Disclaimer: I do not own the Labyrinth or the characters in it, nor do I make any profit from this story in anyway.
Title: In Dreams, I Await Your Hand
It was happening again. The dream of Sarah.
Her back was turned to him so that all he noticed as he stepped away from the shadows and into the dusty light was her long black hair. She turns to him slowly, her eyes bright, focused, illustrating her resolve to take back her brother at any price.
"Give me the child." There is no hesitation, not a hint of fear in her soft voice. He is surprised by her quiet authority and wishes greatly that he had more command over her.
A part of him is shaking his head. No more. I do not wish to see this.
But the dream moves forward as he does, his white cape slightly billowing with every cautious footstep toward her. His Sarah. The one person he loves… and hates with all his heart.
"Sarah beware," he hears himself say, repeating history much to his distaste. "I have been generous up until now…but I can be cruel."
"Generous?" Her voice mocks him, even now years later, the tone in which she utters that word never fails to disgust him. How could she not realize the pressure and grave expectations she thrust on him. He had indulged her and she was ignorant of his painstaking efforts.
How, his mind wonders, could you take me for granted?
The dream was starting to blur, fast forwarding to the heart of her betrayal. Stop. I wish to get out of this nightmare!
He sees himself, his hand outstretched, holding a crystal. It is a symbol of everything she had wanted up until she met him, her every dream, her secret longing to remain young forever. A never-never land wrapped in a bubble. But she did not realize it was also a promise. That he would never forsake her or her happiness.
"I ask for so little. Just fear me. Love me. Do as I say and I will be your slave."
Had he really said that? The mighty Goblin King, willing to bow to the wishes of a mere mortal girl? How could he accept this admission of weakness? Why did he give so much of himself, and why does he still give so much, even now?
She hesitates over the words, looking down, searching for the right answer. She then looks up at him, startled. He steps forward, pressing his promise closer, looking at her expectantly.
Please, both the dream Jareth and the mind of the sleeping Jareth beggs, see only me. Choose me!
There is a pause, a moment when she looks up into his eyes surprised, and he knows. It is over before the words leave her lips.
Such a delicate mouth.
If he knew he would be barred forever from her by her careless words, he would have seized her at the time, pressed his mouth against her, and steal at least her first kiss. Knowing that she would belong to him in at least that matter would have alleviated some of his future suffering.
Her mouth is opening. It will be soon over.
Do no cast me aside, his soul whispers.
"You have no power over me."
With a hoarse cry, the scenery begins to blur. The hushed sound of everything falling apart washes over him, in a whirl of silk and feathers. The silk is cascading everywhere, so much so that he is blinded. He tries to claw through but there is too much. He is suffocating.
The harsh impact of his body meeting the stone floor jars him awake. He looks down groggily to see his midsection and feet hopelessly tangled with the bed covers. He sighs and lays his head on his left arm, not even bothering to disentangle himself.
He can hear his heartbeat returning to normal as he lies before his bed. Eyes half hooded from depression slowly turns, shifting his gaze from the other side of the room to his right hand, where he conjures a crystal. A distorted reflection of himself ponders back at him.
You are a fool to still care for her.
"Show her to me," he finally sighs.
He is momentarily stunned by the image of a grown woman.
Was this Sarah?
Her face is longer, the eyes wiser, but still hiding a hint of mischief. The lipstick looks natural on her now, not a garish bright red but a subtle hue that emphasizes her full lips. Even her blouse indicates a more mature sense of style, hinting a curvier, more sensual side to her nature. He smiles, amused that some things do not change; after all that time she still insists on wearing jeans.
The smile fades as he notices her with another man, and is silent when he sees the gold ring upon her finger.
A myriad of emotions flicker in his eyes. He frowns and looks away. With a grave look on his face he stands, allowing the bed covers to fall and pool at his feet.
A black leather vest with a high collar bordering his throat, black pants and a red underlined cape the color of midnight appear instantly on him. His reflection in the vanity mirror catches his eye. For a moment he forgets his dream.
He smiles a sad smile.
It was the same clothes he wore the first time he met Sarah, coming in through the balcony doors amidst glitter and moonlight.
A knowing smirk graces the mirror as another crystal appears on top his hand. He rolls it over his knuckles on to the other hand.
Soon the crystal is roving back and forth between his weaving hands. A harsh laugh escapes. But his voice sounds strange in the thick silence. Ignoring the sensation, he pictures a 15 year old girl with long black hair, staring at him with fear and wonder in her large gray green eyes.
"It's a crystal," he says. "Nothing more. But if you turn it this way and look into it, it will show you your dreams. But this is no gift for an ordinary…" his voice stumbles over the word, "girl."
The crystal fumbles from his fingers as he leans back into his chair heavily. It drops without shattering, just a loud thud that slightly echoes in the oppressive room.
No. he thinks to himself, not an ordinary girl. She was never ordinary.
He sits down and leans back into his favorite chair. A crystal appears in front of him at eye level. For a second even he wonders what he is going to do.
He mouths her name but dares not speak out loud.
Her face comes to view, smiling, happy. She is leaning her head on the shoulder of the man whom the Goblin King knows to be her husband. Her husband laughs and she joins in, sharing a joke the king will never hear.
He flicks his right hand, the barest of motions, and the light in the orb disappears. It hangs there in the air just an ordinary crystal, reflecting the interior of the room and the king's grave expression. Slowly his hand lifts and grasps the delicate globe, with his fingertips he brings it closer to his lips.
He kisses it.
Then leaves it on his dresser… for the next several years.
a/n : Don't worry! It doesn't end here! More to come soon, I just have to go to work. Thank you for reading! This has been updated to include a disclaimer and my little silly notes.