Chapter 6: Fearful of the Night

June 4, 1989

Sarah Williams was officially a high school graduate. Most of her friends were still out partying, or probably passing out, by this point in the night. But Sarah, having endured the familiar tension created any time her birth parents occupied the same space for the duration of the morning and better part of the afternoon, had wanted nothing more than to go to sleep after the obligatory post-graduation family dinner. Unfortunately, this meant she was wide-awake and experiencing a mild post-graduation existential crisis at two o'clock in the morning.

After several minutes of navigating a mind too full of thoughts while futilely trying to find a comfortable position, the restless young woman opted to get up. She felt her way around the pitch-black room- lucky for her, Sarah had never been afraid of the dark. Unlike most, she knew very well that fairytale monsters were real. Fearing them, or where they lurked, would only give them power over her.

Besides, without darkness, how could she ever hope to see the stars?

As she had so many nights before, Sarah completely disregarded her stepmother's numerous warnings about the dangers of heights and climbed up on the roof of her family's two-story Victorian home, hoping that the clouds from yesterday had moved along to grant her a clear view.

Luckily, the skies were in her favor. Sarah quietly navigated to her favorite roost and settled in to think. Or not to think, preferably. She did not want to contemplate majors, or what her friends would be doing, or even the summer job she would be starting next week. That left the stars, themselves.

The twinkling beacons were ancient, inexorable, and made her feel so small. No one seemed to stop and look at the stars any more. No one she knew, at least.

She would not be able to look at them much longer, either. Only during vacations and visits home. The city lights where she would be going to school come fall faded the stars into inky, dim obscurity. She would have her independence at the cost of the stars. It was not so great a price to pay, really. It wouldn't be forever, after all.

It may have not been something most people would find themselves missing, but sometimes, when Sarah spied the stars from the corner of her eye, they danced.

As far as falls went, Sarah had experienced worse, within the last week especially, but thus far, she probably had not experienced weirder. With the winds and waves breaking over sharp rocks below, she figured she ought to be dropping like her GPA the first semester of college when she decided not to study for her biology midterm. Though, instead, her descent was slowing with every passing moment; she was definitely accelerating, but in the negative direction, in much the same way as she had after jumping to save Toby on a night long past.

Whatever, or more likely whoever, slowed her down ultimately did not stop her abrupt reacquaintance with gravity mere feet above a sturdy ledge. Her landing was not exactly soft, but Sarah thought that on a scale from 'stuck the landing' to 'squishy human pancake,' 'slightly bruised tailbone' was not so terrible an outcome.

"I'm okay!" she called up to the Goblin King, now far above.

She could just make out his figure, she thought, leaning perilously out into the winds. He held out a hand, possibly with a single digit pressing her to wait a moment. Then again, he could have been flicking her off; her far vision had never been the best in the world.

The Goblin King called down to her, though all but one word was lost to the winds: "There." He then held up a hand in an unmistakable gesture of stay.

Unless it's some rude Undergound hand gesture, and he's just covering his bases as far as rude hand gestures are concerned.

Sarah was in much better humor than she had been just minutes prior. Even if she currently happened to be trapped halfway up a cliff face, at least she was out of those awful tunnels. Natural sunlight plus post-fall adrenalin had the young woman rapidly approaching giddy. And she even still had her bag, which was excellent. The wind was whipping her hair into her face, which was significantly less than excellent and bordered on being more annoying than her resident closet goblin that liked to chew holes through her good sweaters.

The young woman absently pulled her hair up into a more serviceable ponytail style while contemplating the mess that her apartment might be when she finally got back. This train of thought was bound to lead to annoyance and stomach ulcers, so she instead decided to take a more thorough inventory of the things Jareth had gathered at the Black Market and shoved into her pack. Adequate light was good for things like that, dim crystals and dark tunnels, not so much.

Sarah had halfway organized the bag's contents according to weight versus usefulness when she decided to check on what the Goblin King was planning. Her timing was impeccable, really. The man shifted and twisted before her eyes and was replaced by a much smaller creature. An owl, obviously.

I'd forgotten.

That, despite her current situation, irritated her. How could she have forgotten? That was the form he had used to frighten her on their first meeting, and the king left her the same way at the end. But the memory had faded completely, until it returned to her on this day. It might not have been so much that she didn't remember, but rather that she opted not to think about it. While at home in her world, there had been no reason for her to contemplate anything relating to the Goblin King himself, at least not with respect to his ability to transform. If anything, she should be grateful for the reminder to not become complacent in his company.

Further musings were interrupted by an indignant, blood-curdling screech- the owl apparently could not control its flight, and Jareth was tossed about by the winds she had so recently escaped, herself. He managed to get close to where Sarah was situated and made a dive for a nearby ledge, only to be slammed against the cliff face instead.

And then, the owl dropped. Sarah traced its rapid descent until the creature landed somewhere farther below. She reeled in shock at how quickly their situation deteriorated. The woman laid flat and peered over the edge of the rocky surface, witnessing as the owl transformed back to Jareth's familiar shape. He was precariously spread over a ledge with far less real estate than the one she occupied.

After that, the Goblin King remained still.

"Jareth!"

No response. Not even a twitch.

He was fine. He was fine. He was the Goblin King and something Other than mortal. He had to be fine. She wasn't actually worried for him. No way. Maybe a little bit. He may have been the cause of all her recent problems, but she did not actually want him to come to harm. This was simply the normal reaction anyone would have after witnessing someone play live-action pinball with a cliff. She needed to keep calm and get down to him, first of all.

Up to this point in her life, heights were not something Sarah had given due consideration. While she had never actively had a fear of being up high, she had never considered rappelling or the like to be worthwhile hobbies, either. The cliff was not as sheer as she had thought from up high; there were plenty of little ledges and handholds, and Sarah had an idea.

"There has to be a safe way down," the woman declared.

And there was, she found.

Sarah had seen nothing move, but suddenly, she could discern a path that would lead her straight to her target with minimal need for finding handholds or creative cursing. She was unsure if it had appeared due to her assertion, or if it had simply been there all along.

They were stairs, she realized. Honest to God stairs. Roughly hewn, but serviceable enough. She shoved the rest of the bag's contents back in and set off.

Her descent was arduous and slow. The winds had only grown stronger, and there were several occasions she thought she or the unconscious king might be swept away. Luckily, the rock and Sarah's death grip remained strong.

By the time she inched her way down to the Goblin King, stormy thunderclouds had started to coalesce, with night closing in fast behind them.

She faintly remembered the desperation she heard in Jareth's voice after her own misty misadventure. Their current situation provided a near perfect mirror to that one. The primary difference lie in the fact Jareth knew the steps he needed to take to help her, whereas in the reverse, Sarah felt utterly helpless.

Sarah hesitated to touch him, unsure of the exact extent and nature of his injuries, though she had little choice but to do so- the ledge was not large enough to permit otherwise. She found him breathing, but he showed no signs of reacting to her touch.

What can I do?

She didn't have any magic. She had limited medical knowledge. She did know that being knocked out and unresponsive couldn't possibly be a good thing. And the sky was about to give way to a deluge that neither they nor their tiny perch were well suited for.

Now that she and Jareth were at least on the same ledge, the first order of business was to get out of their current predicament. Sarah began to frantically examine her surroundings. She dared to peek down at the rocky shore below- closer than it had been, but still several stories beyond a survivable fall, and there was no way she could possibly scale the rock with the king in tow, even if the cliff-stairs led all the way down.

She leaned back against the wall to collect herself, only to have it shift subtly behind her. Sarah turned and prodded at the rock curiously, pushing it aside to reveal a sizable opening behind it.

An hour or two prior, returning to the close, tepid tunnels was her absolute last desire. But at the first strike of lightning and the first drop of rainfall, Sarah found herself dragging her unconscious charge along with her into fissure that led back into the dank unknown.

Only it wasn't dank, or dark, or foreboding. The atmosphere was warm, cozy, and more closely resembled the interior of her gran's summer cottage than the sort of tunnel she should have been encountering at that exact moment.

"Well shut it back, girl! You're letting in a draft!"

The not-tunnel-cottage also happened to be occupied.

It was a stroke of luck that Sarah accidentally broke into Effie and Irey's home, so perhaps her wildly invented tic-tac story had some measure of credence, after all. She quickly decided that the best thing about the elderly couple was that they didn't ask any overly invasive questions like, 'where did you come from?,' 'who are you,' or, 'what are you doing in my house?'

In fact, the pair seemed happier for the company, and asked for nothing return for their hospitality. Sarah remained wary, nevertheless, particularly after the fiasco that was her stay in the dwarf kingdom. Her real name was something she did not give, nor did she volunteer the particulars of her quest.

"Sadie, you pay that glove more attention than that young man down the hall, and that's saying something."

Just because she did not ask outright, did not mean that the little old woman was not astute.

And her observations were, unfortunately, true.

Jareth had been laid up for two days now, and Sarah could do nothing more to help him than she already had. The old man, Irey, had been a healer of some sort in his younger years, and had assured her that Jareth's unconsciousness was due to protective shock more than any sort of head or spine injury. He even went as far as saying that the king should be back on his feet in a few days. Though with Jareth's perpetual inert state, Sarah rather doubted it.

As she sat by the man's bedside, Sarah absurdly thought of how Sleeping Beauty was brought back with a kiss. She wondered if it would damage his ego if Jareth found out she equated him to a fairytale princess. Sarah chuckled despite herself. If anything, it would appeal to his vanity. Besides, that sort of revival only worked with 'true love,' and Sarah did not think that her and Jareth's tenuous partnership qualified.

She was not cut out for waiting and worrying. Once Sarah decided to do something, she went about setting her plans in motion. Sure, there was always the chance of failure, but that didn't bother her as long as she knew she had tried.

Unfortunately, her only recourse was waiting, with her silly musings barely covering the gnawing anxiety in her gut, for him to wake on his own. Sarah volunteered to routinely tend Jareth's few minor abrasions the way the old man had shown her with bandages and salve. To lesser success, the young woman also forced water and broth down Jareth's throat at regular intervals, though these efforts somehow tended to end up with a magically pristine Goblin King and a slightly damp Sarah. Not being able to expedite his recovery or continue on her quest made her feel indecisive and so powerless.

If he doesn't wake up soon …

"You need to hovering, dear. He'll wake up when he wakes up, and not a half-hog's minute before," the old woman had admonished the day after they arrived.

After that, Sarah stopped hovering by Jareth's bedside every waking moment, and started only hovering for a quarter of her waking moments. The rest of her time was devoted to ensuring their continued welcome by helping Effie and Irey when needed and figuring out her next move. With the gauntlet being her primary concern, the structure tended to end up as the focus of her attention.

There were five golden threads crisscrossing the eyelets, now. No more had appeared since she and Jareth had been waylaid. The king had indicated otherwise, but Sarah was beginning to think of them as markers of major events of her journey so far. She counted them off on more than one occasion- one when she arrived, the second after surviving the first night, the third after the king brought her back to herself when she was stricken by the mists.

The last two, however, appeared together- at some point between her final conversation with Jareth in the tunnels and when she thought to examine the glove after she and Irey had gotten Jareth settled. She decided to ignore this fact, and attributed one to her meet-and-mad-dash-away-from the dwarves, and she decided the last thread marked their escape from the tunnels. Sarah wondered idly if she stayed in this little old cottage forever, would the threads simply stop appearing?

With her life on the line, she really could not afford to wait and find out. If the Goblin King did not wake soon, Sarah would have to continue the journey on her own, destination or no.

But could she even remotely hope to figure out where she was supposed to be going without Jareth? She still did not know what her ultimate goal was, and she was determined to get that much out of Jareth, if he ever woke up. She could not necessarily trust him to tell the truth, not when it might leave him at a disadvantage. But now, he was not the only source of information she had to draw from.

The old woman, Effie, was a historian, or the Underground equivalent of one. Sarah had heard Irey call her 'the Chronicler' or something to that effect. 'Historian' suited Sarah just fine; it did not sound nearly as ominous and foreboding. That was not to say that the woman was the sort of historian that recited dry, blow-by-blow accounts; Effie was, at heart, a storyteller, and had taken to regaling Sarah with histories of the Underground at any given opportunity.

Sarah was hesitant to fish for information the way she had been so ready to do with Ferron. For one, she did not want to inadvertently land herself dragging around a convalescent king if the pair reacted to the subject of the gauntlet adversely. There was also the minute chance if she did ask, that Effie would not tell her the truth. Though warier than she had been in the past, she quickly discarded that notion- the old woman had far less motive to lie to her than the Goblin King on virtually any topic Sarah could think of.

On the afternoon of the third day, Sarah decided to take the risk.

"Do you know any stories about gloves?" Sarah ventured, only slightly out of the blue.

"Do I know stories about gloves? 'Course I do. I'm the Chronicler after all. It's my business to know stories about gloves."

The old woman paused in her knitting and Sarah tried not to fidget under the scrutiny.

"But I think you have a particular story in mind."

Sarah's breath did not catch in her chest. Nor did she back pedal. But she also did not quite manage to meet the elder woman's gaze, in vain effort to give off an air of nonchalance.

"I do. If you are willing tell it."

The tension and evasiveness Sarah expected failed to materialize.

"It's a long one, but you look like you could use a good, long story or two. But you'll have to tend the stew, my dear, and help Irey with the vegetables."

"I'd be happy to," Sarah agreed easily, if not a bit eagerly.

Effie smiled, sat back in her rocker, and began to tend her knitting as she spun her yarn.

"Once upon a time, there lived a queen…"

That night, Sarah dreamed her first dream since coming underground.

She found herself walking with no true destination, as one often does in dreams. She was not Sarah as she would know herself in waking, but that did not matter. She had no destination, but she did have a task.

Through forests and deserts she unwound golden thread tethered to a spool. The fine gossamer strands trailed in the wake of her steps, marking and creating and building and binding. She had set the trap a thousand times, but this time she felt an undeniable sense of urgency. It was not the trap after all, but the marking of the path that would free her. The spool was gone from her hand now, though the thread still followed, all the way to the most magnificent-

Sarah forgot whatever was supposed to be magnificent when she woke to a suffocating weight on her chest. She opened her own eyes to a feral grin and a pair of eyes sparkling with malice. She thrashed- or she tried to. Sarah couldn't move and the mad creature was crushing her and choking her. But it was not a creature; it was Jareth, distorted and wild. She tried to scream.

And then, Sarah opened her eyes. Her sudden mobility had her shooting upright and scooting into the wall before she became fully conscious of the fact she had been dreaming the whole time. Though that last bit had definitely been a nightmare, or, probably more aptly, sleep paralysis.

"Sarah?"

She flinched briefly when a familiar gloved hand touched her shoulder. The young woman took deep, calming breaths as her heart rate slowly went back to its regular, steady beat. She was awake, truly awake and no longer dreaming, and this Jareth wasn't trying to crush the life out of her. He actually seemed somewhat concerned as to her well-being-

It was at this point her brain caught up with processing the information it was receiving.

"Jareth?! You're awake!"

Her brain must have not been totally up to speed because with this pronouncement, Sarah threw her arms around the king and started mumbling half unintelligible things to the effect of, "I was so worried." And, "you are so stupid." After a moment, she realized whom she had in a desperate hug, not Toby, or a close friend, but the Goblin King, and extricated herself.

She had not meant to acknowledge any sort of worry as to his safety, and since he got to pretend he didn't do things like save her life or swoop in for unconscious cuddles in the tunnels, then surely, Sarah could pretend that the past several minutes never happened.

"You really shouldn't be up," she admonished, noting for the first time that the man no longer sported bandages and had in fact been awake long enough to change his clothing. Jareth was magically all-better if the newly formed impish grin was anything to go by. Magically being the operative word.

"Curiously, I do feel as though several days ago, I decided to take a jaunt off the side of a cliff and smashed myself into the ground at an appreciable rate of speed. But I'm quite well at present, thank you. Now, where have you brought us?"

Sarah wondered just how long ago he awoke. He had been characteristically unresponsive when she decided to go to bed, and now it was probably some time in the wee hours of the morning.

"I don't know where we are, exactly. It was getting stormy by the time I reached you, and we needed to get to somewhere safe. After that it's a bit fuzzy, but there was a loose rock covering an entrance, so I thought I'd be dragging us back into the tunnel system, but we ended up in this old couple's house instead. Irey called the thing we came in a 'Porticul,' or something like that."

His manner shifted toward the end of her recount, and the intensity of his interest in that moment was almost overwhelming.

"You opened a Porticul? From the wrong side?"

"How could it be from the wrong side?" She retorted. "Irey called it something like an anywhere door."

"If you survive the Gauntlet, I might just apprentice you myself."

Well, that was a bizarre pseudo-compliment if she had ever hear one. Effie and Irey hadn't seemed to think much of her less than conventional entry into their home. She did not imagine it to be exactly common, but with a portal like that, surely they got unexpected visitors every now and then.

"Can't all you magical Underground people do that sort of thing? You just magicked yourself better. I only opened a door."

"From the mere trace of a past opening. A feat like that requires an extraordinary strength of will and no small amount of magic." Jareth's brow furrowed in consideration, "Though I suppose you were likely drawing from my own magic, which explains why it took me so long to recover. Perhaps not quite so remarkable, after all."

Yes, he did just call me a leech. And unremarkable. How flattering. She was beginning to think she liked him better when he kept his stupid, pretty mouth shut.

"Even if I did somehow manage to use your magic, I could have much more easily left you to die on that cliff," Sarah said in a flippant tone.

"Ah, yes, you still find me so odious, Precious," He challenged, "why didn't you?"

"Because I still need your help."

"Is that all? I seem to recall not five minutes prior a confession of worry."

"So what if I was worried? You're my friend," she snapped.

Sarah was surprised to find that she meant the words that tumbled unbidden from her mouth. She had adamantly insisted to herself that he was not, but Jareth was the closest thing she had to a friend this go around. She crossed her arms and adopted what was likely a stubborn expression.

"You drive me crazy, and you're probably only doing this whole thing for personal gain, so you're not a very good friend. But you're my friend, and I couldn't just let you die if there was anything I could do about it."

"Sarah Williams," he said her name like an invocation. A thrill shot up her spine and whether it was mere physiology or magic, she did not know. "I must say your taste in those you offer friendship has altered dramatically for the better."

Sarah snorted.

"But the fact is, I owe you a debt."

The last word carried a weight with it. Why does he always have to make everything so dramatic?

"No, you don't. It's what friends do. Well probably not normal friends, but whatever. Besides, you saved me several times whether you admit to all of them or not."

She tapped her chin in mock consideration. "I probably have a few to make up for, actually."

"Those were in direct accord with keeping you safe until you reach your destination," he countered.

Operation: 'lighten the mood'. Status: failure.

"Even that first time where you came back to help me after you stormed off in a bitch-fit?"

Jareth did not deign to acknowledge that fact. "You were under no obligation to ensure my continued existence under such circumstances. This falls outside our bargain. Whether you acknowledge this debt or not, it remains true, and it is not my custom to be indebted to anyone."

She didn't like being in the goblin king's debt, but that would be paid with the gauntlet and hopefully not her life. She liked to think of the goblin king in her debt even less. It seemed just as dangerous a proposition.

Though, something niggled in her brain about that former point-

"Right, now, we should be going," Jareth segued, as he rose from the cot only to kneel in front of her half-packed bag.

It took Sarah an instant to process the Goblin King's abrupt change in subject. He surely could not be serious.

"What? It's the middle of the night!"

"All the better."

"You've been in a coma for the past three days. And the first thing you want to do when you wake up is leave?"

"Yes," he answered in a tone that grated on Sarah's nerves.

"Why?"

"You were dreaming. It's not safe."

Sarah rolled her eyes. Of course. More cryptic Underground stuff.

"I'm not leaving until morning. At the earliest. So, put my bag down and stop repacking it. And anyway, now that you're awake and not possibly dying, we need to talk about the Gauntlet."

She wished she had a camera to capture the look on Jareth's face. The austere haughtiness in his expression fell away. Somewhere in the glittery, blond poof, Sarah imagined that alarm bells must have been going off. The panicked expression was fleeting, but it had been an entertaining glimpse, all the same.

"On second thought, I'd rather go back to sleep." He stood up from his place on the floor to return to his own bed, but Sarah stood as well and blocked his path.

"No, you're not. I had an interesting conversation while you were napping."

"Is that so?" Jareth asked coolly.

"Yep. I also realized that you never actually specified what I would owe you for your helping me. There's no way that the gauntlet is what you want from me once this is finished. So what is it? What did I promise to give you?"

Jareth looked beyond her, toward the moonlit window.

"Damnit, Jareth, if you're trying to think up an excuse-"

"A memory." He mumbled half-distractedly, before turning his full attention to her. "You owe me a memory. You won't miss it. It's not yours to begin with, and I would have it returned."

"Then whose memory is it?"

"Mine."

Okay, then. She wanted to ask the obvious questions, including but not limited to: what, how, and why, but Sarah knew from his demeanor, she would not get any further elaboration on that point, at least not at the moment.

At some point during her musings, the room had become significantly darker.

"We really must be going, Precious. The same way we arrived, preferably."

"No, we have to talk, and I already told you-" The Goblin King forestalled the remainder of her tirade by turning her to face the window. In the shadow, a pair of eerily illuminated yellow eyes peered back at her from the other side of the crystal panes. A painfully shrill scratching began when the creature realized it had her attention.

It was trying to come inside.

"What is that?"

"I can't be certain. Your dreams attracted its attention. We need to remove ourselves before it finds a way in."

"But what if it does get in? And what about Effie and Irey?!"

"It's you the beast wants."

"But-"

"They'll be fine. Let's go." Jareth took a firm hold of her arm in one hand and her bag in the other. He unerringly led her down the short hall and into the sitting room, stopping before an innocuous-looking closed door.

"Now, you'll need to open the Porticul."

"Can't you do it? I don't know how."

"We do not have the luxury of time." His statement was punctuated by louder scraping and taps from outside.

"Focus. Do what you did before, to bring us here. For now, we simply must get as far from here as possible."

"Okay, but if we end up on that cliff again you're going to be the one to get us down."

"Yes, yes," Jareth groused impatiently, but never released his hold on her upper arm.

Sarah concentrated, twisted the knob, and nudged the door open.

The pair pushed through, leaving the comfy abode of the elder couple for the sharp salty air of the open sea. There was no wind, and the still ocean calmly reflected billions of stars and galaxies. The pair almost definitely had not reappeared on the cliffs from before, though Sarah could see them looming faintly on a paling horizon.

As if a spell had been broken, the 'ground' pitched sharply, and the pair was assaulted by a cacophony of sound. Jareth yanked Sarah back before she could stumble into the pointy end of one of the swords that were drawn and surrounding them from all sides.

Having narrowly escaped becoming a Sarah-kebab, the young woman voiced her opinion on their recent turn of luck.

"Okay, this is just getting ridiculous."

Chapter Title Reference: Though my soul may set in darkness, it will rise in perfect light; I have loved the stars too fondly to be fearful of the night.

-Sarah Williams, from "The Old Astronomer to His Pupil"

Author's Note (May 10, 2015): I know this hasn't been updated in over a year, but I just wanted to let people know that it hasn't been abandoned. Because this is a tricky story for me to write style-wise, I've decided that I'm not going to post any more chapters until I have a complete rough draft so that I can more easily pull together the appropriate foreshadowing, character introductions and development, and flashbacks. (As of right now, major parts of it are still just a very thorough outline. Though, I've added some fun twists and turns since I last posted).

Honestly, I've been burnt out on Labyrinth stuff lately, and I'm currently focusing on different stories and fandoms. My goal is take a break for a while and focus on drafting the rest of this story during NaNoWriMo '15. I know that's a long way off, and definitely not what people want to hear. But I think it will be better for the story in the long run.

Also! If you haven't checked my profile already, there is a link to a one-shot that I wrote for LabyFic Winterfest which will be worked into this fic. I also periodically update my profile with what I'm currently working on and planning to write. Until next time, Labyrinth fans! Thanks for your encouragement and support!