Return to the Labyrinth

Well, I'm 3 months late on my deadline for Chapter 20, which should teach me to make promises in the first place. However, I'm very pleased with this chapter. It's part one of at least two. The poem for this chapter is called “The Mask” by William Butler Yeats. As usual, a big thank you to Ginny and Leia for their beta help.

Put off that Mask of Burning Gold

“I have decided to attend the Yule Ball,” the Goblin King intoned.

He pronounced it as if he were speaking to an entire gathered court of nobles, although there were, in fact, only two others present in the small study. Izzy sat at the small oak table, much marred by age and wear, transcribing from loose papers into a bound leather notebook. She paused momentarily to look up at the King’s pronouncement, her quill hovering just over the stained ink well.

Jareth was perched in the study window, his favorite place for reflection. Beyond him the Labyrinth glittered in the late morning sun, parts of it almost too bright to look at directly as the light reflected off the snow. Aisling sat on the floor, staring at her empty hand. Her face was twisted with intense concentration. She had been trying to manifest a bird, with no success, and didn’t so much mind the King’s interruption as welcome it. She blinked up at him, one brow arched, but didn’t speak. The crackling of the fire was the only sound in the small room. She had discovered that patient silence was often the most effective method for dealing with Jareth. It had been proven time and again in the weeks since their little confrontation in the garden.

Aisling’s life had fallen back into a comfortable routine since the aftermath of the masque; a daily rhythm of kitchen work and lessons. She might have been content, even happy, in her new existence, except for the knowledge that it wouldn’t last forever. She tried to savor every moment, knowing that it would end once she fulfilled her bargain with Amaranth and she might have nothing left to show but her memories.

A month earlier, Winter had swept over the labyrinth in a fury of wind and magic. The storm had lasted for three days, depositing not only snow, but copious amounts of glitterdust, as the temperature steadily plummeted. Aisling spent hours each day sweeping out the stubborn stuff where it lingered in various corners of the castle kitchens, as well as digging paths through the snow to the woodpile in the courtyard. Throughout the castle, little used fireplaces were dusted out and lit, and servants aired out hefty feather quilts for the beds. Nel’s kitchen began supplying a constant stream of hot, hearty porridges and stews, as well as hot cocoa.

The morning after the blizzard finally subsided, the whole of the Goblin Kingdom was transformed. To Aisling’s wondering eyes it looked like a frosted confection, sparkling beneath the Underground sun. The air was crisp and refreshing, despite the cold. The snow was half a foot at its shallowest, with drifts reaching halfway up the Labyrinth walls in most places. Mobs of children ran throughout the Goblin City, laughing and shouting in pure joy, demonstrating how well suited the white stuff was for packing snowballs. They even ventured in as far as the kitchen courtyard, until Nel finally chased them off. Not before giving them all a taste of hot chocolate first, of course. Aisling had a feeling it was probably a tradition.

By virtue of necessity, due to the weather, Aisling’s magic lessons were moved into the castle. The room varied depending on how much potential damage Jareth judged the lesson was likely to cause. Today he had chosen the study.

“I have decided to attend the Yule Ball,” Jareth repeated, when no response was immediately forthcoming from his audience.

He sat on the window ledge, leaning back against the frame with one knee drawn up in front of him, and looked down his nose at his furry quasi-apprentice. His brows dipped down as the silence lengthened. “Well?”

“Well, what, Your Majesty?” Aisling asked politely.

“Have you nothing to say?” he asked impatiently.

She seemed to think about it for a moment. “Me? Why, no, I don’t believe so. Are you asking me?” she said with deliberate care.

“Who else would I be asking?” he asked dangerously. Izzy was frozen in her seat, not even daring to breathe.

“Well, that is the question, I suppose. Who would you be asking?” she frowned as if thinking over a puzzle. “I do apologize, Majesty. Since you already know my thoughts on the matter, I did not think you actually wanted an answer from me. As I mentioned yesterday, and the week before, it only seems right that you should go.” She paused delicately. “Of course, I should have known you were addressing me, I suppose, since Izzy cannot speak to offer her opinion.” As you well know, she finished silently, tamping down a flicker of anger at the thought. Jareth stared at her in open mouthed astonishment for a heartbeat before glancing over at Izzy. His jaw shut with a snap.

For her part, the poor girl was studiously focused on copying the notes beside her, doing an admirable impression of being deaf as well as mute. The small, amused smile she was struggling so hard to suppress probably put a lie to her act, however. It was Izzy's opinion, if one wished to consider it, that the creature Aisling was quite mad the way she baited the Goblin King. She didn't know why he kept her around, but was glad he did. The wildling was in his company with greater frequency of late, and everyone remarked on how much more tolerable he had become. She supposed it was best to just enjoy this mellower Goblin King. And she liked Aisling. Izzy just hoped her friend's mouth didn't get her into more trouble than she could handle.

Aisling lowered her arm and curled her hand a few times to ease the stiffness brought on by holding it in one position for so long. She wondered if perhaps Jareth had forgotten the other woman was there. It would serve him right. After all, it was he who had ensured that Izzy was so very easy to overlook. Aisling reminded herself that what he had done to Izzy had been a very, very long time ago, and he might have even had good reason for it. Her anger, for the moment defeated, slunk away.

A wry smile curled the corners of Jareth's lips when he glanced back at her. “Quite the prettily put ‘I told you so.’ I can see my ego is safe in your capable hands, little dream.” There was genuine amusement beneath the dry sarcasm in his voice.

Aisling merely grinned back at him, inclining her head in acknowledgement. “What made you change your mind? About King Aillil’s invitation, that is,” she asked.

He shrugged. “Am I not allowed to do so?” he responded lightly. Aisling simply sighed at this familiar tactic, but deep down she had an inkling as to why, and it wasn’t due to a sudden fondness for socializing.

The Mountain King’s Yule Ball was apparently a highly anticipated event outside the Labyrinth. At least, that was the impression she received from overhearing the kitchen staff gossiping. Jareth usually declined to attend. This year, however, it was to be an event even more spectacular than usual since it would be embellished by the addition of a slightly rushed royal wedding. For reasons of her own, Aisling had encouraged him to go.

“After all, you did facilitate the two of them getting together,” she had argued when the invitation first arrived. “Not to mention the fact that it is sort of your fault that it must happen so quickly.”

“I am not a babysitter,” he muttered defensively, frowning. She shook her head.

“You gave them adjoining bedrooms, Jareth,” she commented dryly.

His pointed teeth gleamed briefly in a quick grin. “It is no fault of mine if they chose to give in to temptation,” he purred. He sounded nothing but pleased with himself, as he turned away. Aisling recognized a dismissal when she heard one. He would not be swayed that day. She resolved to try a different tack, which opportunity presented itself to her several days later.

“Do you think your mystery lady will be at the ball?” she had asked casually. True to his word, Jareth had begun to confide certain matters to her, and The Lady Moon had been one of many topics of conversation between them. She knew the ease with which she vanished was a sore point for him. It filled Aisling with no small amount of pride at his bafflement. It wasn’t just anyone who could fool the Goblin King.

“How should I know?” he replied, but she could see the idea had taken hold. His curiosity was peaked. She had little doubt that it was this more than anything that had prompted his decision to go. She very much doubted he would ever admit such, however.

“Roarke will be pleased to hear it,” she said now, focusing back on the present conversation. “He admires you a great deal.”

“Roarke is not known for his good sense,” the King said dryly. He conjured a crystal and began to play it idly between his hands.

“Are you saying he lacks good judgement?” Aisling teased. “Does that include Cassandra?”

“She may be the notable exception,” he replied, nodding sagely and trying to keep a straight face, but his eyes sparkled.

Aisling smiled, then cocked her head thoughtfully. “The masque is on the Winter Solstice, isn’t it? That’s only a week away. When will you leave?”

“We,” he said, emphasizing the word, “will leave the day after tomorrow. Roarke has already gone ahead to bring word of my answer to Aillil. We will be escorting the Lady Cassandra back with us.” He began to weave and toss the crystal from hand to hand.

“We,” breathed Aisling, eyes wide. “Am I to go with you?” Jareth nodded. He did not see the sigh of relief as she realized she would not have to convince him to allow her to accompany him.

“It will be an opportunity to see if your magic is as effective outside the Labyrinth,” he said, by way of explanation. “Speaking of which,” the crystal paused, suspended between two fingers as he looked over at her. “I do not see a bird,” he chided, one brow raised.

Aisling frowned, but did not reply. When he looked away she stuck her tongue out briefly, then she lifted her hand back up and began concentrating again. A half an hour later she made a small sound of triumph and held her hand out to Jareth for his inspection. Perched lightly in her palm was a small bird, although it looked more like a ball of blue fluff with legs and a beak. It cocked its head to the side and looked at her with one bright, beady eye and chirruped. When she glanced up at Jareth he was frowning so hard that a crease had formed in his forehead.

“Is there something …wrong?” she asked hesitantly. “It’s a bird, just like you wanted.”

“It is a bird, indeed,” he said smoothly, “but perhaps not precisely what I had in mind.”

“What’s wrong with it?” she asked defensively. The bird turned to look at him and whistled, as if to emphasize the point.

“Nothing is wrong, precisely,” he muttered with a grimace. “It’s just that,” he paused, considering, “must you make them all so bloody cute?” He sounded so exasperated that Aisling had to struggle to keep from laughing.

“What’s wrong with cute?” she asked lightly. She looked back at the tiny avian and had to acknowledge, silently, that it did look a bit...Disney.

“What isn’t?” he growled. “This is the Goblin Kingdom, not the domain of prancing elves and ponies. I’m beginning to wonder about you, wilding.”

Aisling swallowed her imminent giggles, and tried to look affronted. “Well, let me see what I can do about that,” she intoned seriously. Looking back at her creation she scrunched her face up in concentration. After a few minutes the creature in her hand began to change. It grew, until the body shape resembled a large crow. The bird spread out its wings and shook its head and body quickly, ruffling the feathers out until the cheerful blue was replaced with a color closer to fresh blood, shading to black. With each head shake it changed a little bit more. On the first shake its sleek feathers grew slightly more rough and ragged. Then its beak elongated to a lethal point, with serrated edges. Finally its sparkling black eyes seemed to gleam with malevolence.

For good measure, and in part just to annoy Jareth, Aisling added a jaunty little patch over one of the raven’s eyes. It seemed to glare up at the Goblin King as it let out a loud caw. Aisling admitted to a little pride at the sight of the threatening bird.

“Better?” she asked politely.

“Much,” the Goblin King managed to respond after a great deal of throat clearing. “I must admit, your control continues to improve exponentially. The patch is inspired.”

“Thank you,” Aisling murmured with a nod and a pleased smile. The bird squawked, and jumped up onto her shoulder. It eyed the Goblin King menacingly.

“Yes, well. Well done, for today. You had better get back to your chores,” he sighed. Aisling accepted his dismissal with a nod and waved to Izzy as she left. The girl smiled back.

Aisling hoped she would have an opportunity to speak to Roarke once they reached the Dwarf Kingdom. She hadn't been able to corner him once since learning Izzy's story, and it was driving her mad. After weeks of her efforts to lift the curse being thwarted at every turn, she finally had to admit that perhaps it just wasn't time yet for that to happen. Yet surely she would know, once the time was right, wouldn't she? How much longer would the cosmos make Izzy wait?

The blood red crow gave a warning mutter as Aisling rounded the corner and she paused. A strange mewling sound could be heard from down the hall. She could see a door standing ajar. She crept close and looked into what appeared to be a small sitting room. On the floor she could see two figures locked in an embrace. The man was crouched, like some sort of spider, over a supine Leila, her skirts bunched up around her waist. Aisling could see the sinuous movement of his hips, and small sounds were coming in time from Leila's lips. Every instinct screamed at her to get out of the room—that something was very wrong here—but she couldn't make herself move. Leila had a look of bliss on her face, but she barely moved, her arms limp and eyes glassy. Her hollow eyes stared at nothing, and her cheeks were pale and sunken.

Just then, the man looked up and soulless eyes as black as pitch met hers. Her breath caught as she realized she could see no other features. Yet even as she watched, the shadows shifted and formed into a human face, one she recognized, although she wasn't sure from where. The raven on her shoulder gave a sudden, blood curdling screech, and the not-man was suddenly gone, out the window. The shutters swung in the winter wind. The bird went to follow, but Aisling stopped it with a gesture. She very much did not want any part of that thing near any part of herself. She rushed to Leila's side instead.

“Leila, are you alright?” she asked, pulling down the woman's skirts. She could see awareness flooding back into her eyes. She blinked up at Aisling and a flash of rage twisted her features.

“Go away,” she spat, “Don't touch me you filthy animal!” she slapped weakly at Aisling's hands.

Aisling sat back on her heels, shocked in spite of herself. “Leila,” she licked her lips, “You look—ill. Was that—thing hurting you? Does Jareth know...”

“What do you know? You don't know anything. Jareth doesn't care what I do.”

“Leila, I'm sure that's not...”

“Just shut up. You're just some stupid beast. Mind your own business.”

Aisling's lips compressed as she bit back a harsh retort. “Fine,” she said low, standing up. She went to the window, but saw no sign of the man. Carefully she pulled the shutters closed and latched them. She looked back to see Leila standing shakily. She had no proof that the girl was in danger, only her instinctual dread at the very sight of that creature. She probably couldn't convince the selfish chit even if she did. “On your head be it,” she said. She walked out of the room, and the red raven followed behind.

:0_0:

As it turned out, she didn’t get the chance to worry overmuch about Leila. The next day was a whirl of activity as they all prepared for the upcoming trip and the incident was forgotten in the press of sorting and packing. On the morning of their planned departure, the travelers gathered in the stableyard, dancing with a combination of excitement and cold.

The Goblin King looked magnificent as usual, riding high on a hulking winter white stallion that pawed the ground, chafing at its forced stillness. His rich, red velvet cloak was nicely offset by the pure white flanks of the horse. It danced impatiently in the snow, and he reigned it in with a shift of his knees. The King, feeling similarly disposed, glowered at the small circus playing out before him. The two sleighs, and single baggage sled, were lined up and ready. It was the travelers themselves who were delaying the proceedings. Well, one traveler at least. The Lady Cassandra, apparently, was still being powdered and prettied, despite the King's clear instruction that she be ready to leave at first light. Even Leila, looking tired but eager, was sitting quietly in the second sleigh back, wrapped in furs and felts. She would be sharing the sleigh with the Lady Cassandra and her handmaidens.

Nel sat in the first sleigh, along with two pixie kitchen hands, and Izzy, also wrapped in warm cloaks, with blankets over their laps. Roarke had specifically requested that Nel make the wedding cake and, after much grumbling about the short notice, the brownie had agreed to do so. Hoggle sat in the driver's seat, surly as always, and two other dwarves on loan from King Ailil, whose names escaped Jareth, were driving the other sleigh and baggage sled. Steam rose from the horses' muzzles in the cold morning air. Silver bells attached to the harnesses, a simple precaution for repelling wyldfae, jingled every time a horse shuddered or stamped.

A few minutes more of waiting, by which time Jareth was ready to go up and fetch the Lady himself, and Aisling came hurrying out into the stableyard. She had declined his earlier offer of a cloak, and it certainly appeared that she was handling the cold with little trouble. She caught his eye and nodded before clambering up into the first sleigh to sit beside Izzy. She settled a small bag beside her, and Jareth found himself wondering what a creature who didn't wear clothes could possibly need to bring on such a trip.

Moments later and the giggling gaggle of four women, made up of Cassandra and her ladies, came out into the yard. It didn't take long to get them settled and with a relieved sigh Jareth nudged his mount forward. He drew up alongside the Lady Cassandra's sleigh and nodded his head. “Are you ready now, Lady?” he asked, striving for politeness. She nodded, but would not meet his eyes. He gritted his teeth in an effort to keep himself from doing or saying anything to really frighten her. Considering how very strong the urge was, he thought his restraint was quite admirable.

As he was passing the first sleigh he caught Aisling watching him and trying to conceal a smile. He leaned over and quirked a brow. “Something amuses you?” he purred. She shook her head.

“I did have a question though, sire,” she said quickly, before he could move away. He looked back at her. “I thought the Dwarf Kingdom was three days ride,” she said. “How in the world are we going to get there by this evening?” He smirked.

“I often have to remind myself that, despite appearances, there is still a great deal that you do not know,” he drawled. She just sighed at him and he conceded with a small nod of his head. “I can open a way that will bring us to the border of that kingdom, but no further. From there we must travel in a more...traditional manner.” He nodded to the three horse drawn vehicles.

“Open a way...” she mused. “Is that like what you did when you traveled above? Like opening a door? Why only to the border; why not inside?” She bit her tongue to stop the stream of questions building up behind her teeth. Jareth didn’t respond well to badgering.

“Always so many questions, but now really isn't the time for lessons,” he said impatiently. When he saw the crestfallen look on her face he moderated his tone. “It is similar, but less complicated,” he held up one gloved hand, “and before you ask, I will try to explain better after we return home. We go to the border only because the Dwarf Kingdom is not my realm, and my magic cannot reach there without permission, or greater effort than I wish to exert.” When she opened her mouth again, no doubt to ask another question, he shook his head sharply. “Your curiosity will have to remain satisfied for now, little one.” He did not give her time argue, but wheeled the charger around and cantered to the head of the group.

Drawing on the power of the Labyrinth, he stretched out both arms and concentrated. A hush fell over those gathered, as if the whole courtyard held its breath in awe of the magic. An opening appeared in the air and expanded as he widened his hands, until it was large enough to allow the vehicles' passage, single-file. Beyond the door could be seen a towering, craggy range of mountains that marched off into the distance. He nodded and beckoned, and then rode through. He heard the jingle of the sleighs as each one followed.

Aisling was as delighted as a child on vacation as they journeyed toward the black peaks of the Dwarf realm. Almost as delighted as she had been when she discovered that Hoggle would be driving the sleigh she was riding in. To her imagination-rich mind, it seemed like fate. It was the perfect opportunity to finally strike up a conversation with him as Aisling. She turned around in her seat to face the dwarf's back.

“Hello,” Aisling said, smiling. Hoggle glanced back at her and frowned.

“Oh, its you,” he growled, before turning his back again. Aisling wasn’t about to give up.

“I’m Aisling,” she said, by way of introduction.

“I knows who you is,” he muttered.

“Ah,” she nodded. “And you must be Hoggle.” He merely grunted, neither affirming, nor denying. He studiously tried to ignore her. “I’ve heard a great deal about you,” she persisted.

He glanced at her, looking momentarily interested, before shaking his head. “That ain’t likely.”

“I have,” she said defensively.

“Oh, yeah?” he shot back, “From who?”

“Well,” she said, “Reggie mostly.” Hoggle gave a long suffering sigh.

“Reggie says a lot of things he shouldn’t,” Hoggle muttered darkly.

“He says he’s your friend,” she prodded lightly.

“Well he ain’t. Ain’t nobody Hoggle’s friend. Hoggle is Hoggle’s friend.” There was an underlying bitterness to the familiar statement that tugged at Aisling’s heart. Did Hoggle think that Sarah had abandoned and forgotten him all those many years ago? She wanted nothing more at that moment than to wrap her arms around him and show him how wrong he was.

She let the silence draw out, waiting for the tightness behind her eyes to relax before speaking again. “So are you excited to be going home for a visit?” she asked casually. Hoggle flinched as if struck.

“Wh-what d’ya mean?” he asked gruffly.

“Well, you’re a dwarf...” she commented, pausing to let him confirm or deny this statement.

“Aye,” he admitted, somewhat cautiously.

“Well, didn’t you come from the Dwarf Kingdom? You must be looking forward to seeing it again. Do you have family there?”

“It’s complicated,” he grumbled, “’sides, it ain’t no business o’ yours, so leave off.” Aisling opened her mouth to pursue the matter but felt a tug on her arm. She looked back to see Izzy pulling her back into her seat. The girl shook her head emphatically and Aisling understood that it must be a painful topic for the dwarf. She nodded, sat back and sighed.

Idly she touched the sack at her side that contained the wooden box and its valuable contents. With nothing to distract her from worries over the coming ball, it was going to be a very long journey indeed.

:0_0:

The dress was gold, as shimmering as the sun and with a mask to match. Sarah's breath had caught at the first sight of her own reflection. The bodice was topped by gathered, off-the-shoulder satin held to a point by a glittering, sun shaped brooch, centered to reveal just a hint of cleavage. The skirt belled out wide in yards of gold satin, covered in drapes and gathers, underneath which she discovered masses of petticoats. Her satin toed slipper barely peeked out from beneath the ruffles at the hem. The skirt seemed to swing elegantly as she moved, and even if it was not the most practical garment in the world she was utterly enchanted.

The sun mask that covered the upper half of her face extended in a half circle of wavy rays, like a halo, around her head. Or a crown, she thought. She looked at her hands, and the golden gloves that covered them, then reached back and touched the back of her head. Her dark hair had grown, she thought. It was far longer now than it had been when she arrived. Had she really been here six months already? Now, even pulled up in a half-twist, the wavy locks reached down past her shoulder blades.

She took a deep, calming breath and stepped out of the powder room that she had dashed into in a panic a few minutes earlier. So many reasons to be nervous—So many things that could go wrong. It had overwhelmed her. She couldn't linger though. It had been difficult, slipping away from the rest of the servants, especially given the circumstances. The castle's head chef and most of his staff had apparently sampled a bit too much of the goblin ale that had been brought for the feast. They still weren't awake from their stupor, and Nel had had to take over the feast preparations. She had conscripted every able body she could, including Aisling and Izzy, to help. Sarah didn't know how long she had before Nel noticed she was missing. Not long enough probably, but what was she to do?

And then there was the problem of Jareth. If getting to the ball was difficult, she had a feeling leaving would be even harder.

Sarah peeked both ways down the hall and saw no one. The Mountain King's palace was enormous, jutting out from the side of a mountain. More than half of the palace, however, was a warren of interconnected rooms and corridors that penetrated deep into the heart of the mountain itself. And most of the servants that weren't attending the guests at the party were down in the kitchens, being worked into exhaustion by a manic brownie. She didn't think she had to worry about being seen, but it was good to be cautious. Taking a deep breath, she slipped through one of the side doors of the ballroom.

:0_0:


...A familiar dwarfish face watched the woman from the far end of the hall. Hoggle didn't know why he had concealed himself behind the large potted plant when the woman emerged from the powder room. Perhaps it was her furtive movements, her cautious glances up and down the hall. He couldn't be sure, but he thought it might be the same woman he had seen before.

Only after she had slipped out of sight did the dwarf wander over to where she had been standing. On the ground was a small, sparkling object. Reaching down to pick it up he realized it was some sort of charm, for a necklace or bracelet, in the shape of a sun. It must have fallen from her gown. It was gold and he admired it for a moment before slipping it into his belt pouch to join the rest of his collection. As he wandered on down the hall, he wondered if he should alert Jareth that the mystery woman was there, but immediately dismissed the idea. He would just as soon stay as far away from Jareth as possible, no matter the circumstances, thank you very much...
:0_0:

The ballroom wasn't just cavernous, it was an actual cavern. Jareth had always felt quite comfortable in the palatial hall, and perhaps a bit envious of how well crafted the space was. The walls of smooth worked stone were liberally studded with candelabras, glowing with brilliant, flameless faerie lights. The number of guests easily tripled those that had been at his own soirée, which only managed to emphasize the room's size, not diminish it. It could have easily held a small army without difficulty. Not that he would ever admit to being impressed, of course. It wouldn't do.

Jareth had foregone a mask for the Yule Ball. After all, as one of the official witnesses to the marriage that morning, he was encouraged to make his presence known. Most guests had brought small hand-held masks with them, but they were more for show than concealment, a concession to tradition. Weddings were few and far between among the fae nobles, let alone among the royals, and anyone who was anyone wanted to be seen, and known they were seen, at the event of the century.

For that reason alone he had no patience for the type of ridiculous scene Leila had just finished performing. Her selfish, socially unacceptable behavior had reached its limit, he thought. Everyone in that room knew she was the Goblin King's leman, even if they did not discuss it aloud. Her deliberately provocative behavior with the Baron Greyhill's eldest son was an insult Jareth was not willing to tolerate, and he had promptly dismissed her back to her rooms. He watched with twisted lips and smoldering eyes as she left the ballroom at the crest of a wave of vicious whispers.

“I trust I don't need to say I told you so?” a voice said from beside him. Jareth glanced over at the groom, resplendent in white and gold, the gold circlet of a Prince of the Realm gleaming among his black curls. Jareth wore the black and gold that was traditional for a member of a royal wedding party.

“Be careful, boy,” Jareth said with a sharp smile, “Or I shall rethink my wedding gift.”

“Rethink it?” Roarke snorted, “You haven't even explained what it IS yet. To be honest Jareth, it's one of the most hideous pieces of jewelry I've ever seen.” Jareth arched one brow and the prince grinned. His voice was dry as he continued, “Cassandra nearly fainted when she saw it twitch.”

Jareth's eyes gleamed with humor, but he tipped his head in acknowledgment. “I wouldn't expect you to recognize it,” he commented, his tone becoming suddenly serious, “It is called an Ambire Medallion, one of few.” When Roarke continued to look at him without comprehension, Jareth shrugged. “It bestows the Freedom of the Labyrinth on the wearer,” he explained. The prince's eyes widened in sudden understanding.

“Your Highness,” he said, awed, “That is...”

“Do not be too impressed, my lord,” Jareth said, “It has its limitations. It will not protect you from dangers within the Labyrinth. It will merely ease your passage through by showing you the shortest route.”

“Even so, Jareth,” Roarke said, “It is a kingly gift, and one I do not deserve.”

“On that we agree,” Jareth said solemnly, and the prince was surprised into laughter.

:0_0:

...The tears did not start until Leila had made it out of the ballroom, thankfully. Once they began she could not stem the tide. She ran, sobbing, down the hall. She didn't see the dwarf in her path until she, quite literally, stumbled over him. They both went down amid startled curses, entangled in her heavy green skirts. Desperate only to escape her humiliation, Leila struggled to her feet. When the bracelet on her wrist caught on something she did not stop to think, but yanked with strength born of desperation. Free once again she fled up the stairs.

Hoggle, in turn, watched in dismay as his precious pouch of trinkets flew through the air. When it landed, the various bits and bobs of his collection scattered over the floor of the hall, bouncing and tumbling every which way. Whimpering, he didn't even spare a thought for the girl who had just passed, but scrambled to gather his treasures up again...

:0_0:

Sarah felt small and lost among the glittering crowd of the ballroom. There were so many of them. How was she ever to find the prince in such a crush? She picked her way along the wall, scanning the crowd. With a jarring suddenness she walked right into a solid wall of muscle. Two large hands reached out to steady her.

“What's this now?” a deep voice rumbled. King Aillil peered down at her with a ridiculous grin on his face. He squinted, bringing his face close to hers in consideration. “I recognize those jeweled eyes,” he boomed, “Tis the wee, lovely lass who was in such a rush last time.” His words were slurred only slightly, but his normally light brogue had deepened into near unintelligibility. Any astute observer could tell he had been celebrating a little too much.

“Your Majesty,” she said in surprise. She took a step back as he swayed toward her slightly. “Congratulations, sir, on your son's marriage,” she continued, trying to get her composure back again.

“Yes, yes, a wonderful day. A beautiful bride, almost as beautiful as you, my dear.” He continued to grin foolishly, even as he brought the back of one of her hands to his lips for a gallant kiss. “I am so glad you could come, my dear. So pleased to have you here. You're not alone are you? That won't do at all, not at a celebration such as this. Such a lovely girl, I'm sure I can find you a partner.”

Sarah blushed and tried to gently extract her hand from his giant grip. He didn't seem to notice her efforts. “That's quite all right, your highness,” she said quickly, “I'm fine.”

“Nonsense,” he insisted, “a delicate, golden flower like yourself must be surrounded by attentive suitors. I will introduce you to some fine young men you would do well to be courted by.”

“Uh, My Lord, please, it's not necessary...” she stuttered, but she could not resist his strength as he pulled her along.

Across the room, Roarke groaned silently as he saw his father accost another unfortunate maiden. The man had been overcome with a particularly aggressive desire for matchmaking ever since the engagement had been announced and the copious amounts of alcohol had only encouraged him. Half of Roarke's evening had been spent trying to distract him from his self-appointed mission.

“Excuse me, Jareth,” Roarke said, “I need to save another poor girl from my father.”

“Better you than me,” the Goblin King replied wryly.

Roarke threaded his way through the crowd, smiling and nodding as guests gave their congratulations. It only took him a few minutes to navigate the room, but as he approached he could tell the poor girl was getting desperate. Smiling broadly, the prince stepped into his father's path. “Your Majesty,” he said lightly, “you seem to have absconded with my next dance partner.” He winked at the woman, whose expression was vastly relieved at his rescue.

“What's that?” the King muttered, coming to a halt. “Bah, you've a wife now, son. Dance with her.”

“Now, now, Father,” Roarke chided, “The lady promised me a dance, and I won't allow you to assist in her escape.”

The King frowned hard, his brow furrowing as he tried to follow the logic of his son's statement. Roarke saw that the lady took the opportunity his distraction presented to slip her arm gently from out of his father's grip. By the time the King's gaze blinked back into focus, his son had disappeared onto the dance floor with the Golden Maiden.

Roarke grimaced as he danced Sarah across the floor and they watched the Mountain King looking around in confusion. He looked down at her and smiled. “I am sorry about that, My Lady,” he said with a rogue's smile. “He has a tendency to get over-enthusiastic at times.”

“I'm sure he means well, Your Highness,” Sarah demurred politely.

“Oh, he certainly does that. It doesn't make it any more comfortable to be on the receiving end however,” he laughed.

“I will grant you that point, My Lord,” she replied. An easy silence settled between them, and Sarah let it, as she tried to think of the best way to bring up the topic foremost on her mind. Finally she decided that perhaps the best choice would be approach it head on.

“Your Majesty,” she said hesitantly, “I wonder if you would allow me to tell you a story.”

“Oh?” he asked, brows raised in question, his eyes twinkling. “I don't think I've had a story told to me since I was a child.”

“Well, to be perfectly honest, I wouldn't classify it as a children's bedtime story,” she cautioned soberly. Her own attitude seemed to peak his interest.

“Perhaps you would like to speak somewhere more private, My Lady?” he offered quietly, nodding toward the French doors that led out onto the extensive network of balconies outside the ballroom. Sarah could only nod, relieved that he seemed so amenable to listening to her.

Once they stepped out of the crowded room into the cool, fresh mountain air Sarah felt the tension start to ease. She took a deep, cleansing breath and looked out at one of the most awe-inspiring views she had ever seen. The Mountain Palace, high up the mountainside, overlooked a vista of craggy peaks on either side of a snow shrouded valley. The air was so clear at this altitude that the stars were crisper and brighter than she had ever seen them.

“My Lady,” Roarke's voice brought her attention back to the task at hand. “You had something you wanted to tell me?”

“Yes, Your Highness,” she said, turning to face him. She clasped her hands in front of her. “I wanted to tell you a story about a girl I knew...know.” She corrected herself, grimacing slightly.

“I'm all ears,” he replied, leaning back against the balcony, his arms crossed.

“Once upon a time,” she began, smiling at her own choice of words, “There was a young girl, a princess, who's task it was to care for her baby brother. She loved her brother, but there were times when he tried her patience, for she was barely more than child herself. They lived in perilous times, though, and she took her charge very seriously. Her father, the King, knowing there were enemies ready to attack at any instant, had told her of a secret pact he had made with the King of the Daoine Sidhe.” She glanced at the prince as he twitched at the familiar title once used by the Goblin King. His forehead furrowed as she continued.

“It was a pact meant to save his son, the heir to his throne, should the need become dire. I do not need to tell you that the need did indeed become dire, My Lord. The Kingdom's enemies overran her borders, and the King was slain in battle. The princess knew her duty, but even without that, she loved her brother beyond any reason, and would do anything to protect him. And so she said the words. The words to invoke the promise and protection of the Daoine Sidhe. 'I wish...I wish...'”

Her voice broke and she had to take a deep breath to steady herself, her eyes squeezed shut. She felt a warm hand take her own in a strong grip. When she opened her eyes it was to see Roarke standing over her, his gaze steady and serious, his face a handsbreadth from her own. There was a burgeoning recognition in his eyes, that what she was telling him was important, but he didn't understand, not yet. “Tell me the rest,” he ordered softly. She nodded.

“The Daoine Sidhe came for the child, but only the boy. That was the agreement. She begged to stay with her brother, and he offered her the same deal he offers all runners. If she solved the Labyrinth she could take her brother home.” Sarah looked up at him, willing him to understand what she was saying. He held both her hands in a tight grip now, but neither of them noticed. “But they had no home to go to. The Kingdom was ground to dust beneath the boots of their enemies. She refused the Daoine Sidhe's offer and begged once more to be able to stay with the brother she loved. Finally he agreed, on one condition.” Roarke nodded, urging her to continue. She closed her eyes as she began reciting from memory, and the prince had to lean in close to hear her whisper-soft voice.

“Let it be so. Isolde, daughter of Aiden, Son of Nuada, you shall remain to watch over the son of your father and see my bargain with him abided by in full measure. You shall be as the rain; seen, but never known; felt but never touched. Your voice shall be as the wind dying, for none shall hear it. You shall exist as nothing but a shadow of a memory of a dream. Forever shall you be chained to his fate, unable to tell, until your brother knows you as his sister. Only once this is revealed will you regain your voice, and your life.”

She stopped speaking, and silence descended, broken only by the sound of their soft breaths. There was a strange fear in his eyes almost as if he were seeing something he did not wish to, but there was knowledge too. “Izzy?” he whispered, searching her eyes for the confirmation. All she could do was nod, her voice momentarily frozen even as she felt a great weight lift from her shoulders. “Who are you?” he whispered. She did not get a chance to answer.

“Well, well, well, what have we here,” a familiar, biting voice snarled, “Isn't this a touching scene?”

The shock of the interruption drove them apart as they turned to face the Goblin King. His face could have been carved from stone, so cold was his expression, but his eyes flickered with fury. Behind him Sarah managed to catch only a glimpse of Cassandra's stricken face before the newlywed bride fled back into the ball. Roarke didn't even hesitate. He cursed beneath his breath and ran after his wife, with only one worried look back as he left. Belatedly Sarah realized how compromising the scene must have looked to Jareth and Cassandra, and she couldn't blame them.

Sarah couldn't speak, but she didn't really need to. Jareth stalked across the balcony like some sort of sleek, feline predator, to stand over her, but made no move to touch her. His gaze flicked over her from head to toe with unconcealed contempt. “I think, Lady Enigma, that you and I have some things to...discuss,” he said coldly.

The Mask

PUT off that mask of burning gold
With emerald eyes.'
'O no, my dear, you make so bold
To find if hearts be wild and wise,
And yet not cold.'
'I would but find what's there to find,
Love or deceit.'
'It was the mask engaged your mind,
And after set your heart to beat,
Not what's behind.'
'But lest you are my enemy,
I must enquire.'
'O no, my dear, let all that be;
What matter, so there is but fire
In you, in me?'

William Butler Yeats