(Re-posted, as for some reason, doesn't seem to like my documents?)

A.N.: Let me just say that until two weeks ago, I didn't even like "Labyrinth." I am not exaggerating when I say catching this movie on late night TV as a child who couldn't sleep put me in therapy (it was the muppets ripping off heads. It's always the muppets ripping off heads). I had friends in high school who were like, "David Bowie's crotch!" and my reaction was, "Get it away from me!" Having said all that...I actually liked it a good deal. Like, as an art film with a coming-of-age story. Still too many muppets, though (it's always the muppets).

So, the inspiration for writing this comes almost solely from user Tara1189. I am incredibly vain when it comes to my work, and without a moment's hesitation I say that she is far and away my superior. Not that I'm so bad, but her work deserves major credit. The inclusion of Gaelic and Celtic lore is done with exotic style, and so I most humbly try to continue on from her inspiration; because when someone gets everything right, you don't monkey around with it.

I also dedicate this to my friend Chet, because he's the one who told me to do it, so it's at least partly his fault.

The Riddle

OvO

See the moon sink down in the sky, darling

Let your fantasies fly, darling

Life is cold, and the game is old...

- "The Riddle," The Scarlet Pimpernel

OvO

"...no bridal bed, no bridal song hath been my joy, no joy of marriage, no portion in the-" The wind was beating more strongly against the windows now. A fall storm, and for sure. Trying to seem undaunted, she pressed on. "-in the nurture of children-"

The wind crashed so loudly against the aging brick of the auditorium, her voice was lost in the creaking of the boards and cracking of the trees on the building. "Louder, Sarah, louder!" Michael cried in high, dramatic fashion. "We can't hear you in the back! Project!"

"Michael!" Barbara was scolding, turned around in her seat. "Stop screwing around and come listen to Sarah!"

Sarah tried to continue as though none of this were intimidating; not the roar of the wind or the clenching of her stomach. Just say the words, you can say them. "But thus," she cried to match the wind, "forlorn of friends-"

Ka-koom! The wind cracked at the theater doors as if to break them open. She stumbled slightly, tried not to falter.

"Great, a theater and an English major. We'd better not clean out her room, she's going to need it after graduation..." The remark was humorously meant, but perhaps the barb did find its mark just a little?

"I can hear you, you know. I am literally standing right here."

"Robert, please. Just help me get her boxes into the car."

"Coming, honey."

"Sarah." Toby wrapped himself around her right leg, still too young to care how annoying this might be to an adult. "You're going to be a big star, okay?"

She smiled down at him, more gently, more tenderly than she ever looked at anyone. "Okay," she nodded in reply. If Toby said it, it must be so. There was no one in this world whom she loved more. She somethings thought that, for that, she ought to thank-

"Oy!" Michael was whistling, walking down the center aisle and clapping his hands at Sarah. "She's gone up, we've got a live one!"

"Michael..."

Sarah was startled back to semi-reality, scouring her brain hard for the rest of the monologue. "I-I go living to the..." she stammered, trying to prove the Junior wrong. "To the vaults of...Damn it." Out of character. "Why can I never remember that line?"

"It was still great," Michael approved with his pearly white smile, a hand out to help her off the stage. "No doubt Sophocles would be pleased. Hey, it rhymes!"

"Yeah, well," Sarah grumbled, taking her friend's hand and sitting at the edge of the stage, swinging her legs over with a grunt. "It's not Sophocles I need to worry about, it's Professor Wayne." She dropped down from the boards, landing on her little flats, wincing a bit.

"It's just a midterm, you'll do fine. Wayne always goes easy on the Freshmen. And anyway," the young man rubbed his hands together with a devious grin. "My turn to practice."

"I want to go home..." Barbara whined, sinking lower in the folding seat. "Come on, Mikey, we were only supposed to use the Black Box anyway!"

"Hey, if the stage door is unlocked, I'm practicing on a stage!" He paused, adjusting his collar and ruffling his hair, all preparation to meet his character. "And, for God's sake, Barbara, don't call me Mikey."

"It's probably past nine," Sarah defended, pushing her long, dark hair behind her ears.

"Well now, what's this? Are we lovers of the theater or aren't we?"

"I'm not," Barbara dryly replied.

"Okay, fine, but you love me, you're here for emotional support."

"I've been her for support since five o'clock!"

"Well, it's important! Sarah just has to practice for a midterm, but I have to be ready for the children's theater production in barely three more weeks!"

"Just a midterm?"

"Sarah, darling, hush. I'm a trained thespian. Barbie." He tossed his considerably cross girlfriend his script. "Read the girl's part, it'll get me in the mood – on second thought...don't. You're a chem major, you'll just butcher it."

"Oh, thanks a lot!" she shouted, nearly tossing the script back at him.

"Fine, fine, you do the stage direction!...Sarah. You read the part."

Eighteen year old Sarah leaned over her friend's shoulder, blanched. "N-no, I can't..."

"Can't? Are you an actress or aren't you!"

"I don't..." she said slowly, trying to decide just how much to reveal. "I don't like goblins..."

There was a pause. Michael broke out in raucous, only-half-acting laughter. "You what? Come on, Sarah, you're not afraid of the bogeyman, are you?"

"N-no, of course not..." Something far worse...It happened, on some nights, that when she closed her eyes, she still saw walls that stretched on forever, hands that came out of the dark to grab at her, monstrous little faces leering at her in the shadows – and worst and best of all, a pair of otherworldly eyes, a color nowhere found on earth, eyes she could not forget.

She wasn't always even sure she wanted to.

"Hey," Barbara comforted, putting an arm around her friend's shoulder. "After we stayed up late and watched 'Dawn of the Dead,' you remember? - I had nightmares for a month, and now I'm scared of zombies!"

"Oh great, I'm rehearsing with the Midnight Society over here."

"Michael-"

"I'll read it, jeeze," Sarah grumbled, grabbing for the script, scanning the passages highlighted by her friend. She gripped the worn pages with increased terror, hands pale and barely shaking. They're just words, she told herself. They can't hurt me.

But words have meaning.

"You don't need to do the entire passage," Michael instructed, turning his back to the ladies and shaking his shoulders loose. "I'll be fine if you go from the top of the page, the narrator's bit."

Sarah took a deep breath, eyes closed. She wasn't afraid of words on a page, of being seen on a stage-

But she was afraid of what was waiting for her when this moment was over.

"But what no one knew," she called out, strong and clear, holding the pages in a vice grip. "Is that the King of the Goblins had fallen in love with the girl." More wind bashed at the theater walls, as though it wanted to get inside. Sarah paid it no heed. "And he had given her certain powers." Barbara was burrowing into the threadbare theater seat, as ready to be enchanted by the performance as anyone. "And one night, when the girl could no longer stand the cruel treatment from the wicked step-mother and the awful baby-" Here it comes.

Barbara elbowed her, whispering, "Go, Sarah, show him you're just as good as he is."

"Yes, Sarah, show me."

W...what?

A gulp of air – time to roll the dice.

"Goblin King, Goblin King

Wherever you may be

Keep your promise to me now

Take this child from me

Take us to a world unseen

I wish to be the Goblin Queen!"

Krakow! Sarah pivoted in the aisle, hypnotized by the sound of the wind at the door. Was that a roll of thunder? It hadn't seemed hot enough for an electrical storm. Never mind, it proved the perfect sound effect, for there was the sudden boom of Michael's feet hitting the boards as he jumped into position. Barbara gave out a giggly little shriek of surprise and amusement as her young lover strutted and growled across the stage. Sarah watched, too, but she was only half aware of the performance; no, her ears were straining to catch the slightest note of something...off. Maybe nothing had happened. Maybe she was only insane.

"Little children in the night

Lost in darkness, cold with fright

I take only what is discarded;

Make them new and full hard-hearted;

Give it little Goblin eyes

To let it human love despise;

Give it little Goblin tail;

Make it over, nail from nail.

Pray for courage, bold and brave:

You'll need it for yourself to save

No mother's tears, no songs you sing,

Can save you from the Goblin King!"

There was another boom, a crash of light – the theater went completely dark. Barbara could be heard screaming as Michael swore and tried to keep from falling right off the stage. For her part, Sarah did not move, barely breathed as her green eyes glowed pale in the inky blackness. No, no, no, no- Suddenly, an electric hum – the lights were back on. Everyone seemed to relax an inch; Sarah did not dare.

"Michael!"

"Relax, would you? The generator turned on, a branch must have knocked out the power line."

"I want to go home now!"

"Okay, okay!" Michael hopped off the stage in one fluid, relaxed motion. "But I was great, wasn't I? Going to scare the kiddy's right out their pants. Wait till you see my costume, they've got this wig for me with these crystals in them that-"

"Michael."

"We're going, Barbara. Yo, Sarah." He snapped his fingers, Sarah still stood transfixed. "Yoohoo, this is ground control to Major Tom!"

"What?" The young girl jumped slightly, clutching at the long sleeves of her shirt. "S-sorry."

"You're working too hard, kiddo. Come on, let's go back to the dorm."

"Right..."

These children, barely adults, collected coats and scarves and book bags, as laughing and chatty as late-adolescents might be. Even Sarah smiled a little, already convincing herself that she was merely being superstitious. Michael pushed open the double doors grandly, taking a deep breath of crisp, autumnal air. "Looks like the rain hasn't started yet! Come on, we'd better hurry before it changes its mind." They walked the weaving path that went on spider-trails throughout the campus, back toward their respective dorms, wind mercilessly pushing at them. Drying, dead leaves scuttered before them, yet the dark, breathy night felt exhilarating, the electricity in the air making the fine hairs on their arms stand on end. Sarah had almost been ready to accept that maybe there really was no magic left to call back a child's nightmare, when she looked up into the darkening trees-

And saw the barn owl perched there, watching.

Watching her.

"Well, night, Sarah. Let me know if you want to go over your monologue again before the test day."

"Michael." She grabbed at his arm, clutching the fleece and trying to play off a laugh to hide the quiver in her voice. He looked down at her hand and up at her face in a confused smile. "W-walk me back to my dorm, huh?"

"Sarah!" he laughed, shaking her free. "My girlfriend is standing right there. You wanna get me in trouble?"

"C-come on, please."

He patted her upper arm, flashing her a smile that did absolutely nothing to comfort the young woman. "You aren't still afraid of the dark, are you, Sarah?"

Barbara had already charged on ahead to her dorm building. "Night, Sarah! Michael, come on!"

"I'm coming! Night, Sarah."

"N-night..."

It seemed they had barely even reached the door when she felt that gust of wind behind her – far icier, far...heavier than the rest of the night air. "Yes, Sarah, you're not still afraid of the dark, are you?"

She didn't want to turn around, she didn't. Part of her thought to run, just run straight on ahead until she reached her own building – Goblin Kings didn't get key cards, he might not be able to get through the front door.

Who in the hell do I think I'm kidding?

"What's the matter, Sarah? Are you not pleased to see me?"

Sarah Williams willed herself to turn around and face the source of all her nightmares of the last three years: the Goblin King.

Jareth smiled down at her, wickedly, evilly, teeth pointed in a devilish sneer. The circle of the moon made a bright halo round his golden head, as though he were an angel, and not a demon.

Sarah knew better.

"Come, Sarah, my love." Hands on the knees of his silver-grey britches, the Goblin King bent slightly to be on her level. Touching his kid-gloved fingers to her chin, he admonished, "How about a little smile. How I have missed that adorable little smile."

"Get away from me!" Her voice was a little louder, a little shriller than she meant it to be, but she pushed his hand away from her all the same.

"Now, Sarah. Is that any way to treat me? When I came all the way here just to see you?"

"I have no idea why you're here," she replied spitefully, turning on her heels and determined to just walk away. Just walk away. Sarah's feet moved in her brown leather flats, she saw the trees passing as she went – and yet, somehow, the lights of her building grew no closer...the Goblin King no further from her. "What are you doing?"

"Me? Nothing! Nothing, tra la la. Waiting for you, precious thing."

"I don't want you near me, I don't want to talk to you, and I don't want to be on your...magic treadmill anymore!"

"Oh, love." He drew around her, his black and feathery cloak somehow weaving all around her, enveloping her, blocking out the hazy light of the campus lamps. "How little you understand. I came back because you wished it."

"I didn't."

"Oh yes, you did, you said, 'Goblin King, etc., etc., I wish to be the Goblin Queen.'" Sarah's jaw hung open slightly. Smirking, he touched his gloved thumb to her lips. "I like it when you look like that."

"S-stop it!" The young woman pushed the hand away again. "I didn't say that! I mean – I did, but it wasn't me!"

"Oh, wasn't it?"

"It was...that play, the play, you must have heard it a thousand times!"

"Mm, not as often as you'd think. And anyway, there's a difference." Smiling down at her in her unbelief, he tapped one finger to her small, soft nose. "You meant it."

"...you're crazy." Beating away his cloak (far too soft to in any way be made by human hands), she once again tried to storm her way to the safety, the reality of her tiny eight by twelve.

"Maybe," he addressed her, stiff and proud in all his vaingloriousness. His starkly white collar, his perfectly formed cravat stood out glittering in the darkness of the night, the darkness of his be-feathered cloak. "But unfortunately for your petulant little mood, I have proof." Sarah's lack of progress was arrested by what she knew was happening behind her. The motion was soundless, yet still she heard it, like the tinkling of a thousand perfect chimes. She turned, and in those fine, aristocratic hands, an orb sat perched in perfect symmetry, more glittering – it seemed – than any possible diamond here on earth. "Would you like to see it, love?" he hissed at her, and she stepped back, frightened once again.

"N-no."

"No, of course not, you already know the scene so well, don't you?" He turned the crystal over in his fingers, a tantalizing glow coming from deep inside. "You don't mind if I replay it, do you, my sweet? It's been such a dear pastime for me these long years you were away." Sarah covered her ears with her pale, frozen hands. God no, don't let it, don't let him- "I have to say," he was continuing, knowing she would hear him through all her attempts at the contrary, knowing she must hear him. "I have been the source of inspiration for many a maiden before, but your dreams, Sarah." He purred as he held the orb up to his lips, a devilishness in his unnatural eyes that dared her to take a look. "So intense, so vivid...but then again, you always were an excellent dreamer."

"S-stop it!"

"But I am not doing anything. You did all the doing, my dear. It was you that invited me back, night after night – begged me back, prayed for me – all in the sanctity of your sweet little dreams."

"Th-they're just dreams! They don't mean anything, you haven't proven anything!"

"Oh, haven't I?" He stepped nearer to her, still proffering that dangerous bubble. "You were so innocent before you ran my Labyrinth, weren't you, Sarah? Little dreams of fairy princesses, unicorns and teddy bears. I had no idea my effect upon you was so...penetrating."

"Stop," she growled at him through white and gritted teeth, hands now cold and icy fists clenched at her sides. "Stop it, Jareth."

"'Stop it, Jareth,' is it, now that is something I am not used to hearing, no, no." A sound came pouring from the crystal in his palms, deep and primeval, a sound Sarah knew too intimately in the darkest recesses of her heart and mind.

His mouth was hotter than she might have expected, deeply warm and richly red. The soft, damp tongue did its work too thoroughly, tasted her skin like a morsel to be savored. And she, she adored every aching moment of it, loved how smooth and soft his hands were without their stately gloves. The bed felt like it might stretch on for miles, and that they might be the only two remaining in the entire universe. How she wanted that: wanted her father, Karen, Toby, all to disappear and leave her as one woman in the arms of one man – one more-than-man, for an endless eternity of lovemaking. She arched into his every touch, shivering with the pleasures he gave her. Sarah loved when her fingers twined into his hair, loved the damp, glorious feeling of hot, slick skin against skin; the soft, insistent movement of his body against her own. "Don't stop, Jareth, oh God, please don't stop-"

"I feel as though I almost know you already." Sarah gasped and started, unaware he had even snaked his way behind her, his gloved hands resting at her trim waist. "How much I am looking forward to enjoying you in our own reality..." Sarah pushed his arm away, made a short dash to escape his entrapping embrace. It knocked the crystal from his fingers, and she worried for a moment what his wrath might bring – but the thing bounced harmlessly to the cement pavement and flew obediently back into his waiting hand: this was a dream not of what-might-be, but what her mind had already conjured up. Nothing could shatter the past. "I see you still need some convincing..." he grumbled, his low tenor sounding mildly irritated.

"Look, Goblin King, I don't want this! If I had, I'd...I'd have actually wished you back when I had those dreams!"

"'Had?'"

She ignored him. "I have a life, okay? See? A real life, full of real things!"

"How very dull," he sniffed, his sharp nose pointed into the air. "I thought better of you."

"Maybe to you it's dull, but it's better than your make believe world because it exists."

"Foolish girl," he sneered, starlight and crystal glow embedding itself in his long, pale gold tresses. "Just because something is make believe doesn't mean it does not exist. You ought to know that."

"That is crazy."

"Well, just look at yourself." Sarah did look down: she seemed normal enough; her wool coat and tartan scarf, her simple blue jeans and long white shirt, her little shoes- "You changed since you ran the Labyrinth, did you not?"

"I grew out of fairy stories, if that's what you mean."

"Cute. But don't be such a simpleton." Clearing his throat, he directed a long, gloved finger at her. "Don't deny you flatter yourself at night, combing that long, dark hair in front of the mirror. 'The girl with the unearthly glow around her, so haunting, so beautiful.'"

"Shut up."

"But it's true, my sweet." He stepped closer to her now, so close she could catch his scent not ten inches from her: it was as no man on earth might smell, not store-bought cologne or dirt or musk; but what a perfume made of pearls might smell like, richly deep, intoxicating, yet alerting; black tea and bergamot, cinnamon and leather. His smell was opalescent. "You do positively glow." He put his hand softly to her cheek, and Sarah was too mesmerized trying to define his scent to pull away. "And that's my Labyrinth at work. You beat it, you took its magic with you, you glow."

"I-"

"Don't tell me you haven't wondered," he continued, sending his hand down to her soft, pale throat in a gentle, stroking motion. "Where all your shinning knights in armor are, hm? Where are all the men come to plant their unworthy kisses on those red lips? Why all the other girls in school find their little lovers, but not you? Not Sarah Williams, who is so much prettier by far-"

"I'm not as vain as you," she snapped, but still did not move away from his hand. "I don't think that."

"Ah, but you are prettier." He held her other cheek in his free hand now, a small whimper left her lips unbidden. The Goblin King smirked. "You were a cute enough child when you first came to my Labyrinth, I suppose," he seemed to allow, as though it were some great compliment. "But look at you now...just on the cusp of glorious womanhood..." He stroked her with his thumb, and she felt hypnotized by him. "The baby fat left your cheeks, hmm, you're all graceful lines," his right hand dropped from her throat, down her soft breast, grasped her at the waist and hip, "and tight form." She gasped a little, in spite of herself. "What's that terrible cliché? 'Gaining curves in all the right places?'" He seemed to smile, to purr. "And all that soft, dark hair, those eyes like jewels. They're afraid of your radiance, of how much grander you are than they. Beautiful Sarah, far too beautiful for any mortal man." He leaned in close, she could feel his breath upon her face – sharp, sweet, like mint. "But not for me."

Her sage-green eyes had been transfixed upon his lips (how soft they looked, what might they taste like?), and had not moved, had barely breathed as Jareth leaned into her. However, the Goblin spell was fleeting, and with a sudden rush of wisdom, she placed hands upon his chest and shoved. "N-No! No means no, gawd, how many times am I going to have to say it!"

Jareth growled a little, like a predator, but did not allow himself to appear anymore put out than that. "Quite a great many more, I'm afraid," he rubbed his chin, looking at her through eyes that were just slits in a dark, displeased face.

"What," she demanded, small hands balled into little fists at her sides. "Forever? How did you even get here – and don't tell me I wished for you. I've wished for a lot of things in the last three years and you never showed up."

The Goblin King smiled – smirked, really, running a smooth, black glove through his unearthly mane of sterling hair. "You had thirteen hours to beat my Labyrinth. You don't think I would give myself the same sporting chance?"

"You...what? What does that even mean."

His most regal Majesty once more lifted his fingertips where a crystal lay, only now it spun around his hand in whirling, topsy-turvy excitement. Sarah felt herself transfixed by its ethereal, unreal glow, wondering what shown within its opal depths. It came to a stop and she gasped a little, lips parted. "I did have to deal with the aftermath of your little visit first, it's true," Jareth was answering in smooth and dulcet tones, the crystal beginning to spin again, slowly, on his palm, a globe about its axis. "And you were too young to come back to me, my sweet. So I bid my time – thirteen seasons, to be exact." Sarah watched them pass through the orb in haunting beauty: her victorious spring, standing over Toby's crib; the heedless summer that followed it; the fall, the winter, all in beautiful succession, when she had lived her life without a care in the world – almost without a care, in any case. As the very present moment approached within the orb, all grey storms and swirling leaves, the Goblin King clapped his hands together (Sarah stumbled back a bit in surprise), and the crystal was gone. "And now..." He leaned his head down to stare into her face as she had been staring into his outstretched palms. "Precious thing...I'm taking my turn. How did your boorish little friend say it? 'No mother's tears, no songs you sing, can save you from the Goblin King.' That's quite quaint, I like that."

"Stop being such a jerk, Jareth."

"Go on, Sarah, cut me, wound me, let me feel the lash of your fiery wit!"

Sarah wanted to summon some barb worthy of Oscar Wilde, something to put the Goblin King in his place once and forever. The best she could come up with was a stammering, "Piss off," and a second attempt at getting back home.

No such luck. His fingers wound tightly round her wrist, enough to make her cry out in a little pain as he pulled her full against him. "I told you, sweet, it's still my turn."

"I'm not playing your sick little games, Jareth!"

She could feel the rumble of his humiliating laughter deep in his broad chest as he held her taut against his firm body. His golden hair tickled her as he leaned down to whisper hotly in her ear. "You don't even know the wager yet."

"Don't care," she hissed, trying to pull against him, to break free; the harder she tugged, the stronger he seemed to become, as if she might be glued to his body. The struggle became more difficult, his warmth – that ethereal scent – trapping her closer. Sarah's will remained unchanged, yet her body was mutinously sabotaging her attempts. "Not playing..."

"You struggle so sweetly, and yet I know you do not wish to leave me."

"You have got to be kidding."

Smiling in a way that could only be called devilish, Jareth released her from his vice-like grip. With a short scream, Sarah felt herself falling backwards from the force with which she had pulled against him. And yet, before she could hit the earth, there he was again, catching her in his arms, down on bended knee. "See?" He was chuckling low, oh, it was terribly funny to him. "Back again, dearest."

"Ugh..." Sarah pushed off him, rolled to her feet. Her silky dark tresses were beginning to cling to her smooth face as the static in the air brought by the storm (or was it by his magic?) increased. What was this nightmare, and what did Jareth intend? To stay another thirteen seasons, another thirteen years?

"What, no thank you?"

Sarah was dusting off her jeans, trying to seem unaffected by all his goblinish meddling. "If you put out a house on fire, you don't get credit if you're the arsonist."

"That's cute, that's clever." The Goblin King stood, towering over her. "Now, precious, I can see how tired you are." He moved to run a thumb over the dark circles that hung below her emerald eyes; Sarah jerked her head away and hissed like a defensive cat. "If you do not want to play any longer, let us retire. You needn't even walk." Jareth sneaked his arms around her, the knave, even down to her back pockets and pulled her closer to his hips, as though he might be preparing to scoop her into his arms. Sarah's face dipped in a failed attempt at hiding her short gasp for breath. Instead, it merely made it so that her soft head was buried in the warm firmness of his strong chest. "I shall carry you across the threshold like a little bride. You'd like that, admit it, stop being so contrary."

"No!" Her voice was louder than she meant it to be, more like a scream, but perhaps that was a good thing, at last a chance to get her point across. She was so loud that it made the Goblin King loosen his grip just enough for her to slip through his tightened fingers. "You don't get it. You don't listen. Look, I'll admit, I don't understand what your whole...deal is," she spat at him, ignoring the way his silver-gold eyes narrowed. "I don't know why you do these things you do. And I'm sorry that you chose me, but-"

"Chose you?" This seemed to be the greatest insult she had hurled at him all night. He seemed to grow in size – taller, wider, so that his handsome, broad shoulders blocked out what remained of the dim light, so that he loomed above her like the great king that he was. "Chose you? Hahahaha! How vain we must be, Miss Sarah Williams! To think that I would choose an impudent, common, mortal child-"

"Keep talking, Goblin King, you're really winning me over!"

"I did not choose you." His voice was husky and low, the air of the night seemed to drop in obedience to his hushed words. "You called me, it was you who came to me – you who broke apart my Labyrinth brick by bloodied brick! Fate chose you, little Sarah – you were molded to be my Queen. How else do you expect me to believe you bested me in all your little foolishness? Oh no. I have fought this, I have rallied against you, the same as you fight me here and now. The universe itself will not allow it, a thousand realities spinning and dashing into pieces are as nothing-" Here he grabbed her again, pulled her hard against him, her head tucked beneath the firm point of his strong chin. Sarah was breathless, she didn't have the mind, the strength, nor will to fight him. "-compared to what was dreamed up for us, little one. I waited a millennium, watched kingdoms rise and fall – a thousand lives worth more than yours – before I found what the strands of eternity had laid out for me." His teeth were clenched in white, straight lines, and he whispered fiercely in her ear. Sarah knew she ought to be afraid, and yet, somehow, she found instead a part of her responding in giddy agreement; deep within the pit of her stomach, a necessity bred from ancient evolutions told her yes, listen. His strong hand at her waist brought out heady, pooling want that had been known by her mother, her grandmother, all her line back to the beginning. Sarah was not weak, but life itself was far stronger. The feeling within whispered that a delicious destiny – worth far more than silly dreams of stardom or family – was unfolding before her soft eyes. "Now I tell you once again, struggle as you like, for I will never stop until total victory is completely mine."

He seemed to overcome her then, his dark cloak wrapped around her like a cocoon. His embrace was impossibly tight, it set her body aflame as he bent as though to consume her. He was right when he said her dreams before had been innocent enough; she once thought of knights in armor to win her chaste love and lips. It was the farthest thing from her mind that the Goblin King should be the first man to claim her kisses. Certainly the part of her that feared and loathed him (and rightfully so) reacted with great disgust, but sad to say it was the minority of her feeling. Jareth's lips were far softer than she might have imagined for one so hard and pitiless. It was true, what he said, her body seemed to mold into his embrace like glove to hand. Without her needing to will anything at all, her arms wrapped around the strong line of his neck. Encouraged, he drew her deeper, closer, nearer to him, so that she seemed almost lifted off the ground, stretched on tip-toe to meet his pressing mouth. Dear God, was he right? The part of her mind – the small part – that had any kind of rational thought left to it was trembling as surely as her body was. Is this a hopeless fight, is there some kind of...destiny at work here?

Her more logical thoughts rallied themselves, she separated from his entanglements on the pretense (the true pretense) of gasping for air as his kisses still burned like fire on her lips, even in the coldness of the October night. "You see?" Jareth purred languorously, eyes half closed in deep satisfaction. He softly touched her lower lip with two fingers in a caressing gesture. "How right I am? I am always right." He licked his own lips and drew her in again, breath hot against her temple. He did not seem to notice the way her eyes darted about, that her face was not to his again; he was savoring the first step of his victory too much. "But I will allow you one point – capturing you outside of those pretty dreams of yours is more satisfying by far." His nose – like the sharpened beak of a bird of prey – nuzzled gently into the joining of her throat and jaw, his sighs still hot against her skin. "Shall I tell you what you taste of, precious thing?" He nipped her ear before whispering into it, not noticing (or choosing to ignore) the way she had begun to wriggle in his warm embrace. "White wine and flowers, jasmine..." All his tender endearments – true or false, it is not to say – were halted when he felt his prize slide from his grasp. That slip of a thing, if she could not break out of his arms by force, she would glide down out of him, like an eel from untrained hands. "What..."

Sarah was completely out of breath – from the long day, from her fright, from her struggles, and yes, from his searing kisses. She stood before him, shoulders drooping, face worn, but eyes like stars in their defiance. She grinned through a kiss-reddened mouth at him. "You want to play, Goblin King? Let's play. You still haven't scored a point with me."

Stock still stood the fey king, awesome and magnificent in his darkly burning anger. He was black and silver, mighty and horrible, and though Sarah knew she was still terribly afraid – she had the courage to stand tall against him, and not to show it. "So," he hissed through pointed teeth, his voice low and scratchier in his attempts to point his rage in useful directions. "Still so unappreciative, are we, little Sarah?"

"I'm terribly appreciative, I'm afraid I just cannot accept."

"Ha." The laugh was short, biting, cold. "Hahaha. How adorable you are. How you try my patience."

"Are we playing or aren't we? What are the stakes, you promised me a wager. Come on, let's have it!"

This seemed to intrigue him a bit, for his white-gold eyes flared a little, flashed. His hard mouth – and those impossibly soft lips – turned upward in a sneer that made him look far more dangerous, and yet somehow more alluring than ever. Sarah did not dare to close her eyes, would not acknowledge the wobbling of her legs or the liquid state of her insides from how he en-flamed her. "Are you interested, precious?"

"You're clearly not going to go away until I best you again, so let's hear it. Let's see what you've come all this way for."

"Hm." An old magic seemed to weave itself around the Goblin King. Sarah could see it even though it lacked all physical presence, she knew it was there. The thickening of the air around them was evidence enough. His dark and feathered cloak drawn over his shoulders, the fey trickster's lithe fingers steepled together, tip to tip, and a glow began to emanate from the space that his hands created. The blindingly bright bubble appeared; Sarah sighed a little.

"Another crystal? You're kind of a one trick pony, aren't you?"

Magnanimously, he ignored the last half of this statement. "Nothing more." Jareth did not seem put out by the girl's blasé response, still smirking as dreadfully as ever. "But..." He stepped closer to her, putting a hand to the small of her back and pulling her in before Sarah had a chance to dig in her heels. "If you turn it this way and look into it, it will show you your dreams.." With an affected huff, Sarah tried to turn her face away, but the Goblin King blocked her with his arm on one side, his body on the other. "Do you want to see them, love?"

"Seeing them wouldn't mean anything. I know what my dreams are."

"Mmm," he purred, starting to grin widely with pearly, pointed teeth. "How lucky you are, most people don't. But this is far more than that..." Taking his free arm from off her shoulder, he seized her hand and pried open the delicate fingers, so as to accept his offering. "I could give them to you." He held the shinning ball just a hair's breadth from her hands, and Sarah would have had to admit that, mouth dry, her fingers did try to close around it, despite what she may have otherwise felt. "Ah ah ah," Jareth admonished, pulling the bauble away just slightly. "This is not a gift for an ordinary girl who does her studies and waits in the wings for her turn on the stage."

"I'm not stupid, you know," she hissed at him, a slight blush upon her cheeks for her moment of weakness. "I know you're not that generous, whatever you may say. There is no gift from you that doesn't come with a price, that's how these fey things work, isn't it?"

"Well, Sarah, if a man gives you your dreams, surely you owe him some gratitude."

"And what," the young girl dryly replied, eying him cautiously, "is some gratitude to you? Last time you were trying to trade me my dreams for my brother – Toby's safe from you, he's not here."

"Ah, that's the brilliant part, you see," he whispered, drawing her close again. Again, again, ugh, not again; don't, she silently pleaded, put that perfumed spell upon me, don't brush against me with your silken hair, don't make me feel those haunting lips on me skin again. Sarah was a strong girl, but he was stronger still, and his temptations were becoming too much to bear. "What I ask for in return still benefits you."

"What..."

Jareth shaped a cup out of her small hands, placing the glowing bubble inside, his own fingers under hers, staying close. "Have all your beautiful dreams, my love, your wonderful dreams..." Sarah had not meant to look, but she could see it: her name in lights, a brilliant career as the greatest actress in a generation...accolades and awards, her face on every magazine on every corner shelf. And Karen and Toby and her father, all happy, all smiling and proud! To have it all, all coming true, what would she give to- "And when your heart is full and content and you've had it all..." He tilted her chin up, away from the hypnotizing glow of the crystal. "Then come to me...give yourself to me in body, mind and soul. Worship me, as I do you..." With her head still tilted, he sank his mouth freely to the white, soft skin of her throat, breathing in the essence of her flesh, grating her irresistibly with his lips and teeth so that she gasped and quivered at the very faintest motion. "It is a service to you – an endless eternity of love..." He sucked softly upon her. "And making love..."

Fear me, love me. Do as I say and I will be your slave-

Did he...did he mean it? And did she even want it. For the briefest of moments, she could almost see it, see herself laid out on a brocade chaise dripping in so many fineries as to dazzle the senses, and Jareth – handsome, magnificent, otherworldly – sat beside her and playing to her every whim in an ecstasy of adoration as she piled him with her own kisses and affections. God, she trembled inside. There was no guarantee that that was how life would be with him, but even so... Something out of a bad romance novel, or something some part of her wanted, she had no idea which.

With only the greatest forbearance and strength of will did Sarah manage to hiss through gritted teeth, "You don't know the first thing about love, not real love!"

"Tsk." He did not stop, would not stop, lowering his head further so that he may tease the joining of her collarbone. Sarah's hands wanted to move to his shoulders, but she stood stock still, teeth biting painfully into her lower lip, clutching the crystal tightly. "A common bit of human hubris, the idea that only their type of love is real or possible...is it not loving of me to offer you a chance that a thousand girls would not hesitate to take!"

"Then pick those girls, Jareth."

"I've already told you, dearest, I cannot." His annoyance overpowered his desire, and he stood tall, glaring into her eyes that glared right back at him. "And besides...how boring, simple minded little fools – not that you are making yourself seem so wise, even by comparison."

"You smug, arrogant-"

"Reject your dreams, if that's what you want. I defy you, throw the crystal to the dogs, let it smash into a million pieces on the earth. Become some...house wife to whatever drab little boy you find on this campus. And when you are fat from bearing his children, and wrinkled and old and cross – you will look back on this night, and remember that I offered you palaces – glittering balls and a thousand envious eyes all watching you, all wanting to be you. Drive your squalling band of little brats over hill and dale, unappreciated, unadorned, when I would have made you the Goblin Queen. You'll be a disgusting, mortal creature, when I would have made you eighteen and glittering for all eternity. Who will want you then, Sarah?"

It was certainly a reason for pause, his scathing rebuke of plain domesticity, of what her life might very well amount to if she did not capture those elusive dreams. And yet it was not with horror that she was arrested, looking deep into his pale, predacious face. She actually breathed softly and felt some small sense of...wonder at the scene. "You know what, Jareth..." with a sigh, she shook her head, taking his strong, gloved hand and gently placing the crystal within his palm. "As stupid as this sounds, I think you would." His cold eyes twitched. "I don't know if it's because you're just stubborn, or vicious, but I think you'd claw me from the arms of a man I'd spent my whole life with, reorder time and bring me back to this very moment, and make me choose again. And what's even stupider is..." She brushed her long hair from her eyes, felt him watching her with serious tension. "I don't know if it would be because you'd be positively gleeful at stealing every cherished memory from me, or because you...love me that much, in some...truly disturbing and – can we be frank? - not at all sane or rational way. I have no clue whether that means you love me or you hate me, or even which one is worse! I don't know if this is some...goblin, faerie thing, or it's just you being a psychopath! I don't know." She sighed again, at last about to meet his cold and frozen gaze. "Maybe that's what love is to you, maybe I should feel flattered-"

There was a sudden crinch sound of breaking glass, Sarah gasped a little, looked up into his face. The Goblin King had not been enjoying this monologue of hers, had found it neither complimentary nor encouraging, if his mouth – twisted into a cold, snarling frown – was any indication. "Don't presume," he hissed. The crystal had cracked in the tightness of his grip, looked about ready to shatter apart at any moment.

"J-Jareth..."

"Are you quite finished, little dear? I have been fully deferential, but this...mocking sentimentality will not be born."

"I didn't-"

"Enough." He let the ball drop to the ground, Sarah watched it crash into dazzling lights and seem to evaporate from the earth. She gulped a little and backed up as the Goblin King stalked forward, eyes like a dark, cold and starless sky, boring into her. Her back hit a tree and her feet dug into the soft soil. "If my generosity is so flattering, so amusing to you, perhaps I might get a lark out of your own, hm?"

"S-stop it!"

"I know how you love playing the little hero, my sweet darling. And so that is my last offer for you."

Sarah stole some of her mettle back, standing up a little straighter, though the bark of the tree was still digging into her back. "What in the hell are you talking about?" All the while, she clung to one, simple word: last. Last offer, was he giving up, at least for now if not forever?

Jareth did not seem to care if her voice was a little stronger, a little bolder; he leaned over her, his hands resting on the trunk of the tree above her head. It about put her on eye level with his throat, his hips grazing hers in agonizing lightness, and Sarah was sure all that had been his intent. "You know what it's like when foolish young children make reckless wishes, hm? And knowing your sharp little tongue, I'm certain you'd upbraid me for merely doing what I'm asked – so I'm giving you the chance to stop it."

"Jareth, you're...what?"

His hands slid down and held her by the shoulders, tightly. "Save all those poor, hapless little children from the nasty Goblin King you loathe so much, my love."

"Stop it, you're hurting me-"

Deaf to any words but those he wanted to hear, he leaned in closer, so that his teeth gleamed viciously in the dull light of the blackened night. "I'll be the one who grants their wishes...you be the sweet, benevolent Goblin Queen who intercedes on their behalf, hm? Clearly you love Greek tragedy – be my Persephone."

"That is twisted!"

"In fact, I am so-" and this word he spit with clear anger and frustration, "-generous, I will even give you a clue on how to begin." One of his hands moved to her chin, held it there tightly, ignoring her soft, whimpered protests. The fey held her there viciously, demanding she meet him eye to ethereal eye. Sarah could do nothing else, despite the fact she tried to blink, tried to look away. "I want to see those ivy colored eyes wet for me. Lay that little head upon my lap and beg – 'Please, Jareth,'" and here he affected a slightly higher pitch, yet the sharpness, the gravel of his voice did not leave him. "'For my sake, I'll do anything at all...' Anything at all."

There was, of a sudden, a bright, ringing sound, the note of flesh upon flesh; the Goblin King had been neglecting Sarah's hands this whole moment, so cocksure, so vicious. It was probably unwise of her, probably brazen and foolish, but it was not the first time she had acted thus, on this night or any other.

She had slapped him fully across the face.

Jareth was so taken aback by this that he actually let her go. It was possible he had...miscalculated. A light, a burning fire was raging in Sarah's eyes – he had not seduced her, cajoled her, or threatened her into changing her mind, not tonight.

"I'll give you this, Goblin Jerk," she hissed, inarticulate in her moment of fierce passion. "You are great, and you do scare the hell out of me – but I am not some damsel in distress, I am not a child, and I am not your Queen." Jareth glowered at her, still holding his face in a wound that was far more about his pride than his flesh. "I wish you would come see the end of the play, Jareth."

His unnatural eyes narrowed, flashing gold in the low light. "Oh? And why is that?"

"Because," Sarah hissed, stomping forward towards him as recklessly as she had in his crumbling Labyrinth, yet even more sure and strong now. "The girl wins – and he doesn't." Very briefly, their eyes met in a blaze of light and fury. She did not notice it at that time, but in the days, the weeks, the thirteen seasons that would follow, Sarah would reflect that behind the indignant rage in his mis-colored eyes, Jareth's look bore a kind of...fulsome pride. "You still have no power over me."

OvO

"Ohmigawd, Sarah."

"What is it?" She looked up from the stack of playbills she had been handling, noticing the dumbstruck look on her young friend's face.

"Check out the hottie at the ticket booth!"

"What?" Sarah cocked an eyebrow, craning her neck to see to whom the silly college girl could be referring. The two stood by the theater doors, dressed in matching outfits of black and white, their duty to serve as ushers as members of the theater department. Sarah, however, was the far calmer, nonplussed of the two. On tip toe, peering through the dense pack of theater goers, she could barely make out the turned back of a tall gentleman, golden blond hair slicked back. It was all she saw. "Whatever, you're seeing things."

"Uh, no. You just need to get your head examined. I can't wait to see how Michael does tonight, everyone's been saying he's great!"

"He's something, alright..." Sarah was listening, but still found herself distracted, eyes scanning the crowd. The blessings of an evening performance – even for the annual children's production – meant that most of those in attendance were local theater aficionados, students, or much older families. It was a relief to not be thronged by hoards of screaming children. But devastatingly handsome men in the audience? Unlikely.

With a sudden gasp, Sarah's friend grabbed her arm. "See!" she almost squealed, tapping her heels together in excitement. "There he is!"

Sarah really saw no one out of the ordinary until the gentleman in question stood before her. "Excuse me," he said, clearing his throat with a soft, low-tenor sound. "Good evening."

"U-uh...hi." She looked up at him – tall, inordinately tall. Dressed so smartly, black coat, black slacks, black shoes that were at such a glossy shine Sarah was sure she could see her eyes reflected there. He had sharp features, like he were made of cut glass, a mess of blond hair gently waved back on his head. And...a pair of...mismatched eyes? She felt a lump in the bottom of her stomach.

He was holding out a hand to her, gloves still on to protect strong hands from the biting cold outside. "May I have a program, please."

"S-sure..."

"Thank you, Sarah."

"H-how do you know my name!"

"You're wearing a name tag." Oh God. She couldn't possibly be this paranoid. Was this his idea of revenge, turning her into a raving lunatic? Her friend stared at her with a look she knew all to plainly read, "What in the hell is your problem?"

The gentleman merely dug a hand into his pocket, retrieving a small stub, smiling so calmly and so self-assuredly. "In any case, here's my ticket. I don't suppose you could direct me to the seat, it's my first time seeing a performance here."

Unhelpfully, Sarah's friend discretely elbowed her in the ribs, giggling incessantly. "Yeah, no problem..." Without a backward glanced, Sarah weaved through the crowd of art patrons. She knew he was right behind her, and she just really didn't want to turn around and see it. Her cheeks felt impossibly red, but with the press of bodies all around her, jostling for their places, perhaps it wasn't such a surprise. "Okay, so here we are, row G, seat...thirteen..."

"Thank you. You've been most helpful." His hand was out to her. Sarah felt sure time had stopped; no one else existed in the auditorium, no noise but a buzzing in her ears, for in his outstretched palm was a...a crystal?

"You invited me back, did you not?"

"...arah? Miss, Sarah?" She remembered to breathe again, found herself looking up into his disturbingly handsome, unreal face. "Are you alright?"

"What? No! I mean, yes, I mean...I'm fine."

"I was asking if I could give you a tip."

"W-we're...really not supposed to-"

"Please." He had seized her hand in his, opening it up and pressing the small handful of bills she didn't even think to identify into her open palm. "It's good to be generous." She bit her lip, feeling sweat beginning to drip down the back of her neck. The stranger smiled down at her, disturbing eyes half closed, voice low. "Who knows – perhaps one day you'll be giving something to me." Sarah could feel blood on the tip of her tongue from her teeth digging into the soft flesh of her mouth. "Well, I thank you." With a smooth, graceful motion, he sat, laying a heavy black coat on the empty seat beside him. And was a...feather on the cuff? "I intend to enjoy this."

A small, squeaking sound escaped Sarah's lips by way of acknowledgment, and she hurried back up the aisle in small, frantic steps, face still red. Her waiting companion had her hands on her hips, brow crossed. "Jeeze, Sarah, what the heck was that?"

"It was nothing."

"Figures the hot guy bee-lines straight toward you, anyway. I don't get how you keep pushing guys away like this."

"He just-!...he reminded me of someone I know."

"What, someone tall, smooth and impossibly sexy?"

"Something like that..."

"Ugh, typical Sarah." She seemed genuinely jealous. Sarah felt a twinge – she was certain it was a feeling of guilt, but for a moment it almost seemed to be pride – but that thought simply made her feel all the worse.

"Ah, but you are prettier..."

Sarah placed a cool hand to her hot cheek. She hated that man – so why was she so pleased to be thought of as so beautiful – especially by...him? Ugh, this was insanity.

"I intend to enjoy this."

"I bet you will, Goblin King..."

"Sarah?" If her friend was truly envious, she seemed to have dropped it for the moment, peering up at her with concern. "You say something?"

"What? No. Talking to myself."

"The house lights are going down." Indeed they were, a hush fell over a waiting and expectant audience. Sarah peered through the darkness at her spot by the door, yet somehow...she felt she didn't need to focus her attention on the play, and could not have, even if she tried.