Part four.
Jareth managed to avoid answering her questions for about three days. But the third night, he could resist it no longer, though he knew it was like a siren calling him to his doom. He crept down to the ballroom, wearing his dark blue dress jacket and white suit, the suit that Sarah had 'dreamed' in the crystal. He walked into the ballroom and recreated the 'dream'. People watched him from every corner. Everyone wore masks except him. Having no partner, he simply sat and watched the ball. There was one person he couldn't recreate, and he had no intention of trying, at least not while she was in the castle.
Sarah was asleep in her bed, until the strains of a familiar song woke her up. Her wide eyes narrowed. "Jareth . . ." she muttered, getting up and pulling on a dressing gown.
As she drew near the ballroom, she recognised words: 'I'll paint you moments of gold, and spin you Valentine evenings; though we're strangers to love, we're choosing the path between the stars, I'll live my love between the stars.'
At first the scene was exactly identical to that of her dream, until she realised there were three differences: one, Jareth wasn't dancing, and she couldn't see him anywhere in the crowd; there was no clock on the wall; and she wasn't there. She felt even more out place than she had last time: in flannel pyjamas with a teddy bear pattern and a light blue dressing gown.
Jareth stood up. Sarah ducked behind a plant. He clapped his hands and the people disappeared. The room decorations stayed the same; and so did his clothes. Sarah realised with an inward pang that they were real. She hadn't dreamt him looking like this. She hadn't dreamt the romance of the setting. She began to rise to confront the King, when she realised that if she did so, he would never do this again and she wanted him too, she wanted to dance in his arms and feel loved by Jareth. She needed to come back properly dressed - properly armed.
The next night, Sarah wore her beautiful cream gown, with silver leaves in her hair. She waited in a dark room near the ballroom for him to arrive, having given the goblins on guard a whole barrel of mead. They had long since disappeared. Sure enough, at five to midnight, Jareth floated down the corridor, in the same clothes and opened the doors. Light flooded onto him, along with the noise of people laughing, talking, and lilting music. He stepped inside. Sarah hurried after him and managed to get inside the room just before the doors closed. He was already lost in the crowd, so she stood at the side, waiting to catch a glimpse of him.
After ten minutes, a particular couple moved, and she saw him, sitting in a corner on a beautiful white couch, watching the dancing with brooding eyes. He was separate from the others, obviously not one of them. Quietly, carefully, Sarah made her way around the room to where Jareth sat, always hiding when his gaze turned in her direction. When she finally reached him, she folded her arms, waiting for a reaction.
He looked up, and frowned. "What are you doing here?"
"I could ask you the same thing."
"It's my castle. I can do what I like." He said aggressively.
"You can't seriously like watching these people dance and flirt and mindlessly chatter every single night."
"And why not?"
Sarah was silent. Because it was so pointless? She had no idea about what he liked and disliked.
"Why do you like it?" she asked, switching her line of attack.
"Because it reminds me."
"Of what?"
"The one time I truly enjoyed myself at a dance. I enjoy dancing, but it's hard for me to find a partner that can increase my enjoyment." His eyes met hers. "You were a wonderful dancing partner."
Sarah found herself blushing and looking away.
"Is there something you wanted? Perhaps the music is too loud?" He said gently.
"Oh no! No, I . . I wanted to dance."
"I'm afraid I don't dance anymore." He spoke so quietly, Sarah's heart almost broke on the spot.
"But I'm your guest, you have to dance with me."
Jareth smiled at her slightly and then said gently and a little wistfully. "Ah yes, for tomorrow I will take you home."
Sarah slapped him. "You are not taking me home! How many times do we have to have this argument?!"
Jareth touched his cheek. "Why do you hit me if you want to stay here? All we ever do is fight, I would think you'd prefer living with your parents."
"We only fight because you won't accept the fact I want to stay with you. Hitting you seems to be the only way that we can communicate." She looked as if she was in despair. Then suddenly she moved forward, tipped his head up and kissed him. She was not expecting his hands to come around her waist, nor a response from his lips.
After some breathless moments, they parted. Sarah buried her face in his chest, Jareth having stood up during the kiss, and he laid his cheek on her hair. A hand landed softly on the back of her head. "Sarah," he whispered. "You love me."
"Of course I do, you idiot!" she choked.
"Care to dance?" He questioned gently.
She looked up, her eyes suddenly shining through the tears. "Yes," she said simply. He walked her out into the middle of the dance floor, and they waltzed.
After the dance, Sarah's eyelids were drooping. Jareth looked down at her and said softly, "Tired?"
She nodded silently. He clapped his hands, and everything disappeared. Then he scooped her up into his arms, ignoring her sleepy protests and transported them both to his room.
"If you do not wish to go home, I will not send you. For you wished yourself away, therefore you must stay. And I'll love you, even if the world falls down.
"You have my heart, Jareth, therefore you have all the power over me you need."
He smiled. "If you're going to stay then, and if you love me, I suppose . . ."
She looked up. "You suppose?"
"I'd better make you my Queen." He kissed her.
She opened her eyes afterwards. "Yes, definitely."
They snuggled down in the bed, Jareth behind Sarah an arm round her waist, Sarah with a happy smile on her face holding the hand that was on her stomach tightly and soon they fell asleep together.
The End
Jareth managed to avoid answering her questions for about three days. But the third night, he could resist it no longer, though he knew it was like a siren calling him to his doom. He crept down to the ballroom, wearing his dark blue dress jacket and white suit, the suit that Sarah had 'dreamed' in the crystal. He walked into the ballroom and recreated the 'dream'. People watched him from every corner. Everyone wore masks except him. Having no partner, he simply sat and watched the ball. There was one person he couldn't recreate, and he had no intention of trying, at least not while she was in the castle.
Sarah was asleep in her bed, until the strains of a familiar song woke her up. Her wide eyes narrowed. "Jareth . . ." she muttered, getting up and pulling on a dressing gown.
As she drew near the ballroom, she recognised words: 'I'll paint you moments of gold, and spin you Valentine evenings; though we're strangers to love, we're choosing the path between the stars, I'll live my love between the stars.'
At first the scene was exactly identical to that of her dream, until she realised there were three differences: one, Jareth wasn't dancing, and she couldn't see him anywhere in the crowd; there was no clock on the wall; and she wasn't there. She felt even more out place than she had last time: in flannel pyjamas with a teddy bear pattern and a light blue dressing gown.
Jareth stood up. Sarah ducked behind a plant. He clapped his hands and the people disappeared. The room decorations stayed the same; and so did his clothes. Sarah realised with an inward pang that they were real. She hadn't dreamt him looking like this. She hadn't dreamt the romance of the setting. She began to rise to confront the King, when she realised that if she did so, he would never do this again and she wanted him too, she wanted to dance in his arms and feel loved by Jareth. She needed to come back properly dressed - properly armed.
The next night, Sarah wore her beautiful cream gown, with silver leaves in her hair. She waited in a dark room near the ballroom for him to arrive, having given the goblins on guard a whole barrel of mead. They had long since disappeared. Sure enough, at five to midnight, Jareth floated down the corridor, in the same clothes and opened the doors. Light flooded onto him, along with the noise of people laughing, talking, and lilting music. He stepped inside. Sarah hurried after him and managed to get inside the room just before the doors closed. He was already lost in the crowd, so she stood at the side, waiting to catch a glimpse of him.
After ten minutes, a particular couple moved, and she saw him, sitting in a corner on a beautiful white couch, watching the dancing with brooding eyes. He was separate from the others, obviously not one of them. Quietly, carefully, Sarah made her way around the room to where Jareth sat, always hiding when his gaze turned in her direction. When she finally reached him, she folded her arms, waiting for a reaction.
He looked up, and frowned. "What are you doing here?"
"I could ask you the same thing."
"It's my castle. I can do what I like." He said aggressively.
"You can't seriously like watching these people dance and flirt and mindlessly chatter every single night."
"And why not?"
Sarah was silent. Because it was so pointless? She had no idea about what he liked and disliked.
"Why do you like it?" she asked, switching her line of attack.
"Because it reminds me."
"Of what?"
"The one time I truly enjoyed myself at a dance. I enjoy dancing, but it's hard for me to find a partner that can increase my enjoyment." His eyes met hers. "You were a wonderful dancing partner."
Sarah found herself blushing and looking away.
"Is there something you wanted? Perhaps the music is too loud?" He said gently.
"Oh no! No, I . . I wanted to dance."
"I'm afraid I don't dance anymore." He spoke so quietly, Sarah's heart almost broke on the spot.
"But I'm your guest, you have to dance with me."
Jareth smiled at her slightly and then said gently and a little wistfully. "Ah yes, for tomorrow I will take you home."
Sarah slapped him. "You are not taking me home! How many times do we have to have this argument?!"
Jareth touched his cheek. "Why do you hit me if you want to stay here? All we ever do is fight, I would think you'd prefer living with your parents."
"We only fight because you won't accept the fact I want to stay with you. Hitting you seems to be the only way that we can communicate." She looked as if she was in despair. Then suddenly she moved forward, tipped his head up and kissed him. She was not expecting his hands to come around her waist, nor a response from his lips.
After some breathless moments, they parted. Sarah buried her face in his chest, Jareth having stood up during the kiss, and he laid his cheek on her hair. A hand landed softly on the back of her head. "Sarah," he whispered. "You love me."
"Of course I do, you idiot!" she choked.
"Care to dance?" He questioned gently.
She looked up, her eyes suddenly shining through the tears. "Yes," she said simply. He walked her out into the middle of the dance floor, and they waltzed.
After the dance, Sarah's eyelids were drooping. Jareth looked down at her and said softly, "Tired?"
She nodded silently. He clapped his hands, and everything disappeared. Then he scooped her up into his arms, ignoring her sleepy protests and transported them both to his room.
"If you do not wish to go home, I will not send you. For you wished yourself away, therefore you must stay. And I'll love you, even if the world falls down.
"You have my heart, Jareth, therefore you have all the power over me you need."
He smiled. "If you're going to stay then, and if you love me, I suppose . . ."
She looked up. "You suppose?"
"I'd better make you my Queen." He kissed her.
She opened her eyes afterwards. "Yes, definitely."
They snuggled down in the bed, Jareth behind Sarah an arm round her waist, Sarah with a happy smile on her face holding the hand that was on her stomach tightly and soon they fell asleep together.
The End