The Waters and the Wild
lady_rhiyana
Summary: Sarah is thousands of miles from home, but still manages to find a back door into the Goblin Kingdom. (Written for the labyfic Winterfest challenge 2014/2015.)
Author's Note: I am an Australian – I have never in my life had a white Christmas, so I thought I would start with what I know. Also – the title is from W.B. Yeats' The Stolen Child.
Disclaimer – I don't own Labyrinth, any of the canon characters, situations or settings. No money was made in the writing of this ficlet.

It was a glorious day, the endless blue sky arching above her, the sun warm on her back – it was Christmas Day, and Sarah was alone, thousands of miles from home.

She'd chosen Melbourne on a whim. She hadn't planned her impromptu trip well enough to organise anything for Christmas; she'd simply left her hotel that morning and strolled down through the city, looking for something to catch her eye. Down through the wide, well-planned streets that had been so full of Christmas Eve shoppers the day before, and were now populated only with tourists armed with cameras and guidebooks; over the tranquil blue Yarra river and into a wide green area of parks, gardens, galleries and museums.

She saw a sign for the Royal Botanic Gardens, and again, on nothing more than a whim – come on, feet! – plunged into a world of cool paths and shaded grottos with tiny running streams, where native birds called and scaled lizards rustled in the undergrowth. Intrigued, she peered into hidden glades and ascended moss-clad steps that led to mysteries such as the Rose Pavilion, a gorgeous carved wooden shelter covered in climbing roses; the Camellia Gardens, where crimson-petalled flowers twined around bamboo trellises; the Herbarium, with its pungent rows of mint and rosemary and thyme; and the Observatory, where men had spent long years staring at the far-distant stars.

As she ventured further and further into the maze of twisting paths, the afternoon sunlight slanted through the shaded canopy, tiny motes of dust and flying insects hovering suspended in the golden falls of light. There was no one else around; a little self-conscious, she danced, twirling and laughing, revelling in the contrast of sunlight and shadow on her skin.

And that was when she saw it: an old signpost, the wood cracked and the paint faded and peeling – Goblin Grotto, the sign read, in old-fashioned, scrawling letters. She hesitated a little, but then she began to hear the familiar whispering and half-audible chittering and giggling, began to catch sight of them from the corner of her eye, half-glimpsed figures with grasping twiggy fingers and wide, winking eyes.

Laughing softly to herself – of course he would find her, even here – she ventured down the overgrown path. Immediately the world about her grew charged, anticipatory; the air grew crisper, sharper, and the light even hazier and more golden; the trees and plants changed somehow, becoming weirder and more eccentric – Sarah laughed in sheer delight and went onwards.

When she came to a pair of great wooden gates flanked by silver-barked trees that had never been seen Aboveground, Sarah saw the inscription carved into the gates:

"Whereas it pleaseth his Majesty King Jareth the Ever-Reigning to create in his Kingdom a great garden, wherein rare and strange flora and fauna of the Underground shall be gathered for all his subjects to enjoy – "

Eagerly, flanked by her half-seen, chittering escort, she pushed the heavy wooden gates wide and stepped into the Goblin Kingdom.

It was a glorious night. The great vault of the night sky arched above her, the stars burning against the black, the moon full and white. The air was crisp and silent and still, and snow lay thick on the ground, a muffling white blanket. By the snow-light and the moonlight, she could see the Castle in the distance, the higgledy-piggledy towers and battlements lit with blazing lights, a welcoming beacon in the cold night.

She made her way towards the lights of the Castle, the journey enlivened by the giggling smallfolk who danced about her, tugging gently at her hair and stroking her skin. By the time she stood before the doors, flung wide open as if in anticipation of her arrival, she could feel his presence awaiting her –

And then there he was, the Goblin King in all his glory, his ramshackle hall bedecked with evergreen boughs and with great fires roaring in all the hearths. A goblin quartet played merry, skirling music with wheezing pipes, a rusty flute and two battered fiddles, and goblins and even stranger creatures danced and gambolled and feasted, dressed in festive motley and toasting each other with what smelled like home-brewed honey-mead.

"Welcome, Sarah," Jareth said, smiling at her, his strange, mismatched eyes laughing. He extended his hand to her, and drew her across the threshold and into the warmth and chaos of the Castle.

The doors closed behind them.

Outside, it began to snow.