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Shattered	By : TarnishedArmour Category: G through L > Labyrinth Views: 7713 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: Based upon the work of Jim Henson; specifically Labyrinth, copyright 1986 by Jim Henson & associated parties. I do not own or have legal rights to Labyrinth, etc., or make any profit from them. *Individual disclaimers for other works in

Chapter List
- 9
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- 11
When Sarah woke the next morning, she felt her body aching with the sense of repletion. She wasn't sore, though by rights she should be in agony, and she knew Jareth had taken very good care of her while they were learning to please each other. She couldn't quite make herself admit that they had had purely sexual relations, though she knew very well--or thought she knew--that neither one of them had actually invested emotions in their exploratory days. She rose from the bed slowly, relishing the feel of Jareth's caresses ghosting over her in body-memory. The thought of him and of pleasures past made her move sinuous as a cat's while she stretched slowly and carefully, the way Karen had taught her. It wasn't the same as those after-dance stretches, and yet it was. Sarah looked around the room at the changes he had created and left. She watched herself stretch in the mirror, unabashed at her nakedness or the various marks left on her pale skin. The bed was much sturdier, and the sight of the restraints on the bed made her smile. A flash of white caught her eye by the far wall. Jareth had left his shirt.
They had been naked together for five weeks in no-time, but they hadn't spent every waking moment in bed. They had bathed, gone for walks outside--the inn was deserted in no-time--and she had even cooked a simple dinner for them when she lost a bet. The bet, she recalled with a grin, had been one she hadn't expected to win. Either way, the results had been more than just fun. Everywhere they went, every surface in the room and most of the walls--even the joists anchoring the ceiling--had some sort of sensual memory attached to them. Sarah smiled to herself as she let her body recall every single instance. She was thinking about a bath, so she didn't consider those purely physical remnants as memories on her tally sheet. The bathing chamber was on the ground floor by the kitchen, the hot water supplied by an ingenious series of pipes that ran through the ovens and open hearths.
Sarah slid her shirt on and carried the rest of her clothes downstairs. It was early enough that she didn't hear anyone else moving around. As it happened, there was one more person awake, the proprietor's wife, Meg. The older woman just looked up at her, saw how she was moving, and gave her a wide smile and a bawdy wink. Sarah didn't realize it, but she smiled back like a cat in cream. At no time during those five not-weeks, stretching, bathing, or dressing, did she notice the little black tattoo that branded her as Jareth's.
Sarah finished her bath just as others in the inn were coming awake. Still smiling, she slipped on the heavy silk shirt Jareth had left behind and basked in his scent. The liquid-cool cloth slid over her warm, still sensitive skin and she shuddered as if he caressed her again. He had left marks all over her body, and she never knew what movement or what little brush of water or soap or cloth against skin would make her breath catch and her senses reel. Pulling on the rest of her clothes was an adventure, for each time something triggered body-memory, it heightened her now-real arousal. Before she finished dressing, she had been forced to bury her face in her leather jerkin and let the pleasure take her. It took her several minutes to recover, but her walk and her expression left no one in doubt of why she walked with a rolling, swaying, gait and lounged almost bonelessly at her seat in the taproom. What continued to amaze Sarah, though was that even though she felt well-loved, she was not exactly sore, nor was she tired.
After eating a simple breakfast of milk, bread, and cheese, she skipped lightly into the kitchen to finish paying for her bartered room.
=-+=-+=-+
Jareth woke pleasantly sated, stretched like a great cat, and readied himself for the long day ahead. The moment he returned to real time, he popped into his castle at the heart of the labyrinth to go over correspondence with the other Realms. So far, nothing had really changed. He was not surprised. Sixteen of some three hundred requests for immigration into his kingdom were from hostile realms. While the other applications moved quickly through, these several were pending his approval, and he studied the requests and, through his crystals, the applicants carefully. All but one was granted, and that one required more study and an interview with one of his lords. The woman would not be pleased, but as king he could not risk inviting the viper in to his nest, however large said nest may be. He left instructions regarding all these things with his secretary and considered his wardrobe for the upcoming luncheon. He had at least five minutes before he had to appear. Plenty of time.
The day passed quietly as Mab's court drew closer and closer to the time of the luncheon feast. Jareth returned in time to see the tables as they were covered and set by the servants of the castle.
"Very nice," Jareth complimented her.
"Thank you, Sire," she replied, smiling happily. "Oh, I do hope this day does please you!"
Jareth smiled at the girlish tone and statement. No matter how light or dark the day did end, he was certain to be pleased. Mab knew well the complexity of his tastes, and the day, no matter what, was going to end in his pleasure.
"You've not long before the guests begin to arrive," he teased, spirits high since his work at the castle was done for the moment and he was able to reward a justly deserving man this day. Even though he delighted in all aspects of his nature, the young man who had striven so long ago to become a Knight of the Realm still thrilled to hear tales of others who gave selflessly, without regard of cost to themselves. As a knight, he had striven to do just that, usually succeeding. As a king, it gave him hope that the men he ruled were strong and fit for anything he required of them. It assured the succession of the knighthood, the magic workers, and his armies.
"Oh, I must change my dress!" she teased back, noting his crisp black cloak, fitted black iridescent leather jerkin over a silver-grey shirt, and suitable black breeches and boots. His riding crop, one of the symbols of his rule, was held lightly in his hand, tapping against his boot.
"See that you do, woman," he growled at her lightly. "Else I remind you of your duties."
Mab laughed at the threat he gave her, knowing he was serious. Both knew that the words and the brandishing of the riding crop was completely unnecessary. Mab would no more shirk her duties than poison an infant. With a wave of her hand, her dress changed to a lovely silver frock that called to mind spider webs on the wind. She pivoted for him on one heel. The servants ignored it all, frantic to finish their work before the guests arrived.
"Eh," he said, pursing his lips. "It'll do." The light mischief in his eyes made her feel light as air and less than a tenth of her age. She was considerably older than her king, after all.
Mab gave him a glare that was more contained laughter than burgeoning ire.
The lighthearted banter continued until the first guest was announced. By then, they had made their way up to the dais where Mab's throne of moon-struck silver was only slightly lower than Jareth's half-circle of stone and blood. Many who first saw his throne thought it strange that it was not a gilded monstrosity or some exotic material. Instead, the throne was made of what dwarves called the bones of the earth, a hard whitish stone whose only colour came from the patina of age and the blood of those who would take the it for their own.
Jareth lounged in his chair, his riding crop tapping against his boot. He ruled here and in all the courts of his kingdom, but he allowed the local to reign according to their own style. Mab was formal, light, and airy. Her people were comfortable with her, and even those who came forward with trepidation left feeling wanted and loved. The few remarks Jareth made were simple, designed to foster these feelings for Mab and for himself; he was not blind to the potential of Mab's people rebelling against the king. It had happened before in his father's reign. It would not happen to him. He would not allow it.
Finally, the object of this particular luncheon came forward with one other man, the one he had invited as his friend.
"Ah, Helston of Gainstock," Mab said, rising and nearly floating down the steps to meet him. She embraced him fully and heaped profuse thanks upon him for his quick thinking and quicker actions. The man blushed and stammered through several attempts to thank her, and his younger companion seemed like he was trying to hide behind the man who was the focus of all the court's attention, including the queen's rather personal brand.
"Ma'am, I mean Majesty, I…I don't know what's been said, but I didn't do it all myself," he rushed when she finally allowed him to speak. "I mean, I thank you, but I can't take all the credit. If Couric here," he indicated his friend who looked like he was ready to crawl away and hide behind a curtain, "my apprentice, hadn't been with me, I'd've died myself."
Mab's eyes grew wide and she turned her ample charms and attention to this young merchant-apprentice called Couric.
"Couric? Of Gainstock?" she asked, taking his hands in hers.
"N-n-n-no, Majesty," he stammered. "Of Realiche in the Kingdom of Grea. I j-j-j-just moved here a f-f-f-few months ago." From his face and manner, he wanted to scream for help. Grea, an island kingdom renowned for its formality in the daily dealings of its citizens, was not a place where a queen of any stripe spoke to, much less hugged and kissed and thanked a mere merchant-apprentice.
"Are you citizen of Gainstock now?" she queried, thinking of how much of a shock this youngster would have in a few days. He was quite young, perhaps twenty of those human years Jareth used to refer to physical and mental traits.
"Y-yes, Majesty," he said, breathing a little easier now that she turned the charm down a bit. It wasn't much, but every little bit helped.
"Well, then this feast must be a welcome to you as well as a thanks to you and your master!" Her language was more formal with him, for she didn't want to send him into a fit of apoplexy. "And for your deeds, Helston and Couric, our own King, Jareth of the Labyrinthine Realm, has consented to join us!"
Both men stared up at the dais where Jareth still lounged, staring down at them, the tip of his whip pressed against his lips. When both men began to kneel, Jareth spoke.
"Stand," he said, his voice reflecting the very real power he held. He rarely spoke in another court, much less in his role as King, complete with the earthly and magical powers he held lacing his words and voice. The two men were almost compelled to remain standing. "We thank you, and for your reward offer you any dream that you have had to come to you. Choose wisely," he cautioned, "for a dream is only fantasy, but to have a dream become flesh can cost more than you believed."
"Yes, Your Majesty," both men replied, their voices ghostly in the hall that now resonated with Jareth's essence. The very stones Mab had trod for years reminded her that, though she was granted dominion of part of the labyrinth, only one man held its heart. The feeling gave her a very real moment of terror as she realized again how very indulgent with her he was.
She resolved to make these last two walls the most difficult Sarah would face in any part of her run, except the third section of the final segment. That knowledge was reserved for only the Kings of the Labyrinthine Realm.
"Sire," Helston managed to speak. "May we…take some time before we…answer you?" The phrasing was rough but honest. Neither man dared be anything but honest with the King.
"You have three days, when the Festivals begin in Gainstock. After that, I shall choose for you," he held up his hand, fingers in the air, and a crystal appeared. "I will…study your dreams, should that be the case." He tossed the crystal to Helston, who caught it and cradled it carefully to his chest. "Simply speak your dream into the crystal, or come to see me here the day before the Festival begins. I will hold audience open to you at any time." With that, Jareth waved his free hand to the side, acknowledging the thanks of the men as he dismissed them. He nodded to Mab, who curtsied low and spoke in a hushed voice.
"His Majesty is generous," she said, unable to resent the power he held even as it coursed through her from toes to hair. She rose from her curtsy, ascended to the dais, and turned to face the crowd. "To the tables! We feast!" she cried, not bothering to sit. Jareth and Mab waited until the crowd dispersed and the tables were filled with people waiting for their arrival.
"I had forgotten, Jareth," she murmured, shivering.
In response, Jareth granted her an enigmatic smile, nothing more. He held out his hand to her, offering to be her escort, if she dared to walk beside him.
Shuddering with excitement, fear, and no little knowledge of both the pleasure and pain he could inflict, realizing that he had only given her measured doses of each, she placed one now-gloved hand very lightly on his black gloves. She would not presume to touch his veiled skin with her own bare flesh after this, not for a long time to come.
Accepting the almost non-existent pressure of her hand on his, King Jareth escorted Queen Mab into the dining hall. The chamberlain announced them.
"All hail Queen Mab, Dreamweaver and Mistress of the Lower Labyrinth!" A polite cheer came from all sides of the room.
"All hail King Jareth of the Labyrinthine Realm, King of Goblins, Blood-lord of Mysteries, Lord of Night, Lord of Dreams, Sovereign of Wishes, Keeper of Secrets and Shadows, and Knight of the Realm of the line of Carnelian!"
Jareth felt a jolt as his formal titles, the ones most important to him, greeted him. There were a host of other titles that he had gathered prior to becoming king, and even afterward. The entire court stood, and as one bowed or curtsied to him. Had it really been long enough since his last formal dinner that the list of his titles sounded dusty? The man, young for his post at perhaps six hundred human years, had obviously learned them from rote. In this moment, Jareth prayed to whatever gods deigned to listen to his world that Sarah made it through the Tests hale and whole. He did not want to become a story-book figure during his own rule. There would be time enough after it to become mere legend.
"Rise, good people," he said softly, his voice carrying in the silence. "Be seated and rest easy, for this day is to be of joy and fellowship." The words were still infused with power, but it was a lighter, joyous strain of the harmonies he carried within. A crystal song of cheer, if he wanted to believe the poets.
The good people sat. Despite themselves, they relaxed. Jareth did not hold the festivities, but broke bread quickly, inviting the court to join him. Mab, also cognizant of her place, was unwilling to refrain from drink or sauces.
Jareth enjoyed the dinner, the lightness of his mood and the joy he was taking in the occasion transmitting far and wide throughout the castle. From the castle, the good cheer radiated into Mab's holdings. Common citizens far from the merriment at the Keep of Dreams found themselves standing taller and whistling merry tunes as they went about their daily work.
The effect on everyone in the court was astounding. Even so, Jareth refrained from exercising the bulk of his strength.
Such was the price of power.
Almost two full days later, Helston spoke into the crystal.
"Sire, perhaps it's an indecent dream to you, but I…I would like to open the Festivals with a certain girl…" He continued on, explaining what he could and finally resorting to projecting his memory into the crystal. It was a trick every schoolchild learned, for it was how judges found truths in testimony, how births and deaths and other important events were recorded for the villages, and how the King would communicate with the chosen few. As always, there were some exceptions, which was what had disconcerted a certain gnome-dwarf whose duties centered on the scraggly growth outside the Labyrinth walls. Dismayed and discombobulated as Hoggle had been, he had never lied to his King, for his fear of crystal was no match for his abject terror of the King's rage.
There was a silence, then the crystal clouded for a moment. Helston could see his King's face in the heart of the crystal, and, when the lips of the image moved, sound radiated from the sphere.
"I will inform the girl of the honour you have requested for her. The townsmen, I understand, already agreed that you should open the Festivals." The image paused. "Has Couric made his decision?"
"I…couldn't say, Sire," Helston replied, frowning. "He hasn't said anything to me."
"Mm. Remind him of his deadline. I will not be pleased to go searching on my own." Something in that voice made Helston nod rapidly.
"I'll remind him, Sire, every moment of every sunrise, and thereafter, too, if need be!"
Jareth chuckled. "I doubt that much will be required, but your enthusiasm has been noted. Bright paths, Merchant of Gainstock!"
With the blessing of good fortune ringing in his ears, Helston carefully put the crystal back onto its little stand on his desk. A crystal from the King's own hand! What a thing for him to have! In truth, that was worth more than a dream, but tales of this King's displeasure at those who scorned his gifts had made Helston speak of something other than that little sphere. He wasn't entirely sure, but he got the impression that the King knew his opinion on the matter of the crystal and the dream-grant, and from what Helston gathered, his King wanted to grant this dream even more than Helston probably wanted it. Had he thought to say it, he should have said that simply meeting the King and being recognized by him in open court was a dream come true. Come to think of it, it wasn't Helston's dream of recognition, but his father's. Maybe Jareth knew that, too.
Breaking the reverie engendered by the little ball, Helston hurried into his warehouse to badger his apprentice into making up his ever-so-parochial little mind.
Really, why did the boy have to be so…Grean?
Jareth sighed and looked toward Mab's castle, more accurately a done-up keep, not a true castle like his own home.
"You are a miserable bitch sometimes, Dreamweaver," he murmured, "and I do love you for it."
=-+=-+=-+
It was now the day before the Festival began, and Jareth was visiting Mab's home. He stayed there, sending a message to Sarah to meet him at the castle, which she did with a speed that gratified him. She met with him privately in his rooms at the castle.
"Jareth," she said, walking into his arms and kissing him. "Why did you want to see me?"
"Mm," he replied, his original intentions disappearing as she wrapped her arms around him. He was comfortable interrupting the incipient conversation with a second kiss. "We'll talk later."
Sarah blinked, then laughed as his hands were pulling at her clothes. She returned the favour and soon they were very relaxed and quite comfortable in the bed. Sarah watched as Jareth stood and located his clothing. He hadn't stopped time for this encounter, and she was still revelling in the incredible relaxation he'd given her, albeit through a circuitous route. She wasn't quite up to dressing, yet she wasn't trying to hide under the covers of his bed or jump to dressing, either. As Jareth dressed, she watched, the weeks she'd spent with him and the fact that she enjoyed watching him prompting her to stare boldly at him.
"Have you enjoyed Gainstock?" he asked, knowing that she would not appreciate the news he brought to her, and wanting her unguarded when he told her.
"Is that the name of the village?" she asked, only mildly curious. "So far, it's been fine. The innkeep and his wife are nice people, and the work I'm doing in exchange for room and board is easy." She shrugged. "I don't want to live there, but it'll do until after their Festival."
"Ah, so you've heard about the Festival," Jareth smiled. "What have you heard about it?"
"From what I gather, it's a spring rite. The reasons I've been given for having the Festival are that it promotes fertility and growth for the people, the businesses, and the farmers; that it allows everyone in the village a three-day vacation; that it attracts tourists; that the parents of small children throughout the Outer Lands send their children to the Queen's Festival at her castle and have a small holiday without them; and that it's great fun for everyone there to show off." Sarah ticked off the different things she'd heard about the three-day party on her hands. "It sounds like an excuse to send the kids away and party for three days without worrying about anything else."
"It is, and it isn't," Jareth replied, leaning on the bedpost and crossing his arms. He watched Sarah as she spoke, enjoying the view with a small part of his brain even while he explained the Festival of Delights to her. "While tourists do appear, while children do come to the castle for a large celebration with Mab, and while they do party, there's more to it. It is the oldest rite for prosperity in my kingdom. I frequently attend, even though it's not possible for me to attend every year. To open the Festival is a great honour."
"Oh? How is that determined?" Sarah asked, less interested in the goings-on of the Festival than the methods of choosing the ceremonial duties.
"In this case, a local hero--the man I was telling out about a few days ago--has the honour, by the choice of the townsmen." Jareth smiled, thinking of his gift to the man. "In fact, opening the ceremony is his dream come true."
"Really?" Sarah seemed happy. "That's great!"
"And you'll be helping him," he continued.
"Can I do that? As your runner, I mean," she clarified.
"Again, part of his dream." Jareth raised an eyebrow and gave her a long, head-to-toe look, lingering at the pertinent parts in between. "He saw you on the riverbank and thought you beautiful."
Sarah blinked. Then she blushed. "Oh. Well," she said, trying to assimilate this information. "Nothing I can do now but be glad he liked the view."
Jareth gave her a small, close-mouthed smile. "I'm glad you said that," he said softly, "because you'll be his partner for the opening ceremony, which is held the hour after dawn tomorrow."
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