Return to the Labyrinth

Has it really been a year and a half? I suppose it has, and I apologize, abjectly and sincerely, for the long hiatus. Please don't throw chickens at me. I love you all!

For your extreme patience I give you a new, improved, extra long chapter, my longest yet. As usual I don't own anything that Hensen created, more's the pity. The title comes from a song by Harry Nilsson called "I Will Never Leave You." The lyrics are at the end of the chapter, as always. Enjoy!

Chapter 22

Far Too Deep


She dreams…

The dream was the same and not the same. The courtyard still showed the signs of faded glory, but there was a new silence that filled her heart with dread. It took her a moment to realize that the chickens were missing. She looked closer and a chill crawled up her spine. Amid the rubble scattered over the stones she could see delicate bleached bird bones. In fact, the whole area was barren of life or movement. Even the leaves on the overhanging trees hung slack in the breezeless air.

A soft cry behind her broke the silence. Glancing back she saw her little blue dream cat sitting on the cobblestones. It was shuddering. Its eyes were fearful. She gathered the dream into her arms and soothed it with wordless noises.

“Saaaarraaaaah…”

The voice was barely a whisper, but she felt it brush across her senses. The cat mewled pitiably. The now familiar voice drifted from the darkness of the archway. “Sarah, please. You are needed.” There was so much yearning in those words that it tugged at her heart and her feet followed.

The absolute darkness struck her first. She didn’t remember it being so dark. With a flick of her wrist --- she really was developing quite a flair for that --- she created a fairy light. It hovered in the air before her, barely managing to pierce the blackness. It was enough to see the stairs, however, and she started down them.

The journey seemed to take longer this time. Without Toby, and the urgency of the chase, the stair seemed truly endless. Factor in the darkness and silence (even her footsteps were muffled), and the dark stair and catacombs were stifling. The little blue cat was silent for the interminable journey.

When she reached the cavern, she paused. The glow of her light did not reach as far as the river, but she could feel the deep, slow beat of it with that other sense, the dream sense. The cat mewed and twisted in her arms until she released it. It jumped to the ground and pranced into the darkness, tail high and eyes bright. She followed more cautiously, but not, she realized, with any sense of fear. When had she lost that fear?

When the river appeared out of the darkness it looked much as it had before, wide and dark and deep. The cat sat on the bank, staring intently into the deceptively still water. Sarah knelt beside it. She reached out one hand, then drew it back, suddenly uncertain.

“Do not be fearful, little Sarah,” the voice came from the dark water. It came from everywhere and nowhere. Strangely, she realized she wasn’t afraid, but some nagging part of her seemed to think she should be.

“You tried to…you nearly drowned me…before…” she whispered, feeling the need to justify her hesitation.

“You were unharmed,” the voice said. Her own inner voice agreed. She’d come to no harm at the time, but for a bit of a fright, and had woken up the next day with more knowing and comfort than she’d had in her last ten years of life.

“Why?” she asked, wanting to know.

The voice replied simply, “It was necessary. You are needed.”

“Why?” she asked again, frustration coloring her own words.

“You needed to understand. You needed to learn. You need to learn quicker.” Not an answer as far as she was concerned. She decided to prod a little harder.

“Well, I DON’T understand and I certainly don't know what it is I'm supposed to be learning.” She sat cross-legged beside the riverbank, huffing slightly as she settled.

“That is untrue,” said the voice. “You understand, but you fail to see. You fail to see and so your control is weak.”

“See what?” she fumed, “Control what exactly? Magic? Who are you?”

“So many questions,” the voice chided, “Why ask what you already know?”

Sarah threw her arms up in frustration. Her eyes roamed around the empty room, trying to find something to settle her glare on. “Don’t you get it?! I DON’T know. I don’t know who you are or what you’re being so vague about.”

“That is untrue,” repeated the voice.

“It is not. I have no idea who you are or what you need me for.”

“That is untrue,” repeated the voice.

“Stop saying that!” her voice reached a screech and the cat mewled in protest. It butted her leg and hopped into her lap. Instinctively she steadied it, her hand caressing softly down its back. She felt the touch along her own spine, and it seemed to help sooth her frustrated temper. She took a deep breath before continuing. “Why can’t you just give a straight answer?” she asked evenly.

“Truth is truth and cannot be otherwise.” The voice said simply.

“Could you possibly be more cryptic?” she muttered, frustration heavy in her voice.

“Yes,” said the voice, and this time she was certain she heard an undertone of amusement.

“Why me?” she asked no one in particular with a tired sigh, leaning back and staring up into the darkness..

There was a moment of silence. “Your passion was the fiercest…the purest.”

“I wasn’t asking…” she started to clarify, then muttered, “Oh,never mind.” Somehow a discussion about the nature of rhetorical questions didn’t seem to be the way to go right now.

The voice continued as if she had not spoken. “Your belief was the strongest. You believed in them all.”

'My passion?,' she thought to herself, 'Believed in what?' She kept the questions to herself, but glared at the water.

“You found the book,” the voice finished. An expectant hush descended on the cavern.

An uncomfortable thought began to grow in the back of her mind. “What book?” she whispered, fearful where she had not been before. Her hand stopped stroking the cat’s soft fur.

“The book,” purred the voice. The surface of the river rippled, and an image appeared of a familiar red leather-bound book.

“Oh,” she sighed, “Oh, I had forgotten.” She reached out one hand reflexively toward the image. Instead of cool water her fingers brushed soft leather, and the book was suddenly in her hand. The spine settled softly against her palm, as if that was where it was supposed to fit. “This was you?” she asked reverently. She opened the cover gently and the familiar smell of leather and old, worn pages wafted out.

“It only showed you the way. You found the key. You believed.”

“I believed in the Labyrinth,” she said, “I didn’t…oh, but that’s it isn’t it?” Even as she said it she knew it was the truth, and some part of her had always known it. Dreams were the very best places for epiphanies, after all, when your mind was open to the improbable. “That’s who…what you are. You ARE the Labyrinth.” There was no response, and she needed none. One hand brushed the cool surface of the water. “I can feel you,” she whispered, filled with awe, “like a heartbeat in my stomach.” The silence lengthened while her mind worked, analyzing this new information. Another realization struck her. “You’re a dream. That’s why I can feel you like this.” She breathed in deeply, closing her eyes and stretching out that other sense, the one she called her dream sense. “You feel…ancient.”

“Among the oldest,” it confirmed.

“What do you want?” She asked finally, opening her eyes. Before her a shadowy silhouette stood in the middle of the water’s flow. The surface of the figure rippled and swayed, as if the current were passing through it.

“They need you, Sarah.” The voice came from the shadow man now, instead of all around.

“They? Who are 'they'?” She clutched the book to her chest, and blinked at the apparition.

“The King. The cook. The smallest fair folk and the largest beasts. All who dwell within these walls, perhaps farther.” The shadow arms spread wide in an all-inclusive gesture. Beside her the dirt rippled and rose, shaping itself into a miniature replica of the Labyrinth, and the lands surrounding it. A blush of color swept over the three dimensional image, as if painted with an invisible brush, until it looked almost real. Well, wasn’t that a nifty trick. She wondered if she could figure out how to do it herself.

“I’m not sure what you think I could do…” she trailed off, engrossed in the pristine detail of the model. She squinted, thinking she saw a flock of birds wheeling around the tiny sky.

“A shadow rises,” the Labyrinth said. The sculpture shivered, just barely, and a small cloud of darkness oozed out of an area of trees, like a column of dense and oily smoke. The darkness seemed to pulse, but it did not grow any larger.

“Um…What?” Her thoughts stuttered. She leaned closer, trying to figure out where the fog was coming from. On one side of the smoke she could see swaying treetops that extended in a semi-circular area away. On the other side of the smoke the trees stopped --- as if some sort of fence were keeping them out --- and the land was nothing but grey hills. The maze was too complex, and the angle too high, however, for her to figure out if she recognized anything.

“An ancient darkness that thrives on chaos and conquest. It is almost free, and you have to be ready. Are you, little one?”

“What…Me?” she tore her gaze from the tiny map and blinked up at the shadowy figure in the river. “No, no I don’t think so.” Her throat felt suddenly dry and she licked her lips.

The shadowy head cocked sideways, as though it were studying her. “You are needed,” as if it were so obvious It didn’t understand why she had such a problem grasping it.

Sarah scowled and stood up, brushing dirt from her hands. The cat leaped lightly from her lap and went to investigate the mini Labyrinth with cautious sniffs. “Which brings us right back to my first question. Why me?”

“You will be the champion.” Of course, the tone seemed to imply.

“Oh, yeah? What’s wrong with Jareth? He seems perfectly capable.”

“He cannot,” the voice said.

“Uh huh. Ok,” she waited a moment for the dream to elaborate. When It didn’t she threw in a little prompt, “Why can’t he?”

“He is the King. You are the Champion. It is what it is and cannot be elsewise. There must be balance in all things.” Sarah just compressed her lips, biting back the instant sarcastic comment that wanted to come out. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

“Let me see if I understand you correctly. You needed someone from aboveground, someone to believe,” the shadow head nodded “And since I found the book and beat the Labyrinth, I'm it?”

“There were many books and many strong dreamers,” the figure shrugged. “One would emerge to become Champion. That one was you.”

Sarah sneered. “Ah, so I'm not even special. I'm just the one who got lucky.”

“That is untrue.”

“How is it untrue?” Her mind was racing. All this time, everything that happened, and she finally knew who was responsible. That was all she could focus on, all that mattered.

“You found the book. You said the words. You defeated the Labyrinth and forfeited your dreams.” She let the words sink in. Old, familiar feelings of bitterness and anger were welling up inside as she remembered years of misery and self-doubt. How many times had she railed at her inability to dream? How often had she wondered what she could have done to deserve such suffering? “You found the strength to survive without them for many years and have been forged into the perfect vessel,” the voice continued.

“The perfect what?” she said, so softly that any other person of sense would have heard the menace underlying her tone.

“You are as an oasis in a desert, drawing the lost and wild dreams to you. They THIRST for you. They NEED you.”

And that was all it took to break the dam. “Well isn't that just wonderful,” she rasped, her voice low and torn. “I just won the grand fucking prize then didn't I? And all I had to do was solve the Labyrinth, defeat the Goblin King, lose my dreams and almost my sanity.” Her voice rose, “You ruined my life! And look, I even have souvenirs to remember the experience by.” Angrily she thrust out her arms toward the shadow man, revealing dozens of pale scars running up the undersides. There were several thicker ones puckered at her wrist. “I would have rather had a T-Shirt, but I imagine these have a lifetime warranty, huh?” The figure did not speak. She stretched her arms wide. She could feel them shaking with the intensity of her feelings, with the unfairness of it all. “Take a good look,” she shouted. Instead of responding the shadow man melted back into the river.

“That which failed to kill you has only made you stronger, Champion. You must survive the ordeals to come,” the voice said, once again coming from everywhere and nowhere.

“Stronger? I DIED, for ten hellish years, every day a little bit more. You did this to me! You did this!” she was screaming now. She fell to her knees with an inarticulate cry and swept her arm over the mini Labyrinth. It disintegrated into sand, but she slammed her fist over and over into the space it had occupied. “You. Did. This!” She collapsed to the ground, curled up, her body shuddering and heaving with the force of her sobs. Over and over she repeated, “You did this. You did this.”

After long minutes she finally lapsed into silence and stillness. Only then did the ancient dream speak again. “You have suffered much, young Sarah,” she wondered if the sorrow she heard in It's voice was truth or deceit, “You will suffer more still, but you have the skills and strength to survive what lies ahead.”

“Oh, really? Is that so?” she said softly. “Well, I have news for you. You can deal with the fucking shadows yourself. I'm not here to serve the mighty Labyrinth. I came down here for only one reason, to get my dreams back, and the second I've fulfilled my end of the bargain with Amaranth, I'm going home.”

The voice seemed unconcerned with her pronouncement. “The rising shadow can be found in the Bog of Eternal Stench. You must go there, and soon.”

“I will not,” she said, and again, “I will not.”

“Beware, Sarah Williams,” the Labyrinth whispered, “Things are not always what they seem.”

Aisling awoke with a sudden jolt. The baggage sled, where she had chosen to ride in order to avoid Leila and her temperament, was still bouncing from the rut it had just driven through, and Hoggle, perched in the driver's seat, was grumbling something about declining road construction standards. The winter wind stung painfully against her cheeks. She realized it was because she had been crying in her sleep, and the tears were freezing to her face. She scrubbed at them with gnarled hands, trying not to alert anyone to her state.

Looking around she couldn't see a thing. The landscape was obscured by thick, blowing snow to go along with the angry wind. She could barely make out the back end of the passenger sleigh ahead of them, and the jingling of the harness bells was only just audible above the gusts. “Where...” her voice was raw and hoarse. She cleared her throat and tried again, moving closer to the driver's bench to make sure her voice reached Hoggle. “Where are we?”

When he didn't respond right away she wondered if he hadn't heard or was just ignoring her. “Near to crossin' the border o' the Goblin Kingdom,” he finally said gruffly, not looking at her. That made sense, she thought. That must be why the Labyrinth had been able to reach her. She hadn't had dreams while in the Dwarf mountain.

She huddled in silence and listened to the wind howling. The remnants of her anger from the dream still lingered, as did her resolution not to give in to the Labyrinth's manipulations, but overlaying that was an eerie sense of unreality. She shivered, and focused on calming herself down. She forced herself to forget the Labyrinth's words and turned back to Hoggle.

“Could I...” she began.

“No,” He snapped.

“But...”

“No.”

“Hoggle...”

“Look you,” he snarled, wheeling around to face her, “I ain't in the mood to converse. It's the middle of the night in the middle of nowhere, in the middle of a magic fueled snowstorm.” He gestured at the heavy, blowing snow. “I've been awake since yesterday, and the only reason I'm here right now is because my King has a raging case of blue balls and throws right violent tantrums.” He faced forward again, and she heard him mutter. “'Course right now my balls is bluer than his with this cold.”

“Blue balls?” Aisling asked, her lips twitching in amusement despite her mood. The absurdity of the situation was not lost on Aisling. Here the King was, fuming over the loss of his prey, and the quarry was following him home in his own baggage cart. She smiled, thinking of the scene he’d created in the kitchen earlier that night.

No doubt the King had been frustrated when his mystery lady disappeared again, but as a guest in a Kingdom not his own there was little he could do about it. Then came the meal, and his discovery of a tiny golden sun dripping in gravy. Aisling would have given her eyeteeth to see the expression on his face when he found it. As it was she only witnessed the aftermath, which was spectacular enough.

It all ended in chaos in the kitchen. The Goblin King, glorious and otherworldly in his rage, swept in and demanded answers, but the kitchen workers were so overcome by terror that he could get nothing coherent from them. By the time Prince Roarke and several other guests burst in, Aisling was doing her best to remain unnoticed, Nel was shouting alternately at the cowering dwarven workers and at the King, and Izzy was crying in the corner.

Roarke had taken one look at the scene and stepped between Jareth and the frightened kitchen staff. He looked the King in the eye and told him to leave. The Goblin King went silent and cold, then turned on his heel and stalked out, obviously seething. Nel and Aisling followed him out. The last thing Aisling saw as she left was Roarke gathering a sobbing Izzy into his arms. It made her smile. Finally, despite the storm and the lateness of the hour, the Goblin King and his entourage began the long journey home.

Aisling smiled once more at the memory, gazing sightlessly into the night. It pleased her that Jareth was suffering. It served him right. She settled back and closed her eyes, hoping to sleep again, but the dream kept invading her mind. The more she tried to ignore it, the more it lingered. The last thing she wanted to do was give in to the high-handed, arrogant meddling of a sentient maze. After everything she'd gone through in the last ten years, in the last months even, she just wanted to rest. She wanted to fulfill her promise to Amaranth, take her dreams, and go home, wherever that was. She wanted time to figure out who she was now. The thoughts swirled around and around her brain, chasing each other. Finally she gave up trying to sleep with a sigh, and sat up to look at Hoggle again.

“Hoggle…” He kept stubbornly silent. She called his name again, and again no response. Finally she leaned in close to his ear and shouted “Hoggle!” making him jump.

“Why do you keep botherin' me?” he grumped.

She shrugged. “Maybe I want to be your friend.”

He snorted. “Well, I don't wanna be yours.”

She tried smiling at him, but he turned his face away. She sighed. “I need you, Hoggle. I could really use a friend right now.”

“Hoggle ain’t no one’s friend…” he started to say, but she wasn't listening. Her gaze was unfocused and distant as she kept speaking.

“I'm so confused. I hardly know who I am any longer.”

“Hmph. Well why ask me?” he muttered to himself, “I don't care who you are.”

She didn't seem to hear him. “Have you ever felt like you weren’t, you know, yourself? Well that’s how I feel. Who am I, Hoggle? I wish I could explain it, but I think I might not be who I thought I was. I’m not who I used to be, that’s for sure. I don't...I knew who I was when I was a kid, and then something, well, something happened…” She glanced aside at him, and his expression made her pause in her rambling.

Hoggle stared at her and his mouth worked, opening and closing a few times. The sound Hoggle made, widening eyes looking at her, was somewhere between a squeak and scream and a “Yeargghh” as he scrambled back away from her.

Aisling blinked, confused and unsure, wondering what she might have said or done to cause such a reaction. Moments later a large, fur shrouded shape materialized out of the storm and cantered toward the sled. Aisling, recognizing the Goblin King, bit her lip and sank slowly into her seat, feigning sleep.

“Hogwart, you scabby little toad, what was that awful shrieking noise?” he paused and peered around, his lip curled contemptuously. “Who are you talking to?”

“I uh...I was,” he swiveled to glance behind him and noticed the wildling sleeping. Well and so, she’d left him to face the firing squad on his own. “T...t...talking to, yer majesty? J...just a g...ghost, I guess.” He gulped, the noise audible even above the storm.

“Ghosts,” the king smiled condescendingly and gave a chilling laugh, “There are no ghosts that I can see here, Hoghead.”

“Of course, yer highness,” Hoggle gave a sickly smile in return.

Jareth sidled his horse closer to the sled, and leaned down, invading the dwarf's space. He spoke softly into Hoggle's ear. “I am not in a good mood, Higgle, as you may have noticed. If I hear one more word out of your puling lips, I will personally rip out your tongue and feed it to the faeries. Do you understand me?” The last came out on a snarl. Hoggle was still nodding vigorously as Jareth wheeled his stallion around and disappeared back into the storm.

“My, my, he is in a foul mood, isn't he? Frustrated, did you say?” Hoggle jumped at the sound of her voice, but before he could yelp again she clamped one hand over his mouth. He struggled a moment before he managed to tear away. He glowered at her.

“What'd you hafta go and do a thing like that for?” he growled.

“Stop you from shouting? I didn't want you getting his attention again. I didn't think it would be healthy.” Her eyebrows were raised in question.

“No,” he snarled, “You asked me...” he looked around and lowered his voice, “You asked me who you are!”

Aisling laughed nervously, not really sure what he meant. “Don't be silly. You know who I am. It's me, Aisling. Why would...”

He shook his head slowly, glowering from beneath bushy brows and her voice petered out. “I know who you are now, Sarah Williams. And you shouldn't be here.”

Time froze as she stared at him in horror. “How did you...? I never said...oh God, does Jareth...?”

He shook his head no. “I told you,” he grumbled, “You asked me. If you hadn't a kept jabberin', I could'a lived in peaceful ignorance.” Hoggle cursed her silently, and then himself. It wasn't the first time he had cause to regret being what he was. There were some things a body ought to be allowed not to know. Why'd she have to go and ask him a direct question like that?

“I don't understand,” she whispered.

“No, I don't guess you do.” His voice was bitter. He wasn't about to explain anything to her that he didn't have to. She'd asked the blighted question, and now he knew the answer. Well, perfect. He wondered if he could find some obscure part of the Labyrinth to prune so he wouldn't have to risk seeing the King while knowing what he now knew. Or maybe he could claim the need to shovel the snow from the never-ending corridor just off the main gate. That would keep him busy and out of Jareth's way, hopefully until any trouble she brought was long blown over.

“It's not possible for you to have just guessed...for you to just know...How is that possible?” She was still talking, he thought. She was always talking!

“S'possible, if ye ask the right questions.” Hoggle looked at her then and wondered how he could have not seen it before. Her voice was just the same, her questions...and her eyes. Bloody Bog Bones, if Jareth ever found out that Hoggle had known she was in his Labyrinth again, there would be nowhere safe for him. It made him angry. Getting him into trouble all over again.

She just blinked at him, mouth gaping. “What question?” she asked, baffled.

He just shook his head. “Bet ye just think you can swan in and outta here and we'll all just be waitin' to help you...” he snapped.

“No! Hoggle, I never...” she didn't get a chance to finish because just then the sled gave a mighty heave and she was thrown back among the baggage. Hoggle struggled to keep the horses in check. Ahead of them the other sleigh had stopped, and he could just barely see the shape of the Goblin King opening a passage for them. They'd crossed the border into the Goblin lands, then. He was a bit surprised that his preoccupation had kept him from feeling the change.

The lead sleigh began to move, and he urged the horses to follow. Behind him Aisling (who was Sarah, who was Trouble, he reminded himself) pulled herself back up into a sitting position. Ahead of them the castle courtyard was calm for the moment, but he knew the storm would follow them. Where the King's anger went, his own personal globe of snow was sure to follow. As Hoggle brought the sled to a halt he spoke, but didn't look back at Aisling. “If ye want my advice, you'll leave soon's you can. Ye should never've come back.”

Then he hopped down and started unhitching the tired horses. He didn't look back at her as she stared at him in wounded confusion. After a time she climbed down and slipped away from the group without anyone noticing.

:.0_0.:

Tension ran high among the denizens of the Labyrinth over the next week. Everyone seemed to share in the King's foul mood. Jareth was gone from the Castle every day, without word to anyone, and at night he closeted himself in his study and snarled at anyone fool enough to knock. Leila kept to her rooms and was more vile than usual to the servants. That only increased Nel’s bad temper, and the kitchen staff found themselves walking on eggshells every day.

Aisling's lessons were suspended, and she became bored and irritable with no one to keep company with her. Even Izzy's unprepossessing presence was gone since she had stayed behind in the Dwarf Kingdom. Aisling performed her chores, then spent her afternoons in the crystal garden, ostensibly practicing her magic. If some small part of her hoped that Jareth would seek out the garden for his own solace, then it was doomed to disappointment.

In fact she spent a great deal of time trying to understand Hoggle's words to her in the sled. He seemed even more wounded and defensive than he had been when she first met him. Was it somehow her fault? She'd hoped they could still be friends, but in fact he seemed to despise her. And then there was the mysterious fact that he knew who she was. How could that be?

It didn’t help her mood that the Labyrinth itself kept pestering her. Twice when she slept she had found herself in the courtyard dreamscape that led down to the river. Each time she had refused to follow the path through the catacombs, loudly cursing at her tormentor and reiterating her intention to have no part in it’s plotting. She discovered that with a great deal of effort she could change the dream to something more to her liking, but as interesting as that was it didn’t stop the Labyrinth from intruding over and over. She was starting to have difficulty sleeping.

She was on her way to the garden again, feeling even grumpier due to a restless night fighting off dreams. She turned a corner in the familiar path and stopped dead as the most vile, and familiar, smell assailed her. Like a thousand rotting corpses overlaying a melange of skunk and sour milk. It was so strong her eyes teared up immediately and she spent a good minute clearing them out.

When she could see once again, she was horrified to discover the bubbling pits of ooze before her. She clapped one hand over her mouth and nose, the very taste of the fetid air made her want to vomit, and turned back the way she had come. To her dismay there was nothing but a rocky cliff face behind her. She scowled.

Since her first sojourn to the crystal garden, Aisling had never again found herself lost in the Labyrinth. She would think of her destination, and then simply know how to get there. In addition, she’d developed quite a talent for reshaping the path when she needed to. Move a hedge here, create a door there, and she could get anywhere. She could think of only one reason why her direction sense was failing her now. Obviously the Labyrinth was taking more drastic measures to ensure her compliance.

“Hell, no,” she muttered. She found some footholds and started clambering up the rock. She climbed and climbed, but the top remained stubbornly out of reach. With a curse she started slowly back down, only to find the ground unexpectedly right beneath her feet. She fell with a startled shout, then punched the ground in frustration. “I said no!” She glared around her, then up at the moss laden trees.

Growling, she stood back up. To her right she could see the cliff petered out and the forest began. She stomped over and into the trees, heading away from the stench behind her. Slowly the smell began to dissipate as she walked deeper, and she relaxed. Too soon, as it happened.

One moment the soft loam of the forest floor was beneath her feet, the next emptiness. With a squeal she fell, tumbling down a debris strewn gutter. Breath knocked out of her completely, she rolled end over end, finally stopping with a bone-jarring crash. She lay, trying to catch her breath, but a familiar smell overcame her and she doubled over in painful coughing. Once the hacking subsided she lay for a moment. Above her the ugly, green hanging moss taunted her. “Ugh!” she shouted, kicking the dirt under her heels. “I know what you’re trying to do, and it won’t work!”

“And what is it exactly that I am trying to do?” a cultured voice asked. Aisling leapt to her feet and whirled around. Jareth stood leaning against a large tree, watching her with cold calculation. “Or were you speaking to somebody else?” He looked every inch the angry monarch --- very unlike the more relaxed companion she had gotten to know over the last couple of months.

“Jareth,” she squeaked. Appalled at the high-pitched sound she cleared her throat and tried again. “Your Highness, you startled me.” There, that sounded much steadier.

“That was rather the intention,” he said smoothly. He waited a moment. “You haven’t answered my question.”

“I’m sorry, um..what was the question?” She sorted through and discarded several plausible answers for him. None of them sounded very convincing. She could hardly tell him she was talking to his Labyrinth, could she? Which led her to wonder if he could talk to his Labyrinth. That was better puzzled about at a later time, however. She watched him closely, trying to decipher his mood, the better to handle him.

Jareth’s brows drew together sharply. “I asked you…” he shook his head and gave a disgusted snort. “Never mind. I simply don't have the patience. What are you doing here?”

Aisling looked around, taking in the miserable view of the Bog of Eternal Stench. “Well, I’m not exactly sure. I seem to have gotten a bit turned around.” She looked back at him and beamed as innocent a smile as she could. “Lucky for me though isn’t it, meeting you here?”

His lip curled slightly. He didn’t look like he believed her. Now was one of those times she wished she could tell him about the Geas that kept her from lying to him. Of course, then she’d have to explain why she accepted the Geas, and what she was doing here, and who she was. Oh, dear, she might be hyperventilating.

“Lucky, yes, I’m sure,” he said, looking at her oddly. “Now, why don’t you turn yourself around again, and go back to the castle.” Aisling looked back at the gloomy forest and wondered how far she'd get.

“I’m not sure I can,” she muttered. He looked at her sharply and she flinched. “That is, I’ve been trying, Your Majesty, but I keep ending up back here. I’m afraid I’m quite lost.” She looked at him hopefully. “Can you show me the way back?”

“No,” he snapped, “I’m busy.” He examined her at length, his gaze speculative. Then he frowned and looked around. There was no sound but the phlegmy bubbling of the bog. Carefully he removed one leather glove and placed his hand on the tree beside him. She remembered the time she touched her apple tree, and the first time she had felt the Labyrinth. She found herself wondering if he were doing the same thing. The silence stretched on, until she couldn’t take it any longer.

“Perhaps I should go with you,” she blurted out, breaking the quiet. He lowered his lids, until his eyes were mere slits, and looked at her.

“Perhaps you should,” he said. He did not look pleased at the prospect. He turned on his heel and strode away. When she did not immediately follow, he glanced back and threw out a terse, “Keep up.” Aisling scrambled after him.

They walked in silence for a long time. The King’s steps were sure and swift. Aisling marveled at his ability to find solid ground among the spongy land around them, even as she struggled to keep pace with him. Finally he slowed, his head cocked to one side, listening for she knew not what. He stopped and pivoted slowly in a circle. Then he started off in a new direction.

“What made you change your mind?” She asked after they had walked in silence for several minutes more.

“About what?” he asked absently.

“About letting me accompany you. You obviously didn't want me to.” She was surprised at the little pang of hurt that brought.

“You said yourself you kept ending up back here. Obviously something meant for you to be here. I have found it advantageous to pay attention to such signs.” She noticed he didn't say a word about the Labyrinth. Did that mean he didn't know it was sentient, or was he just hiding the fact from her?

“Oh.”

“Were you expecting a different answer?” he asked, one brow cocked as he looked back at her.

“No.” Not expecting. Hoping maybe, that he would have and share knowledge of the Labyrinth.

“No?”

She had to get off the subject. She didn't want him to know the Labyrinth was taking an interest in her. She wasn't sure how he'd take it. “I suppose it would have been nice had you wanted my company just for the sake of having my company.” There, it wasn't an answer to his question, but sounded like it was, and it was a true statement. She was getting better at this whole redirecting the truth thing.

“Hmm,” he purred. He said nothing else for the next few minutes. Finally she broke the silence again.

“Where are we going?”

He sighed and stopped, looking distinctly irritated when he glanced at her. “We are not going anywhere any longer.”

Chagrined she began to babble an apology. “I'm sorry. I'll be quiet. I didn't mean...”

The sly expression on his face stopped her. His lips quirked. “We are not going anywhere because we are here.” He swept one hand out before him. She leaned out to peak past him and pursed her lips in puzzlement. She looked to her right, and to her left, then all around.

“Here where? It's a wall.” It wasn't just any wall, she supposed. It was ancient looking, and high, so high that she couldn't make out the top when she looked up. It seemed to stretch into infinity in either direction. It had a presence that hovered at the edge of her senses, as if waiting for something momentous to happen.

“What's it for?”

“Why to keep things out and to keep things in. What else do suppose a wall would be for?” He smirked at her.

“Yes, I understand the concept, Your Majesty,” she said dryly. “I meant, what is it protecting?”

“If that is what you meant then that is what you should have said. You must learn to be clear in your questions, or you will never get a proper answer.” He started walking again.

Aisling just sighed and followed, examining the massive construction as she walked. As she walked along she realized the wall was without a single chink or crack. Not even a breath of wind could escape from between its stones.

“It's awfully well built.” She said.

“That is because I built it.”

“Ah...So what is on the other side?” She paused a moment to look closer at the stones, mostly to stop herself from watching him walking ahead of her. Heaven forbid he caught her ogling him. She also tried to ignore the fact that she was finally wandering the Bog like the Labyrinth wanted her to. Instead she looked at the scattered clumps of Watcher's Moss, the eyestalks following her curiously. She never could get over those things. She wondered if they were the equivalent of the Labyrinth's eyes, or if that ancient dream had other ways of seeing what went on within It's walls. She stared at one clump and it stared back, and it stared back unblinking.

“The stuff of nightmares and darkness,” he said softly.

“Like your ego?” she murmured under her breath, eyes rolling.

“That would take a considerably larger wall,” he whispered silkily, suddenly right behind her, his breath caressing her ear. She yelped and turned, but tripped on an exposed root and fell to the ground. She stared up at him looming over her with his arrogant and enigmatic eyes.

Jareth didn't know why he teased her back. He should punish her for her temerity, but looking down at her sprawled in the dirt the only feeling he had was one of amused contentment. His mouth twitched, and Aisling's twitched along with it. A moment later he was laughing, his head thrown back as the mirth poured out of him, and she was laughing too. After their laughter subsided he held out a hand to help her up, and was pleased to see she accepted it without hesitation.

How long had it been since he had laughed like that, with genuine joy behind it? What a very odd feeling it was. The laughter trickled away into nothing, and they walked side by side in companionable silence along the wall. Jareth kept a sharp eye on the stones, searching for damage. There had been another shift, the night they returned from the Dwarf Kingdom, and he had been inspecting and repairing nearly every day since. He still didn't know what the cause of the shifting was, and that disturbed him.

“So,” Aisling finally spoke from beside him. He glanced over and she was peeking through her hair at him with her caramel eyes. “Nightmares and darkness, huh? Sounds ominous.”

“There is a reason for the wall,” he replied wryly. She nodded, her expression turning thoughtful.

“Yes, well. Would these nightmares have anything to do with that attack the night of your ball, back in autumn?”

He grimaced. Too clever by half sometimes was his little dream. “I suspect so, yes, but I have not found proof yet.”

“So, we're checking out the wall then, because you think there might be a hole somewhere that something might have escaped from?” she pressed.

“Indeed, very perceptive of you,” he sighed. She was quiet again for a time, then her voice reached him, hesitant and soft.

“What would it look like?”

Jareth gave a graceful shrug. “Therein lies the problem. It could be anything or nothing, an object, a creature, a shadow on a wall. This one must have some talent at illusion and concealment, to have eluded me so long. At the same time it may already have dissipated if it has not found a source of energy.”

“Energy? Is that what happened to that servant? It just...sucked the life out of him?”

“Yes,” he said simply. When he looked down at her he noticed her eyes seemed worried. She nibbled on her lower lip thoughtfully and he raised one brow in inquiry.

“Jareth,” she began, “I think...” She didn't have a chance to finish. With a discordant wail a dirty red creature suddenly launched out of the tree above them. Jareth stepped aside, but the wildling was not so quick. She gave a short gasp as the firey, Jareth recognized it now, wrapped its withered limbs around her and bore her to the ground.

“Hungry,” it whined strangely before sinking its teeth into the soft flesh where her neck and shoulder met. She screamed, and her hands clawed for purchase in the firey's fur and flesh, trying to pull it off.

“Aisling!” Jareth shouted, an unfamiliar feeling of fear washing over him. He buried his fingers in the firey's scruff and with a growl he yanked the creature off her. Unfortunately, the head did not accompany its body, but held firm to the wildling's flesh. He could see her trying to wedge her fingers into its jaw and pry it loose.

He threw the body to the ground and planted one boot on its shoulders to prevent it from crawling away. With a flip of his wrist, a gleaming silver dagger appeared in his hand. He drove it down into the firey's back, through the heart, with such force that the blade buried itself in the frozen ground beneath. The body spasmed and went limp. In that pause after death he could no longer hear a struggle behind him. When he looked over he was relieved to see that Aisling had managed to get the head removed and was curled on the ground whimpering, one hand pressed to her shoulder, the other clutched protectively to her stomach. He crouched at her side, ignoring the head beside her now staring at them with dead eyes.

“Aisling, Aisling, my little dream, can you hear me?” he asked urgently. Her eyes flickered open and looked up at him, glazed with pain.

“Jareth?” Her voice was breathy and weak.

“Hush, don't talk. You must let me see the wound.” She flinched away from his reaching hand, but he grabbed her good shoulder and held her down. “Shh, shh, shh,” he murmured. “You must let me look.”

“It hurts,” she croaked.

“I know it does, little one, I know.” He was persistent, and she finally allowed him to draw her hand away from the wound. Her shoulder was ravaged, blood soaked her fur and leaked out onto the hard ground, and his heart hurt at her pain. “Lie still, we need to stop the bleeding.”

“You're being so nice,” she mused weakly, as if in wonderment.

“What does that mean?” he sniffed, taking offense at her implication.

“Gobli' King 's no'a nice man,” she slurred. Her eyes fluttering.

He scowled. “Even in this state you argue with me,” he muttered petulantly, but secretly he was pleased at her show of spirit. “Now stop talking and lay still. I will stop the bleeding and then carry you back to the castle for help.”

“Carry me?” Her forehead crinkled as she blinked blearily up at him.

“Yes.” He straightened and stripped his shirt off quickly. It was less energy to use it to staunch the wound than to produce material for the task.

“Why don't you just,” her free hand waved weakly, “you know, poof?”

“Poof?” he asked, his eyes narrowing in amusement. He tore one long strip from the hem of the shirt and laid it aside, then folded the remaining material into the wound. “Hold this here.” Her hand automatically pressed to the soft silk, and she groaned at the pressure.

“Yes, poof, you know, from here to there, poof, poof...” She blinked up at him kneeling shirtless above her. “Oh, my. Naked chest,” she breathed.

He couldn't help the chuckle that escaped. He took her injured hand gently in his and began wrapping the silk strip around it. “You cannot “poof” in the bog,” he said.

“Not even you?” she asked.

“Not even me,” he said, “It is part of the protection of this place.” He was glad to keep her talking; it meant she was hanging on. When she didn't respond for several long moments he became concerned and touched his fingers to her cheek. Her eyes moved to his face and she grimaced.

“Am I going to die?” she finally asked.

“No.” His brows lowered menacingly.

“I might. I think...”

“You...will...not...die,” he gritted out through his teeth as he tied the makeshift bandage tight around her hand, and then tied the rest of his shirt to her shoulder.

“You're always giving orders, you know that? So demanding...” She winced as he tightened the fabric sharply. “Jareth, want to tell you, just in...” She gasped suddenly and her body bowed backwards and started shaking. Mewling sounds of distress were escaping from her lips and she twisted out of his grasp, clawing at the ground with both hands. “Oh God,” she gasped, “it burns...Jareth, please...the darkness burns!”

“Aisling, my dreamling, what is it? Can you hear me?” He grabbed her arms, trying to keep her from injuring herself further as she writhed. It was then he noticed the ooze, black and oily, sink the rest of the way into the skin of her good hand. The dusty gray trail it left in the dirt led straight to the vacant eyes of the dead firey. “Aisling!”

“It...wants...” she gasped, before her eyes rolled up into her head and she went limp in his arms. With a growl, Jareth gathered her in his arms and started running for the edge of the bog.

:.O_O.:

Aisling moaned as the nightmare unfolded. Pain, blood, and fear chased her through endless corridors. Finally she'd had enough. She would not run, no more. She stopped and turned, and when the dark thing ran around the corner she was ready.

“Feed,” it hissed, a shifting shadowy snake, stalking her, swaying in her face.

“No,” she ground out, her voice one and many, her power flowing through her fingers, “You came to me, and that makes you mine.” She grabbed the shadow around its throat and slammed it to the ground. It writhed in her grip, but could not escape. Eventually it twitched and lay still. “You'll do what I say now.”

She awoke to a cool cloth on her head. Niela's face hovered over her. “Nel?”

“Awake are ye?” She turned to someone Aisling couldn't see. “Tell 'im she's out o' it. Whate'er had its grip has passed.” She sank back into darkness, and her dreams were nothing more than that.

When she woke next it was to the sound of goblin voices.

“But it boring!”

“It does nothing for hours.”

“Want to sleep.”

“Can't sleep, it sleeping.”

“Want to...”

She turned her head and saw a pair of short, purple furballs with bulbous noses and barbed tails. She tried to speak but her mouth felt gummy. She licked her lips and tried again. “Who...who're you?”

“It awake!”

“It talk!”

“Not suppose to disturb it. You disturb it.” One of the goblins poked the other in the belly.

“Did not!”

“Did too!”

“Did not!”

“Did too!”

“Did...”

“Stop!” she ground out. She raised one hand to her temple, only to find it swathed in bandages. She lowered it again. “What...what happened?”

“Kingy bring you back. You hurt.”

“Kingy very very mad. Yell at everyone.”

“He be happy you ok now!”

“We tell kingy!”

With that the two rushed off and Aisling was alone. She tried to sit up, but it took a couple of attempts to manage it, and once she did she nearly doubled over from the pain in her shoulder. Nausea washed over her, and she hung her head between her legs, breathing deeply until it passed. There was something, something urgent she needed to do. What was it? Her thoughts were sluggish beneath a woozy haze.

The nightmares. The shadows, feeding on life energy. Oh, God. Leila! She had to find Leila. She tried to stand, but it didn't work. She had to do something. Leila was in danger, she just knew it. Aisling tumbled to the floor and lay there for a time, just gathering her strength, then she held out her good hand and concentrated.

It took almost 10 minutes, but her raven finally coalesced, perched on her stomach. It cocked its head and looked at her with a beady eye. “Leila,” she croaked, “You have to find her...follow her. Come back to me if you see anything bad happen.” The raven cawed and took flight, making her grunt.

She thought about getting up, but she was just so tired. She was just drifting off when she heard voices again. A familiar voice, a voice that made her feel safe, growled into the silence.

“They were supposed to be watching her. Why is she on the floor?” She didn't hear a response, but she did feel warm arms lifting her back onto the bed. A hand brushed her forehead and she drifted to sleep again, a deep, dreamless sleep for many hours.

She dreamed of him. They sat on a grassy hill, a tree full of spring blossoms above them. He took her hand and kissed it, his lips velvet soft.

“Darling,” he said. Then he kissed her lips, but a shadow fell over them, and she looked up to see a raven circling above her. “Danger,” it cawed, “Danger, danger!” It dove at her and pecked at her hand until blood welled. She looked at her lover and his eyes were dark, his hands like claws. His teeth sank into her lip, and blood ran down her chin. She fell back, crawling away, trying to escape, but hands were grasping at her, so many hands. They ripped and scratched and tore, and she screamed...screamed...screamed as they violated her, bruised her...devoured her.

Aisling woke screaming and shaking, her hand throbbing painfully. The room was empty this time, no bickering goblins to distract her. The raven sat on her stomach and watched her. Its beak glistened wetly and it butted her chest with its head. She knew what it wanted, and she held it to her and absorbed it back in.

Oh, Leila. She had to find Jareth, get to him. She stumbled out of bed, but she could barely stand even with the help of the wall. She'd never get to him on foot, she didn't have the strength. She rested her hand on the cool stone and tried to think. Jareth, she had to get to Jareth. He would know what to do. Even as she thought it, she felt a breath, a pulse of magic from the wall, and she knew where he was. “Will you take me there?” she asked, and the door appeared. “Thank you.” She opened it and stepped through without a thought, into darkness.

It took far more effort than it should to conjure the fairy light, but once she did she found herself on a stair. She climbed them, ever up and up, until they ended with a heavy door, burnished dark with age, and carved in elaborate fairy scenes. She touched it, then grasped the handle and pushed it open.

The moonlight streamed in through the windows, bathing one side of the room in soft, blurred light. The other side danced with red and yellow shadows cast by the crackling fire. Aisling's eyes were drawn to the bed, and there he lay. He looked peaceful in sleep. She wished she didn't need to wake him. “Jareth,” she tried to say aloud, but it came out more like a hoarse whisper. Her eyes traveled from his face and down. He lay on his stomach, face turned to the the door. He must have been warm, because there was a pile of furs and comforters in a fallen pile on the floor. It took her three heartbeats to realize he was completely nude, and she tore her eyes back up to his face --- and his open eyes. She met his glimmering gaze for but an instant before her exertions took their toll and she fainted to the floor.


I'll Never Leave You

Some nights I go to sleep without you.
The river’s far too deep without you.
I can’t make it alone,
I need you, by my side.

Some days I walk away without you.
The river’s far too wide without you.
Oh, I can’t make it alone,
I need you, by my side.

Harry Nilsson