A/N: This one hit me this morning and I had to get it out.

Title: Queen Sarah

Summary: Sarah becomes queen at a terrible price.

Disclaimer: I do not own the labyrinth or its characters. This is a one shot that reflects my love for the story and the fact that sometimes I have a restless spirit and an overactive imagination.



The twisting walls did not deter them. It did not even slow them down. They broke through with large ram like machines, doing the work of a thousand men. And those thousand men, with their replacements, marched past rubble to the steady beat of cold victory.

Magic seeped out of the broken stones in little wisps of smoke beneath the crunch of wheels and the boots of those who detested all things supernatural.

A red flag flapped in the wind over their gray spiked helmets.

The hedges were hewn down by simple blades.

The forest burned down as firey's, not quick enough to escape, were silenced.

There were reports that a few residents here and there escaped to run toward the outer edges of the region. It did not deter the men as they lifted their hard eyes in the direction of a King. A magical King, who ruled monsters, flew at night, and cursed their land by merely existing.

The draught was killing them.

"A sign," the villagers whispered and reinforced. The land could not produce if evil corrupted it. The Goblin King's death would surely appease the land and the rain would fall once again.

"Save the children," their minds chanted, as they hacked and gored.

The bog was burned and its acrid smell drifted toward the castle, a dark hovering cloud meant to remind that no escape existed.

The sun burned brightly the day the Goblin Castle was seized.

All his magic could not stop the onslaught.

They broke through gates and climbed ladders. More walls fell.

As heavy boots and wild voices echoed through the hallways, Jareth had no choice other than to run.

His magical barriers only slowed them down, giving him a moment more to run up the castle hallways.

Incompetent yes, but he never questioned their loyalty, their honor, as even the smallest goblin threw itself to bite and claw at iron encased leggings. Up spiraling stairs, Jareth clenched his eyes shut against the high pitched screams, made uglier as it tapered to gurgling whimpers.

He threw the door closed. The last door.

His personal library lined the stone wall next to the light of a flickering tall iron lamp. His immaculate bed, the dark carpets with its complex swirl of gold and black, the portrait of himself, he knew in a mere seconds would be destroyed. A conflagration would ensue meant to efface not only his life but everything that marked his existence.


He threw more magic, into barricading the door, fortifying the wood and stone, buying time. Throughout the chaos, only she, a sharp blossom into the tangled panic of his mind was allowed admittance.

He braced his hands on the edge of his vanity mirror and, pale and shaking, opened the channel between two worlds with the last of his strength.

It is night in her realm.

Shouts grow beyond the door and the heavy smack of metal against magic and oak ring.

There is no hope, no escape, save one, and he pulls himself into her sleeping mind.

Time slows, and he can see her emerge from the recesses of her sleepy subconscious, like a gentle light. And the dark fades even more, bringing with it candle light, soft laughter, and the sway of couples dancing.

A masquerade. Only there is no time for games.

He stretches out his hand and she is lead to dance, a final eccentric wish. The thick material of his jacket bites into her face and she wonders why his expression is so tight with resignation.

He holds her and the acceptance behind his frantic heartbeat is painful and dizzy. She knows something is wrong.

The door is hacked through with giant axes, wielded by men in thick, dull armor.

He feels the pull, the change of air between them, as he leans in and presses lips, love and despair to her. Frantically she kisses him back and she can not breathe, there are too many regrets in the air.

Their bodies are pressed tightly together and they do not know who is clinging to whom.

Warmth flows into her, strength she never had.

The surge of magic will snap her and she grabs his shoulder as he whispers into her ear, "Save them. Continue the dream…Sarah – "

Her hand rips through his form as he dissolves like mist from her, and beyond a mirror, there is a loud cry of victory.


It was many nights before she could appear again in the labyrinth.

The bodies, here and there, do not startle her.

She stood there, as the wheel shaped ruts in the ground filled in with cold water. The rain fills everything, soaking into the ground, over running the land with mud.

A gentle touch to the broken stone and her hand only feels cold reflected back.

A fierce energy tightens her steps.

She will bring it back to life.

Her body steps beyond a wall, but this time she turns left.

The rain is gone. She is in the castle. She spells the mud away from her feet as she approaches the throne.

His throne, she thinks.

The wet mantle is unclasped and falls away from her lone figure.

The seat is hard but she leaves it as is, and sits in the dark dreaming…promising.

The rain thunders and she imagines the castle shaking.

"All hail," her voice whispers as the tears fall, "Queen Sarah."