Bestow to the Victor

Author's note: I originally began writing this story about five years ago, posting only the first two chapters. I got deterred with some other junk, so I thought I'd retry it after an absence from ffn. So here it is again, and, if I do say so, much improved.

Disclaimer: The motion picture, "Labyrinth" is an original idea created by Jim Henson. It does not belong to me, nor will it ever. So there.

Chapter 1--Home

Home. How oddly comforting that simple, enigmatic word seemed to her as she walked among the autumn-strewn leaves that lined the streets of her New England hometown. Home is where she would be greeted by an intuitive familiarity; it is where she could once again fall right into step, regardless of how long she was away. Home is where she would be greeted by the sights and sounds that evoke a euphoric rush in one's mind, like a mind-bending drug, stimulating a moment of pure ecstasy in recollection, and then curbing the appetite for anything else in the world.

"Only minutes away from home," she thought, grabbing her valise more securely as she prodded away from the tiny train station that housed a set of trains that ran daily to the airport. And in all her weariness, Sarah smiled for the remaining draining miles.

***** With the last of her bags finally unpacked, Sarah gave a sigh of relief and standing, hands upon hips, looked around her bedroom in satisfaction. She was exhausted from traveling, but she would not let that be her barrier. "For once, I'm glad to be back home," she whispered almost inaudibly to herself before collapsing on the bed in front of her to catch her second wind.

She stared up at the ceiling above her and reminisced for a few moments over the past few days. Real life proved to be a hard-hitting obstacle to conquer, nothing like Sarah had expected. Finding a grown-up job, as her father so aptly called it in numerous emails over the past few months, seemed to her such a petty chore, disgusting and below her.

"Nursing?" she read aloud from her laptop just last week at a tiny al fresco cafe in Rome. Really, dad? Snorting quite unladylike at the thought, she mumbled a quick obscenity just as a tall and rather tan Roman waiter with a chiseled face and aquiline nose put down Sarah's cup of espresso. His locks of dark hair curled just below his ears and his eyes held something of a raw salacious look that Sarah could only picture mingled between sweaty bed sheets.

"Scusa?" He interrupted, cocking up one dark eyebrow and letting the tiniest smirk play on one corner of his mouth as if he had understood Sarah's appalling use of English perfectly well.

She laughed a little then, turning her prettiest smile upon him. "Sorry," she said, wondering if this perfect Roman specimen spoke enough broken English to escort her back to her rented flat with a bit of friendly conversation. "Thanks for this--grazie."

Yes, the real world was arduous, but traveling around the world? A piece of cake.

Sarah smiled at the memory of the Roman cafe, reminiscing about all of her travels over the past two years. She felt exhilarated, free, edified, mature...and safe. Almost as if nothing could chase her to Europe, although she could never figure out why this feeling might exist.

Her days were filled with mesmerizing self-propelled excursions where she'd lose herself among the ancient cobblestone paths of whatever city she was in....Rome, Vienna, Loches. Climbing over statues that beheld the steely scowl of some Ottoman emperor. Laughing and running to peer behind moss-covered stone doors held up by a perfect keystone, gazing wide-eyed and curious, like a little lost child in a supermarket, into the dark areas where no person has ventured for centuries. Always searching, always searching. But never finding.

But searching for what? She didn't want to think.

And it wasn't as if she wasn't making a living, like her parents accused. She paid her way doing the only thing she knew best--telling stories. Travel writing was something Sarah briefly explored during college, but now, her talent was put to such good use. Her words scrawled onto almost every English publication on the main continent, bespeaking her tales of good food, fine wine, and luxurious company. Yes, her days could be quite wonderful.

But at night, night was the time when all memories of the day had vanished and she was left alone with her thoughts.

Sometimes, when her head was dizzy from too much champagne and the vibrant glow of the moon crept in her veranda window, clothing her bed with its soft blush, she lay awake thinking about them..about him. And so she tossed and turned on her pillow, as if trying to rub the memory from her brain, disturbing (on occasion) her bedmate for the evening, who would groggily try to pacify her tumultuous flails by smoothing her wild mass of silky black tresses with his lips. She relented, for a moment, listening until her foreign companions breathing slowed into muted snores, before she turned towards the moon and crying the silent breathy tears of a little girl just awake from an awful nightmare of goblins and ghouls, let sleep take over her.

But it wasn't until her stay in Rome when she finally gave in and decided to return home. It was another tearful night of tossing and turning and trying to forget. Fabrizio, her chiseled Roman waiter, awoke and turned soft brown eyes upon her.

"Sarah, bella," he whispered in a raspy voice that Sarah could tell was reserved only for pillow talk. He raised a gentle, tanned finger to her cheek stained pink with wetness. He drew back his finger, looking at it with tender sorrow and kissed away the tear there. "Che l'e? Why are you not asleep?" She looked beautiful in the moonlight--even in her tears--star-kissed and flushed, her shiny black hair hanging in a mess of wavy tendrils that wrapped around her shoulders and fell below her white eyelet-clad breasts. Her eyes shone a brilliant emerald, welling up with water, and she turned them on Fabrizio, who was suddenly just a friendly foreign stranger, with the aching emptiness of a lost little girl.

"Please leave me....leave me alone," she murmured in a tiny voice, turning her head into her pillow with a muffled sob.

She couldn't run away anymore.

And so she was home. Starting a job as a freelancer for a local magazine. Coming back to reality at the age of twenty-five. Her lips twitched at the thought of herself in such a domestic role after years of running free. Maybe she needed this, a tiny dose of real life. "And this really is real life," she thought as she closed her eyes and took in an exuberant inhalation of the sweet smell of her old Tinkerbelle perfume, the smell of her dreams. Sarah smiled at the familiar scent, softly humming a tune that had carved out a little niche in the back of her mind, although she could not quite place its melody.

The sound of someone shouting followed by short bouts of laughter brought her out of her reverie. Toby and her father must be helping Karen make dinner tonight. Sarah offered the world a small grin of contentment and snuggled her head deeper into the pillow. Maybe it would be best to catch a little shuteye before joining her family for a most welcome meal.