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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
- 7
- 8
- 9
Sarah stood at the edge of the river and thought for a long time. She searched up and down the riverbank, but there was no sort of craft in the vicinity. The path didn't seem to be a popular one, so she couldn't count on company, even if Jareth had mentioned a village close by. For a river, it wasn't exactly impressive. The water was not exactly swift, and it didn't have any rapids or obvious ripples where the water flowed over submerged rocks. She wasn't sure of the depth, but that would be quickly determined. After a short debate, she took off her boots and waded out a few feet. The drop-off, she found, was very steep. She would have to swim, not wade it. Back on shore, she found a stick and tossed it into the water, as far as she could. The stick was swept away, but not too quickly. This would be a relatively easy swim. She recalled learning to swim as a child in a faster, scarier river, but she was much bigger now.
It had been years since her last visit to her grandparents, but her grandfather had taken her to swim in the river near his home. She'd learned then that she should pick her landing place and swim at an angle to the current in order to reach that spot. Granted, the river had been much smaller, and so had she, but the lesson remained the same. Sarah shrugged and got on with what she had to do. With a roll of her eyes and a perverse sense of letting Jareth get what he had asked for, she spoke.
"Jareth, I hope you're watching," she sighed, "because I have to strip to swim the river."
"Lovely," came the voice behind her. She turned to see the blonde king leaning against a tree, arms crossed, just waiting to leer. "By all means, begin." When she just stared at him for a minute, he made a "come on, time's a-wasting" motion with one hand. Muttering something under her breath that he didn't catch, Sarah began to take off her clothes.
"I don't suppose anything around here is waterproof," she asked, sliding the leather vest off and folding it neatly. Her shirt was next.
"This plant's leaves are waterproof, to an extent." Sarah saw where he was pointing and nodded. "One large leaf should do."
"Good," she said, grinning. "I'll let you pick one that will hold everything, including my boots."
"Moi?" asked Jareth, raising an eyebrow.
"Mm. Least you could do for getting to ogle the goodies," she replied, hoping he couldn't tell she was blushing just a bit.
Jareth chuckled and a large leaf appeared over her shoulder.
"My dear, for handing you this, I expect much more than an ogle." His free hand skimmed up her side and cupped one breast. "Now," he whispered, "what is the going exchange rate for oilleaf plants?"
"I'd say you've about reached it," Sarah breathed, trying to sound normal.
"Only about? The price must have increased recently," Jareth mused. "Well, this must even the balance." With that, he stepped up fully behind her and dropped the leaf. Wrapping one arm around her waist, he slid his errant right hand down between her legs, teasing her with the leather of his gloves and the varying pressure of his fingers until she arched and wriggled against him. When he stopped, he heard her curse softly under her panting breath. "There, one oilleaf for one good grope."
"You call that a grope?" Sarah rasped, whipping around to face him. The last time she'd felt something like that, it had involved Steven's tongue and he hadn't stopped until she'd thoroughly enjoyed it. Jareth was a tease, and a cruel one at that.
"Why, yes," Jareth said, putting on his best innocent face. "You don't? Very nice, by the way. I can see why Steven wanted to use you as a model. Your breasts are just about perfect." He paused, lifted his hands up to massage said breasts, and found her reaction gratifying in several ways. She was turned on, angry, not quite willing to tell him to stop, or and, if he was reading that expression correctly, uncertain of how he would react to a shove into the river. Oh, she was going to be much more fun than he'd originally thought. "Well? Was that a grope or not?"
Slack-jawed, Sarah stared for a moment. Then she spluttered, "No, that doesn't qualify as a grope."
"Oh." Jareth reached out for her again and said, "I must make amends--tell me when a grope has been achieved, will you?"
Sarah stepped back and avoided his hands, trying to make sense of what he was saying, quite sure that it was not something she wanted to hear.
"You…now…there's…You passed grope!" she hurried as his hands reached her waist.
"Did I?" he looked down at her as he drew her closer.
"Yes! By a lot!" she added, hoping she could get him to back up or…something. Something that didn't involve touching her so intimately or for so long she was tempted to grab his hands and guide them back to what they were doing. And they were on the riverbank…in the middle of the forest! Anyone could wander by!
Jareth just grinned at her wickedly. "Too bad."
Sarah's eyes grew wide just before his lips touched hers. This time he didn't stop his lips at her neck. He kissed down her body to her breasts, then lower still, teasing her more genlty than he had tormented Mab with his mouth and, again, hands until her knees were weak and she was aching for more of his touch, breathless little encouragements escaping her lips. When he let up, she swayed on her feet and leaned toward him again.
"Enough playing, Sarah," he admonished, the mischief in his eyes not matching his tone at all. She was delicious. He stepped away from her, severing all physical contact as he continued to speak. "You need to get swimming in order to reach shelter by nightfall." With that, he vanished. The sun was past its zenith, and the afternoon shadows were creeping across the forest.
Sarah recovered some of her wits when he spoke, but not all of them. His disappearing act was beginning to irritate her. She called him several names, but the only response she received was a chuckle on the wind.
Grabbing the oilleaf and her clothes, she placed her belongings into a corner of the wide, flat leaf and carefully rolled her clothes into it. The end result resembled a large green burrito from a restaurant that had a strange owner with an even stranger sense of humour who might not know what a burrito looked like. Shrugging, Sarah used some vine to secure the bundle and tie it to her back near her waist. With a firm resolve to put Jareth out of her thoughts for a while, she stepped into the water.
It was cold enough that Sarah's temptations vanished quickly. As she got farther out into the water, she realized that the cold water routine wasn't the most effective method for banishing desire, because her skin was still tight and it made her breasts throb. The feeling reminded her of Jareth's touch, a distraction she didn't need while swimming in a river. She fought off the pleasant memories with success, though it wasn't a pretty fight. She forced herself to concentrate on the river. Following her grandfather's instructions, Sarah swam at an angle and arrived at her chosen point without much difficulty.
When she passed the halfway point of her swim, she heard Jareth's voice on the wind. He congratulated her on passing the sixth wall.
Something was nagging at her. Something about the difficulty of what she had faced with these last 2 "walls" and the nature of the labyrinth itself. Whatever it was escaped her as she stumbled from the cold river into the warm sunlight. Shunning her clothing for a while, Sarah stretched out in a patch of sun on the sandy riverbank. The area she'd chosen as her landing was more open than the path where she'd entered the river, and it received full benefit of the afternoon sun. The heat of that sun made her skin tingle as it warmed her. The day was still hot, especially here on the riverbank, and her arms and legs were a bit tired after swimming against the current, so she leaned back on her elbows and baked in the sunlight.
As her eyes closed in a drowse, for she had expended more energy than she had thought and the seductive heat of the sun was leeching even more from her, a young man from a nearby village saw her. He watched her, filling his eyes with her nude form. Carefully, he crept up to her, making no noise as he moved into her clearing. She didn't open her eyes when he reached out a hand and touched the tip of one rosy nipple. She hadn't noticed the change because her nap in the sun had caused her to dream about Jareth's touch. Her body was reacting to a combination of fantasy and memory that no mere feather-light touch could interrupt.
=-+=-+=-+
The man held himself to that one touch. He watched her as she dreamed restlessly, murmuring just low enough that he couldn't understand who she spoke to in her fantasy. He watched as her skin blushed rosy pink and her body writhed in want.
When it became clear to him that she would soon awaken, he hurried off, as silently as he could.
If he had a dream, it was to touch the woman who laid so boldly upon the riverbank, to touch her and take her until she cried out in ecstasy, and to do so in front of all and sundry, so no one could doubt his claims.
=-+=-+=-+
Back at Mab's court, Jareth and the queen had returned to time several hours earlier. Mab sent out invitations to court, including one the young Helston of Gainstock and his friends. They had accepted, and it was time for Helston to be rewarded.
Preparations had taken most of the afternoon, but Jareth didn't mind. He and Mab had discussed the villages and puzzle she controlled at length, simply working on maintaining and improving Jareth's kingdom.
"Well, if that is everything," Mab said, "then tomorrow during luncheon we will have the festival for the heroes of this season."
"I will attend," Jareth said, leaning back in his chair. "How does the girl?"
"The runner? Oh, she has passed the sixth gate, but you knew that," Mab answered, her smile pure wickedness. "She has underestimated my puzzles, and will not be prepared for the last three gates. For your gates."
"Tell me, Mab," Jareth ordered. He knew Sarah would have to face him. All who vied for the position of his Queen must, and they must do so quickly in order to help the labyrinth prepare for their presence in later sections.
"She swam the River of Longing," Mab said smugly, "naked, after you so obligingly stimulated her senses."
"I teased her for several minutes and denied her the pleasure of release," Jareth corrected, "and she rather enjoyed it."
"Oh, she did. Her body thrilled to those touches all during her swim. In fact, the cold of the water only made it worse. She will long for your touch, Jareth. If she calls out to you, answer her." Black eyes bore into Jareth's mismatched eyes. "Answer her and demand her obedience. Demand she submit to you and obey you. Make her know that she is yours in all ways."
"I know how to make her a citizen of my realm, woman," Jareth replied coldly. "I forget nothing, even if it has been long since a potential consort ran the labyrinth. Be careful that you do not find yourself replaced for such simple puzzles."
"I have the first six walls deliberately set to disconcert the runners, to lower their guard." Mab's eyes narrowed in pique. "You have known this for the thirteen hundred years you have ruled, for the sixteen women who ran the labyrinth and became your consorts, yet you snap at me--threaten me--now? Over this girl? She is lovely, Jareth, and passionate, but she must pass my challenges if she would be Queen!"
"I want my Queen!" Jareth snapped. "I am sick of broken dolls that fade and wither after a few decades." Jareth rose and paced for a moment. Snapping at Mab like that was unnecessary, even if it was somewhat cathartic. He was letting the wildness of his land rule him when he should have remained calm. He faced out a window and took a long, deep breath, his body language said he would speak no more.
"She must take this oath, and you must mark her as your potential Queen, your runner, and most importantly, a citizen of the labyrinth at your command." Mab spoke calmly, removing her self and her emotions from the discussion. "The seventh wall will be giving in to her desires. Whether she calls upon you to relieve her of her inhibitions after taking the oath or whether she wanders into the taproom of the inn and services every man there until her need is gone, I care not." At this, Jareth turned to watch her, his face dispassionate even as his heart rejoiced and ached. This girl had something in her that was unique, even among those who were brave enough to run to be his Queen. He did not want her used up by the tavern patrons, but he would enjoy watching her do anything for relief. He wanted her body for his pleasure, and he was not averse to taking her as his own under duress, tricking her into submission before he sated himself and her with the feast of the senses. "The eighth wall will be her fear of you. Your methods, of course, will be your own, though her swim in the River of Longing will highlight what she fears most from you. I trust my liege will do all that is required to force her to bend or to break?" Perhaps that was a bit more petulant than it should have been, but Mab didn't care.
"Of course, Mab," Jareth said, smiling softly. He was calmer now. "And you know I shall enjoy every moment of her pleasure as much as I shall delight in her pain and terror."
"Yes," she replied, expecting no less from this man who ran tender and vicious by turns. She had not taken his words personally, but was gratified to see him return to his normal, serene self. "The final wall…will be decided tomorrow." She waved her hand, letting the moment slide away. "It will take her some time to recover from the first two. I suppose you'll end up stopping time to ensure she is properly dealt with." A thought occurred to her. "Oh, and there is the Festival of Delights in Gainstock that begins this week. Will you join the festivities this year?"
"Perhaps," Jareth refused to commit. "Barring pressing business, I shall do so, at least for a time. Will you take your court there again this year?"
Mab smiled. "Of course. I do so enjoy Festival."
Jareth laughed. Mab was, despite his frustration at having no true Queen, still the best at what she did. Better still, she had the time to focus on the runners that entered her section for various purposes when he did not. While he did take extra time for those who ran to be his Queen, he did not have time to administer to everything personally. And at this, the labyrinth had slowly faded over the past six thousand mortal years. During his rule the losses had ended, but the string of weaker kings and queens had taken its toll. Nonetheless, Jareth was master of the labyrinth, he was determined to win back lost lands and expand his kingdom to reflect its original and enduring glory. He was powerful, but he depended upon his lords and ladies--of which Mab was one, despite her royal title--to do their duties with the specific portions of the game board while he controlled the game itself and dealt with other realms. He often wondered if they understood the true nature of the labyrinth.
=-+=-+=-+
Sarah woke in the late afternoon. Drawing on her clothes was a kind of torture. She found the rasp of cloth against her breasts made her ache for Jareth's touch. The whisper of her breeches on her thighs and hips made her want to wriggle and writhe as she walked. It was the boots that were the worst. The calf-high leather was snug on her calves, like a continued squeezing caress. The dress heel was almost ideal for walking on the easy path, but just enough of an elevation that it felt sexy to her. She usually wore loafers or Keds, and even danced in the flat jazz and tap shoes. Upon reaching the village inn, Sarah was almost ready to explode with need. Ruthlessly, she tamped down her desires and asked to speak with the proprietor.
"That be Gemmie," said an old man with a slight cackle. "He be knowing of your coming, then?"
"No, sir," Sarah replied, being polite, "I am a traveller from the Gates."
"Welladay," he nodded. "Well come and welcome."
"Thank you, sir," she said, smiling sweetly as she could.
"Ah, I'm no sir," he said. "Call me Rolf. Good a name as ever I've had."
"Thank you, then, Rolf. I'm Sarah," she replied, walking into the inn. She didn't bother wondering if that was his name, or just what he wanted to be called at the moment. It didn't particularly matter either way.
Rolf simply nodded and called out to another woman walking in the street.
Inside, Sarah let her eyes adjust to the dimness. There wasn't much light, but it was a clean place, and one that welcomed travellers easily.
Quickly, she found the proprietor and bartered cleaning and some cooking for bed, bath, and dinner. The man agreed, and Sarah would spend the part of that evening cleaning dishes and the morning cleaning the taproom tables and floor. Gemmie's wife shooed him out of the way and placed a serving of steaming stew in front of Sarah. It was served in a bread-bowl, a trencher, she recalled the name. There were no forks or spoons, but Sarah remembered the medieval dinner her history teacher had hosted, making the history come alive for them. Sarah had drawn Margaret of Anjou as her historical persona, and so had dressed to fit her character. The trencher bread was to be torn off from the top and used to scoop up the stew. Having to concentrate on how to eat this particular meal was a relief from the feverish want she had been combating all day. Gemmie's wife was an amazing cook.
As she ate, Sarah listened to the conversations around her. They all centered on a man named Helston and a flood in the next village. From what she gathered, he had gone to the village (she never did catch the name) to trade, and been caught in a flood. The cause of the flood was debated, but was generally deemed the combination of the villagers building too close to the river and those tremors a few weeks back that had weakened the natural dam upstream. The young man had been credited with the single-handed rescue of the children of the village from the rickety schoolhouse and orphanage, though Sarah doubted he had done it all alone. He had probably led the rescue effort and put himself into great danger for some of the children. The dam was repaired shortly afterward by the lord of the area, and the river was behaving nicely now. The village had to move, but no one had been particularly surprised. As one elderly woman summed up the disaster, "If ya build on tha floodplain, ya've no right to be upsot whan tha floods coom. T'er river doesn' care about yer house enny more than tha mountain does a flea."
The young man was to be rewarded for his bravery by none other than the Queen of Dreams, and it was rumoured that the King would even be there. This didn't surprise Sarah. Jareth had mentioned a hero, she recalled as she brushed the crumbs from the table and walked to the kitchen. She tossed the crumbs into the fire and began cleaning the dishes that had piled up earlier in the day. Supper was trencher bread and stew, but apparently breakfast and lunch were meals that required actual plates. Either that or the inn had room service.
Soaping up the dishes in the tub of warm water made the fever come back again. The water was so soft and lapped at her skin like a delicate tongue. In desperation, Sarah remembered the brief conversation that she had had with Jareth about a reward for a young man as she washed dishes. She hoped that this was indeed the man, and even began inventing dreams for him. As a distraction from the sensations bombarding her hands and wrists, it was insufficient. She worked until she was exhausted, scrubbing pots and pans and even the kitchen counters, far outstripping the expectations of the proprietor. When she had finished wiping down the counters, she was exhausted and aching from the work, not the unsatisfied longing. Finished for the night, Sarah had simply nodded and dragged herself upstairs, hoping that the arousal that had plagued her all day had been worked into submission.
She hoped in vain. Sarah went to bed not long after moonrise, but woke only an hour later, achy and feverish from her need to be touched. She tossed and turned in the bed in the tiny gable room that the innkeeper kept for barter-guests. She hadn't dared bathe before bed, despite the feel of sticky sweat from the kitchen. She knew what would happen when water touched her skin. She had only reluctantly put aside the black cloth and leather Jareth had allowed her and slept only in her shirt. No matter what she wore, the friction on her skin from the blanket and single sheet stirred the need again. Giving in, she used her own hands as Jareth had used his earlier, but even the feel of her own hands on her skin and teasing herself to release did nothing to abate the fires in her blood. Perversely, her indulgence seemed to make the need swell and she felt helpless in the face of this overwhelming desire.
It was nearly midnight when she finally sobbed in defeat. There was nothing left for her to do. So she said her right words.
"Jareth, I need you."
=-+=-+=-+
In Gainstock, a young man dreamed of the woman on the bank of the river, of her touch and taste and sweet cries for more. In his dreams, she was completely uninhibited, letting all of his passion slide across her and into her, giving him her own. In the night, he ached. When morning came, he relieved his aching body and prepared for the day.
=-+=-+=-+=-+=-+
- 7
- 8
- 9
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