A Path Between The Stars

Disclaimer: I have a copy of the movie, something like 4 fanfictions, and a Jareth Plushie. But I don't own Sarah, Jareth, their fandom or anything remotely official, that all belongs to Jim Henson and co.

So it's thanks to my Amazing Beta, Nothingnothingtralala and my Best Friend that this story is what it is today, otherwise it would still be sitting in a folder on my desktop half written, it's also thanks to another friend of mine who, when asked if she would design Sarah's dresses, went above and beyond anything I could have come up with. Aaaand I hope you enjoy, because I certainly did.

Ch1

"You had Love in your hands."

The woman, who looked like a stereotypical evil crone, examined Sarah's palm. A friend of Sarah's — who before long might find herself without a friend — had kidnapped and blindfolded her with a scarf that morning, which just so happened to be her birthday. Oh hooray. She had been taken up and down the city: they had brunched at a waffle house, after which Sarah had been shoved into dressing room after dressing room at the mall with arms full of clothes, until the sun began to go down. At this point she had been blindfolded again and taken to a little hole-in-the-wall-type shop, full of unusual trinkets that claimed to have mystical powers, and plopped in a chair before a psychic, much to her horror.

She had heard the usual gibberish: a long life, wealth beyond imagining, yada yada, and now the woman was quoting The Princess Bride; this was, so far, not her best birthday. "You had love, and you gave it up. A hard choice, but a noble one; good on you, dearie."

"Ok, thanks, but… I'm done. Jamie, I'm ready to go home," Sarah said. She wasn't a big fan of psychics; they always said the same thing. She knew this because when she was sixteen she'd visited a few, trying to figure something out; to this day she wasn't really sure what she had wanted to hear, but she had never heard it and so had sworn off psychics, tarot readers, fortune tellers, the odd traveling voodoo witch, and a host of others. She had stood to leave when the woman spoke again.

"You can get it back, you know, and see him again. I have a proposition for you, dearie. You can go back, secure the love you gave up, and live a long, fabulously wonderful life."

Sarah turned in spite of herself. "How?"

"He's holding a festival. But you mustn't tell him who you are, or the curse will take instant effect."

"Curse?" Sarah narrowed her eyes at the woman, not liking the sound of that.

"Hush, dearie! The festival will last three nights. If he kisses you before sunrise on the fourth day, you're off the hook. If not, you forfeit your ability to love him or any other ever again, in this life or any other."

"And if I walk out right now, and say no?"

"Your life will resume as you know it."

"What does this festival entail?"

"These things tend to include a lot of dancing. Especially nude dancing round bonfires." Sarah stifled a laugh as she imagined that.

"What are the terms?"

"Ach, dearie, I told you already: get him to kiss you before sunrise on the fourth day. If you don't, you'll never love again. And I must warn you that all your memories of him will be forfeit. But I wouldn't worry too much about that, dearie. After all, 'the King of the goblins had fallen in love with the girl', remember? And besides, what's the point in remembering something that's only going to hurt in the long run?"

"And that's why I asked. You left out the bit about messing with my mind. I won't remember the goblins and I'm guessing I won't remember this deal either, because it relates to him." Sarah leaned on the back of the chair and thought about it. Go and risk memories and love on the chance that Jareth meant what he said in the broken hall of stairs… or go home and do nothing and miss him for the rest of her life. "I can't tell him my name, but what if he figures it out?"

"Just so long as you don't tell him, dearie," the crone shrugged. "Think on it this way dearie, if he loves you, he'll kiss you; if not, then you won't remember that you loved him in the first place. Everybody wins in the end, dearie."

Sarah almost laughed. A win-win situation in which she humiliated herself and then forgot all about it, or in which she left behind the world she'd grown up in for a fairy-tale King and his kingdom! Sarah didn't regret winning Toby back, of course not, he was her brother after all and if she hadn't saved him, then who would have? Nobody, that's who. She'd have missed out on having an adoring little brother to play with and tell stories to. She'd have missed out on teasing him mercilessly when he'd gotten his first Valentine last year. She'd have missed him—even if she'd forgotten him she suspected a part of her would still have missed him. She did miss Jareth too, more than she usually cared to admit. She had been a fifteen-year-old brat at the time of her selfish wish but something Jareth had said at the end had stuck with her over the years.

She couldn't reason out why she missed Jareth; after all, she had only met him the once and he'd been anything but Prince Charming. But as she'd grown up she'd realized that he had been generous, he had done everything she asked, and she'd been anything but grateful. The deal would take away a feeling that was cherished in the lives of those who were lucky enough to find it. And it was going to mess with her memories; that should have been enough for her to say no and walk away. And yet… and yet she hesitated. After all, she was who she was today in a large part thanks to those ten hours Jareth had made her spend in the Labyrinth.

If she forgot him would she change? She didn't want to revert back to her fifteen-year-old personality; she rather liked the person she'd become. But… the whole point might be moot if Jareth loved her. It was a mighty big 'if' but the more she thought about it the more she realized that this was something she had to try, even if it meant waltzing—quite literally—into a masked Fae ball, something all the stories warned was a very bad idea. Love was highly cherished and she had no doubt about it: she loved the King of the Goblins. She couldn't pinpoint when she'd realized it, or even when he had become something other than her childhood villain. But she was sure of it; she loved Jareth. There were days when she was even a bit glad she'd wished Toby away, because it had given her a chance to meet the King she still daydreamed about and it had allowed her to become a better big sister to Toby.

While her mind continued to go in circles, her mouth opened and she said, "I'll do it." A rather dramatic and childish thought flitted across her mind as her brain caught up with her mouth and she made her choice. If he can't love me, she thought, then I don't want to remember him.

"Make a wish, dearie," the crone smiled. There was a smug glint in her eyes that Sarah forced herself to ignore as she prepared herself to do the one thing she had always been very careful not to… make a wish.

Sarah swallowed. "I wish to attend the Goblin King's Festival."

With a shower of glitter and a cloud of pale smoke Sarah was whisked off to the Underground. Time in the little shop resumed — not that Sarah had even noticed it had stopped.

~~~~~~J/S~~~~~~

The friend, Jamie, who had dragged Sarah there in the first place, looked around in confusion, feeling inordinately out of place.

"Something wrong, dearie? Would you like to have your fortune told? Last chance today, we're closing soon."

Jamie blinked and then shrugged. She was not missing Sarah in the least, her memory having already been slightly altered. She sat down, holding out her hands for the old woman's inspection.

~~~~~~J/S~~~~~~

The smell of magic tickled Sarah's nose as the glitter and smoke cleared. Sarah looked around; she was in the castle, accompanied by a gangly goblin in a footman's outfit. She smiled and crouched down to his level, ignoring the rustle of skirts as he grinned back. The Labyrinth had thought to clothe her in something more ball-appropriate: a dress. She made up her mind not to think about it too much. The whole night was weird; the last thing she needed was the mental image of a semi-sentient magical maze picking out her wardrobe. …Even if it was one of the most gorgeous dresses she'd worn in her life.

"Hello," she said to the goblin, "are you here to escort me to the party?"

The goblin grinned wider and jabbed a thumb at the centre of his chest. "Mildo to announce Pretty Lady at the ball!" he said proudly. Sarah straightened and smoothed her skirts before holding her hand out for Mildo to take, which he did, holding it up above his head as they walked down the hall. Two goblins opened the double doors wide and Mildo escorted her to the top of the stairs where, at the very top of his lungs, he called, "Announcing! Pretty Lady of the Aboveground!"

The mingling stopped as everyone turned to look at her, clapping politely. Sarah smiled and held her head high as she glided down the stairs. She was the daughter of an actress; she would not let these Fae know she was nervous. Drawing on her childhood princess obsession, she dropped into a polite curtsey at the bottom before rising and moving out of the way.

"Pretty Lady of the Aboveground, is it?" a masked Fae man said behind her.

"Yes?" she said, turning to look. He had a good voice, the kind Disney would have for a Prince Charming, deep and sophisticated with a slight lilt.

"Does the pretty lady have a name?" he asked, drawing out the last word with a slight tilt to his head and a smile on his lips. His hair was black as an oil slick and smoothed away from his face, his skin was a golden tan and he had eyes as blue as cornflowers. He didn't look dangerous, but he was Fae and she was in the Labyrinth, where things were not always as they seemed. Besides, he was not the one she was looking for.

"She does, but she's not telling you," Sarah said with a wry twist of her lips. "Words have power in this world, don't they? Why should names be any different?"

"Clever," the man said, in some surprise. Sarah inclined her head at the compliment before gliding away. He caught her elbow, stopping her. "You'll need a name though; we can't go around calling you 'Pretty Lady' all night. Some of the women are apt to get jealous. They might take it upon themselves to do something to that pretty face."

"Well, we wouldn't want that," Sarah said with a smile. She didn't think it was a threat, but she'd have to be careful, just in case it wasn't. She'd have preferred to remain nameless, but if she was going to be badgered about it then she'd give them something to call her. Jennifer would do nicely. Her mother, Linda, had had a fondness for names from the King Arthur period. Sarah had once been told the story of how she'd almost become a Jennifer instead of a Sarah. Her father had insisted upon Sarah and Linda had eventually caved. Sarah had never been more grateful for that story than she was now. "All right, then; for the rest of the evening, my name will be Jennifer."

"Lady Jennifer of the Aboveground, a pleasure to make your acquaintance," he said with a bow. Sarah curtseyed briefly before making her escape, disappearing into a crowd. A goblin handed her a glass of wine the color of cherry liqueur; she smiled, but did not drink it. As she looked around for a place to set down the glass she overheard a sigh from an exquisitely dressed Fae woman.

"He's late. It's bad form to be late to your own party."

"You know how the Goblin King likes to make an entrance; he knows we'll forgive the social gaffe. He is the King after all, and this is his festival—" Right at that moment the lights dimmed briefly and trumpets sounded.

"Announcing… His Majesty, the King of the Goblins!"

Everyone turned and the chatter ceased as they bowed and curtseyed. Sarah turned to look at him. He looked exactly the same, and now he was staring at her; startled, Sarah was left standing until she was forced into a curtsey by a hand at the back of her neck.

"You little fool," the Fae from earlier whispered to her, "don't you know who that is?"

"Buzz off, Slick," the Fae started at the nickname, "I'm not afraid of him." Or of you, she added silently.

"Slick?" he asked, stunned by the new name.

"You remind me of an oil slick on sand. How much gel is in your hair anyway?" The fae spluttered and Sarah grinned. She never got to tease anybody anymore, it was always, 'you're an adult, be grown up and don't accidentally insult someone because you were teasing and they took it the wrong way'. But Slick, who had so obviously never been teased before in his life, was just so much fun that she couldn't help herself; his reactions were priceless! The more she found herself around this Fae, the more she found that her nerves were quieting; she was getting used to being surrounded by him and his ilk.

~~~~~~J/S~~~~~~

Jareth stood at the top of the stairs, surveying the room. He was late. He would have been late anyway, with his penchant for dramatic entrances, but he was later than usual.

He'd had a woman come to him that day with an offer. She could lift the curse that bound him from finding Sarah; for three days he would be free to seek her out Above. If he couldn't find her, the curse would snap back into place and he'd never see her again. But if he did find her, the curse would be broken forever, and he was free to convince her to stay with him.

He'd set out immediately, his magic taking him as close as the city in which she lived but no closer. He spent all day walking in that blasted city; how did the mortals manage it? Walking everywhere, it was exhausting. He peeked in shop windows, went to the park she used to play in, even to her parents' house, which had been sold. The new owners were Not Pleased to find an owl sitting in the spare bedroom. He had torn a page that listed the addresses of every Sarah Williams out of a phone book. And then the sun had begun to set and the Labyrinth had begun to call him back, reminding him of the festival he was hosting. He'd have liked nothing better than to cancel it, but his guests would not be pleased; the Fae loved a good revel, and so a revel he would give them.

So now he stood at the top of the stairs, caring less and less about the gathered guests. There was, however, one lady that caught his eye; she failed to curtsey when he was announced, though Drake soon remedied that. Jareth descended the stairs and waved a gloved hand at the band, their cue to start playing. As the band struck up, Jareth swept a redhead in rustling skirts of pale green into the first dance of the festival. Soon everyone else had joined in.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Drake offer his hand to the lady who had caught his own eye, and also saw her warily take it. He watched her intently as she danced. Lady after lady lined up to dance with Jareth, and he used them to maneuver his way across the room. The night was more than half over when he finally reached her. She held in one hand a glass of Fae wine; the other arm was crossed over her stomach. She was watching the dancers, but not with any real interest, as she leaned against the wall. He watched her with interest, though, watching as she spotted him and made a respectful dip of her head as he approached. She glanced at the hand he extended before reaching out and placing her untouched wine in his palm. He raised an eyebrow, before vanishing it and looking at her, eyebrow still raised. She grinned and gave him her hand.

Jareth pulled her close to him and led her to the center of the floor. The band played a tango and so, they tango'ed. "What's your name?" he asked.

He watched as she opened her mouth to reply but then her jaw snapped shut. She exhaled through her nose and instead replied, "Jennifer."

"Hmm," Jareth said noncommittally. She was lying; he didn't need to be Fae to know that, he could hear it in the way the name slid its way through clenched teeth. She was quite lovely, her dark hair piled atop her head, green eyes hiding a spark of mischief and defiance.

"Aren't you a bit underdressed?" she asked cheekily. He was wearing dark grey breeches tucked into black boots, a white shirt under a dark grey vest, and dark grey gloves.

Jareth twitched a smile. She was impertinent, this lovely mortal, but she had a point. A high collared, tailed coat slowly materialized over his body. The outside was dark grey, in keeping with his current color scheme, but the inside was an interesting shade somewhere between maroon and magenta, a matching cravat pin securing a fall of fabric at his throat. "Better?" he asked.

'Jennifer' mimicked his raised eyebrow and amused smirk and agreed, "Much better."

"I was not aware that I had invited any mortals tonight; how did you get here?" he asked as the band changed songs, this time playing a spirited salsa.

"Who says I was invited?" Jennifer laughed as he spun her. "I wished my way here."

"What's your name, Jennifer? Your real name?"

"I can't tell you." She began to fade, and a jolt of annoyance and confusion lanced through him. He didn't know why she was disappearing and she was doing it at a most inconvenient time. Something about her intrigued him and he wanted to know why.

"What's your name?" he asked, more demandingly. She fit in his arms comfortably, familiarly, like a memory from a half forgotten dream. His hands gripped her upper arms tightly, too tightly.

She shook her head. "I can't tell you my name; you have to find it on your own." Her voice echoed in his ears as dawn lit the room and she vanished completely. "Good day, Goblin King."