“I did.” A canvas pack had been left in the king’s chambers. Inside several pairs of heavy cotton pants with padded seats and a few mid-weight sweaters. Sarah had decided to throw in the long sleeved button up shirt from home and a pair of underwear. With outfits in the bag and the one she was wearing, it was obvious they’d be gone more than one day. What was she supposed to sleep in out in the middle of nowhere. The shirt would do nicely she concluded.
Jareth stood at Sarah’s side. Black leather breeches rose up out of his boots and met a grey flowing silk shirt at his waist, a black leather vest held it tightly to his sculpted chest, his crop in hand. Gribbin, the king’s stableman, refused to meet the questioning eyes of the king as he confessed the trouble they were having, “Your majesty, we’re having a small problem with the horses that you’ve requested.” Gribbin was taller than Hoggle, more broad. Sarah wasn’t sure what species he was, but she assumed some sort of goblin chosen based on his size to work with the larger and powerful animals.
Eyes rolled as the king reached for his temple. Was nothing easy for him? Two horses, he had requested two horses. Why was that so difficult? “What’s the problem?” Jareth asked, not really wanting to hear the answer.
The gruff voice of the goblin replied, “The cheval, she refuses to be reigned. I didn’t think you would want the mortal riding on her when she’s acting up your highness.”
“Indeed,” Jareth nodded.
“I’ve reigned the Saddlebred for her your majesty.”
“The golden? Are you sure that’s wise?”
“Despite his size, he’s a gentle gelding sire. What’s more is we only got the Shagya and the other mustang broken.”
Jareth sighed, “The saddlebred it is then.” He turned to Sarah, “Are you ready?”
Though she wasn’t sure, she nodded anyway. Arulan moved toward her, taking one hand into hers. “Do you really feel well enough to make this trip?”
“How long of a trip are we talking about?” Sarah asked the king’s servant whose concern had made her curious.
“Three days. Without magic, it’s three days travel to the mountains.”
“Mountains?” Sarah gulped.
Jareth came between the two women, pushing Arulan back where he could speak to her in low tones that the mortal could not overhear. “What are you doing?”
“Nothing your grace.”
“Leave it to my judgment to inform the mortal of what lies in store for her, do you understand?”
“Yes, your grace.”
“Have you prepared the pack with our food?” His tone grew softer realizing that he was being a bit belligerent.
“I have.”
“Thank you,” he muttered.
Blue eyes teared up from beneath her golden locks when she heard the words not often used by the king. Her hands wrapped around his neck forcing him to bend down. In his ear the elf whispered, “Take care of her Jareth. The mountains are no place for a king without any magic. I’m afraid you won’t be able to protect her or yourself.”
“Dear woman, you needn’t trouble yourself. I can care for myself as well as the girl.”
“Just be careful,” Arulan pleaded before pressing her lips to his cheek and meekly backing away.
Sarah turned her eyes away from the tender scene suddenly feeling as though she were intruding. Jareth cleared his throat and turned his attention to the stableman. “Shall we?”
Gribbin led them to the stables at the rear of the castle grounds. Horses ran freely inside a huge pen, their manes rippling in the drafts they created. “They’re beautiful,” Sarah commented her eyes wide. “Which one was I supposed to ride?” Jareth pointed to a grey spotted mare. “I’ve never seen a horse like her.
“I’m sure not,” the king said. Under his breath he continued, “Leave it to a woman to give me trouble.”
“What’s her name?”
“Why does it matter?” he asked frustrated by the delay.
“I just wanted to know.” The tone of her voice was slightly agitated but more hurt than anything.
Jareth sighed, “Shadowmere.”
“And this is Chataigne,” Gribbin said coming up between them tethering a beautifully shaped copper gold horse to the fence. Sarah stood in awe of the magnificent creature. Tall, well proportioned, bright eyes. The mane and tail were both pure white, although next to the rich color of the body it looked more cream. “Beaut, ain’t he,” the stableman said noticing the way the mortal admired the horse. She nodded. “Gimme just a minute, sire and I’ll have Bagheera reigned and ready for you.”
“Sarah, I trust you’ve ridden before?” Jareth asked.
‘Oh sure,’ she thought, ‘once at my cousin’s birthday party, her dad hired some guy to show up with a pony and give all the kids rides. I was seven, how much different could this be?’ “Sure,” she told him, skipping the explanation.
“So what are you waiting for - mount up.”
“Doesn’t Gribbin need to bring out the saddles?”
“No, we’ll be riding bareback. It’s better for balance, better for connecting with the horse.”
“Of course,” Sarah said smugly, now regretting her decision to lie to the king. Her hands reached out to stroke the horse. His skin was warm from being in the sun. Chataigne turned his head to her. Sarah scratched at the white mark on his snout. “Hey boy, I’m Sarah. You sure are a handsome fella. I’ve never really done this before so cut me some slack okay?”
Gribbin came back from the stable with a stunning black mustang who walked in wide gaits to where he was being led. “Bagheera your highness.” Jareth took the reigns.
“Sarah, mount your horse,” Jareth demanded.
Chataigne was a tall horse, seventeen hands to be exact. “I need something to put my foot in.”
“How about your mouth?” the king suggested as he handed the reigns back to Gribbin and stormed over to her side. “You’ve never ridden have you?” When she remained unresponsive, “Have you?” he asked more sternly. Sarah shook her head side to side. Jareth knelt before her his hands folded, his fingers locked.
The mortal looked at him, “What are you doing?”
“I’m giving you a leg up. Step into my hands and I will help lift you onto the horse.” Sarah lifted her right foot and set the sole of her shoe into Jareth’s hands. “Unless you wish to ride backwards, I suggest you use the other leg.” Upon his suggestion she replaced right foot with left. Gribbin held the horse steady. The king lifted her into the air with great ease. Sarah swung her right leg around and clipped the king in the ear. “How the hell did you manage that?” he shouted from the ground when she looked down at him. Jareth shook his head trying to get it clear.
Sarah was at his side practically immediately, one hand on his shoulder the other on his chest, her fingers resting on his exposed skin. “Are you okay? I’m so sorry,” she said frantically. “I shouldn’t have tried if I didn’t know what I was doing.” Her hands reached for his head, parting his already scattered locks in an effort to find his injury.
It was odd having someone fawn over him like this, concerned about his feelings. Capturing her hands he chastised her, “Stop! Stop it this instant. I’m perfectly alright.” He stood quickly leaving her kneeling over thin air.
“I just felt bad for hurting you.”
“Well you don’t have to worry about anything because I’m not hurt, you just managed to put me off balance.” He dusted off his clothing and reached a hand out to help Sarah stand. “Now we really can’t afford to continue wasting time.” Accepting Jareth’s hand she stood before him a confused look on her face. “Come on, let’s have another go at it.” He knelt again. “Don’t swing your leg over until you’re at the top of my lift. Grab onto the mane and pull yourself up.”
Hesitant, Sarah put her boot into the hammock made by Jareth’s leather gloves once more. They were black leather riding boots Arulan had left her. She blamed her sudden lack of coordination on their chunky cubed heal. “Isn’t it going to hurt if I pull on his hair?”
“Sarah, really. Since you don’t know a damned thing about these creatures I hardly think you’re in a position to argue. Now come on, we haven’t got all day.” Once more the king lifted her to even with the horses back.
Grabbing hold of two handfuls of mane, Sarah pulled herself onto the gelding’s back. Only once she was perched up there could she appreciate how truly massive the horse was. Though she tried not to show it, the height made her dizzy. Gribbin handed her up the reigns which she received unsteadily. “It’s easy,” the farrier grumbled his accent sounded Hungarian to Sarah. “You wanna go right, you pull right. You wanna go left, you pull left. You wanna go, you kick with your heals. You wanna stop, too bad.” He roared with laughter amused at his own wit. The rider he was instructing could find only panic in his humor. “I kid. Okay, you wanna stop, you pull straight back. Harder you pull faster he stop. You ready?”
Sarah nodded. Little did she realize Gribbin’s lessons were over. He reared back his hand and slapped the horse’s rump. Chataigne broke out in a gallop. “Gribbin!” the king disciplined. He swiftly mounted Bagheera and dug his heals into the animal’s side as he chased down Chataigne. Sarah’s body swung side to side atop her horse. Jareth was impressed with the amount of leg strength she displayed for someone who had never ridden. She pulled the reigns as she swayed making the confused saddlebred run serpentine over the grounds. When the king was finally able to get to them he tried using magic to settle the horse, but because Sarah was on its back he had no luck. “Damn!” Riding closer to the horse now, dangerously close, he reached out one hand and made a pass for Sarah’s reigns. She toppled to the right and her gelding darted away. Jareth came up on the offside and tried again. This time he was successful and pulled the reigns back hard, halting both horses. Sarah was trembling. “Are you alright?” he asked her. When she didn’t answer, he continued to hold the reigns and led both horses back to the fence where they had mounted.
Upon his return, Gribbin knelt, a weathered cotton hat being rung in his hands, as he apologized repeatedly. “Beg your pardon your highness. Beg your pardon milady. Beg your pardon the lot of you.”
“Were you not such a fine farrier Gribbin, I’d deliver you straight into the bog.” The Goblin King reached down and lifted his subject by the collar until he stood. Then, to be certain there was complete understanding between them, he lifted Gribbin to eye level, which was quite high considering Jareth had yet to dismount. “I shall not look so kindly upon misjudgments in the future.”
“Nor would I expect you to your grace,” the stableman choked.
Jareth released him from his grasp and he crumbled to the ground. “Go and bring the packs.”
“Right away your grace.”
Sarah looked at him her skin suddenly matching the color of her eyes, green. “Please get me off this thing.”
Reluctant, but aware that the little race she’d run had truly frightened her, Jareth took her hand into his. “Lean over the side Sarah and just slide off. I’ll catch you.”
She did as he said, his hands catching her hips and lowering her feet to the ground. Sarah’s hands came up over his forearms in an effort to brace herself. As much as she enjoyed being in his grasp again, the moment was wasted by just how ill she felt. Realizing he’d held her before him too long, Jareth released his grasp.
Sarah sat Indian style on the ground. “I’m not getting back on that thing. It hates me!”
“Ah,” he said putting his hands to his own hips this time, “there’s the child I remember from so many years ago. He was frightened and he acted rash, who are you to criticize?”
“I’m the one who almost got thrown eight feet to the ground. Who are you to force me back up there?”
“I’ve been thrown before, it’s not that big of a deal. One way or another, Sarah, you will ride” Jareth crossed his arms over his puffed chest as he emphasized what was expected of her.
“Yeah well you’re immortal and I’m not. I don’t particularly want to die here.” Tears she had meant to keep locked up began to fall.
The king had forgotten that she didn’t have the same luxuries he did. She seemed to assimilate so well to being in the Underground it was sometimes easy to think of her as a mythical. To him she was fully comprised of magic. “Will you ride with me?”
“What?”
“You and I will ride on my stallion. I’ll have Gribbin pack the gelding and when you’re more comfortable, we’ll rearrange the packing and give you back to Chataigne who I assure you has a far kinder and gentler side than you’ve been exposed to.
Sarah smiled at the irony of what was being said and by whom. “If we must make this journey, I would prefer to not ride alone until I am more comfortable with the horse.”
“I’m afraid we must.”
Gribbin busied himself while the king and his mortal bargained, tying up the tent and supplies to the back of the gelding. Some breads and cheeses which Arulan had bundled together with cured meats and a bottle of mead. “You’re ready to go sire.”
He looked at the horse, then at Gribbin and finally at Sarah, his glove reached down to her. “Shall we?”
Looking up at him, Sarah realized how very little he intimated her now. He could be fearsome. He could be cruel, but he no longer made her cower the way he could in her youth. She no longer feared him or the feelings that he stirred in her. With stinging contact, she slapped her hand into his, “I think we shall.” There was a glimmer in her eye when she spoke. This was her chance to be alone with the king. Surprisingly, that had not occurred to her until now. She would make him realize again that he loved her, no matter what it took. His powers might have been usurped, but hers were just beginning to flourish.
Mounted atop Bagheera, Jareth looked like the king he was always meant to be. He was magnificent as the sun shone through his golden hair, his lower body blending in with the blackness of his steed making him seem as if he were an extension of the animal itself. Flexing his legs, he dug his heels into the animals’ sides and Bagheera broke off. Jareth circled the animal back around and skillfully swept Sarah up by the elbow to swing her onto the horse’s back behind him. She was lost in another daydream, completely unaware until she looked down and the ground was no longer at her feet. Jerking the stallion to a stop he heard Sarah let out a tiny cry as she almost lost her balance for the second time and the king, who had yet to let her go, tightened his hold and said over his shoulder, “Hold on.”
Obediently her arms encircled his waist hooking her thumbs around a metal buckle that held his vest closed figuring that was the least conspicuous place to settle her hands. Gribbin worked to fix the gelding’s reigns into the packing mount on Bagheera’s rear. “You’re all set your majesty.”
Two quick kicks, this time delivered slowly into the horse’s sides, and they ambled off at a steady pace, one much more comfortable to Sarah. Or perhaps it wasn’t the horse’s pace which brought her comfort at all.
***** ***** *****
It was just after ten in the morning when they reached the door to the Labyrinth. Hoggle was waiting, at Jareth’s request. When he’d left Sarah the day before to ‘go about the business of the Labyrinth’, he had informed the dwarf of her status. After a thorough reprimand, which included three months of extra duties, the king promised that he could see the mortal one last time before they appealed to the Triumvirate to send her Aboveground. Annoyed at seeing them sharing a horse, the dwarf snorted as they approached.
“Hedge hog,” the king called when they were still several feet away, “open the gates.”
“It’s Hoggle and I ain’t doin’ anythin’ until I hears Sarah tell me she’s alright.”
“I’m fine Hoggle, really,” Sarah admitted when they were finally able to see one another. “Just a little bump on the head.”
“Bump on the head, my foot!” When he spoke again, he directed his attention to the king, “Take her there,” he pointed at the mountains, “if that’s what you have to do, Jareth. Send her home if that’s what you want, but you best make certain that no harm comes to this girl, otherwise,”
Unimpressed with any threat the dwarf could feasible offer, the king interrupted. “Otherwise what Higgle?” Sarah whispered Hoggle into the king’s ear, but it went unnoticed without even causing a pause in his tirade. “Otherwise you shall borrow a step ladder and give me a ruddy good kick in the knee? Or perhaps you’ll come to my castle while I sleep and pummel me with tiny fists until I wake up?”
Knowing there was nothing he could do to hurt Jareth, Hoggle backed down, “I just don’t wanna sees her hurt is all.”
Jareth shook Bagheera’s reigns. “In a few moments, you won’t see her at all.
As they began to walk the horses away Hoggle tossed Sarah a bundle of muffins and cakes that Drema had made for her. A picture of his family was neatly tucked inside. “Goodbye Sarah,” he called to her.
She spun her head over her left shoulder, “Bye Hoggle. Thanks for everything,” she called back. Then with great slowness and exaggeration, so that he could make it out she mouthed, ‘I’ll be fine.’
***** ***** *****
For three hours they rode on in near silence. Occasionally, Sarah would ask some question about the maze or make some comment about it’s new state of repair. Jareth would acknowledge her with a word or two in response, but never answering more than she asked.
“Don’t you think we should take a break? I’d really like to stretch my legs and eat something.” Sarah said when noon had come and gone without any chance to get down from the horse.
“It’s only been a few hours, Sarah.” Jareth reminded her. “We’ll take a break when we get out of the Labyrinth.”
Was he serious? Maybe the Goblin King was used to riding for days on end, but not this mortal. “Well how long does that take?”
Did she need to make everything so complicated. “It depends. Now without you I could snap my fingers and be to the Triumvirate in a couple of seconds. Being made to do this the mortal way, I could feasibly manage this thing in five hours, but since the horses would not be able to travel through the tunnels and passageways beneath the surface, it’s going to take us at least nine. If we run it straight through we can be out of here before night fall. The more of these little stretching sessions you care to engage in, the longer it takes us to get out and the more night time we get to spend in the maze. Care to find another Pooka to ride off with?”
“No,” she said sounding defeated. Sarah was tired. She hadn’t slept well the night before, partly in anticipation of today and partly from knowing that Jareth was sleeping a few feet away. With one hand she undid the bundle that Hoggle had tossed her. She found the picture on top and smiled. Then she took out two of the muffins Drema had made. They were smaller than the muffins made Aboveground, but larger than bite-sized mini muffins and they smelled divine. There was a streusel topping baked on. Biting into one she savored the cinnamon apple filling, “Mmmh.”
“What are you going on about?” Jareth asked when he began to get distracted by the sounds she was omitting.
“Here, taste,” Sarah told him as she held the second muffin to his lips. He hesitated. “Go on, they’re delicious.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“Just try a bite. What do you think I poisoned it so I could make an attempt to escape again?”
“You may have.” Sarah shoved the muffin into his mouth forcing him to take a bite while he mumbled on in protest sending crumbs flying from his lips in all directions. Sarah giggled. Once he was able to clear his mouth he said to her, “That was dignified.” Bringing the back of one of his gloves to his mouth, he wiped away what remained.
“Just finish it,” Sarah told him holding what was left of the muffin to his lips.
“I hope your parents never let you feed Toby,” Jareth chided as he opened his mouth to accept her offering.
More delicately, she set the muffin inside his parted jaws, grazing his lips with her finger tips as she backed her hand away. The king sat frozen, his mouth agape, his lips tingling from her touch. ‘Chew you idiot!’ his mind screamed and like an obedient dog, the joint began to function in an exaggerated circular motion that made him feel like a cow.
Sarah redid the bundle as best she could with one hand and replaced her arm about Jareth’s waist. “You really don’t want to stop yet?”
“No.” And just like that they were back to a game of questions and one worded answers.
Deciding she would rather not speak to him at all when he was behaving this way, her eyes went closed and she allowed the warm air to lull her into sleep. Only as they rode, the sleeping mortal bobbed side to side. “Stop fidgeting!” Jareth shouted when a few times he almost lost his balance as well.
“Sorry, I must have nodded off.” Sarah apologized, but having tasted sleep her head could no longer hold itself up. Resting her head on the king’s shoulder she settled in for a nap. The smell of his leather vest filled her nose and the ends of his wild blonde hair tickled the back of her neck. A warm breeze continuing to kiss around her face, everything felt like spring.
Jareth opened his mouth to say something, pausing a moment to debate whether it should be an order or a jabbing remark, but instead he let himself enjoy the feel of her, the comfort of her closeness and for a moment he fooled himself into believing that she trusted him. They continued on their ride a few hours more. Afforded the freedom of his passenger’s slumber he could enjoy looking around, eagerly observing the improvements within the Labyrinth. The stone walls had grown sturdy, mosses and ivy were beginning to grow up and cascade over their sides, statues that had worn down to little more than misshapen pillars were taking form. His soul had made her very powerful indeed. He began to wonder what long since forgotten corners of the Labyrinth might look like. With that he was damning night to come and try to trick them inside the maze. This was his, the lot of it, he was king of everything inside these winding walls and outside for that matter. Even without his magic they could not deny his title. The king pulled hard on his stallion’s reigns turning Bagheera sharply left. They would make one small detour he’d decided. They would have dinner someplace Jareth had not seen since his childhood.
***** ***** *****
Waking the sleeping mortal proved difficult. First Jareth called her name. Next he tried moving his shoulder about. Then he endeavored to rousing her by tapping her hands which were still clasped around the buckle of his coat. That got her to stretch her long arms out, smoothing them over his leather breeches. The king watched intently as her delicate hands ran down three quarters of the length of his thigh and then paused and retraced their steps until her forearms rested limply on the crooks of his legs, her hands hanging just in front of his crotch, but not quite touching. That certainly wasn’t helping anything. He tried flogging the reigns to get the horse to mill around a bit. Sarah clutched to his chest, but remained resting in the arms of Morpheus.
The time for subtlety had come and gone. Jareth tilted his head over the shoulder where she slept and in a booming shout called out, “Rise and shine.”
Sarah jumped. The king, still fairly amused with himself held her arms to keep her from sliding right off of the horse. This gesture was not appreciated by the mortal who only wanted to focus on what mischief her driver had engaged in. Once she’d regained her balance, Sarah pulled her arms from his hold and swatted him on the shoulder which had held her head only moments earlier. “What were you thinking shouting at me like that?” A furious growl rumbled in her throat. “I could have fallen again.”
“You’re not likely to rise without a cannon shot going overhead, besides I had hold of you the entire time.” He suppressed most of a chuckle and rounded his shoulders as another blow struck his right side, setting loose a chain of uncontrollable laughter. “Come,” he said composing himself and holding his hands up above his shoulders. “You do still want to stretch, do you not?”
In fact, she did even more so now that she had rested. Her hands slid over his gloves and letting her right leg wrap round the back of the horse she let Jareth assist her to the ground and then watched as he dismounted expertly. They were in the middle of a huge garden. “Are we still in the Labyrinth?” Sarah asked when she did not recognize this spot from her prior visits.
“Indeed,” Jareth replied. He snapped his crop off Bagheera’s rump and sent him running.
Amazed at how much room the creature had to do so Sarah looked around. There were benches and arches, stone pathways and acres of flowerbeds which spotted the garden, but most impressive was the fountain in a far corner of the garden and the weeping willow tree which was at the center of it all. She knew the water feature had to be massive, just by seeing it standing in reference to Bagheera who was drinking from its pool. The 1500 pound stallion looked like a sheepdog. “What is it that’s caught your eye?” The Goblin King was at her ear.
She jumped, just as she had once before when he warned her, ‘It’s further than you think.’ Sarah looked to the side at him, first his mouth, then his eyes and finally his mouth again. “Statue,” she stammered, “I was trying to make out that statue.” A shaky hand rose and a slim finger jerked in the direction of the fountain.
Gloved fingers rested on the small of her back, the king’s other hand gesturing before them as he guided her forward. Jareth was giddy, like a schoolboy, to be back in the spot his mother had created, the haven she’d made for herself after his father died, where she attempted to find some happiness before she too joined him. Everything there was to know about this garden, he knew. As a child he had played here. The king liked to think that this place represented all that was good about the Leanan Sidhe and all that was unknown about his father. At the edge of the fountain, Sarah broke her reflection in the water by jabbing at it with her finger. When the water settled, Jareth’s face was staring back from beside hers. It was the first time she’d ever seen the two of them together. The image created a strange fluttering in her stomach. In an effort to forget one romantic image for another, Sarah tilted her head back and stared into the face of Cupid.
“A mischievous little child,” Jareth told her as he sat on the fountain’s edge. “Cupid was the son of Venus. He ran about shooting his arrows at humans and gods, causing them to fall deeply in love. There was one human who it was rumored was so beautiful she was often mistaken for Venus herself, Psyche, who was very beautiful indeed. Furious, Venus sent her son to see to it that the mortal fell in love with the most unattractive outcast in the mortal realm. But, when Cupid looked upon the mortal, he was no longer able to complete his task, for he saw the beauty that the others had spoken of and fell in love with the girl. He took her to his palace and was very generous to her, asking only that she never look upon him in the light.”
“Why?” Sarah interrupted as she gazed upon him, her eyes traveling from head to toe grateful for the opportunity.
“Because he was a god and that is how the Romans determined it would be.” He continued on from where she had stopped him, “ Each night, Cupid would join her and in the morning he would be gone. With some prompting from her sisters, Psyche’s curiosity finally got the better of her and she wondered if the man she loved were beauty or beast. Late one night she took an oil lamp and cast the light upon his sleeping face. What she discovered was that he was not, in fact, the wretched monster others had led her to believe, but instead he was more handsome than she could have imagined. Shocked by his beauty she jumped causing some of the oil to spill onto Cupid’s shoulder and wake him. As you might imagine, he was hurt and angry that she had defied him and so he left her and with him vanished their palace and their gardens, Psyche was left alone in an empty field. Finally realizing what had been hers was true love all along and she had broken it. She searched for him endlessly with great remorse in her heart. Finally, in desperation, she went to see Venus.” Sarah listened with fierce curiosity to his tale, her mind trying desperately to ignore the similarities to their own strange paths.
“Venus wanted to destroy her and so she assigned her a series of tasks, each more difficult and dangerous as they went along. But Psyche met each challenge and returned victorious. Her final task would take her deep into Hades to request some of Proserpine’s beauty in an effort to make up for the wear on Venus because of this whole matter between her and Cupid.” She loved to watch him tell the story. The way his hands moved to indicate the box or the way his face would furrow while he spoke with such animation. “Proserpine gave her a gold box which did not contain beauty at all. Psyche was told not to look into the box, but of course she did, this time her curiosity had rewarded her with a Stygian sleep. Cupid, now healed from the burn of the hot oil and ready to forgive Psyche for her disobedience, was in search of his beloved. When he found her he held her in his arm’s suddenly aware of just how much he loved the mortal. He then delivered the box to Venus and went to Zeus to beg him to intervene on behalf of his love. The gods, especially Jupiter, were so moved by his love for her, they agreed to make her immortal. Jupiter gave Psyche a cup of nectar to drink which turned her into a goddess. Venus was far less appalled by the thought of her when she was no longer a mortal. Thus, Cupid and Psyche could be together forever without the interference of anyone.
Sarah thought over it a moment, the story of this god, Cupid, who fell in love with a mortal and she could have drawn any of a hundred similarities between this story and her own, but instead she asked Jareth, “I don’t see what the big deal is about wanting to look at the man you love.”
“You’re missing the point,” he said frustrated that she seemed to not notice that Cupid had merely asked Psyche to let him rule her and she could have everything she wanted. “This god asked only one thing of his mortal lover and she was too childish to give him even that. She listened to everyone else when they said he was a monster rather than trusting him. What reason did he ever give her not to trust him?” The king was bellowing now.
“He only came to her at night. How was she supposed to know?”
“It shouldn’t have mattered, she should have loved him not for what he was but for who.”
Not being much a feminist until then, Sarah asked, “Why did it always have to be his way?”
Jareth stood, slamming the back of one hand against the palm of the other, “Because he was a god!”
“And she was a lady, didn’t the Romans have chivalry?”
“Chivalry is not giving some insolent child her way and granting her permission to ravage your palace and you lands.” That being said, the king turned from her his coat rising as he did so, and his paces leading him back to Chataigne.
It could have been reasoned that Jareth had spoken of the luxuries that Cupid took with him when he left Psyche, but as Sarah sat slack jawed on the edge of that fountain she couldn’t help remembering how much different the Labyrinth had looked only yesterday before she arrived. Something inside told her Jareth spoke of something more intimate, something personal, of his kingdom and his lands that she had ravaged. An aching heart skipped a beat inside her heavy chest. Bringing herself to her feet, she glanced up at the statue once more. The face was handsome she agreed, god-like and distinguished, but it did not impress her. She had looked into the mismatched eyes of love and refused them. Though he was not a god, perhaps Jareth was no beast either, this king who had tried to love her in every way he knew how. Sullenly, Sarah followed in his dejected footsteps, still with no understanding of what it was like to be in his shoes.
***** ***** *****
What Arulan had packed them filled their hunger, but nothing seemed to block up the silence which settled between them. Finally, frustrated by the quiet Sarah said, “The flowers in this garden are lovely.”
“They were meant to be heard, not seen.” Jareth’s words came cryptically, causing her to screw up her face with confusion. “My mother constructed this garden as a way to honor my dead father. Some place she thought she could come to remember him and be satisfied with just those memories, but instead it grew to torment her, mock her and force her to flee the Labyrinth entirely.”
“I don’t understand,” the mortal admitted.
Not surprised, Jareth spat, “I don’t imagine you would.”
She tried to exhibit some patience with. While it would have been easy for her to apologize and then to move on, she was too stubborn to concede and sarcasm filled her words where compassion left off, “Try me.”
“The meaning of things is crucial here. There are no accidents. Nothing that happens in the Labyrinth is ever by coincidence Sarah. Every stone, every plant, every door and tunnel, while each of them may seem random and chaotic, was created with purpose. Even the inanimate have things to say merely by being.” Jareth rose from the bench where he had sat to eat and went to the willow tree in the center of the garden, ducking beneath its drooping branches to rest his back against the trunk.
“So it’s symbolic,” Sarah caught on. “The Leanan Sidhe planted a willow as a symbol of her mourning.”
“And yet it’s more,” he told her his voice rich with sincerity now that the leaves could hide his eyes from hers. “I could never find words to explain to you how deeply we fey are capable of feeling things. This tree was not just planted to show my mother’s mourning. It was watered with her tears that some of what she felt might leave her body and lighten it.” He strolled out from beneath the branches to a nearby bed which hosted an array of bachelor’s buttons. Most of them were blue, but a few had managed to come up in shades of yellow, orange and red. First he told Sarah the flowers name and then explained, “These represent celibacy. A vow mother took after father died. Not only would she never love another man, but she would never take them to her bed even in an effort to satisfy her most basic urges.”
“Daisies?” It was half question and half an attempt to switch the topic from urges onto anything else. “Did your mother pick the petals wondering if your father still loved her, even after death?”
“She may have. But those are a symbol of innocent and loyal love. When others spoke of her as a vixen, a puppeteer of the heart strings, mother sometimes lost sight of the fact that she did love father in the truest way, in the same way as Cupid and Psyche loved one another. Only mother’s innocence could be as deadly as the box which Venus gave to the mortal, but she never knew.” The third prevalent flower in the garden was Acacia, a bright yellow flower which the king explained was a symbol of secret love, “Because they were different, my parents, because father’s parents weren’t able to appreciate my mother’s,” Jareth struggled with telling her just how similar to the Roman gods Ian and the Leanan Sidhe had been, “heritage,” he finally came up with, “their love was made secret for some time.” Jareth moved to stand before another yellow flower in the garden, the pansy. “This is to let father know that when he looks in on us, though he is gone, we shall never cease to think of him. The living and the dead rarely communicate with each, but the meaning of a flower is universal over time, space and astral plane.” He braced his hands in the concave arch where rich purple flowers tumbled down onto his forearms, “Lastly these are cobaea scandens, representative of the gossip that hung over their heads and surrounded their relationship all the days they shared together.”
What had been a remarkable garden only an hour ago was now something far superior. Sarah looked at it again through eyes that had been opened to the intensity of what the flowers said. Tears rolled over her lower lids and she turned to wipe them away. “How do you know all this and yet not know your mother?”
Jareth became aware, by her question, that he was letting down too much of his guard and answered abruptly, “Others told me tales when I was young. We should continue on our way for time is growing short. I should not have brought you here.” He whistled for his horse.
Bagheera came swiftly to his side and Jareth knelt to offer Sarah a leg up as he had before. “No, thank you,” she told him. “I think I’m ready to try riding alone.” She took Chataigne’s snout into her hands and scratched at his cheeks while the king unfastened his packs from her horse and repositioned them on to his stallion.
“Along the blaze,” he instructed her.
“Excuse me?”
Dropping his packs at her feet, Jareth rose a leather glove to the horses head. “This marking,” he stroked over an elongated white marking on Chataigne’s face, “is called a blaze. It seems to be the beast’s favored spot for stroking.” Indeed, the gelding leaned into the king’s gentle touch. Sarah didn’t blame him. As she watched Jareth being tender with the animal, the way he was just then, she regretted announcing her independence and readiness to command Chataigne, but it was too late to take it back now. Her hand lifted to join his and no sooner did she make contact with the blaze then his hand left.
‘Fine,’ she thought. ‘Be that way.’ Gathering up the bundle from Drema which still held a cake and several muffins as well as the photo, she tucked it into her packing and set about her damnedest to mount Chataigne. The horse ambled out of her reach a few times causing her to fall on her rump. She tried standing on the concrete benches in order to give some height to her attempts, but it was fruitless.
“Leg up?” he asked from the ground beneath her.
“Thank you,” she said once he had helped her into position on the gelding’s back.
Jareth mounted his horse and turned to her, “And so you see chivalry does still exist.”
Sarah blushed.
***** ***** *****
Trailing behind Bagheera, Chataigne followed the stallion and his master out of the Labyrinth proving to Sarah that he was every bit the gentle creature she was told he could be. But it was not the horse that was on her mind. Nor was it the Labyrinth, both parts she recognized and other foreign segments, which were now fully repaired and flourishing with life. The mortal was hypnotized instead with the king and the regal way he commanded his beast with a patience that he rarely displayed and an ever present grace. A time or two he had looked behind him to be certain that the gelding had not wondered off to some distraction, but mostly he rode back straight, eyes front, with determination and purpose.
Evenings shadows were being swallowed up by the dark mouth of night as it engulfed the corridors they traveled through. The king ignited a lantern. Sarah halted her horse so that she could see what he was doing. He rose a hand to indicate she should stay where she was and then began pacing Bagheera back and forth. “It should be here,” he repeated as they went over and over the same section of wall.
“What are you looking for?” Sarah asked frightened by his confusion.
“The door. It should be right around here some place.”
Knowing that was their goal, to find the door, and already having felt what night inside the Labyrinth was like, Sarah began looking too. Her lantern took several tries to light, but it was worth the effort for it’s rays revealed a large set of double wooden doors just back the path a little way. “I think I found them,” she shouted and turned Chataigne in their direction. Jareth followed fast behind.
“So you have,” he acknowledged as he dismounted. His strong arms folded as he attempted to press the doors open. Even several attempts to ram them with a shoulder were unsuccessful.
“What are you doing?” Sarah called to him. “Use your magic.”
“I can’t.”
“You can’t use your magic on me, why can’t you use it on the door?”
Moving to stand beside her horse in the glow of her lamp he explained, “I have no power when it comes to you. I could open the door, go through, set up camp, but you would have to remain here. Do you wish to spend the night inside the Labyrinth without me?” Sarah shook her head. “Then unless you can pick a lock, we’ll be camping here together.”
“It so happens that I can pick a lock,” the mortal told him proudly. “Karen had this drawer where she kept things, things she didn’t think I knew about, didn’t want me to know about. She locked it every time she and daddy left the house. She made it seem so elicit I just had to see inside, so I learned to pick the lock.”
“And what did you find inside?”
Her cheeks donned the same blush they had when Jareth had created the masquerade just for her, “I’d rather not say.” The king took the lantern from her hand and set it on the ground by his, offering his arms for her aid. On the ground, Sarah found a sturdy stick and flattened one of the jagged sides. Tinkering with the lock, she twisted the stick in a multitude of directions and obscure angles attempting to roll the tumblers and open the door. “Oh,” she said collapsing against the door in frustration, “this would be so much easier if we had a key.” Her hand smoothed over the stick once more as she prepared to blunt the other end and give it another try. The duo looked on in awe as the chipping bark that went under her palm became a gleaming metal in the glow of the oil lamps. When her fingers slipped over the end, tiny squared teeth hung from the bottom of the shaft.
“How’d you do that?” Jareth asked.
“I haven’t the foggiest,” Sarah admitted before swiping her hand over the other end of the stick and making it into a handle by which to turn the key. She set it inside the key hole and turned until she heard the click. Gently she pressed against the doors and sent them swinging wide. Once fully opened, the key vanished.
“So it’s true, you do have magic.” The king knew that she could wish for things and his powers would serve her within reason and he knew that she had mortal magic which he had ignited with his soul, but he never dreamed it could be so useful.
“Of course I have magic, you gave it to me, remember?”
“I never gave you magic like that. It’s you being ere that’s making my Labyrinth repair, isn’t it?” She looked away shyly in admission. “What you’ve done for the Labyrinth, helping it regrow, that’s from what piece of my soul you own. Your wishes being granted, yes, but this, this is far greater magic than I ever gave you.”
For a minute she felt sick. “You didn’t give me the visions then?” hesitation heavy in her words.
“What visions?”
“Never mind, forget I said anything.”
The doors were beginning to slowly close. Jareth handed Sarah her lantern and picked up his own. They walked their horses through the gate which slammed shut immediately upon their passage through. “I’d still like to know how in the Underground you managed that little trick,” he reminded her as he set to pitching their camp for the night.
“It’s like you said, everything here serves it’s purpose.” Sarah wanted to make it seem completely natural. She didn’t want him asking all kinds of questions she wouldn’t be able to answer or worse, would be incriminated by.
“That’s not what I said.” His voice filled with impatience and while it could have been at the kindling which refused to ignite, Sarah guessed it was with her.
“Well it’s true isn’t it?”
“And so it is,” he declared stepping back having successfully ignited a fire. If starting a flame had been trying, pitching a tent was even more so by half. The king fumbled with the steel bits and the canvas tarp, cursing under his breath so as not to offend Sarah, who sat by the fire keeping warm and staying amused as she watched him. “Don’t know what you’re laughing at,” Jareth told her, “you’ve got one to set up too.”
“No I don’t,” she insisted as she finished another of the muffins Drema had sent along.
From beneath several folds of canvas the king growled, “You most certainly do. I’m not doing it for you. Chivalry is one thing, but servitude is another.”
“I don’t expect you to do anything for me,” she retorted wiping her hands together ridding them of crumbs. “I haven’t got a tent. The only things in my pack are for cooking with and the clothes that Arulan put together for me.”
Giving up his fight with the fabric, Jareth lie back looking up at the stars, “Unbelievable,” he sighed. Sarah moved to help him with the tent, “I can get it,” he insisted. Tossing the fabric off of himself and standing back to look at everything once more, one hand at his hip, the other at his chin. “Right then,” he removed his coat and pushed up the flouncy sleeves of his half open shirt.
The mortal chuckled as she watched him trying to fit the frame together. Without waiting for him to request her assistance she stooped next to him and began assembling the pieces of metal.
“You don’t have to do that,” Jareth told her.
“I don’t mind. I get the impression that the women of the Underground are, how do I say this without seeming crass, just so.” The king smiled at her comment. In fact the fey women of the Underground were exactly ‘just so’ as it were. Other species’ women worked, sometimes like men, sometimes harder, but the fey always seemed to think it was unnecessary. He turned his face away when he felt his smile growing too large. “Well,” Sarah continued, “that’s just not like me.”
“I suppose it isn’t,” the king agreed as he began to fit a few of the assembled rods through the edges of the canvas. “This is really starting to look like something you could sleep in.”
It took them nearly an hour, but eventually the shabby green canvas looked almost like it should have and the pile of spare parts had shrunk to a manageable number that could be inventoried with just one hand. Jareth tied their food into a tree and told Sarah to season the cast iron skillet while he was gone. “Gone where?” she asked quicky not much wishing to be left alone out here.
“You want a proper dinner don’t you? You’ll be fine, nothing more than a chipmunk or a pixie would be out now.” That said, he transformed into his owl form and flew off over the gently sloping hills which faced the Labyrinth.
As she was told, Sarah seasoned the skillet placing it into the fire and singeing the herbs and spices until they remained stuck to the bottom of the pan, scraping out the excess for a smooth cooking surface. Rustling could be heard in the distance and she hugged herself wishing Jareth hadn’t gone off. Passing the time, she sung to herself as she rocked back and forth beside the fire. “When you walk through a storm keep your chin up high and don’t be afraid of the dark. At the end of the storm is a golden sky and…” A flapping of wings made her stop the soothing melody in time to see Jareth changing back into his fey shape and touching his feet down without disturbing a single blade of grass.
Withdrawing a bundle from the crook of his arm he set it into the frying pan. Sarah was still by the fire’s edge, leaning back in awe of what she had just witnessed. “Come now Sarah, surely you’ve seen owls before?”
“Yeah, but I’ve never seen them turn into Goblin Kings and vice versa.”
“Impressive isn’t it?” he asked smoothing his hands over his leather vest and joining her by the fire where he could tend to the rabbit filets which he had gotten them.
Truthfully, it was impressive, but damned if she’d admit that to him. Instead she simply shrugged her shoulders and asked, “What’s in the frying pan?”
“Dinner.”
She’d been away too long and forgotten how to ask questions properly. “What’s for dinner?”
“Rabbit.”
“Where’d you get rabbit?”
He furrowed his elegant brow at the mortal, “Just over the hill there’s a butcher’s shop.” Finally Sarah realized what the rustling was, why Jareth had switched his form. She curled her lips and wrinkled her nose. She had no interest in a fresh kill. The king noticed her hesitation, “Oh you haven’t even tried it yet,” he scolded as he turned the filets in the skillet.
It really didn’t smell that bad, it was more the idea she was having trouble with. ‘Just like when Karen wanted to serve caviar at one of her parties,’ Sarah thought. ‘Give it a try, the worst you can do is throw up.’ She handed him two plates from her pack and while he finished the rabbit filets, she poured some mead into the cups.
Jareth watched Sarah as she pushed the filet around on her plate. “Tell me then, does your magic allow you to taste things with your eyes?”
“Of course it doesn’t!”
“Then you better try putting some of that in your mouth before it gets cold.”
Sarah smirked at the king, now completely aware that she was being watched. The meat broke tenderly with just the edge of her fork. Chewing slowly, she waited as the flavor began to reach her tastebuds. She winced in anticipation of a taste which never came. The meat was delicious, tender and seasoned from what she had seared into the pan earlier. The king smiled as he watched her inhale three more small bites before washing it down with some mead. Slapping her lips together in appreciation, Sarah looked into the cup she was drinking from. “This is really good. It tastes sweet, like honey.”
“It is honey,” Jareth said flatly.
“Oh.”
“So the meal is to your liking?”
“Yes, very much so.” She stole a quick look at him out of the corner of her eyes, but quickly averted her stare when she realized he was looking back.
When she had finished her dinner and several cups of mead, Sarah yawned. “I’ll clean up,” the Goblin King offered. “You need to get your rest for tomorrow.”
“What about you? Aren’t you going to rest?”
“I’ll get rest, don’t worry about me.”
“But,”
“I said,” he repeated deep and slow, “don’t worry about me.”
Once inside the tent, Sarah traded her riding clothes for the white lace panties she’d packed before she’d tried to come Underground and the old comfortable button up shirt that she had brought from home. She crawled in under the blankets, making note that there was only one bed prepared inside. Her mind was suddenly wide awake at the thought of the king sliding in next to her. After lying their a while, now too anxious to sleep, she poked her head out of the tent looking for Jareth.
Against a tree that faced the entrance of the tent, the Goblin King leaned, one lengthy leg crossed over the other. Eyes closed, his chest rose and fell in steady rhythm. Sarah watched him for a few moments, taking in the way his elegant eyebrows had relaxed and fallen on his vulnerable face. Long blonde strands fell over his lips and nose bobbing and swaying in reaction to his breath. Something compelled her to get closer to him. Slowly she padded her way across the grass until she was nose to nose with the king, her face a fraction of an inch from his.
Without so much as a flinch for warning, Jareth’s eyes snapped open and his gloved hands wrapped around Sarah’s elbows making her gasp. He grabbed her hard pulling her to him, he screamed, “What are you doing?!”
Sarah stammered for words, shocked at how he had gone from innocent to menacing in a second’s span. “I was just wondering why you weren’t in bed and came looking for you.”
“You didn’t think I was coming in there to sleep with you?” he asked releasing his hold on the mortal.
“Well I certainly didn’t think you’d lean up against a tree to get some shut eye,” she answered him.
“I haven’t the desire to share quarters with you. I’m sorry if you find that disappointing.”
Hurt washed over her face. “Fine,” she spat at him as she turned to go back to the tent. She threw open the door and stooped over to crawl inside. Just then Jareth realized that her legs were bare. His eyes followed them up from the ankles. By the time he reached the white lacy bottoms of her panties peeking out from beneath the edge of her shirt he was regretting everything he had just said. Truthfully, he had a great desire to share quarters with her, one that was beginning to strain the fabric of his breeches as he kept watching her, but he had no desire to give any more of himself away.
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