Return to the Labyrinth

No, I don’t own any of it, except for the parts I do. See prior disclaimers. The title of this chapter is taken from a poem of the same name by JRR Tolkein. The full text is at the end of the chapter, as usual. It is meant to refer to the idea that the things that are of value don’t necessarily look like much, but things that seem priceless might just be junk. It’s an idea that was prevalent in the original story, of course.

This chapter is where this story earns its MATURE rating, so if you offend easily, don’t read it!

Sorry for the big delay in updating. Real Life can be a burden sometimes. ;)

All that is Gold does not Glitter

In the oldest and most secret parts of the Labyrinth something was stirring. These were the deep places, all but forgotten by the Labyrinth’s denizens, as old as dreams, but younger than time, if there is such an age. The air, musty and still, suddenly shivered with the disturbance. Small stony rubble skittered across the ground, and the walls shifted, as if a slumbering giant were yawning deep within the earth. It was as if the maze took one long deep breath, released it, and was still. Something was stirring, but not yet awake.

Like a pebble in a pond the small breath of magic rippled out from its source, touching each part of the Labyrinth as it passed. It was a subtle shift, a slight course correction to a river, a minor change in hue for a field of flowers, nothing truly noticeable. The animals startled, but did not know why, and many a faerie fell to fits of sneezing. Only for those most closely tied to the realm was there a sense of...something different. The rocks whispered nervously to each other, and the trees shivered suddenly in the still air, as if a great gust of wind had just ruffled their branches. And just as quickly, it was gone, as if it had never been.

:o,o: Elsewhere in the Labyrinth :o,o:

Nel’s expression was thunderous when Sarah and Izzy finally arrived back at the kitchens. Sarah’s step faltered when she caught sight of the glowering little woman, bracing for another scolding. However, as soon as Nel caught sight of Izzy’s face she became a whirlwind of motherly concern, herding the young woman toward a seat by the fire. Sarah found herself mildly shocked at the sudden change in demeanor, never having seen Neila’s caring side before.

The small brownie woman sat Izzy down and ordered a scullion to fetch water and a cloth. “The rest of you back to work,” she snapped, momentarily reverting to her usual stern self and sending gawping servants scuttling away in every direction. Her expression softened again as she turned back to Izzy. “We’ll have you right as rain soon, deary,” Nel said to Izzy gently. She held the silent woman’s chin and peered closely at the colorful bruise.

Sarah hovered but a moment before reluctantly turning to finish her chores. She felt responsible for Izzy’s current condition and wished she could do something more to help. It wasn’t lost on her, the strange coincidence between her idle thought in Leila’s room and the freakish incident that followed. Surely it was JUST a coincidence though. Nothing more. Then again, things weren’t always what they seemed in this place. Just thinking about it made her head hurt.

As she shuffled away, Sarah was stopped by Nel’s no nonsense voice. “What happened?” she barked, stopping Sarah in her tracks. She hesitated, wondering how much to tell the formidable cook. Then again, what was the worst that could happen? She might as well tell Neila the whole truth.

Resolved, Sarah proceeded to tell Nel only what occurred, no speculation on strange coincidences included, leaving out the short encounter with Prince Roarke. The woman said nothing during the tale, her only reaction a periodic thinning of her lips in anger, or a shake of her head. After Sarah finished silence settled around them, only to be interrupted by the pixie scullion returning with a bowl of cool water and a cloth. Nel nodded in thanks, but never took her eyes from examining Izzy’s cheek.

“Twill need a salve,” she said finally, breaking the silence. “I’ll need some herbs fer it. I’m a bit short o’ what’s needed here, but I can’t be leaving now.” She glanced at Sarah, then went back to dabbing at Izzy’s face with the damp towel. “Ye’ll need tae go fetch it for me. It’s for the best I s’pose. Needed tae restock anyhow.” Neila picked up a small reed basket and shoved it into her hands, while Sarah just looked at her with wide, dark eyes. “Well, beastie, go on!” Nel demanded in irritation when Sarah just stood there with the basket in her hands.

“Where do I go, Nel?” she muttered, “I’ve never been outside the castle.” Nel sighed in aggravation, but could not deny that Sarah had a point.

And so it was that Sarah found herself leaving the castle for the first time and navigating the twisted, narrow alleys of Faerie Mews, the eastern part of the Goblin City closest to the castle, where most of the castle’s workers, and supplies, resided. She picked her way carefully along the muddy street, barely aware of the curious glances thrown her way, counting the doorways as they passed. Finally she stopped in front of a small blue door, hanging crooked on its hinges.

She pondered over Nel’s obscure and confusing directions once more. The 19th door on the left, down from the fountain at the end of the third row of two story buildings just outside the kitchen gate. Sarah looked at the door in front of her, shrugged and knocked lightly, hoping she didn’t break the ramshackle scrap of wood. Moments later the little portal opened outward with a crash, slamming painfully into Sarah’s foot. With a cry she hunched over even further than usual, hopping a little and grasping at her injured toes.

“What are you hollering on about?” a high-pitched voice demanded. Sarah stilled and peered down at the open door, shaking her shaggy head to get fur out of her eyes. A sense of familiarity engulfed her as she blinked down at the speaker. A small, elderly fox woman, her white hair pulled back in a messy bun, stood in the doorway and stared up at Sarah suspiciously, nose twitching. Her small, beady eyes held the same fierce vitality as another Sarah had once known, a valiant knight in tiny armor.

For the first time since her return Sarah was reminded of the friends she met on her last trip through the Labyrinth, and she found herself momentarily speechless. A sense of guilt stole over her. She had forgotten them, almost entirely. Had they been a dream or a memory? She seemed to recall trying to call on them, long ago when things had begun to fall apart, but to no avail. Why had she gone so long without thinking on them, now that she was back? Sir Didymus, Hoggle…gentle Ludo, were they still around? Had they been punished for helping her in her quest? Had they ever existed at all?

“Well ye great clod?,” the elderly vixen yipped, pulling Sarah from her thoughts with a start, “Are ye in or out?” Sarah blinked down at the interruption, trying to pull her thoughts back together.

“I, uh,” she struggled to remember why she was there, and finally it came to her. “I need some herbs,” the little woman just peered at her with suspicious eyes, “That is, Neila sent me. May I..um..come in?” The vixen sniffed, but finally nodded and held the door open. Sarah smiled feebly and ducked into the small dwelling.

:o,o: Elsewhere in the Labyrinth :o,o:

Jareth dismissed the small crystal with a wave of his fingers. The girl was back in her own world again where she would wake with only the vaguest wisp of a memory of a dream of the Labyrinth. The changling he had put in place of her sister would sicken and die within days, and the real baby would grow strong among magic of the underground, happier and healthier than she would have aboveground. Not to mention the lucrative treaty he had negotiated with the new parents. He should be satisfied with the outcome, but found, to his annoyance, he was not. A strange sense of discontent had gripped him shortly after he left the castle, and even now the feeling persisted, like an itch deep inside that he could not find to scratch.

An irritated scowl passed over his porcelain features before he brushed it away again. What had he to be discontent about? He was master of his own vast kingdom, powerful and full of magic. With less than a thought he traveled to one of the many hills overlooking the Labyrinth, dusty red and desolate looking to the untrained eye, and admired his kingdom. His magic-laced eyes, one gold, one green, surveyed his domain and a small smile of satisfaction flashed across his lips.

No other kingdom in the underground could rival his for size. Very few fey could rival him for power. His cunning was such that those who knew him dared not challenge him. Whatever he desired, he could have. Not everything a soft voice whispered in his head, and he frowned, recalling once again the young brunette who had been the only one to defeat him. How strange that now, after so many years, the memory of that girl was plaguing him once again. Jareth dismissed the thoughts with a soft growl of frustration. What he needed was a distraction. With a soft pop he faded out of sight, leaving behind nothing but a fragile bubble to float away on the breeze.

He reappeared with a soft sigh in the sitting room of Leila’s suite, blinking as he gazed around the room. It was rather less welcoming than he remembered it being on his last visit. To be frank, it was a disaster area. The entire room looked as though a horde of Goblins bent on mischief had swarmed through. Furniture was overturned, broken glass littered the lush carpet, and drapes had been torn from the walls to lie forlorn on the ground.

Jareth’s eyes narrowed as he surveyed the devastation. Then, with a wave of one elegant hand, the room was restored as if it had never been altered. He had a feeling he knew the cause, and it was not improving on his mood. With lazy strides he prowled across the room and through the doorway into Leila’s bedchamber. The scene was even worse in there. Fabric was shredded and tossed everywhere, pillows torn open, their soft down scattered. Tapestries were ripped from the walls. Jareth eyed the scene coldly. Finally his eyes lit on the open doors to the balcony and the quarry he sought.

Leila lay soaking in a large porcelain tub out on her balcony, looking out over the maze of gardens. She did not notice him at first, preoccupied as she was gazing at the view, a sour expression on her face. Jareth took a moment to study her dispassionately.

She was quite lovely, he acknowledged, but human lovely, not the otherworldly beauty that fey women possessed. Her night dark hair was piled haphazardly atop her head, but small tendrils had escaped and clung damply to her neck. Her face had a delicate beauty, a small, pert nose, pointed chin and cheek bones that would put a few fey women to shame. But her eyes, he realized, were sharp chips of obsidian, devoid of warmth.

The steamy, lilac scented water in the tub was clouded with trails of soap, tantalizing him with glimpses of pale flesh as it swirled around. He needed no reminder of how nubile and supple her young body was, the slim waist, lean legs, and soft bosom. He was, after all, intimately acquainted with every inch of her soft, mortal skin. He felt excitement stir at the thought.

Jareth knew that many Fey, like Roarke, did not understand his penchant for human lovers. How could they? Most denizens of the Underground avoided humans as much as possible, not counting the stolen children, who ended up being as much Fey as any other after being steeped in the magic of the Underground since infancy. They tended to view humans as unpredictable, destructive, and stupid creatures whose only use was providing dreams to fuel their magic and children to increase their numbers.

Jareth’s views were colored by years of dealing closely with the aboveground mortals. There was no doubt that they were inferior to his race, but they had other qualities that the Fey lacked. Their passion intrigued and confounded him. There was something about a race who took their emotions to such extremes. They threw themselves at life despite how easily manipulated they were because of their emotions, despite how delicate their physical bodies were, how easily broken or killed. For such short lived beings, they had the most amazing capacity for good, as well as evil, and the inventiveness of their dreams, the breadth of their imagination, amazed him. After all, it was the collective dreams of humans that brought his Labyrinth to life, and that alone deserved some measure of respect.

Still, every novelty became too familiar after a time and interest trickled away. Watching Leila from the shadows of her ransacked room, Jareth realized that the novelty of her was wearing off. Soon enough she would need to be disposed of, but for now she still amused him.

Stepping out onto the balcony, his mouth turned up in a cold smile, he let his shadow fall over the bathing girl. “Hello, my dear,” he drawled silkily, “I trust your day is going well?”

Startled by his voice interrupting her thoughts, Leila’s head whipped around to stare at him. Her scowl returned, her lips turning down in a pout. “Where have you been?” she asked petulantly. Jareth raised one imperious brow at the bite in her voice. Seeming to realize how her question had sounded she smoothed out her expression and gave him an apologetic smile. “Forgive me, your majesty,” she said. “It’s just that, I was looking for you.” Her smile took on a seductive quality as she looked up at him through her lashes. “After all, I missed you last night, Jareth.”

“I see,” he murmured, gliding closer to the steaming tub. Idly he picked up the bathsheet draped over the balcony and held it out for her. As Leila rose out of the bath Jareth lazily admired the way the water glistened as it ran down her naked skin. He wrapped the soft cloth around her as she stepped out of the tub and rested his hands on her shoulders. “And you missed me so much that you felt compelled to destroy the beautiful room I gave you?” he asked in a silky, dangerous voice.

Leila stiffened and tried to turn, but his hands tightened delicately. Not too hard so as to hurt, but enough to remind her that it could. “Your majesty…that is,” she stuttered over her words, a thread of wariness in her voice. “I didn’t mean to, Jareth, it’s just…”

Jareth leaned down to rest his head against hers, his breath tickling her neck. “Just what?” he breathed softly, his lips brushing her ear. She shivered delicately beneath his hands as another thrill of wariness went through her.

“I was…very upset,” she managed to whisper.

“Mmm…indeed,” he said. His elegant hands tightened further on her shoulders before relaxing again. “I’d like to show you something, Leila.” Guiding her with his hands he turned her toward the view of the Labyrinth, pressing her against the stone railing of the balcony with the length of his body behind her. One hand moved across her throat to cup her chin, directing her gaze outward over the gardens. “Tell me, Leila. What do you see?” he asked, his thumb stroking softly over the tender skin where her jaw met her throat.

It took Leila a moment to process the question, as if his touch made it difficult to concentrate. However, after a pause she answered, “The Goblin Kingdom…The Labyrinth.” Her breath hitched in her throat as he tightened his hand on her shoulder before pulling the towel off and letting it fall to the ground. Jareth cupped his hand around her bare shoulder and lowered his mouth to her neck. Very gently his pointed teeth nipped at the tender skin there, causing her to shudder.

“MY Labyrinth,” he practically hissed against her throat. Leila shuddered again as a soft sigh left her lips. His lips went back to nibbling at her neck.

“Your Labyrinth,” she whispered raggedly, her head tilting back as she leaned into his body. The hand at her shoulder trailed down her arm before snaking around to cup one small breast, pinning her arm in the process. Lifting his head he looked down at her upturned face. Her lips were parted and her eyes closed in pleasure. Softly he continued to stroke her with his fingers, barely touching her skin with his hands as he held her tight against the front of his body with his arms. A satisfied smile touched his lips.

“My Labyrinth,” he agreed. “And have you enjoyed your stay in my Labyrinth?” he asked lightly. When she did not answer right away his hands tightened, almost to the point of pain, but not quite. Her eyes flew open and locked with his, glazed with desire and a hint of fear.

Her head nodded, but when that did not loosen his hold she gasped out an answer. “Yes.”

“In MY castle?” he continued, his voice growing harsher.

“Yes!” she replied after another prompting squeeze. He forced his knee between her own, parting her legs wide as he pressed against her.

“In MY bed?” he hissed, eyes narrowing. The hand at her breast trailed down to cup her between her legs, pulling her even tighter against the heat straining against the fabric of his hose. She squirmed and whimpered in his grasp, but the effort to escape was futile and token at best.

“Yeeessssss…” she hissed softly when his hand left her throat to untie his trousers. As soon as she felt the heat of his skin against her buttocks she tried to turn, but he grabbed her tightly by the arms, squeezing her between his body and the unyielding stone of the railing until she cried out.

“No!” he hissed, widening her legs with his own and positioning himself against her heat. “No, my dear. You need to be reminded…” Slowly he pushed at her entrance, pausing to rest his lips against the shell of her ear. “…That everything in MY Labyrinth…belongs to ME.” He entered her with a powerful thrust, pushing her torso forward over the railing, and she cried out again at the pleasure-pain of the sudden invasion. He paused, his own breathing beginning to become heavy. “And you would do well,” he said softly, “To remember that next time your temper gets the better of you.” He pressed deeper. “Know your place.”

Leila whimpered, trying to move, but he held her immobile. “Please,” she begged, her head turning to look back at him.

“What, my dear?” he asked, eyes narrowed. He gave a small thrust of his hips and she moaned.

“Please,” she gasped, “I’m sorry, Jareth…your majesty…It won’t happen again.”

“Why not?” he asked softly.

“I will remember my place,” she rasped, “Please Jareth, I swear it. Please.”

“Good,” he said, with a predatory smile of satisfaction. Releasing her arms he braced himself against the stone railing and set a slow, powerful rhythm. Within moments she was crying out again, this time only in pleasure, and shuddering beneath him. His pace quickened as his own satisfaction approached. He buried himself inside her with one last heavy thrust, practically purring as the pleasure washed over him.

They stood there for a minute, panting, before he stepped back and retied his hose. Leila turned to face him, but her legs failed her. She sank to the ground, leaning back against the railing, and looked up at him with lazy eyes. Neither spoke, until he turned his back on her to go back into the room.

“You’re leaving?” she asked, incredulity lacing her voice. Jareth stopped and looked back at her, his eyes cold.

“I’m quite finished,” he said quietly, “and I think I’ve made my point.” With that he walked into Leila’s bedroom, righted it with a wave of his hand, and faded away with a pop.


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All that is gold does not glitter,
Not all those who wander are lost;
The old that is strong does not wither,
Deep roots are not reached by the frost.
From the ashes a fire shall be woken,
A light from the shadows shall spring;
Renewed shall be blade that was broken,
The crownless again shall be king.

JRR Tolkien