How you Turn my World

His laugh was cold and cruel - a sharp sound that wound about them both from his perch upon the wall. When he drawled it was low and amused, like a cat playing with a mouse. 

Interestingly, when I first revealed that I had got hold of two Labyrinth scripts the thing that seemed to intrigue people the most was the prospect of a slightly different ending. First of all, I hope none of you were disappointed when you discovered the actual extent of the differences – they are not earth-shattering, but they are nonetheless extremely interesting and hint at a rather different overall concept of the film.

To start off with the most glaring difference – Jareth can shoot lightening from his hands and alter the weather at will. This, of course, makes Jareth seem elemental and far more powerful than he comes across in the final film. What is perhaps most interesting, though, is that these powers are also present in the early draft I have already provided a synopsis of (Part One/Part Two). The key difference is that the way these powers are presented changes utterly between drafts – in the early Jones draft, Jareth uses showy magic to cover up his lack of power. He is a ‘hollow man’ who uses bombastic displays of magic to hide the fact he has no control over the Labyrinth. In the later draft, Jareth’s powers are not qualified in this way. They instead come across as straightforward manifestations of his power; if anything, they are used to accentuate Sarah’s fearlessness since she is unperturbed by the lightening and the howling wind and continues walking towards Jareth steadily as she recites the lines that she knows will save her brother.

This underlines the central divide between Jones’ vision for the film and Henson’s’. Jones wanted the film to be anarchic and play with conventions, ultimately revealing the Labyrinth as an uncontrollable mass of chaos that it is completely impossible to govern. Henson, on the other hand, wanted the film to be about Sarah’s personal growth (it is helpful to remember that Henson had a teenage daughter himself when Labyrinth went into production). He wanted it to empower the young women watching – what better way to manage this than by having the heroine calmly proceed with her quest even when faced with someone who is seemingly far more powerful than her? Sarah’s power comes from her inner strength and resolve, and that is ultimately enough for her to defeat Jareth despite his powerful magic and seductive words.

This impression still comes across in the final film, but it is less striking without the physical manifestations of Jareth’s power present in the script – in the final film, Jareth’s power is felt more through his words than his actions. I may be the only one, but I can’t help but regret that we didn’t get to hear David Bowie say this: “I have made lightning for you. I have re-ordered time. I have made darkness and storms and turned the world upside down.” The additions make Jareth’s claims seem far grander and more impressive, though it is clear why they were removed – unless we actually saw Jareth shoot lightening at Sarah and manipulate the weather, having him claim he had done such things would have seemed laughable.

The other differences are smaller still. Jareth reaches out his hand to touch Sarah’s face just before she says the words, and there seems to be more genuinely felt emotion behind his words – he repeatedly orders her to stay back, seemingly panicked, and I find it telling that his first response in the face of defeat is to chant Sarah’s name over and over. Perhaps most intriguing of all are the final words the script gives him: “I am the King … the King …” It is almost as if he cannot come to terms with being beaten, so instead protests his authority even though he knows he has been conquered. This comes across as a faint echo from the early Jones script; Jareth is desperate to retain his authority although he knows he has lost.

Sarah is said to weep over the cloak Jareth leaves behind when he disappears, which lends the moment a tragic feel complete at odds with the look of awed jubilation Sarah shows in the final film at the moment of her victory. There is a greater emphasis on the Jareth/Sarah relationship in this script, and it is, in a way, a shame the additional development between them was lost.

  The question caught Setzer off guard, particularly in the wake of all this unpleasant mage hysteria. “Some of us can, yes,” he admitted. “But shape-shifting is another thing entirely. I only know one person who can change into something else, and suffice it to say that she doesn’t choose that body. It just… happens.”

A smirk flitted over his lips, and Jareth did as any man with more power and confidence than they knew what to do with. He sprawled over the nearest flat surface, a globe of magic drawing to his finger tips. "I'm here to grant a wish."

  You have no power over me.

Repeated, relentless, a single phrase burning a path in her mind, you have no power over me, you have no power over me. You have no—

"—There’s no smoking on the train," she said, and it came out confused, distant and unfocused, because that was him, right there, and it was not him all at once. It was him, with long, delicate fingers that could bring worlds crashing to their feet, it was him, in that rumble of a voice, it was him, it was him—

Her heart felt like it was going to beat straight out of her chest. Sarah took a deep breath, and another, and another, and knew, knew, as the train pulled into the next stop that she had to get out in the air or she was going to—

"Next stop, Lincoln Center." 

Breathe, Sarah. 

She stood, scrambling for her bag and her book and trying to shove the latter into the former with hands that shook and fought to behave the way they ought to. 

Let me rule you. 

He watched her drop as though in slow motion - someone beside him cried out, another tried to catch her, but it was his hands that fell beneath her head. It was his hands that held her and stilled her fall. She was so light in his arms and it made his breath catch and hold within his chest. 

"Sarah?" Desperation, thick within his voice. "Sarah!" 

What had he done? He thought he had played it right, to insinuate himself into her world in so casual a way. Softly, his advisor had said, lowly - you must not scare the girl, she's too important for that. Now he held her unconscious body as panic welled in his blood. 

Wake up, he willed, vaguely aware of someone crouching beside them. The woman - for it was a woman, dark skinned and middle aged with a hard face and gentle hands - picked up her feet, shifted her slightly and it took everything Jareth had not to growl and claim his Queen. 

"She's in a faint - keep her legs elevated and put her head down." 

"Who are you to--"

"Honey, I'm a nurse. So you can put that attitude right down."

His jaw snapped shut and he blinked, regardless of the rage boiling within him he set Sarah's head upon the floor. Anger simmered beneath his skin as he glowered at the stranger, every instinct within him screeching out to put her in her place. 

'I am the Goblin King - who are you to order me?' 

But the words were hollow in his mind and on his tongue and a flash of magic curled upon his spine in a soothing caress. The Labyrinth echoed in his mind, thoughts, images and emotions, each of them calming, each enticing. His mistress wanted the champion safe and who was Jareth to deny the lands that ruled him?

Lips pressed thin he didn't realise he stroked Sarah's hair until he was already marvelling at the feel of it. Back he smoothed it, away from her face and out to fan upon the floor. Each touch was laced with want, with a wish. 

"You know her?" The stranger asked.

"Almost." He replied.

  Far beneath the city - far beneath the rumble of cars and the smog of mortal life, beneath the people, and the buildings. and the steel, and electricity and fire - Something old was listening. In fact, that something had been listening for years. Mortals were no strangers to wishing, no strangers to the words. So many passed the King’s notice day in and day out. Dreams that were wasted in and idle moment, given away with no intent or nor force.

Long ago the mortal world had forgotten how to believe. 

But Jareth had been listening. Jareth had been waiting. For eight mortal years he had sat and listened for one particular voice out of the thousands that passed through his realm. There had been none that wished like her. 

Sarah’s voice was quiet, meek in a way that foreign unto him. So strange was it that he nearly missed it among the myriad of others. But something in him sang at it, clutched at it like a desperate, wild animal and held on tight. 

She had wished.

Carefully, as though his legs were made of wires, of spindles and stilts, he stood, ears listening keenly unto the air. It was incomplete, the wish, so tentative and small.

'I wish the Goblin King would come and take me away—’ 

"Right now," He whispered, echoing the words that would take her to him. “Right now!”

Glass shattered against the wall - bursts of glitter and the crash of sound. “Right now! Sarah -  Say it!” 

The anger was a waste - it left him spent and silent, panting. She’d not said the words, she’d not finished the wish. He couldn’t go to her. There was no power here, not with her, not since his defeat. 

Hollow and alone he sat, staring at the lattice work of brick against the wall. The silence was deafening within his ears and Jareth shrank. Curling inwards he drew a ragged breath. There was nothing but the sound of his heart, the sound of his breath. 

Nothing. 

No Sarah.

Nothing. Ever again. 

—right now. 

It hung in the air when she awoke, words unspoken, residue from a curiously heavy night’s sleep. 

Dust danced in the air above her head, and outside, there were noises. She’d left the window open, and the room was cold. 

Her routine was simple, uncomplicated; a shower, a mug of hot tea. Breakfast in the form of an apple, orange, any fruit she could get her hands on for relatively cheap. 

Peaches were rare. She couldn’t remember when she’d last eaten one, only that its taste clung to her lips like a cobweb of memory, sweet and sticky and dropping her into a dream within a dream, that single bite wrapped in a spell. 

What was with her lately? Eight years gone, and it seemed like every last inch of that adventure was rushing back up to meet her head-on. As if she didn’t have enough to deal with. 

I wish the Goblin King would come and take me away. 

And he hadn’t. She had woken up still Sarah Williams, still with classes and a job and responsibilities, like writing out her rent check when she glanced at the calendar and took startled note of the date, tearing the slip of paper out of the book and stuffing it in an envelope to drop off at the front office. 

Sarah drained the last of her tea, rinsing the mug and leaving it to dry in the sink before she pulled on her coat, slipped the strap of her satchel around her, and headed out, taking the slow, noisy elevator down to the first floor. 

The subway was crowded as usual, noisy and busy and full of that restless energy that only a train of busy, bored people could produce. One open seat made itself known, and she snagged it before someone else could, glancing instinctively across at the people seated on the other side of the car. 

She gasped out loud before she could stop herself, the face directly opposite her so familiar and present that she had to clap her hand across her mouth and mask it as a yawn to keep from doing anything else stupid. 

It’s not him. 

There was no way. All it was was that she had spent too many hours thinking about the Labyrinth, about the Goblin City, about Hoggle and the Worm and Ludo, the creatures she had named “friends.”

The cigarette in his mouth dangled precariously, unlit and unsmoked -  prop for nervous lips to worry. She was watching him, he could tell. He could feel the flighty stare of confused eyes and it made his heart beat faster, the sluggish blood in his veins flowing for the first time in years as swiftly as a mortal man's. He wondered, in some corner of his mind if she recognised him. 

This form fit ill, it made his skin prickle and itch as everything felt too tight and contained. He was trapped in the guise of a man who's hands shook as they grasped his paper, who's fingers flicked a lighter open and closed, open and closed and hoped, vainly, that she wouldn't notice. 

He wanted her to speak to him - to be the first to give rise to the words he knew were swirling about her pretty little head. But she wouldn't, he knew. She'd sit there, silent and disbelieving until she made her stop. Then she'd rise and leave and if he was lucky, she might look back. 

She'd changed so much. It was enough to take his breath away. No longer was she the awkward teenager with more fire than substance. No longer was her face too round or her limbs too long. She was a woman grown and it showed in every part of her. She looked so proud, so capable - it made his heart ache. 

A dream. 

That was it, that was all it was, the thing that woke her with a pounding heart at two in the morning, that made her apartment echo with the thousand-fold sound of beating wings. 

Her room was very, very warm. Sarah tossed aside the blanket, padding across thin carpet to the window, and won the daily fight to get it open, old paint serving as a seal that seemed to remake itself every time she shut the darn thing. 

Cool city air played across her face, carrying the noise of the nocturnal, the sound of traffic and car horns and the general neverending chaos of New York. All those people, living their lives, never knowing that beneath it all, their fairy tales were alive, that the Goblin King only had to hear the words—

"No," she told herself firmly, "it was just a dream. Nothing more." 

It’s just a crystal, nothing more— but if you turn it this way…

The bed creaked as she sat down on it, drawing the corner of the neat quilt across her legs. Just a dream, just a strange fantasy, that she should have long since shaken off as the vestiges of childhood disappearing in favor of growing up.

Her alarm glowed two twenty-two, and Sarah flopped back against the mattress. 

It wouldn’t work again, anyway, not now that she was grown, that she’d put away childish things in favor of college and friends and a life. 

Still—

Oh, just say it. Nothing would happen. They were just words. 

"I wish the goblin king would come and take me away,” she whispered, feeling foolish and stupid and silly, alone in her apartment with the sound of the city wafting in from far down below. 

A pause, a heartbeat’s rush of what if, but all she got in return was the scream of a car horn and a dog barking in the distance. 

Far beneath the city - far beneath the rumble of cars and the smog of mortal life, beneath the people, and the buildings. and the steel, and electricity and fire - Something old was listening. Infact, that something had been listening for years. Mortals were no strangers to wishing, no strangers to the words. So many passed the King's notice day in and day out. Dreams that were wasted in and idle moment, given away with no intent or nor force.

Long ago the mortal world had forgotten how to believe. 

But Jareth had been listening. Jareth had been waiting. For eight mortal years he had sat and listened for one particular voice out of the thousands that passed through his realm. There had been none that wished like her. 

Sarah's voice was quiet, meek in a way that foreign unto him. So strange was it that he nearly missed it among the myriad of others. But something in him sang at it, clutched at it like a desperate, wild animal and held on tight. 

She had wished.

Carefully, as though his legs were made of wires, of spindles and stilts, he stood, ears listening keenly unto the air. It was incomplete, the wish, so tentative and small.

'I wish the Goblin King would come and take me away--' 

"Right now," He whispered, echoing the words that would take her to him. "Right now!"

Glass shattered against the wall - bursts of glitter and the crash of sound. "Right now! Sarah -  Say it!" 

The anger was a waste - it left him spent and silent, panting. She'd not said the words, she'd not finished the wish. He couldn't go to her. There was no power here, not with her, not since his defeat. 

Hollow and alone he sat, staring at the lattice work of brick against the wall. The silence was deafening within his ears and Jareth shrank. Curling inwards he drew a ragged breath. There was nothing but the sound of his heart, the sound of his breath. 

Nothing. 

No Sarah.

Nothing. Ever again. 

                                                  “—You have no power over me!” 

independent Sarah Williams, from The Labyrinth.

set post-movie ‘verse. 

multiship; will rp with anyone.

ask, para/novella, icon/gif rp; all styles welcome.

tracking thirteenxhours.

[HE STARTED TALKING WITH WORDS AT ME WHAHHAH WHAT DO]