Disclaimer: As with all fanfiction, these characters and this universe are the property of the creators and owners of Labyrinth. I am just borrowing them for a moment. No money has been, is being or will be made with the creation and publishing of this fanfiction, nor is any harm intended to the creators.

A/N – I usually write in both the HP and LotR universes. Many thanks to the author, Scatteredlogic, for giving me the inspiration (delicious peeks into an upcoming work of hers) and impetus to start a Labyrinth fic.

white raven/whitemunin

Son of the Morning

How art thou fallen from heaven, O Lucifer, son of the morning! - Isaiah, 14:12

Chapter 1 - Prelude

With his arms braced on either side of her head and his scent inundating her nostrils, Sarah felt smothered by his presence. Overwhelmed by that otherworldly sensuality now mixed with equal parts of frustrated anger. His breath drifted in short pants over the top of her head and she watched the rapid beat of the pulse in his neck.

The weight of his stare pressed down on her but she kept her eyes lowered, locked on the waterfall of ruffles that cascaded down the center of his chest. The shirt was partially opened, revealing pale skin and the striation of pectoral muscles that rippled with his breathing.

She was tired of fighting him. For thirteen years they had jousted in her dreams, but always between them lay her words from the time within the Labyrinth. "You have no power over me." In this reality, they meant nothing, but in his they were everything. Jareth fed on power, lived by it. He was the Goblin King, monarch of a realm she had visited and briefly conquered.

He had not pursued her afterwards, but he made certain she never forgot him. As she grew older, her logic strove to stamp out his memory and his presence, but it was no use. It had been her salvation that she had been the age she was when she beat the Labyrinth and refused what Jareth offered.

"Just fear me. Love me. Do as I say and I will be your slave."

Her childish narcissism had not been capable of understanding his gesture, the meaning behind his words. But as a fully grown woman, their impact was profound, unclouded by time or distance. She did what she knew would surprise him, as it came of her own volition, and leaned forward, resting her forehead against his chest.

"Go away, Jareth." She whispered against the smooth cool skin exposed by the half open shirt.

They stood like that for the space of a moment before he answered, and his words floated above her, grim and resolute. "I cannot. I will not. So unfair, isn't it, Sarah?" And the mockery returned full force.

Sarah raised her head to gaze at him, taking no offense in his words, for she recognized his attempt to goad her. His sharp features were guarded and the oddly colored eyes glittered with the promise that he would remain locked in endless struggle with her until she finally gave in to him. A lock of his pale hair slid through her fingers, and her voice was soft with challenge and affection. "You are the most beautiful, vicious creature I have ever met."