Return to the Labyrinth

Ask and you shall receive my dear readers. Only 3 1/2 months to update this time. I think that's an improvement don't you? I hope you haven't given up on my story, my lovely readers. The title for this chapter is based on a poem by Sara Teasedale. I don't think it has a title, but I have it at the end of the chapter as usual. I hope you enjoy reading this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it.

I Am Not Yours


Hiding among the branches of a potted palm, a tiny blue bird ruffled its feathers contentedly and watched the goings on. It couldn't remember precisely what it was supposed to be watching for, but that didn't matter. Hadn't She told it to stay and keep watch? Why even now there was an interesting to do in the hall. The little bird poked it's beak out of the leaves just in time to see a great many sparkling objects spill onto the carpet, just as the Poisoned Girl ran off. The small wrinkled creature that was part of Mistress's dreams was grabbing them all up again. The little twinkles were everywhere, and the fluffy bird's eye was caught by one that shone brighter than all the others. It shone gold, like Mistress had when She made the little bird and left it to stand guard.

Pleased with its discovery, the little bird forgot its assignment and fluttered down to the floor to examine the sparkly. No sooner had it reached it when the doors opened and three brightly dressed Undreamers bustled out of the same door Mistress had left through. They were talking and giggling in high pitched voices, and they startled the little dream bird into flight.

“…common, ugly creature she is. I really don’t know why Jareth tolerates her,” said one, her voice dripping venom. She tossed her dark curls with a vicious laugh.

“She is vulgar, is she not?” agreed a second. “Did you know the lady Marlee once waited on her? No wonder she won’t show her face in decent society! It is a mortifying thought!” She shuddered delicately.

“Really?” the third asked in a tone of horror. “ Well, did I tell you what I saw her doing in the corner with the Turkish Prince? They were…”

Their voices were cut off by the powder room door closing behind them, and the little bird blinked and chortled. What had it been doing? It's attention was caught by the bright noisy energy of the ballroom, and it winged its way through the closing door. It had already forgotten the shiny sun that even now was far down the hall, caught by the ruffled hem of a ladies dress and carried beyond Hoggle's sight.

The cavernous room glittered as light from a thousand hundred candles reflected off the jewels and sequins of the dancers below. The dream caught a glimpse of gold, and spied the Mistress in the arms of the Mountain Prince. Ah, Mistress, I come. It began to flutter down, intent on the golden dress...when it noticed Him. The little bird froze in midair, then darted for a concealing chandelier, just as the Dream King glanced up, eyes narrowed in suspicion. His gaze passed over the little dream's hiding place, but moved on. The bird hopped out and peered over the crowd, watching.

Nasty, mean, vile King that slandered dreams and tried to bind them to his will. He did not like free dreams, no, no, not at all. He smiled when wild dreams died for lack of a child to believe in them. But now they had Mistress, so open, so empty, so fresh, she was the perfect home for all of those dreams that had been lost. That Mistress took joy in his company was a wonder not to be believed, but so it was.

The little bird looked around again. Mistress was gone! Where, where? There was her dress, golden bright, leaving the ballroom. The bird swooped toward the open balcony doors. Mistress, Mistress, I come! NO! That mean Dream-Killing King, there he is again. Hide, hide, do not let him catch me. The bird found a stone nook, and nestled inside, and it's tiny head peeked out from the shadows to watch and wait.

As the King's attention was taken by the pretty White Princess, the little bird dropped from its perch and fluttered aimlessly through the crowd, darting between heads and flitting past startled faces. The shivering beat of its tiny dream heart danced in time to the tinkling music. Just as it reached the doors, open onto the winter night, a small hand reached out and snatched it from the air.

“And where are you going, little one?” asked a young girl's voice. The bird poked its beak between her fingers and one beady eye looked up at her young face. “Did our
Sarah leave you behind? That could be dangerous.” She laughed soft and low, and it sounded like a spring-fed brook after the first snow melt trickling down a mountain.

:0_0:

Like most structures in the underground, the Mountain Palace and immediate environs were kept at a temperature comfortable for the inhabitants through the use of magic. Sarah didn’t pretend to understand how it worked, but at the moment it seemed to have failed. She was sure she could feel the biting winter wind sweeping across the balcony unimpeded. The icy chill traveled straight down her spine as she forced herself to meet the Goblin King’s eyes, and she shivered in spite of herself.

“Good evening, Your Majesty,” she said quietly, forcing her voice and face to remain calm. If she were perfectly honest with herself, she had hoped to avoid Jareth tonight, to do what she came for and slip away without ever seeing him. She hadn’t really believed she’d get away with that, but hope was hard to kill. It died a pretty final death now, with him standing in front of her, disdain in his sorcerous eyes.

“Do you make a habit of having intimate discussions with married men, Lady, or is it only Prince Roarke you have set your sights on?” he asked conversationally. He prowled back and forth before her, and his tone was cutting.

Despite his obvious displeasure, she felt something inside of her relax. She had been worried that he might have overheard her conversation with Roarke, and that was an explanation she would rather not try to give.

“Contrary to your own high opinion of yourself, Your Majesty, what I choose to discuss, and with whom, is none of your business,” Sarah replied. Her tone was calm, but firm, without even a hint of the unease that was growing within her. She moved to step past him, but he shifted over to block her path.

“Roarke then,” the King replied. “After all, you have placed yourself quite conveniently in his path twice now, with some success.” Sarah could only look at him in consternation, the idea was so absurd. She paused thoughtfully for a moment and looked at it from his perspective and realized what it must have looked like to him. Not that there would be any way of convincing him that looks could be deceiving. Not in his present mood.

“I'm going back inside,” she said, choosing to ignore his jab. “I find I've had enough of refreshing night air.” Again she tried to leave, but he stepped in front of her path once more. She tried to keep her face smooth of any betraying hints of anxiety as she looked up at him, brows raised in inquiry.

“You certainly seem to have a way of catching his eye, Lady Sun,” Jareth continued smoothly, taking in her golden mask. “Twice now you have drawn the boy into your orbit, despite how deeply committed I know he is to his blushing bride.” He stepped closer, towering over her and smiling a cruel, humorless smile. “That's quite an accomplishment. But I find myself wondering just how talented you are at keeping a man's attention—instead of a boy's.”

“Excuse me?” she choked, shocked despite herself at the imaginative leap his mind had taken. She was a little insulted too, she thought. It wasn't as if he'd found them in flagrante delicto, so why was he pursuing that particular idea with such single-mindedness? Just who did he think she was? The thought made her pause and she couldn't stop a small laugh. Well and so, who did she think she was? Sometimes she didn't know herself.

“Indeed,” Jareth continued, looking at her with hooded eyes, “If you are so eager to spread your legs for royalty, I'm sure something could be arranged.”

Sarah's vision ran red. She reacted before she could reconsider and managed to surprise Jareth as much as herself. The resounding crack of her palm against his cheek seemed to echo across the mountain-side, and she watched with unholy satisfaction as his head whip-lashed to the side. They both stood frozen in shock for a few seconds before her outrage overcame her surprise and she turned to walk away. Run really. She didn’t get far.

A strong hand gripped her wrist with bruising strength and she cried out softly in pain as he twisted it back toward him. He yanked her hard against his front and tried to grab her other hand, while she tried equally hard to squirm out of his grip. The struggle was brief but intense as they grappled together, the only sound the rustle of cloth and a few soft grunts of effort, but any illusion she had of escape was rapidly dispelled. Jareth might eschew physical confrontation, but it certainly wasn’t because he was weak, she realized with a sinking sensation. Not only was he faster than her, but he was stronger as well, and within less than a minute he had her effectively immobilized with both her arms behind her back and the front of her body pressed tightly to his.

“That,” he hissed, “was a very foolish thing to do, My Lady.”

“Let me go,” she demanded sharply. Neither of them had made a sound during the short struggle and she realized now that she probably should have screamed for help. She still could, she thought, but her own pride got in the way. So now, instead, she was alone with one of the most dangerous beings she knew who seemed intent on blaming her for something she didn’t do and not a single soul knew it. Jareth’s eyes blazed with fury, but behind that was something even hotter. Sarah cursed her own traitorous body as it reacted to the desire she saw in his hooded gaze. She was acutely conscious of how much stronger he was than her, how easily he had subdued her, and it excited her.

“Let me go,” she repeated through gritted teeth, taking refuge in her outrage and trying to twist her body out of his grip. All she succeeded in doing, however, was proving how very unyielding the Goblin King could be. She could feel the incipient panic creeping up on her, but she quashed it with brutal efficiency. If nothing else, Jareth was a predator at heart and he would probably salivate at any sign of weakness.

Jareth ignored her, instead allowing his eyes to travel a leisurely journey from the top of her head down. She followed the direction of his gaze and realized that pressed tight against him as she was the low cut of her bodice left little to the imagination. The swells of her breasts were pushed high against his chest and his nostrils flared as he drew in a deep breath. His gaze was almost like a caress, and she could feel goose flesh rising on her arms that had nothing to do with the cold. There was a wicked gleam in his eyes when they lifted back to hers.

Jareth relished the scent of her, letting his eyes close momentarily as he took another deep breath. She smelled like golden apples and honey. He looked at her again. Ah, if looks could kill, her amber gaze would leave him bleeding on the floor. She was magnificent, and dangerous, no doubt. He wanted all of her.

“I don't think I will. I find my curiosity—aroused,” he said with a feral grin. To most women, Fae and Mortal alike, it might have sounded charming. As it was it seemed to only pissed her off further.

“I'm sure that's not the only thing,” she snapped sarcastically, eyes flashing fire, “but I find I'm disinclined to be used as an outlet for a royal temper tantrum.”

He laughed low, and she felt it vibrate through her chest, making her catch her breath. “You play the outraged maiden to a tee, my dear. I might almost believe you.” His voice dripped disdain.

“Oh, Your Highness, I need not play,” she replied through gritted teeth. “I am most assuredly outraged.”

“But not a maiden?” he sneered slyly.

She tossed her head. “That’s not something you’re ever likely to discover the answer to.”

“Is that a challenge? I do so love a challenge,” he purred. He rubbed his leather clad thumbs in small circles over the sensitive skin of her wrist. Her body shuddered at the gentle friction. “See how you tremble beneath my touch,” he sighed. “I could do—anything—to you, and you would not stop me.”

“You wouldn't dare,” she breathed, eyes widening slightly. He found himself pleased that he could shake her confidence that little bit. It was a war of wits and will between the two of them, and he was enjoying every minute of it.

“I would dare much,” he said silkily, tightening his hold until she made a soft sound of protest.

She froze like a startled doe for half an instant before a sudden realization struck her. Her eyes narrowed. He was trying to intimidate her, but so far all he had actually done was restrain her and talk. Jareth was not a man who needed to force himself on anyone when persuasion was so much more satisfying. With a shake of her head, she relaxed in his arms and smiled up at him crookedly. “Probably,” she admitted, her voice sure, “but not this.”

“You think not?” he asked dangerously.

“No. For all your cruelty and selfishness, I don’t for a moment believe that rape is part of your repertoire.” He drew in a hissing breath.

His eyes narrowed. “That is an ugly word.”

“An even uglier act, Your Majesty,” she said. Her chin ticked up defiantly. “Well, oh Great Goblin King? What will you do now? I am at your mercy. Will you press your advantage.”

He growled low in his throat. “That you even suggest I would do such a thing is insulting. I should fulfill your expectations for that alone.”

“Indeed” she replied soberly, “ it is insulting to be accused of intent to commit an act you find abhorrent.”

“Meaning?” he snarled.

“Only that adultery with a spoiled princeling holds about as much attraction for me as rape does for you, Goblin King.”

It took him a moment to track what she was saying. Finally he realized she was referring to his accusation that she was trying to seduce Prince Roarke. He pushed her away with a sudden vehemence, his expression shuttered, lips twisted bitterly. Sarah took the opportunity to rub her wrists, sore from his vise-like grip. “Touché, Lady, but that was a blow of desperation.” Sarah merely raised her brows inquiringly. He smiled cruelly, “I think you are afraid of me precisely because you know I could make you want me.”

She laughed without mirth. “God, you are blind Jareth.” She shook her head, but there was a touch of sorrow in her voice. “I already want you. I probably always have,” she admitted with no lack of bitterness. “but that doesn’t change the fact that I won’t be used by anyone, especially you.”

The silence on the balcony was broken only by the echoing cracks of snow and ice falling from the cliffs around them. They stared at each other for a long moment in the twinkling evening, two adversaries on equal footing sizing each other up for the battle to come. Finally he spoke, his manner stiff and offended. “I would never force myself on an unwilling partner.”

“Yes, I know,” she said idly, no hesitation in her voice. She was at the balcony wall now, her back to him, looking out over the valley. The white light of the moon gilded her dark curls in silver. He wanted to reach out and bury his fingers in that fall of silk. Instead he leaned back next to her, resting against the short stone wall with his hands behind him.

“How can you be so sure?” He asked with honest curiosity.

She shrugged, but would not look at him. “I suppose because I know you better than you think. I have seen the honorable man beneath the ferocious mask you to present to the world.”

“Again, you have the advantage of me,” his lips twisted. “Are you ready yet to tell me who you are?”

“You should know better than that, your majesty,” she said gently, amusement lacing her voice.

He scowled down at the top of her head. He was almost surprised at how short she was. Her head would fit nicely in the crook of his neck. The force of her personality made her seem so much larger. “You hide your face, conceal your identity, and yet you expect me to trust your word. That hardly seems fair.”

“Well, life isn’t fair, Jareth,” she said solemnly. “I know that better than most.”

He frowned. Her words struck a chord in his memory, but he couldn’t isolate it. Perhaps a change of subject was called for. “If it was not a lover’s tryst then why were you out here with Roarke.”

“It is none of your affair, Your Highness, as I already said.” She looked up at him then, a smile in her eyes and scolding in her voice. His breath caught, and for no reason he could discern his pulse sped up.

“Jareth,” he corrected.

“If you insist,” she said mildly.

His own smile stretched his mouth wide. “I do, so let's not revisit that old argument. And why should I believe you?”

“Speaking of revisiting old disputes. Believe me or not, it doesn't matter. I have never lied to you Jareth, and I swear to do my utmost never to do so.” She did not look away from his probing gaze, but held it as the silence lengthened between them. He reached up one hand and brushed a stray curl off her cheek, tucking it behind her ear. His hand lingered, fingertips stroking the nape of her neck lightly.

“And with no way to prove it, I must either take your word or no,” he pointed out. It wasn't a malicious observation. He did believe her, he just wasn't sure what to do about it. Absolute honesty was not something he was used to.

“I suppose so.” She murmured. Her eyes fluttered closed as he continued his feather light touches. His fingers moved from behind her ear and down her cheek, tracing the curve of her jaw. Her breath shuddered and she drew away from him, backing away a few feet.

He began to stalk toward her again. “In that case, I suppose I must reevaluate what you said earlier.”

“What I said?” Her voice caught in her throat, but she refused to continue backing away from him.

“Oh yes. You might say the thought of it consumes me.” He stared fiercely into her eyes. “You want me. You said it yourself.”

“I supposed I did,” she admitted huskily.

“Not only that, but I can see it in your eyes. I can smell it coming from your very pores. You want my touch so badly you can taste it. Why do you fight it?” His narrow eyed gaze pinned her in place.

“Self Preservation,” she explained. “I won’t – I can't – be just another woman for you to spend your lust on.” It would destroy me if that was all I was to you, she thought sadly.

“I have a feeling, Lady Mystery, that you could never be “just” anything, even should you actively pursue such a goal.” The hand at her jaw paused and his thumb stroked her lower lip. She tried to clear her head. This gentle Jareth was much harder for her to handle than the arrogant one.

“Please, enough, Jareth.” She held up one hand, and he paused as her golden gloved fingertips rested lightly on his lips. “I am a puzzle for you to solve, and nothing more,” she said softly, “Why can't you simply admit that and leave it be? Leave me be?”

He captured her wrist gently, holding her hand in place. “I enjoy unlocking secrets, dear one,” he whispered, kissing her fingertips softly. “Oh, but you would enjoy it, too, Lady Sun. You would burn so brightly the real sun would pale in comparison.” Her body agreed whole heartedly, it seemed, and she shuddered.

“Nevertheless, I must decline.” Her voice hitched again, softly, and she took a deep, steadying breath.

He released a frustrated huff of laughter. “Why do you resist, when we could find such pleasure together?”

She wondered herself sometimes, but that was a very dangerous question to dwell on. “I won’t say it again. No means No Jareth.”

He shook his head, refusing to let her deny him with such ease.“Tell me why.”

“I won’t be used,” she said, which was true enough, if not the whole of it.

“I will not use you.” He frowned, strangely offended at her implication.

“You know nothing about me. How could it be anything else?” Her voice was exasperated.

“You're wrong, Lady Sun. I know you. I knew who you were from the moment I saw you in the ballroom, dancing with the Prince. Did you think your mask fooled me?”

“What...what do you mean?” she asked, suddenly afraid that he knew everything, despite the unlikelihood.

“I know your scent like the back of my hand,” he leaned down, drawing a deep breath by her neck. One hand trailed down her arm, from her elbow to her palm, before weaving their fingers together. “The feel of your hand in mine, the sound of your voice. The sight of your luscious,” his lips curved, his eyes flicking down to take in her body, “...curls. Even the taste of your honey-wine lips is branded onto my memory. No matter what disguise you use, I will always find you out.” His voice had dropped to a whisper now, his face only inches from her own.

She froze and had to force herself to keep breathing. He didn't know. He didn't know, oh thank God. She closed her eyes in breathless relief. Then another thought on top of that one. He would be furious when he learned the truth.

“So you see, there really is no point in hiding,” he breathed, nuzzling at her ear. “Why don't you remove the mask?” His nimble fingers burrowed into her hair, searching for the ties to her mask.

She realized almost too late what he was doing. “No!” she gasped, tearing her head away from his searching fingertips.

His eyes flashed, his entire manner going from gently seductive to furious in a heartbeat. “Again and again you defy me! You are a vexatious creature. Are you trying to annoy me, little vixen? Is that your purpose in coming here so concealed? You taunt me at your own risk.”

“Make up your mind,” she said, exasperated, struggling to use her own irritation at his tricksy ways to erase the lingering desire.

“About what, my dear?” His eyes narrowed and he took her hand again. The traitorous thing wouldn't stop trembling, either. “I thought I was quite clear in what I wanted to do to you...with you...for you.” His words were interspersed with little kisses on her hand, her wrist, and the exposed skin at the crook of her elbow. His other arm stole softly around her waist, pulling her closer until his legs tangled in her heavy skirts.

“Ten minutes ago you accused me of having designs on the Prince. Now you claim I am here to irritate you, and you alone. It cannot be both, Your Majesty.” She tugged lightly on her arm, but he would not relinquish it. She settled on frowning at him in a stern manner. “So perhaps you would care to decide which it is before we continue.”

As long as we continue, he thought. He chuckled. “I may have been hasty in my earlier accusations,” he allowed. He was pleased to note how well they fit together.

“About time,” she muttered.

“Indeed,” he breathed. And just like that he tightened his arm and backed her up, effectively pinning her against the stone wall of the castle. It was shadowed here, the light from the ballroom barely reaching them. She realized that, once again, he had maneuvered her quite elegantly into a secluded spot out of sight of any guest who might wander out onto the balcony above them. His arms bracketed her on either side, bracing himself against the wall. Trapped between a rock and a hard place, she thought whimsically, even as her heart began to beat a frantic rhythm.

“When you are mine, Lady Sun, you will not leave my bed until you have forgotten the very name you refuse to give me. I will bring you to heights of pleasure you have never even imagined. And before we are done you will be willing to do things that would shock you to your very core. You will beg me to let you do them, My Lady. And I will be only too happy to comply.”

“You speak as if my surrender is a forgone conclusion. You never change. How many times must I turn you down, Goblin King, before you finally believe me?” Sarah clenched her hands tight at her sides. She could feel her will weakening beneath the onslaught of his presence. She just knew that if she touched him her self-control would crumble, and this confrontation would go to a dangerous place that she might not even want to escape.

“You may believe what you say, but I think you are lying to yourself and therefore to me,” he whispered.

“I...” she started.

“But I think I know a way to winkle the truth from you. There is our little game yet, isn’t there?” he said, abruptly changing the subject.

“I..uh…what?” She blinked, startled at the sudden tangent.

“Our game,” he said reasonably, while crowding her closer against the stone. He pushed one foot between her own and nestled his hips closer in to her. She forced herself to breath deeply. “I still have my three questions, to try to guess your name.”

“Y-es,” she said slowly. She reached up both hands and pushed them against his chest. It was solid and unyielding, but at least he didn't keep moving forward. He only smirked down at her.

“Any three questions I want, so long as I do not ask you your name or ask to see your face,” he reminded her.

She nodded. That was about all she could do, in all honesty. Her ability for speech seemed to have deserted her.

“And you will answer with absolute truthfulness,” he continued. It wasn't a command so much as a statement of fact. She nodded again.

“My first question then, Lady Sun. When we first danced, what was the occasion for that ball?” He brushed another curl from her face, and then left his hand resting on her shoulder.

She cleared her throat, trying to find her voice again. “Uh..a distraction, I believe.” She smiled, “but aren't they all?”

He frowned thoughtfully and wished he could accuse her of being disingenuous. It was quite an uninformative answer, although, to be fair, probably the unvarnished truth. Most of the dances he held were a form of distraction, because he had grown bored with the usual day to day of his Kingdom, or just wanted a little company. “And how much time has passed since then?”

She opened her mouth to answer, but then paused, thinking. He took the opportunity to move his hand, burying his fingers in the hair at the back of her neck “Do you know, I'm not sure,” she said softly, a puzzled frown on her face. He frowned in turn.

“Do not be coy with me, my dear,” he growled. “How can you not know?” He flexed his fingers, tugging lightly on the handful of hair. The faint pull at her scalp sent shivers down her spine. She closed her eyes briefly, her lips slightly parted. Then they opened slowly to look up at him, and a small pink tongue darted out to wet her lips.

Her voice was rough with desire when she spoke. “Ah, Jareth. Time is a fickle mistress, especially in the Underground. It seems too long ago, and not long enough at the same time. But if I had to guess, I'd say it has been perhaps ten years.”

Ten long aboveground years, she thought. Almost too long for me. How long has it been for you down here, Jareth? She thought of Reginald, and his grandmother who was a girl when her grandfather, Sir Didymus,died. And she thought of Hoggle, who didn't look to have aged a day. How far back would you have to go, Goblin King, to remember one frightened mortal girl?

“Ten years,” he mused. “So short a time. I should remember...”

Her hands were moving now, sliding up his chest to circle around his neck, playing with his hair as he had hers. She was turning his own tricks against him, and it was very distracting. “Mmm, and what were you wearing that night, Lady Sun? I wager you did not hide your face from me then.”

“No, I didn't dare,” she smiled slyly, “But you have used up all your questions, sir, so what I wore will remain a mystery.” He opened his mouth to argue, but closed it again abruptly. An ironic smile twisted his lips.

“I was bored with that game anyhow,” he murmured silkily, before yanking her forward by the hand at her neck and crushing her mouth beneath his. So demanding were his lips that she didn't even have time to protest before passion swept away all reason, and she couldn't recall why she had been so wary in the first place. He ate at her lips, as if he were a starving man and she were a feast laid out only for him. He trailed his mouth up across her cheek and over to her ear.

“Open for me, sweet,” he whispered. She tried to shake her head, but it would not obey her.

“Jareth...” she breathed.

“Good girl,” he said, capturing her lips once again. His tongue plundered her mouth, demanding a response, without mercy. She whimpered, but could do nothing but obey. The sheer carnality of his kisses overwhelmed her, and her only thought was for more. She tightened her arms, leaning into his chest and giving back as good as she got.

He paused in his assault, pulling back just long enough to make her have to follow him if she wanted to continue. And follow she did, this time exploring his mouth herself, running her tongue gently over sharp teeth. He growled softly when she caught his bottom lip with her own teeth.

His other hand came up, all ten fingers burying themselves in her hair and locking her head in place. He crowded closer, pushing her hard against the wall. His body molded to hers, and she could feel the hard heat of him against her hip.

She expected him to continue with the rough, drugging kisses, but instead he nibbled and nipped gently at her mouth, drawing small sounds of frustration from her. Her arms drifted down from around his neck and fisted in the fine black material of his shirt, anchoring herself and him. The world narrowed to his mouth on hers, and the gasping sounds of their breathing.

When he pulled away again, she made a sound of protest, but he only rested his forehead to hers and looked into her eyes. His eyes, one green, one gold, were mesmerizing. One hand loosened from her hair and trailed softly down her neck and shoulder. His fingers traced lightly over her collarbone, and then the low edge of her neckline, causing goosebumps to appear in their wake. He gave a sharp smile when her breathing paused.

“You taste like apples and honey,” he murmured, before capturing her mouth again. Sarah thought he tasted like wild, sinful things – chocolate and wine – dark, bitter, and rich. He fingered the golden fabric of the sleeve at her shoulder before pushing it down her upper arm, pulling the neckline down with it. The night air was cool on her heated flesh. The hand on her arm moved to span her ribs, resting tantalizingly close beneath her chest. She arched in reaction, drawing him closer, her entire body rubbing against the front of his like a cat that needed stroking.

His lips descended to lick and bite over the newly revealed tops of her breasts. One easy tug and he could expose her soft, tempting bosom in full, but he was content to leave it as it was for the moment. Now that he had her where he wanted her, he could take his time. He was looking forward to it.

“That's it, little one,” he purred into the soft valley between her breasts. “So fine. You don't need to fight me.”

“Wait,” she muttered. The hands at his chest pushed weakly at him.

He growled a denial. “I am not a patient man, my sweet. And I am tired of waiting.” The hand still buried in her hair clenched reflexively and she moaned softly.

“What are you doing?” a voice asked from behind him. He froze and wanted to roar in frustration, but managed to restrain himself. He carefully loosened his hold on his prize and glanced behind him. He stiffened as he caught sight of the intruder, then turned, shifting his body to block his companion from view of the young girl standing a few feet away.

“I tried to tell you,” Sarah said, but he seemed to be ignoring her now. She had seen the girl standing there, watching them with solemn eyes that were as eternal as the starred sky above them, and just as dark and fathomless. Now she had to peer around Jareth's shoulder to try and get a better look.

Sarah recognized those star-strewn eyes, but this was not the Amaranth she was used to. The fae looked no more than thirteen or fourteen, a girl on the cusp of womanhood. Her hair was long and loose down her back, the color of corn silk, and there were spring blooming flowers of every color woven throughout. Her dress was youthful, a yellow and green striped pinafore that stopped just below her knees. Her slim pale legs were encased in white tights, ending in a pair of white patent leather Mary Janes. Sarah thought she looked a lot like Alice from Wonderland.

“Ami,” Jareth said, his voice pleasantly level, although that ease was belied by the whipcord tenseness of his body. “What brings you out here?”

“There was a bird,” she said in her sweet girl voice. Sarah was having a hard time reconciling this childlike figure to the mature Fae woman she knew as Amaranth. She followed the girl's pointing finger to see a familiar little blue bird perched on the stone rail. It was watching her intently, and she could feel the soft beat of its pleasure at seeing her again.

Shoo, she thought. She flicked her hand behind Jareth's back, trying to gesture the little dream away and back into the castle. I will meet you inside shortly. The little bird gave a delighted chirrup and hopped into the air and away toward an open window. When Jareth glanced back at her suddenly she tried to look as innocent as possible.

Jareth looked back at his sister. “You should not be out here, Ami. You've no cloak and you could catch a chill.” Sarah saw the girl’s eyes narrow dangerously and almost laughed. She recognized that look. It was very similar to her brother's when he was being particularly contrary. Combine that with the no doubt volatile temper of a teenager, and Sarah wanted to laugh out loud at the irony of it.

“I am not a child, Jareth,” she spat out petulantly, going from friendly to fury in the space of a heartbeat. “I can go where I please, when I please.”

“Now, Ami,” Jareth tried soothing, “I didn't mean...”

The girl stomped her foot. “You do this every year, Jareth. You insist on speaking to me as if I am incapable of taking care of myself. May I remind you that I am still older than you.”

Jareth's own temper flared, and he stepped forward to meet her. “Indeed I remember, dear sister. But you seem to have forgotten your manners...again. A yearly regression to puberty does not excuse bad behavior. I am in the middle of a conversation.”

“It didn't look like any kind of conversation to me,” Amaranth scoffed scornfully. She tossed her head, causing several flowers to float to the ground. “Since when do you have to resort to pawing women on the balcony at parties?”

“It's none of your business, Ami my darling,” he gritted out through clenched teeth. “It's not a subject for young ears such as yours.” She scowled harder, her lips pressing tight. “However, perhaps you have a point. The lady and I will find someplace more comfortable to continue our discussion.”

Amaranth smirked. “Will you? That might be difficult, little brother,” she commented. He raised one brow inquiringly and she pointed. “It seems your lady bird has flown. You must not have had as good a hold on her as you thought.”

He whirled around to find the alcove empty and no sign of a temptress in a golden dress anywhere on the balcony. “Bloody Bog Bones, not again,” he muttered through gritted teeth. Behind him, Amaranth began to laugh, and it echoed across the mountain valley like bells on a feast day.

:0_0:

Ailil, The Mountain King, stumbled through the halls of his castle, mumbling an off key, love ballad in his deep baritone. “An 'is true love said to 'im, me mither won' mind...” Hic. Cup. “An me father won' fight you, for yer lack o'...” Hic. He shuffled to the servant stair leading down toward the kitchen. He could smell the fragrant fumes coming up the stairs and his mouth was watering. A snack would not be remiss at this juncture, and it smelled so delicious. He pushed his way into the narrow stair, and of course never noticed the golden trinket that was kicked down ahead of him. The charm skipped and bounced down the uneven stone steps, just ahead of the King’s heavy tread. As he shuffled into the large kitchen, it was swept aside by the bare feet of rushing servants and lost into the depths of the room.

Ailil leaned heavily against the stone door frame and lifted his head to scent the air. His mouth watered. “Just a taste…” he rumbled. Silence descended on the great room as he stepped forward, although he did not notice it.

“Can I...can I help you, Sire?” a tentative voice asked. Ailil blinked down and saw a pretty dwarven lass with a shining black braid staring at him with wide dark eyes.

“Aye, m'girl,” he boomed, and his voice echoed through the still room. “Just a wee taste. M'belly's rumbling.” Across the kitchen, Aisling was carrying a basket of fresh rolls in from the ovens when she heard it. She didn't know what the protocol was in these particular castle kitchens day to day, but with Nel in charge for the evening, if she found the King mucking about in her domain things could get ugly.

She set down her basket and snagged a familiar pixie as she ran by. “Peaseblossom,” she hissed, remembering the girl's name, “where's Nel?” The elf shrugged Aisling's hand off her shoulder with a grunt.

“She's with Izzy then, i'n't she?” Peaseblossom snapped. “In one o' the back rooms.”

“With Izzy? What's she doing with Izzy?” Aisling asked, confused. She couldn't conceive of a reason why Nel would ever leave the kitchen on a night like tonight.

“The girl had a fit, she did. Right in the middle of the kitchen, coughin' and gaspin' like she was fit to drown. Then she keeled over like a goblin drunk on vintage ale. Nel 'ad her laid out in a room. She's been back and forth checkin' on her since.” She darted away before Aisling could say anything more.

It didn't take much for her to figure out what was wrong with Izzy. Magic had a way of messing with you both coming and going. It was a lot like men that way. She hoped that Izzy would be well. However, she had a feeling Nel would return soon, and it would probably be best if the Mountain King were not in residence when she did.

Aisling glanced back at the door and saw the crowd of dwarven women around the King had grown substantially. Several of them were talking to him in hushed, urgent tones, while others were trying to steer him back up the stairs. He swayed like a reed in the wind, but his bleary eyes never left the tray of sweets set on the counter just out of his reach. She started for the small crowd when a thought occurred to her.

This was not her problem, and she didn't need to make it her problem. She didn't need to stick her nose into anything else that might cause her trouble. Goodness knows she'd probably borrowed enough trouble for a lifetime as it was. She would just leave it to play out as it would and not get involved. Yes, she would just keep her head down, help get the dinner ready, and let the chips fall where they may, or the dwarves as the case may be.

She turned reluctantly back to the hustle and bustle of the kitchen, grabbing up her basket of bread. She could feel the sweat running down her temples as she went back to work. It was stifling hot in the room and she wanted to get done as soon as possible so she could go outside in the cool winter air. She had only gone a few steps when something sharp stabbed into the soft meat of her foot. With a low curse she hopped on one foot and scowled down at the ground. A small, golden object glittered at her feet. Bending down she picked it up and recognized one of the small golden suns that had been woven into her hair earlier that evening. Curious. How had it gotten here? Had it caught in her cloak and only just now dropped?

She was turning it over in her hands when someone brushed by her rather forcefully, and she realized she was blocking the way. Closing her fist around the trinket, she stepped aside and set down the basket again. Beside her a dwarven girl was trying to fill the gravy boats for the guest tables. Aisling tried to stay out of her way as she opened her hand to look at the charm again. She wiped one hand over her sweat streaked forehead as she looked at it.

It was perhaps unfortunate that Aisling had forgotten the presence of the King, as it might have prevented what happened next. Both Aisling and the dwarf beside her were so focused on their particular tasks, that neither noticed the wave of silence come over the kitchen as Nel stalked back in. Her screech was piercing enough that some might be forgiven for wondering if she had been a baensidh in a former life.

As it was, the sound so startled the dwarf beside Aisling that she jumped and glanced behind her. Her shoulder knocked into Aisling's hand, and the trinket dropped soundlessly into one of the crystalline gravy boats. Aisling leaned over to look for it, but her eyes were obscured by sweat and hair sticking to her cheeks.

“Ye great lummox!” she could hear Nel shouting somewhere behind her, “What do ye think ye're doin' in MY kitchen!?!”

She blinked her eyes, trying to clear away the sweat that was dripping into them, and one salty drop fell unseen onto the charm. She finally had to wipe one hand down her face to clear her vision. She spotted the charm and reached to grab it, but the dwarf beside her had gathered herself as well, and a sudden flow of rich brown gravy drowned it from sight.

Aisling heard no more of the dispute by the kitchen door. She stood over the now full gravy boat, frozen in shock, mouth agape. The wheels in her head were turning, albeit with reluctance. She knew, somehow, without a doubt, that this particular batch of gravy would make its way into the hands of one Goblin King. She didn't know how, or why, but it just fit. There was the hand of something larger than herself meddling in this, and Aisling wondered if she would find out who it was before they got her killed.

:0_0:


I am not yours, not lost in you,
Not lost, although I long to be
Lost as a candle lit at noon,
Lost as a snowflake in the sea.

You love me, and I find you still
A spirit beautiful and bright,
Yet I am I, who long to be
Lost as a light is lost in light.

Oh plunge me deep in love -- put out
My senses, leave me deaf and blind,
Swept by the tempest of your love,
A taper in a rushing wind.

Sarah Teasdale