Return to the Labyrinth

Disclaimer: I don’t own the Labyrinth or make profit from it in any way. The title for this chapter is the same as the song from Disney’s Sleeping Beauty “Once upon a dream”. Thank you once again to my beta reader Ginny.

Once Upon a Dream


She dreams…

”What’s said is said.”

The voice was a far away buzz, fuzzy and difficult to make out. She tried to get closer, but she was not in control of her own actions. She was drifting in the wind.

She drifted closer and a picture came into focus out of the misty darkness. A red sun rising in the east shimmered on the horizon as light bled over the land. She wondered why the light did not hurt her eyes.

There was a small, stunted tree, with two figures beneath it. It took her a moment to recognize the Goblin King, and only then by his eyes. He looked so different, harsher, harder somehow. His face, although still handsome, was blunter, wider, with a strong jaw and square forehead. And his figure was different, shorter and more muscular. He wore simple clothes, an embroidered white tunic beneath tooled leather armor and grey trews, An elaborate brooch, reminiscent of his horned amulet, clasped a dark blue cloak at one shoulder. A heavy silver torq circled his neck. Even his hair was out of place, thick and free flowing, with braids scattered here and there. He stood like a warrior, there on the hill above the Labyrinth, feet spread, gloved hand resting on the hilt of his sword.

At his booted feet a woman knelt dressed in a dark torn kirtle. Her voice came soft on the air. “I am all he has, O’ King of the Daoine Sidhe. I cannot abandon him. ”

“And the price to be paid?” His voice throbbed with power and menace. It was definitely his voice, but less refined. If she’d had a body, she would have shivered.

The supplicant turned her face away, toward the invisible dream-watcher. Her dark hair was limp and tangled and her pale face was smudged with dirt and something darker that looked like blood. “I will pay it,” her voice came, low and husky, but firm.

Even in her dream she could feel herself panicking. This wasn’t right. It couldn’t be right. Who was that girl, who seemed so familiar? And why did the Goblin King seem like a man one step away from violence. What was happening? Her mind struggled against the images, and the scene began to break apart and grow dim.

“Why am I seeing this?” she wondered to herself. She did not expect an answer, but yet it was not a shock when one came.

“We want what you want. You wanted to see. You see what we see. Don’t you want to see?” She couldn’t see anything at the moment. The landscape of her mind was dark, but not empty. The voice came from everywhere and nowhere in her head. It was one voice, and yet many at the same time. The thought occurred to her that she should probably be worried that she was talking to voices in her head, but she couldn’t seem to muster that emotion. Instead, she was curious.

“Who are you?” she asked the voice in her sleeping mind. It seemed a logical question in a place with no logic. In that world between waking and dreaming, where the mind drifts open to all manner of possibilities, she accepted this strange conversation. Pursued it even, hoping it would lead to enlightenment.

There was no answer to her question. It came to her then, but it was not her thought, and a new question formed in her mind. She remembered the chaotic images that had plagued her sleep the night before. “Are you a dream?”

“Yes,” said a voice within the voice.

“Are you my dream?”

“No,” said the voice. “Yes,” said another. She was perplexed. She tried to work through the cryptic clues in her head.

“I just don’t understand,” she thought, not yet frustrated although the potential was there.

“You see what we see,” repeated the voice. She felt somehow that it was chiding her. She pondered the statement. Could it really be as simple as it sounded? She had trouble taking things at face value here.

“What you just showed me, this was something you saw? It happened?” The voice just seemed to hum approvingly and settle back in her head. She could feel it pulling away.

“Wait, but how is it I can see what you see?”

“Your mind is our mirror,” the voice seemed to whisper. She drifted in that transitional place for a time, thinking, before swimming up from sleep’s grasp and into the waking world. She knew she must remember all she had seen, even though she could not quite place why.

:O-O:

She woke feeling dazed and confused. The wispy edges of her dream were fading already, but she focused on it, keeping it in her head until she was sure it could not escape. A few pieces, the early bits of her dream, still vanished like smoke, but the important parts remained. She felt a small sense of accomplishment at the feat.

She ran over the dream images in her mind, trying to piece them together as best she could. There was a vision of the Goblin King, but not, and a dark haired girl who had looked like death warmed over, but she couldn’t remember what was said. There was a feeling of wrongness, then confusion, and a conversation with dream-voices in her head. She remembered this clearly, that the dreams in her head were showing her things they had seen, things they thought she wanted to see. “Your mind is our mirror,” they had said. But what did that mean? What did any of it mean? For that matter, why was it happening? And could a dream show you reality?

It was these thoughts that occupied her mind as she slipped into her daily disguise, running her hands through the soft fur of the cloak. It felt like a second skin now, part of her in many ways. Moments later Aisling crept out of her small room and into the quiet of an early morning kitchen. Once again the doors and windows were shut tight, and Nel was waiting with warm soup and bread. They ate together in a companionable silence, each lost to her own thoughts. When she finished, Aisling made her way out into the golden dawn of the courtyard to start her chores.

The morning passed much like any other in the last two months. Her chores were simple, leaving her mind free to ponder the many strange things that had been happening lately. By the time she was finished working though she had still made no sense of anything. So she put the matter aside and headed up to the Goblin King’s study for the day’s lesson. When she reached it, the door was open wide and through it she could see Izzy hip-deep in books and papers. She walked inside, but there was no sign of the King.

Turning she studied the mute girl, and found herself wondering once again what her secrets were. For her part, Izzy stopped what she was doing and looked at Aisling quizzically. Aisling stuttered, realizing she had been staring. “Um, I…I‘m looking for His Majesty. Have you seen him?”

The girl shook her head and shrugged. She pointed toward the peaked stone window overlooking the Labyrinth and then folded her hands together and flapped them. A bird, Aisling realized. The King had gone out the window as a bird, probably the beautiful white owl she remembered from some time in the past. When was that? She walked to the window and looked out over the Labyrinth. It shimmered in the sun, all reds and greens and yellows and browns with a dusting of gold for sparkle. She couldn’t see any sign of Jareth, or the owl, but then she hadn’t expected to. No doubt he was off taking care of something more important, perhaps even welcoming a new challenger to the Labyrinth. She wasn’t sure how she felt about that.

Somewhere in the back of her mind though was a twinge of disappointment and she realized she had been looking forward to the lesson. Even when they sparred, there was a thrill to spending time with him that was almost like a drug. She knew that if she wasn’t careful she might become addicted, so perhaps it was for the best that he wasn’t there. Sighing, she turned from the window and thanked Izzy before making her way back downstairs to the kitchens. There was plenty else she could be doing, especially with the entire castle preparing to receive guests for the masque.

For the next three days Aisling made her way to the King’s study only to find him absent. She finally, reluctantly, admitted to herself that the lessons must be over, which was probably for the best. She couldn’t perform magic, never would, and surely Jareth had realized that as well. And it was certainly the King’s prerogative to end the lessons and not tell her a blasted thing about it. The thought made her scowl, and the scullery maids edged out of her way as she stalked by.

It was one week until the ball when Aisling received a visitor, her first since her arrival in the Underground. The weekly grain delivery from the miller came late in the morning, cart piled high with sacks of flour, oats, cornmeal, and barley. It rumbled past where Aisling was stacking wood against the courtyard wall, blowing up dust as it passed, and a small figure in a very large hat jumped down from the back and onto the cobblestones.

“Ahem,” came the tiny voice from behind her. Aisling turned to see Reggie making a courtly bow in her direction, sweeping his wide-brimmed hat off his head so that the giant purple feather bobbed in the breeze. He was grinning up at her, his sharp canines gleaming and his tail switching back and forth in excitement. Aisling grinned back.

“Why, if it isn’t the future Sir Reginald! Surely you didn’t come all this way just to visit little old me?” Reggie replaced his hat and shook his head.

“Gran sent me with some herbs for Miss Niela,” he piped, holding up a basket that Aisling hadn’t noticed earlier. “But I was hoping to see you too!” he reassured hurriedly, obviously thinking he might have hurt her feelings. Aisling just smiled.

“Well, I’m very glad to see you again, Reggie. Now, you shouldn’t keep Nel waiting. She’s not the patient sort. But by the time you get back, I should be done here and maybe we can talk for a bit?” The little kit’s eyes brightened and he nodded before jogging off toward the kitchen. By the time he returned, ten minutes later, Aisling was waiting for him beneath the apple trees.

“Let’s go up here,” she said, pointing into the tangled branches. They climbed high into the crown of the largest tree and made themselves comfortable among the swaying branches. Aisling plucked one golden apple from above and offered it to the fox, who took it with a smile. “So,” she said, tentatively, “you were going to tell me about your…ancestor, Sir Didymus…and the quest he went on?”

Reggie nodded. “Gran thinks it’s all hogwash, but it’s true. My uncle told me all about it. See, there was this fair maiden, that’s what he calls her, but I think it must have been a princess, ‘cause Knight’s are supposed to rescue princesses.” He took a bite of the apple, the juice running down his chin, and an expression of bliss lit up his face. “Wow,” he sighed and took another bite.

“A fairy princess?” Aisling asked impishly, taking a bite of her own apple. A sweet contentment seemed to radiate out from her stomach as she swallowed. Reggie scrunched up his nose, and twitched his whiskers.

“What? No!” he sounded appalled. “What good would some pesky fairy be? They’re even smaller than I am.” He sounded sad when he said it.

“I don’t know that size matters so much. Look at Sir Didymus, he may not have been the biggest or the strongest but he was a great knight.”

Reggie seemed to pause at her words, as if turning them over in his mind, looking for a flaw. “Well, it wasn’t a fairy anyhow,” he said firmly. Aisling just nodded.

“And then what happened?” she asked. Reggie grinned and continued his tale.

“Well, so anyhow, the King took her brother, see, and made her run the Labyrinth to get him back.” Aisling gasped a little, at the familiar story, but Reggie paid no notice, continuing on without even a breath. “But, he didn’t think she would win, but she did, with my Grandda’s help. Then she went back to her own kingdom, and he didn’t see her again. She was beautiful and kind and Great-Grandda swore to defend her. Well, except he couldn’t on account of she weren’t in the underground anymore.”

“Where…where did she go?” Aisling asked softly, almost afraid to hear the answer even though she knew, she knew, what it was.

Reggie shrugged. “Somewhere above, which is why Gran thinks it’s all a story. She says noone ever beats the King’s game, ‘specially not someone from above, but Uncle Hoggle wouldn’t lie to me.”

Aisling froze, sure she hadn’t heard right. “Who?” Her voice was very small, and unsure.

“Uncle Hoggle,” said Reggie, blithely chomping on his apple. “He was there, when the princess beat the Labyrinth, so that’s how I know it’s all true.”

“I see,” she murmured, thoughts whirling. “But how come he’s still alive, if Sir Didymus is dead?”

“Oh, Uncle Hoggle’s a dwarf, not a fox like me, which I guess means he’s not really my uncle. They live a really, really long time.” Aisling only nodded, half afraid to hope that it might be true.

“I’d like to…to meet your Uncle sometime,” she said, tentatively.

Reggie shrugged, “I mean, sure I guess. He doesn’t like people much, but I’ll ask him.” Aisling nodded her thanks.

“So, what happened to the princess?”

Reggie looked sad, his eyes downcast. “I dunno. Uncle Hoggle said that Grandda had a dream that the princess was lost or in trouble, or something. He said that he was going to the Witch of the Woods for help. Ask her to send him where the princess is, so he could find her and bring her back. I guess he never found her though, cause he never came back, and it was a very, very long time ago. Maybe someone else rescued the princess by now.” He brightened for a second, “Or maybe, when I become a knight, I can rescue her. What do you think Aisling?”

Her smile was strained. “Maybe,” she replied softly, “but you’re probably right. She probably doesn’t need rescuing any more.” Somewhere inside her heart was breaking all over again. “Oh Didymus,” she whispered, “I’m so sorry.” She took a bite of her apple and welcomed the surge of forgetful bliss it sent rushing through her mind. She looked at Reggie, who looked back at her, and the two of them started to giggle.

:O-O:

Jareth was quietly irritated as he stood beneath the courtyard apple trees and looked up at his quarry through the branches. His voice, however, was as mocking and empty as always. “Why is it I am forever finding you hiding in trees?” he asked lightly. There was a sudden silence and a frantic rustling and muttering. Moments later Aisling was blinking owlishly down at him. She was quiet at first, before she broke into a wide grin.

“Hello, Your Majesty! Would you like one of my apples?” She held out a glistening golden fruit to him. He did not return the smile.

“Your apples?” he asked sardonically.

“They are my trees after all,” she sniffed, “so they must be my apples as well. You really should try one.”

“How would you explain that,” he asked softly, “when everything in the Labyrinth belongs to me?”

Another pause. “I don’t belong to you,” she declared obstinately. Jareth simply raised one eyebrow imperiously but did not correct her. “Besides, I made them.” He realized, of course, that these were the “accidental magic” she had conjured a week before. However, he was surprised to note that the trees were still here. He would have expected the magic to break apart by now. He touched the tree with one gloved hand and could feel the pulse of magic that was not his own mixed with the Labyrinth’s distinctive flavor. It was not wild magic he felt, however, and that was a very interesting thing indeed.

“Indeed,” he replied. He looked back up at her and they studied each other in silence for a moment. “You did not come for your lesson today. I have been waiting” It was said lightly, as if it was no matter to him whether she had or not, but Aisling could hear a thread of irritation. She winced, but then wondered why she was feeling defensive. After all, he was the one who disappeared in the first place. The apple’s effect was wearing off quickly.

“Why would I have?” she asked mutinously, “You haven’t been around for a week. I naturally assumed there weren’t going to be any more.”

“An ill advised assumption. I was busy,” his eyes narrowed at her tone.

“Well, perhaps you could have told me that, instead of just leaving me to wonder,” she snapped. His eyes narrowed further as he studied her dark face. He heard a small voice whispering worriedly to her, and she turned to shush it reassuringly.

“Ah. And who is that with you?” he asked.

“My friend,” she said, daring him to argue, “Reggie.”

“Indeed,” he replied. He paused. “Reginald Thaddeus Longsnout,” he called up into the tree. There was a small, frightened ‘eep!’ from behind Aisling. “Come down here.” He ordered softly. The small creature shimmied down the tree and stood in front of the King, hat in hand. Jareth crouched down in front of him, his face pleasantly empty. “Gertrude will be worried about you. It’s time you went home.” Reggie just nodded vigorously, glancing up at the tree before he ran for the gate.

To his surprise, after the little fox had scampered away, Aisling climbed down from her perch, without any coercion from him. She scowled at Jareth and he wondered why she was in such a foul humor. “That wasn’t very nice, sending him home and scaring him half to death.”

He ignored the comment. “You did not show up for lessons today.”

“You did not show up for lessons all week,” she shot back. “I’ve been here. Where have you been?”

“I don’t believe that is any of your concern.” He bit back arrogantly. She didn’t argue, but a glance told him she was quietly fuming. He sighed. She had a point, he conceded to himself. “I was tending to my Kingdom. It was unexpected. I will inform you next time our rendezvous is canceled.”

She blinked at him with wide, startled eyes. Her mouth opened and closed before she finally spoke. “Thank you,” she said quietly. He nodded brusquely.

“Now, I have something I want to show you,” he placed one gloved hand on the bark of the tree. “Put your hand here,” he said, pointing, “like this.” She complied, and looked at him, waiting for further instruction. “Now, close your eyes, and look beyond the tree, try to feel the pulse…”

His voice was soft and soothing, all traces of arrogance gone. Aisling could feel the rough bark of the tree beneath her hand, but as he spoke she detected something else. It was a pulse, just like he said. It was faint at first, but as she focused it became clearer. It was a steady beat of light and color and energy, and under that was a slower pulse, like a wide slow river carving its way to the sea. “I can feel it,” she gasped in wonder, “Like a heartbeat inside the tree.”

“Good,” he said, and she thought he sounded relieved. She opened her eyes to look at him.

“What is it?” she asked.

“Magic,” he replied, a satisfied look on his face, “Your magic. And now that you know what it feels like, maybe we’ll have an easier time teaching you to use it.” He stepped back and with a sweep of his arm a doorway opened beside them through which Sarah could see the crystal garden sparkling in the afternoon sun. “After you,” he said.

:O-O:

A week yielded few rewards in Aisling’s studies, and now it was one day before the Masque with no time for studying at all. At least now she could sense that bright thread of power within herself, but as yet she had been unable to tap it. The lack of progress was frustrating both teacher and student to the point that this forced break was probably a blessing. There was far too much to do, for both King and kitchen drudge, to take time out, so it was agreed that lessons would resume after the ball.

Aisling wasn’t exactly looking forward to it, although she was surprised at how patient Jareth was being with her. Patience didn’t seem to fit with his personality. Then again, what did she really know about him or his personality? Her encounters with him had been…limited, at best…before these lessons started. You can’t take anything for granted she reminded herself. Of course, with all the hustle and bustle at the moment she didn’t have much time to take anything for granted.

The castle had been cleaned from top to bottom in the last week, and now was filling up with guests, not that she had seen any of them. Nel had given strict orders that only the servant’s stairs were to be used while the castle was occupied by strangers. Frankly, Aisling was perfectly content not to leave the kitchen at all until she had to. The closer drew the ball, the more nervous she became. She would do almost anything to avoid thinking about it, even if it meant braving the dark, damp caverns of the castle cellars.

She held tight to the candlestick, the short tallow candle sputtering, as she crept down the stone stairs into darkness. The cellars were a vast underground complex of vaulted rooms cut out of the rock beneath the castle. Aisling did not like the cellars. Deep down was a fear that should the light go out she would be trapped in an endless, empty void with no escape. She didn’t even know where the fear came from, just that it was there. She shuddered at the thought and pushed it back into a hidden corner of her mind.

She was down here to retrieve two bottles of sylvan sherry, which were, unfortunately, in one of the further rooms. Aisling moved quickly, relieved that there was no breeze of air in this dark place to threaten the candle flame. She reached the sherry room without trouble and started looking for the bottles she wanted.

She had just found them when she thought she caught movement out of the corner of her eye. She turned her head, but there was nothing but shadows dancing with the candle flame. She shivered, but turned away. Her imagination was getting away from her. As soon as she turned away however a sharp, cold breeze brushed past her face. The candle guttered, and to her horror, suddenly went out. She was paralyzed with terror as the room plunged into darkness. She felt something brush by her and gave a short scream as her arm went numb with cold. A soft tremor of laughter floated in the air.

“Who’s there?” she asked, trying not to let the fear leak into her voice. She concentrated on breathing, trying to reach out with any senses she had to pierce the darkness. Her hand landed on the rack of bottles and she clutched it, holding herself up on shaking legs. “This isn’t funny, whoever you are.” The laughter came again, sending a chill down her spine.

She closed her eyes, trying to convince herself that there was light on the other side of her lids. She focused on breathing, jumping only a little as whatever it was brushed by her once again. Again, breathe, in and out. She focused on it like it was a life line and below that she felt a pulse. Yes, her magic. This wasn’t a void, it wasn’t empty. There was that bright beat of color that she recognized as the magic inside. She grabbed at it, and held tight. This was her light, her anchor in the darkness. It flared behind her eyes and an angry, shrill scream cut through her mind. Her eyes snapped open, and the darkness, and whatever evil it contained, was gone.

A warm pulsing globe of yellow light floated peacefully in the air in front of her face. At first shock assailed her, her grip on the magic relaxing, but when the globe began to dim she quickly recovered and pushed a little magic back into it. It brightened and held steady. She stood for a moment and let the amazement subside. She’d done it. A week of fruitless work and she’d finally done it. Excitement bubbled up through her and she knew she needed to share this miracle. Grabbing for the two bottles of sherry, and the now broken candlestick, she ran for the stairs, the little light bouncing behind her. A single, inky shadow watched the light fade up the stairs, and waited.

:O-O:


Ten minutes later she was knocking on the door to the King’s study. “Aisling, Your Majesty,” she replied, when he asked who it was.

“Enter,” his voice came through the thick wood of the door. She opened it and hurried inside, mouth open to share the news. The smile died on her lips however when she saw the white garbed figure facing the window. She stopped just inside the door.

“I..didn’t mean to intrude,” she mumbled. She looked at the King, who was leaning indolently against his desk and tossing a crystal from hand to hand.

“You’re timing couldn’t be more perfect, my dear Aisling,” he drawled. “I was about to summon you. I have someone I want you to meet.” The figure at the window turned, and familiar eyes that glittered like a night sky filled with stars confronted Aisling. She ducked her head, hoping the fall of hair would conceal the shock on her face. “This is my sister, Lady Amaranth.”

It was all Aisling could do to give a little bow and not fall over. Amaranth smiled softly in acknowledgement. “A pleasure to meet you, Aisling. Jareth was just telling me about you. I am quite fascinated.”

She was completely different than the last time they had met. A picture of winter, her hair was shades of white and blue flowing in waves down her back. Her clothing was elegant, icy blues and greys shimmering in and out of the white. And her voice was crisp and chill, like the smell of snow in the air, although beneath that it sounded very much like her brother’s insolent drawl. Aisling realized that this must be why Amaranth’s voice had sounded so familiar when they first met. She did not trust herself to answer so she held her tongue.

Amaranth smiled a sharp, brittle smile. “You have overwhelmed her, little brother,” she said. Jareth scowled at his sister, who’s pale, exotic features were so like his own, now that one saw them standing side by side. “Perhaps we can talk later, when she is not so on the spot.” Jareth shrugged.

“As you wish,” he said, “I would be pleased to hear your opinion on the matter.” Amaranth gave a graceful nod of her head and moved toward the door. Her path took her directly past Aisling, and she laid one pale, cold hand on a furred shoulder as she passed. When the door closed behind her silence descended on the room. Aisling and Jareth regarded each other without speaking.

“Why were you telling her about me?” she asked suddenly. Jareth gave another gallic shrug, the kind that could mean everything or nothing.

“We have made so little progress. Amaranth was my teacher, so I thought she might have some advice.” He continued to play with the crystal in his hands, rolling it over and under his fingertips.

“Oh,” was all she could reply. The silence stretched out until she suddenly remembered why she had come in the first place. “Oh! Well, we might not need her help, Your Maj…” he raised one eyebrow and she corrected herself quickly, “Jareth.”

“And why would that be?” he asked silkily. The crystal disappeared in a blink, and he leaned back to watch her curiously.

“Well, I,” she paused, trying to rekindle the giddy excitement of earlier. “I was in the cellars and the lights went out, and well…look!” She held out one hand and concentrated on grasping one pulsing thread of magic. Concentrated on her anchor against the dark. At first nothing happened, but then, slowly, a small ball of golden light coalesced above her hand. It hovered there for a moment before suddenly snapping out of existence when she spied the fiercely satisfied look on the Goblin King’s face.

He met her eyes and she was absurdly pleased at the look in them. “Excellent,” he said, his sharp teeth flashing behind curled lips, and she was glad her dark skin concealed her blush. She told him about the candle going out, and her fear in the darkness of the cellar that led to the breakthrough, but made no mention of the chilling presence. In the light of day now it felt so ridiculous and silly. She realized it was probably just some goblin getting a kick out of scaring the servants. He seemed pleased, and when she left minutes later she was actually looking forward to their next session.

It was just inside the servant’s stair that Amaranth appeared again. The regal fae woman stood tall, and brilliantly bright against the dark stone of the stair. Aisling stopped and regarded her silently, and Amaranth smiled her secret smile. “I have a gift for you,” she said, turning her hands over in a sweeping gesture to reveal a small wooden box. The dark, rich wood glistened with age. Aisling took it without a word, but hesitated before carefully lifting the lid. Inside, nestled on a bed of red satin, were three acorns, one silver, one gold, and one crystal. Aisling looked up at the pale, glistening woman, eyes wide with sudden aprehension. She did not have to ask what they were for. “Remember your oath, Sarah Williams,” she said, holding up one finger to her lips.

“I won’t tell,” Aisling said. Amaranth nodded and smiled. She lay one cold hand on Aislings dark cheek.

“You will do fine,” she said before slipping out into the corridor again. The box shut with a snap and Aisling made her way back to the kitchens in silence.

Once Upon A Dream
Written by: Sammy Fain and Jack Lawrence

I know you, I walked with you once upon a dream.
I know you, the gleam in your eyes is so familiar a gleam.
Yet I know it's true that visions are seldom all they seem,
But if I know you,
I know what you do,
You'll love me at once, the way you did once upon a dream.