#labyrinth fic

She pushed the chamber door open as quietly as possible, giving Layla a final nod before she stepped out. Sarah walked on cat’s feet through dark tunnels. The castle had probably been the one part of the Labyrinth Sarah never explored, she reached out a hand, and let her finger follow the lines where the bricks were patched together. She couldn’t explain how she knew these halls, how she knew a right turn would likely take her to the kitchen Layla had taken refuge in. For a fleeting moment Sarah wondered if the Goblin King’s castle was like all the others in the fairytales she’d read.

It had a ballroom, so did it have a library?

There were guards, so there had to be a war room, and an armory.

Her feet halted as she passed a peculiar looking room, one without a door. Instead the passageway was partially hidden with a tan curtain. The room didn’t have a place in her memory, curiosity got the better of her, and she decided it wouldn’t hurt to look inside. “Oh wow,” her eyes lit up with wonder.

From the floor all the way up to the ceiling Vines and moss protruded from the brown stones, dried herbs strung up about the room. There was a stain-glass window with a wooden bench beneath it. To the far right of the room, a cluster of bookshelves constructed from branches and twine. Each shelf bombarded with numerous bottles, jars, and unusual trinkets.

She strolled through the room, running her hand along the circular table at the center of the room. Based on the labels on some of the jars, Sarah guessed she’d stumbled into some kind of healing chamber. A glimmer caught her eye across the room, a chest with its lid slightly ajar. Open just enough for her to catch sight of something silver.

Checking over her shoulder to ensure someone wasn’t coming, Sarah knelt in front of the chest, and opened it further. Pushing the lid back slowly to avoid it making a squeak or any kind of sound to alert someone she was snooping. Stowed away in the chest was a beautiful dagger. The handle adorned with two opals, wrapped with copper X’s between the jewels, and on the butt of the dagger two crescent moons sat with their backs pressed together. To better admire the weapon, Sarah carefully lifted it from the cloth it rested upon. She turned it this way and that, admiring how the opals reflected the moonlight. Sarah couldn’t explain why but she felt…almost drawn to the dagger.

A noise echoed from the otherside of the curtain, she couldn’t quite make it out. Head tilted towards the doorway, she tried to focus her hearing. “Footsteps, someone’s coming,” it dawned on her with a gasp. Sarah quickly shut the chest and armed herself with the dagger. Unsure of who- or what to expect, she scurried under the table.

The ambiance of a light danced on the walls, not too bright, but enough to show a shadow flicker. A lanter? No- Sarah could hear a faint crackle, it had to be a torch. A shadow passed by without a moment of hesitation. Once it left her sight, Sarah sighed in relief, she’d managed to evade detection. For now at least. Maybe Layla was right, snooping around the castle without really knowing her way around might not have been her best idea.

Quick but quiet she advanced on the silent figure, hugging the edge of the wall, Sarah pushed the curtain aside and poked her head out into the hall. Dark brows pulled together as she just barely caught sight of Jareth turning the corner.

What was he up to?

Curiosity got the better of her, slipping out of her hiding spot, Sarah made sure to keep a reasonable distance as she tailed the Goblin King. Who glided down one corridor after another like a ghost. A curse danced in a whisper off her lips, she'd lost sight of him after a right turn. Deja vu hit her full force, in the blink of an eye she was fifteen again. Running down the halls in search of the Goblin King seconds before the thirteenth hour.

She’d found him in the Escher room before, maybe it shouldn’t have been such a surprise to find him in the throne room.

From the half-hidden protection of the archway, Sarah studied him. Even on the precipice of defeat Jareth carried an aura of intimidation, a demand for respect, and obedience. Yet seated in the empty throne room, he looked strangely out of place. Gloved fingers threaded together, why did he always wear gloves? They covered the lower half of his face, disappearing into bellowed sleeves of what looked like a shawl. The black fabric had what looked like twisted roots spanning along the shoulders and halfway down the chest. His elbows were perched on his knees, obscuring some of her vision but from what Sarah could tell the shawl hung open, some of his bare-chest visible. Like always, he still had the strange pendant around his neck.

Rather than ponder its meaning, her attention was drawn to the dark circled that plagued the skin beneath tired, mismatched hues that seemed to stare off into nothing. Her brows drooped as a frown blossomed on her lips. She’d been too young to see it, she realized. Too driven to get her brother back to name exactly what hung around the Goblin King like a noose. Loneliness.

The tapping of claws echoed around the room, which seemed to snap Jareth out of whatever trance he’d fallen into. His posture changed immediately, back slumped, a crystal spawned and he rolled it between his hands in a masterful motion. A cheshire smirk curled his lips, “Styx, good evening.”

“Your majesty,” Lavender strands slipped from her shoulder as she dropped into a low bow. Hands crossed elegantly at her front. “Apologies for the disturbance, Grüempy has requested an audience with you, he’s come to report the latest strand of cracks. Would you like for me to escort him in?”

Jareth pinched the bridge of his nose with a sigh, and kept the position for several moments. He leaned back further into the throne while waving his hand, “I suppose. Send him in, afterwards retrieve a map from the archives.”

“Yes, your majesty,” Styx bowed once again before disappearing in the direction she’d come from.

Sarah lingered, unsure whether she should stay or go. Part of her wanted to stay and lay witness to exactly how The Goblin King ran his kingdom. If it didn’t so heavily feel like she was invading his privacy, she would have. Sarah took a step back, her back collided with something- someone who grabbed her wrist.

It happened faster than she could process. Her fight or flight instinct kicked in and the next thing Sarah knew, she had Jareth pinned to the wall with the dagger at his throat. The silver dagger she’d completely forgotten she’d been holding up until now. A battle of dominance rose in their eyes as the pair starred one another down, first to break eye contact would accept defeat and bend to the other’s will. Amusement flickered in Jareth’s eyes so intensely Sarah swore it oozed out of every pore. Holding her gaze still, one gloved hand swiped the dagger from her.

“My my, quite the little deviant aren’t we sweetling? First I find you snooping around my castle,” he waved the dagger as if for theatrical effect. “Now stealing?”

Sarah’s eyes widened, “how did you-”

“Know you were hiding in the doorway?” Jareth grinned. “I am a supernatural being, did you really think I wouldn’t be able to sense your presence?”

She stepped away from him, the hand he’d taken the dagger from shook. An arm laid across her front Sarah hid her face in her hand, “I couldn’t sleep. I just wanted some air. I wasn’t trying to sneak around, I just wanted air, that’s all I wanted. I can’t- I can’t breathe in here.”

Jareth stared down at her as silence befell them, almost like he was debating whether to give her what she asked for.

“Sarah.”

She looked up, surprised to find him offering his hand to her. Confusion knit her brows together as she met his gaze.

“There is a balcony nearby,” he informed. “I’d rather not have you wondering my castle unsupervised.”

“If you drop me in an oubliette or something-”

“I gave you my word, neither you nor the boy would be harmed upon your return to my kingdom,” he reminded.

After some silent consideration, Sarah once again found herself picking her heart over her head. She slipped her hand into his and let him guide her towards the balcony in question. Sarah wasn’t sure how long they’d walked for, the halls all looked the same. For as lavish as a person Jareth seemed to be, she was surprised he didn’t have any kind of art hanging around the castle.

Once they’d gotten to the balcony, Sarah let go of his hand to lean against the railing. The full sky of stars over her filled Sarah with an unusual sense of peace. The night was quiet, below she could see various trails of the Labyrinth, some of it disappearing towards the forest. The forest looked…smaller than she remembered. Sarah wondered if the Labyrinth crumbling had something to do with it. The same cracks she’d seen upon their arrival stuck out to her like a sore thumb, she could see Goblins below repairing broken walls here and there.

“It really is breaking,” Sarah muttered in realization.

“Do you really believe I would lie about my kingdom being in shambles,” Jareth came up to stand beside her, looking over everything. “Of everything, the Bog remains unaffected.”

A chuckle rang in her throat, “why does that not surprise me. I bet you’re relieved about that, still having somewhere to put the people who annoy you.”

“Yes, well your ever faithful knight would inform me of any damages. For the time being it remains unchanged,” Jareth crossed his arms, tilting his head back to look up at the moon.

“Didymus? He’s still in the bog?” Sarah couldn’t believe Jareth hadn’t done away with the creature, considering the fact he did betray his king.

“To be quite honest, I had every intention to do away with him. Along with the dwarf as well,” Jareth paused for a moment. She could hear the wheels in his head turn as he considered his words. “I ultimately decided to refrain from such. If you ever did return, I wouldn’t imagine you’d be exactly pleased to hear I’d punished your friends. Even if they did betray me.”

“You didn’t…for my sake?” She tilted her head in confusion. Why would he do that?

Jareth rolled his eyes, “I am just as capable of generosity as I am cruelty, I’ve told you that before.”

For the first time, Sarah found herself speechless. Jareth had everything to gain by lashing out at her friends after his defeat. Yet he stayed his hand, and all on the principle that he didn’t want to give her another reason to hate him. Because he knew what Ludo, Didymus, and Hoggle meant to her.

“You were right, ya know,” Sarah admitted while staring up at the crescent moon.

The Goblin King threw his head back with a roaring laugh, “now those are words I've been dying to hear.”

Rather than reward him with a reaction, Sarah held her tongue. She tried to map out the sentences in her mind, to organize her thoughts in a way he'd understand. The last thing she wanted was to stroke his ego. Sarah tore her eyes away from the moon, pale-green eyes instead looked back towards the forest. When the words finally came to her, she set them free in a whisper.

“Everything you did was because I asked you too. I'm the one who wished Toby away, I taunted you in the tunnel, and the whole ballroom thing. The drugged peach was wrong and I'm still not letting you off the hook for that,” she looked at him then, only to meet his gaze with a glare. Except it unexpectedly softened when she saw his expression. How he intently listened to her every word. “I think there's always been a part of me that's known you were never really the villain in my story, Jareth.”

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“Sarah,” he says, consideringly.  He hasn’tever adjusted to the American accent, much less New York, and retains somethingthat sounds most fundamentally British, with a trace of the same exotic,nameless drawl that every angel seems to learn at birth.  It makes hername sound like something rare and strange, rather than one of the most commonnames in history.  Sah-rah.  God, Sarah wants to be out ofhere.  “I’veheard of you.”

That gets her attention.  Normally, vampire huntersoperate in relative obscurity—only someone paying close attention to reports ofescaped vampires or to the Guild’s rare public announcements would have pickedup on her name.  Even though everyone agrees that Sarah is thebest–that’s why she’s here—her childhood dreams of being famous diedwhen she realized she had the gift for tracking vampires.

“I’m flattered,” Sarah says carefully. There’s something about his expression that says you should be withoutthe slightest flicker of change.

“Sit,” he says, gesturing to the tidy table setwith something between a tea service and an elaborate breakfast.  Thechina looks like it might cost as much as Sarah’s apartment, and the neat towerof scones bears the sort of perfect uniformity that only skilled professionalscan manage.  She’s been scrupulously ignoring the table since she reachedthe roof, for fear of more or less this exact situation.  “Eatsomething.  My chefs are the finest in the world, you’ll taste nothinglike their food elsewhere.  Even on a Guild hunter’s paycheck.”

Sarah hesitates, and his gaze sharpens, just slightly.

“Sit,” he repeats.

Sarah sits.  But she doesn’t take any food, nor touchthe numerous pots of tea and coffee.  Something about the way he givesorders, like the world will rush to bend itself to his word, makes herbristle–he’ll get civility from her, but he needs her.  Sarah doesn’tknow for what, not yet, but until such a time as she’s served that purpose,she’s reasonably sure that he won’t cut out her heart and leave it in her handsjust yet.

“Not hungry?” Jareth asks, almost silken, as hesettles across from her, wings flared neatly behind him and one eyebrow cockedas he arranges himself in a casual slouch that is doubtless completelyintentional, right down to the careless drape of his hand on the table.

“Ate before I came,” Sarah lies.

Jareth smiles at her.  It's not news thatarchangels are beautiful, every one of them.  Having every inch ofJareth’s beauty directed at her feels like a revelation, like Sarah’s neverseen beauty before, and it makes her frantic cocktail of nerves and awe andfear settle into a much more comfortable status quo ofslow-burning anger.  

“No,” he says, still smiling.  “Youdidn’t.”

It’s been—a long time, since someone called her out thateffortlessly.  Vampire hunters live and die on their poker faces, andSarah—well, Sarah’s the best.

“Why am I here?” she asks, throwing caution to thewind.  If he wanted her dead, nothing and no one could stop Jareth fromtossing her off the edge of the roof, to drop a hundred and forty-fourstories.  She’s seen how fast archangels can move when they want to, andhonestly, if he wanted to, she probably wouldn’t even have time to reach forher hidden knife before her head parted company with her shoulders.  

That’s very gruesome, Jareth’svoice says in her mind, still threaded with laughter, as if her mental image ofhis long elegant hands neatly ripping her head off is high comedy.  I’mdisappointed.  I’d have expected something more creative from you, Sarah.

“Get out of my head,” Sarah says, forcing hervoice to remain level, “and tell me why I’m here.  The down paymentfor this job was–"  Ludicrous, she wants to say.  Insane. Enough zeroes to fill a textbook.  Instead she opts for somethingapproaching diplomacy and finishes, "Impressive.  Why did you want meso bad?”

Does it matter?  I am prepared to pay you anunfathomable sum of money.

His gaze is fixed on her face, a riveted attention thatdoesn’t match the pose of laconic good humor he’s affected.  His eyes aremismatched, and Sarah used to believe that one was dark.  Now she can see,at such hazardous close range, that they’re both the same shade of impossiblemetallic blue, but that one is all but consumed by pupil, endless black staringback at her with only the thinnest rim of blue around it.  It makes theskin of Sarah’s throat prickle, her heart racing in her chest and her breathingpicking up the pace just enough to make her a little dizzy.  Shedecides immediately that she doesn’t care for the feeling.

Sarah can smell snow—no, frost, she can smell frost andstone, too strongly to be imagining it, but it’s a warm June day and there’snothing near her but concrete.  None of the vampires she met in the Towersmelled of frost and stone, and it’s not a vampire sort of scent anyway. They smell tempting, enticing, like wine or chocolate or even paper, but she’snever met one yet with a scent as unfriendly as frost.  Maybe she’sfinally losing her mind.

Sarah takes a breath, does her best to set the scent aside,and says, "I don’t work for people who won’t tell me what I’m doing,I don’t care what you’re paying me.“

Are you sure?  I could pay you in more thanmoney.  His humor takes on a harder edge inher mind, and a memory surfaces unbidden, of herself as a child dressed up incostume jewelry and dancing around her room, in a young teenager’s bestimpression of a waltz.  The memory is shadowed with her younger self’simaginings, an ornate ballroom and beautiful music, dancers all around not quiteas beautiful as she, and an indistinct prince, looking nowhere but atSarah.  

In the memory, the prince blinks mismatched eyes and says,"I could pay you with your dreams, if you would prefer.”

The air leaves Sarah’s lungs in a rush, and for a moment,she’s herself as a teenager, dressed in a white and silver ballgown out of somebygone era, staring up at Jareth, too much in shock to even answer.

Then she shoves his dream-self away from her, hard,and closes her hand around the blade of the knife hidden at the waistband ofher jeans.

“Stay the fuck out of my memories, Jareth,”Sarah hisses as blood seeps through her fingers.  The pain helps, itclears her head just a little, and the vision of them dancing evaporates likemist under sunlight.  “And tell me what the job is, or I’m goinghome.”

Something in Jareth’s expression cools.  “You lackrespect,” he observes.  Sarah can still feel him, pushing at theouter edge of her mind.  Not trying to break in, just nudging the wholething slightly off kilter, like taping a penny to a gyroscope.  She’spretty sure the penny is labelled obedience, and she sets her jaw.

“Get.  Out."  The words come out groundfine through her teeth, against the sudden pressing urge to agree, agree,agree.  "Fuck off.  Either you hire me as is, or you tossme off this roof.”

“You seem very ready to entertain the latterpossibility."  Jareth’s wings flare around him, idly, and Sarahthinks semi-hysterically that they’re patterned like a barn owl.  Thisisn’t the first time she’s noticed it, but no one ever says it aloud—eventhough his wings look crafted out of barely off-white bone china and palestgold, it’s just too common a bird to safely associate with the Archangelof New York, who holds all their lives in his easily-bored hands. "Do tell, why should I hire someone who clearly has such a death wish asto tell an archangel to fuck off?”

Well, to hell with it, Sarah decides.  Might as well behanged for a sheep as for a lamb.

“Here’s what I’ve figured out,” Sarah says. “You and the Cadre need a hunter—not just any hunter, the best hunter,because Didymus is my friend and he admitted outright to me that you personallycontacted him looking for someone on those terms.  You’re anarchangel–”

“Well spotted,” Jareth says in his mostcoldly entertained tone.  Sarah ignores him and silently hopes thatDidymus will remember to send her bank account details to her brother, alongwith the announcement that, unfortunately, Sarah got mouthy and got herselfkilled by an archangel. 

“—so obviously you don’t need a soldier. Anything youcan’t take out would turn me into a smear on the pavement in under a second.That means you need a bloodhound, and I’m hunter-born, the strongest tracker inNorth America.  So you have an old, powerful vampire who’s managed toelude you—maybe a couple of them.  The most I’ve tracked on a normal jobwas five, so it would need to be quite a few. The only thing I can’tfigure out,” she adds, musing almost to herself, “is why you paid somuch.  You don’t manage your own finances, I assume you have people forthat, so it’s not that you’re unaware of the usual fee per head.  Evenaccounting for hazard pay, it’s way too much.  So all I can think is thatyou wanted to be sure I’d be here, even though only an idiot would meet anarchangel on terms like these, and expected me to say no right away.  Youeven had a table set up, like this was going to be a nice chat rather than ajob interview.  You’ve been trying to make me want to agree, soobviously you think I’m going to say no.  Which would mean…”

For the first time, Sarah follows that thought all the wayto its conclusion and she does not like it.

For the first time, she’s seeing Jareth unamused, and shedoesn’t like that either.  His angular face is harsh without humor, themismatched blue of his eyes sharp enough to slice her to ribbons, and insteadof a smirk, his thin expressive lips are twisted into something alarminglyclose to a snarl.

She wonders if this is the last thing that traitor vampiresaw, before Jareth’s hands broke open his chest and lifted out his heart, stillbeating.

Do continue, precious, hisvoice says in her mind.  It’s not laughing now.  It’s as quick andfrigid as a snowmelt river, and infinitely more lethal, and it tastes likefrost and stone.  Tell me your conclusions.

“You’re desperate,” Sarah says, almost awhisper.  Her voice picks up strength as she goes on.  “Youthink that, whatever this is, it’s so bad that it’ll affect the whole Cadre ofTen.  Something that could hurt archangels.  You want to make sureI’ll work for you, and do it fast and quiet, before anyone can realize there’ssomething wrong.  You’re–” oh God Toby, she’s sorry she’s about todie like a moron “–you’re scared.”

“And tell me, Sarah,” Jareth says aloud, leaningforward.  He doesn’t look casual or careless anymore.  He looks likea falcon in mid-dive, every fiber of him focused on his target.  “Wasthat a difficult conclusion to reach?”

“It was a piece of cake,” Sarah says, numb to thebone with the knowledge that she’s absolutely not going to live throughthis.  Live through this meeting, maybe, if she’s right.  Livethrough the job, increasingly unlikely.  But afterward?  She’s rightthat they’re scared—that something, somehow, has frightened the Cadre, the mostpowerful beings that have ever lived—and that information is an undeniablethreat to them.  

“You’re clever, precious,” Jareth says.  Heleans back and rises to his feet, pacing slowly around the table until he’sstanding next to her, wings mantled around him as he bends down to speak intoher ear.  She can feel his breath on her skin, stirring her hair. The smell of frost rises so sharply that Sarah has to repress a shiver. “You were only wrong about one thing,” he says.

“What was it?"  Sarah does not turn herhead.  She keeps her eyes fixed directly ahead, not allowing them to evenflicker toward him—he’s trying to get a rise out of her, and goddamn him, it’sworking.  She unsettled him and now he’s unsettling her right back.

"I don’t need you to hunt a vampire,” he says, andreaches down to pull her bloodied knife out of the hidden sheath at herwaist.  She shivers properly this time, as he tosses the little knife ontothe table, where the blood still clinging to the ceramic blade stains the whitetablecloth.  Some security guy is going to have a very unpleasantconversation with an archangel, unless she’s mistaken, for letting her get thatpast the front door.