head to the side and folded his arms, just watching her. "I could send you home, Isolde," he continued softly, "if you’d like. Things are far different now than they used to be. You could…start a new life." Izzy’s face paled visibly, her expression stricken and horrified. She shook her head in frantic denial, tears pooling in her eyes, and fell to her knees on the stone floor. Jareth turned his back on her, facing the mirror, and Sarah ducked back out of sight quickly, afraid he might see her.

No outraged protest came from within the room, however, and she took the risk of peeking back inside again. He was facing the mantle now, staring into the fire with a brooding expression and gripping the dark wood tightly with his black gloved hands. Izzy knelt behind him, one hand grasping the hem of his fine spidersilk cloak in supplication, tears streaming down her face. There was something familiar about the sight, but the harder she tried to pin the thought down, the more slippery it was.

Sarah was surpised by the strange sadness in Jareth’s gaze as he watched the flames. "Why do you not relent, Izzy?" he rasped. The tearful woman merely shook her head, unable to answer. "You have done more than anyone else would, and he will never know. Why do you remain? You mortals confuse me so."

His eyes fluttered closed and his head tilted back, as if he were too tired to hold it up any longer. "Sweet, loyal Isolde," he growled, "Can you not be content that he is well and happy? Have you not satisfied whatever responsibility you once felt for him?"

The kneeling girl slapped the ground hard with one hand, drawing the Goblin King’s gaze back to her. She shook her head emphatically, her own expression that of hardened resolve, and jabbed one finger into the floor, clearly indicating her intent to stay. Disappointment and acceptance flickered in his gaze. Sarah heard a sigh leave Jareth’s lips, and she watched as all emotion left his handsome face, leaving it as cold as marble.

"Very well, then," was his chilly reply, "but a bargain is a bargain, my dear. As long as you remain, the terms are set." Izzy nodded, her eyes relieved. She moved to touch the Jareth’s cloak again, but he smoothly stepped out of reach as if he had not noticed. He sat down at his desk with a sigh, while the girl picked herself up off the floor.

"You may go now, Izzy," he said, his voice empty of any trace of feeling. "Your duties begin tomorrow." As Izzy sank into a low curtsy, Sarah backed away from the door and hurried back into the stairwell to avoid being caught eavesdropping. When she reemerged a few minutes later to knock on the study door, the other woman was nowhere to be seen.

When You Come

When you come to me, unbidden,
Beckoning me
To long-ago rooms,
Where memories lie.

Offering me, as to a child, an attic,
Gatherings of days too few.
Baubles of stolen kisses.
Trinkets of borrowed loves.
Trunks of secret words,

I CRY.

Maya Angelou