Mornings of Gold (a Jareth and Sarah fanfiction)

Chapter Nine

Sarah's head emerged in a dark hallway, only a little brighter than the one she'd just left. All around her were walls of steel-grey granite, expertly hewn and coldly imposing. Sarah pushed herself up and hauled her body out of the trapdoor, sitting on the ledge and dangling a foot over it a second later as she called down, "Where are we, Jareth?"

    His eyes peered up at her from beneath his blonde bangs as he followed her lead and lifted himself up beside her. He kicked the trapdoor closed and flicked his right index finger almost nonchalantly. Sarah stared in surprise at the bare stone where the door had been, and Jareth's crooked incisors caught the light as he smiled. "I did say it only opens with my permission."

    "You also said children try to escape through it." Sarah frowned. "If the door disappears, how do kids get into it?"

    "I can afford to be careless now and then," Jareth mumbled, his lips pursed. Sarah bit back a giggle. "We're in the West Wing," he finally replied to her first question. "Close to my personal chamber, I believe."

    Sarah's mirth was dampened in an instant. Why had she agreed to this? She was back in this godforsaken castle, in the centre of the one place that had haunted her for five years, all to humour the man who was supposed to be her enemy. She didn't even know if he was a man – supposedly he'd ruled the Underground for centuries...

    Jareth's heels clicked sharply on the floor as he stood and walked a few steps forward, turning back and looking Sarah over as she got to her feet. "Shortcut?" he offered. Sarah's feet cried out to her for mercy. She raised an eyebrow, her hands on her hips. "What's the catch?"

    Jareth tutted. "It's always the small-print with you, isn't it?"

    She nodded, flashing him her own version of his trademark smirk. He rolled his eyes, but something told her he was holding back a grin. "Very well. The shortcut passes through my bedchamber. I need to change into my usual clothes – it feels... wrong to be here in borrowed robes. I shan't be dressed as a human in my kingdom."

    Sarah thought for a moment. That 'catch' didn't seem too bad at all, really. Knowing Jareth, she'd expecting something worse. She nodded and let him lead her to a small, insignificant-looking wooden door set into the stone wall. She'd almost overlooked it – she would've thought the door to the King's room would be huge and unmissable, inlaid with gold and intricate patterns or something. With a flourish of his wrist, he produced a dull bronze key and slotted it into a similarly-coloured lock, twisting it until the door opened.

    Jareth's chamber was a lot like its door; they were both simple, quaint and sparsely-embellished. There was one small window through which the midday sun shone and lit the room, with no frame, glass or curtains. As well as that, it contained a handful of furnishings: a bedside table with two small drawers, a wardrobe, a wood-and-iron fireplace (complete with fire), a beige fur rug and a huge, four-poster bed. The bed was the only sign in the room of Jareth's wealth – furs were draped across the down-filled mattress and partly over the cast-iron headboard, and luxurious velvet cushions were abundant and arranged quite beautifully upon it. There were two other doors in the room, and Jareth strode towards the one directly opposite them. "This is the other entrance," he explained. "Going this way cuts out at least ten more minutes of walking, which I'm sure you must be very thankful for." The last phrase was posed almost as a question, and Sarah muttered a begrudging, "thank you," which Jareth smiled at and inclined his head. He crossed the room to his wardrobe, pulling the door open and picking out a few garments. Sarah could already see the glittery frills and sighed to herself, amused by his flamboyance.

    Jareth turned back to her, clutching his change of clothes. "I won't be long; ten minutes at the most. Make yourself at home," he added with a wink (Sarah scoffed at that) before slipping through the other door that she guessed was the bathroom. She let out a quiet groan. What was the point of this 'shortcut' if they still had to wait ten minutes before they got anywhere? Still, she supposed bitterly, her feet throbbing, it's better than walking. She kicked her flats off (it'd been a mistake to wear such unsupportive shoes today, she decided) and sank down onto the bed. She instantly curled into a lying position. God, it was so soft! Sarah buried her face in the furs and sighed, relieved to get a little rest. Her next breath in was full of Jareth's scent, strange and spicy. It was unlike any other person's smell, and she drank it in until she was dizzy with it. It was the smell of earth and fire and power – the raw power of nature. It was the smell of burning heat and crashing water, the smell of the world's own fury. She liked it.