Return to the Labyrinth

The title for this chapter comes from a poem of the same name by Walter de la Mare. Thank you again to my beta readers Ginny and Leia.

Silver


She dreamed…

There was evil in the darkness and it watched her. Terror stopped her breath until she made the light, golden and sweet, that chased it away. She breathed slowly and looked around. The box waited with absolute patience. It seemed as though it had been waiting forever, and was content to continue waiting until the end of time. The blue cat lay curled on the pillows watching her. It too waited, patiently, as cats are wont to do. She looked at it, but the cat simply shrugged and shook its head, tail switching back and forth.

“Sometimes a dream is just a dream,” it meowed, answering the question in her eyes. It rolled over and stretched, looking at her with upside-down eyes, “until it is not.”

She did not want to open the box, but she had to. The wood was warm and smooth beneath her hand. Inside they lay, all in a row on black satin. Three apples; one ruby, one emerald, and one gold. They glittered with a bright, frantic pulse, practically vibrating.

She looked up and the trio of apple trees stood before her. They stood alone and barren. All they needed was fruit. She could do that.

She touched the tree and felt for the beat of bright color. It writhed in her hands. It wanted to be released, free, used. “Fear me, love me, do as I say, and I will be your slave,” the voices within voices cried, coiling tightly around her mind. But it wasn’t enough.

She reached deeper, and beyond the quicksilver dazzle was a river of infinite depth with a slow, timeless pulse. It was wide and calm, but she knew the current hidden beneath the surface was enough to make mountains low.

She plunged her hands into that coolness. It brushed over her skin like living silk and anchored her even as it drew her deeper. So dark, so cool, so comforting. A mover of mountains, a carver of canyons, a kingmaker. So patient. Waiting, watching, shaping. The river breathed and filled her like a cup with the knowledge of the ages. It was, always had been, and forever would be. She wanted to drink that knowing, drown in those depths, and be consumed by the endless water. It breathed again, as if it could breathe her in, and she breathed with it.

“Saaarrraaah,” it sighed.


A wail cut across her senses, sharp enough to bleed if sound could slice. Aisling sat up in bed with a gasp and her dream fled into the darkness. She conjured a light (she was getting better!) and her eyes caught on the box waiting patiently in the corner. Her stomach clenched for just a moment.

There was a clatter of running feet outside her door and a loud chorus of voices raised in excited fear and curiosity. She suddenly remembered that chilling scream that had woken her. Quickly throwing on her technicolor cloak, Aisling darted from her room. Although it was normally empty and quiet at this hour the kitchen blazed with light, an early morning for all because of the Masque. But no one was working. The castle servants milled round about the cellar door, talking in hushed, horrified tones. Aisling crept closer, trying not to draw attention to herself, and listening to the chatter. A sick feeling was settling in her stomach.

“…found him just now…”

“…scream of the Baensidh, did you hear?”

“…probably just drunk…”

“…made my skin crawl…”

“…serves ‘im right for stealing the kings wine…”

“…unnatural. What could it be?”

“…Lord Braxton’s manservant…”

“…evil afoot…”

“…don’t be ridiculous!”

“…these things don’t happen here…”

“…good man. Didn’t deserve this…”

“…King Jareth will set it right…”

She slipped through the crowd, trying to catch a glimpse of what was causing the furor. The cellar door was partway open, but the others blocked her view of what lay beyond it. Off to the side she could see Nel speaking quietly to Cowslip. The pixie seemed frail and shaken, her teary eyes staring at nothing as she replied to whatever Nel was saying.

“I get him! I get him! He come now!” Twiggy tore into the room with a clatter, his tiny claws scrabbling on the stone floor. He was going so fast that he could not find the purchase to stop and slid beneath the table and into a pile of dishes with a crash. Not even Niela paid him any mind. All eyes were on the corridor as the Goblin King swept into the room, his face unnervingly blank. He seemed to have dressed in a hurry, leaving him looking tousled and wild. His shirt hung unlaced, horned amulet resting over a large swathe of exposed chest, with tight grey breeches. Silence descended until Nel finally spoke.

“All right, everyone out of the room or back to work. We’ve enough to do without fools wasting the time gawking and spreading tales.” It was more than their lives were worth to argue with Nel, so reluctantly the group began to disperse. As they did, Aisling was finally able to catch a glimpse of what was beyond that cellar door. She could not hold back a gasp and Nel looked at her sharply.

It was the body of what must have once been a man, but no longer. It lay on the stairs, just short of the door, one arm outstretched and reaching. In its other hand a taper was clutched tight in clawed fingers. It was pale and grey, as if all color had been leeched from it. The hair was brittle, and the face was set in an expression of abject fear. Aisling shuddered and looked away, remembering the cold presence she had felt the day before. Could it be a coincidence? She caught the Kings eye but looked away quickly. There was a darkness in his gaze that gave her chills.

“This is inconvenient, Nel,” he said coldly, “I trust you fetched me for good reason.”. The brownie woman just sniffed and glared at him.

“Aye, and ain’t it just as inconvenient for me to have a dead man in my kitchen,” she snapped back. The king raised his eyebrows at that.

“A what?” he asked mildly, and Aisling realized that from where he stood the door blocked any view of the scene. Nel just nodded solemnly and pointed to the cellar door. Jareth scowled.

He strode over and threw the door open wide. He stood mutely staring at the body, lips pressed tight and eyes narrowed. He crouched and Aisling was momentarily distracted by the play of muscles in his thighs. She was grateful once again that no one could see her blush and then guilty for having such thoughts under the circumstances. A movement among all the servants scattering to their various jobs caught her attention, out of the corner of her eye. A dark garbed figure disappeared around the corner, and her skin broke out in goose bumps. Her face darkened, and she took a step to pursue when the king’s voice stopped her.

“Stop,” his voice was soft, but steely with command. She looked back and he was staring at her, his eyes dark, expression shrouded.

She frowned. “But, Your Majesty, the…” she did not get a chance to finish.

“You will not move,” he gritted out between clenched teeth. His voice was cold enough to make her shudder. For the first time she realized he might be angry at her, although she had no idea why. She opened her mouth to speak, but the look in his eyes stopped her. “You will obey me, wilding, and remain there until I say otherwise.” She could only nod and he looked away again, glancing at Nel. Her stomach felt like it was in a vise. Why was he so cold?

He quizzed Nel and Cowslip, who answered mostly with nods and headshakes. When did the kitchen shut down? Who was the last to go down there? Was there anyone seen coming out? Until finally he was satisfied and bade Nel to get the shaken pixie to a healer. He stood, and looked down at the body for a long time. Finally he made a swift gesture with his hand, and the body disappeared. Aisling wondered where it had gone to.

He turned to look at her, and she flinched at the cold heat in his eyes. His jaw was clenched and a muscle twitched in his cheek. He held out one hand to her in a gesture of invitation, and a doorway to his study opened in the kitchen wall. She looked at him for a long moment before hesitantly stepping through. He followed behind her.

Once in the study he strode past her without a word and stood at the window overlooking the Labyrinth. It was still dark out, dawn was hours away yet, but he stared as if he could see every stone and tree in clear daylight. He did not speak to her. Finally she could not stand it any longer.

“Jareth,” she whispered. The name dropped like a stone in the silence. He turned, looking at her, and his face was so empty. “What is going on? Why are you so angry at me?”

“Am I angry?” he asked lightly, but his voice cut. Her eyes darkened with hurt.

“Have I done something wrong?” she asked tentatively.

“Have you?” his lip curled in a sneer.

Now she was getting angry herself. “Stop that,” she growled, “If you’re going to accuse me of something, then do it. Don’t play games with me.”

“Was there something you perhaps forgot to tell me last night?” he asked softly.

“Last night?” she paused. She thought of the frightening presence she had felt when the candle went out, and the ashen horror on the cellar stairs, and her veins turned to ice. “The cellar!” she gasped. “I never thought…Oh Jareth, It seemed so silly at the time!”

“What exactly would that be? It certainly doesn’t appear ‘silly’ from where I’m standing.” he bit out. Of course! He was only guessing at a connection. He needed her to spell out the details.

“When the candle went out…well, at the time…it felt like someone, or something, was there in the dark with me. It was so cold.” Briefly she described the strange presence she’d felt, and the scream when the light appeared. “But, I never saw a thing, Jareth, I swear. I thought I was imagining things. It didn’t…it didn’t seem important. Oh God, that could have been me!” The thought sent a shudder through her body.

Jareth took a deep breath and stared at her for long moments. Abruptly he turned away, running both gloved hands through his pale hair, and turned back to look at her again. His eyes were searching.

“What are you thinking?” she asked warily, although she hardly expected an answer. She was pleasantly surprised to get one.

“I am trying to decide whether or not I believe you,” he growled. She flinched, and her heart broke just a little at the thought that he might not trust her.

She forced herself to take deep breaths, trying to calm down and keep the hurt from her voice. “I have never lied to you, Jareth.” His eyes narrowed but he said nothing. She thought about the situation, turning it over in her mind. “You can’t really believe I had anything to do with this…”

“I cannot rule out the possibility,” he replied coldly, cutting her off. She pressed her lips together.

“Yes, yes you can. Your Majesty…Jareth. I thought you knew me better than that by now.”

“You thought wrong,” he snarled, “I know very little about you. You are a complete mystery to me in every way.” He stalked away from the window, stopping in front of her. He towered over her, studying her with his mismatched eyes. “You had no part in this?”

“I have said I did not. I cannot make you trust me, Jareth.” She kept her voice as calm as she could.

“No, no, you do not need to. I can see you speak the truth,” he sighed, and she could almost see the anger bleed out of his eyes in a rush, leaving behind only a brooding weariness. He threw himself into one of the high-backed chairs. The fingers of his right hand held up his head at the temple, the black leather of his gloves stark against his pale skin and hair, and he stared at her.

“You sound disappointed,” she said dryly. He frowned.

“It would have made matters easier,” he muttered. He turned his head to look back out the window.

She looked at him aghast and then something clicked in her mind. “You never really thought I had anything to do with this,” she accused.

He looked back at her and smirked, “No, I suppose I didn’t.” He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and ignored her offended scowl. “But it really would have made matters easier.” He sighed again. ”You should have told me.”

“And you’re not really angry at me,” she added, heat in her voice.

“I assure you I am quite irritated that you did not mention this last night,” he said matter of factly.

“That may be. But I think you’re really mad at yourself. You think this is somehow your fault, that you could have stopped it if you’d only known.”

He only scowled, “You presume much.”

“I don’t think so,” she said, excited now that she had figured it out. “You take the safety of your subjects very seriously, don’t you?”

“I am the king,” he stated, sounding a bit offended. “The welfare of my Kingdom is my first responsibility.”

“Yes,” Aisling agreed. But I never really noticed before. she thought to herself in wonder. She crept closer, until she was standing beside the chair. “There’s no guarantee you could have prevented this, you know.” Her voice was soft and low.

“Will you lecture me now, my Aisling?” he drawled in a bored tone. She grimaced and shook her head. Arrogant bastard.

“Fine, never mind. If you’re done insulting me, I have chores to attend to. It’s a busy day, “ she paused, “unless you’ll tell me what’s going on? I have a feeling you know.” When he didn’t respond she shrugged, and turned for the door. She had just reached it, when he spoke.

“Tomorrow,” he glanced at her, “at your lessons, I will answer what questions I can.” He smirked, slipping into his familiar, arrogant role. “If that is acceptable of course,” he added mockingly.

“Thank you,” was all she said, before slipping out the door.

As soon as Aisling left, Jareth returned to brooding. He felt a twinge of remorse for being as hard on the wildling as he had been, but the simple fact was that she should have told him about her encounter last night! Perhaps it had been merely coincidence that she was the last person in that cellar. But it was no coincidence, he was sure, between this malignant creature and the recent shifts in the Labyrinth.

The first one he hadn’t even felt, it had been so subtle, but after finding cracks in the barrier, he had done some checking. The Labyrinth had shifted, just barely, but enough. He remembered the feelings of discontent from two weeks ago that had plagued him. He knew now it had just been an aftereffect of the shift.

And then last night. He had been woken from a sound sleep by the Labyrinth’s power surging ever so slightly. Something was disturbing the natural balance, and he couldn’t figure out what. Before he even had a chance to investigate, however, he was further disturbed by that annoying kitchen goblin, Twiggy, barging into his chambers and telling him that he had been sent by Nel to fetch him. His mood had gone from bad to worse when he saw the body.

There were creatures in the Labyrinth that he could not allow to roam free, trapped in their small corner of the kingdom behind walls of more than just stone. The first shift in the Labyrinth’s power had weakened those walls, and he had spent the better part of a week repairing them. Obviously he had not managed to find all the escaped nightmares, but that this creature made straight for the castle was disturbing. He would have to increase the palace guard to look for the intruder and protect his guests. He sincerely hoped this more recent surge had not done too much damage. He would patrol before the Masque to take a look. But first, the onerous task of telling Lord Braxton and his simpering daughter that they were one servant less after this night.

:O-O:

The day passed far too swiftly for Aisling’s taste, and the moment of reckoning arrived. The Masque was in full swing, the ballroom and terrace gardens filled to brimming with guests. The music trickled down through the stone walls into the kitchen and everyone was tapping their toes. Aisling was at the top of the servant’s stair, across from the ballroom doors, just listening, for now.

Aisling took a deep breath. Beneath the fear that had her stomach in knots was a burgeoning excitement. She wanted to do this as much as she didn’t. It was probably best that she didn’t have the choice to hide in her room until all the pretty fae went home. She fingered the acorn she had hidden in her pocket, looking for courage. It was time.

Carefully she took out the silver acorn. It gleamed in the dim light of the landing, beckoning to her. It was with a careful twist that she opened it and began to gently remove what was inside. It didn’t seem like the dress should fit into that tiny space, but somehow it did. It was as light as clouds, as soft as a whisper, and shimmered like moonbeams. She sighed at how beautiful the dress was.

Stripping out of her cloak and garments beneath, she stuffed the lot of them behind a rock in the wall, and then slipped the dress on over her pale skin. It seemed to sink into her, just as the cloak did each time she put it on. She could feel the tingle of magic at work, from her toes to her scalp, in a rush that brought a gasp. Finally it settled and she took stock. Looking down, she lifted the delicate skirts to see a pair of lovely silver silk slippers. She was relieved that at least there wasn’t some ridiculous heel on them. The fabric itself was lovely and soft to the touch. It felt so delicate she was afraid she might rip it just by running her fingers over it. She needed a mirror. She needed to see if she looked nearly as lovely as she felt.

The secret door creaked only barely a she peeked out to make sure no one was about. When she was sure the coast was clear she slipped out of the door and closed it softly behind her. She was in the main corridor, just outside the ballroom doors now. Her heart was beating like a frantic bird with excitement, all fear washed away.

Just down the hall she spotted a mirror and made her way quickly there. She walked in front of it and all she could do was stare. The sweetheart neckline was complemented by small cap sleeves that fell over her upper arms, leaving her shoulder and throat bare. The bodice was jeweled with a spattering of stones, and the skirt floated down from the empire waist as if it were lighter than air. Around her throat was a silver velvet choker with a small moon pendant, which matched the large moon half-mask. Her dark hair, looking even richer against the pale silver of the dress, was pulled up into a loose chignon, with small curls escaping just around her face. She reached one hand in a small silver glove out and touched the image reflected in the mirror. Could it really be her? She had never felt so lovely in her life.

“Here now, missy. You ain’t sposed to be out here,” the gruff voice barked from just down the hall. Sarah jumped, and whirled around to find Hoggle standing not 10 feet away, staring at her with a grumpy expression.

“I,” she swallowed past the exultant thrill in her heart at seeing him, “I am sorry. I didn’t mean to wander away.”

“Hmph,” he muttered, “Dangerous business to wander this castle. Go on. Back to the ball with ye, missy.” Sarah could only smile as he shooed her toward the ballroom doors.

“Thank you, Hoggle,” she said, smiling down at him. He appeared momentarily starstruck, which might explain why she had already closed the doors behind herself when it finally occurred to him to wonder how she knew his name.


Silver

Slowly, silently, now the moon
Walks the night in her silver shoon;
This way, and that, she peers, and sees
Silver fruit upon silver trees;
One by one the casements catch
Her beams beneath the silvery thatch;
Couched in his kennel, like a log,
With paws of silver sleeps the dog;
From their shadowy cote the white breasts peep
Of doves in silver feathered sleep
A harvest mouse goes scampering by,
With silver claws, and silver eye;
And moveless fish in the water gleam,
By silver reeds in a silver stream.

Walter de la Mare