Roses In December {Labyrinth}

Owain watched as small hands fingered through the toppling mass of scarlet hair of the woman across from him. Her pale flesh unblemished and smooth like cream. Her eyes like deep jade and lips like coral. There was not another beauty in all the Underground that could even compare to his Freya, his wife and Queen.

She had an elegance that rivaled all others, a grace that most envied. Many of their children had her ruby tresses and shinning eyes, but that was where the similarities ended. They lacked her grace and poise, that fluidity in her mannerisms that left people in awe.

Only one ever inherited this refinement, Jareth. The boy may have looked so much like his father, but he was his mother in every other way. His magic, his self-confidence, and his frailty of the heart had all come from his mother.

Owain's train of thought was disrupted as the fur beneath him shifted. The small hands that had moments before been caressing hair as soft as silk now ran slowly over his chest in wide circles. Faint breath drifted across his neck and into his flaxen hair sending tingling goose bumps over his body.

He moved down into the heavy blankets taking his beautiful wife with him. For a few silent moments they both lay unmoving in each other's arms, Freya's head resting on her husband's chest. Though they both hid it well the trip to Blackmore Isle was troubling them.

"What were you speaking with Jareth about? You were gone an awful long while." She stopped the movement of her hand long enough to extend a single finger which she used to trace imaginary patterns over the thick shirt he had worn to bed.

"I really wish I could just say we were discussing the unpleasant meal this evening." Freya sat up hovering over her husband, her long hair framing each side of his face.

"What's wrong?" Owain reached a hand up to cup his wife's face, his other holding tightly around her waist.

"I'm not sure, he doesn't even know. He says that something feels out of place, like something is missing but he isn't sure what it is. Freya I have never seen our son look like he did when he spoke with me. He looked almost…almost scared." His thumb stroked back and forth across her cheek tracing the curving bone from nose to temple.

"I told him to talk to you. I won't even pretend to understand these things." Sitting up Freya slipped from the bed quickly tying up the heavy tapestry robe around her petite frame. Owain watched as she slid on her slippers and headed for the door.

"Freya, surely this could wait until morning. Let the boy sleep, by the looks of him he needs it." Hand pressed against the frozen wood she looked back towards her husband.

"Owain this is important. Just sleep, I may be some time." With that she pushed her way out into the halls leaving the High King cold and above all worried.

-----

The room was quiet, nothing but the soft sound of breathing filled the chamber. It rose and descended like ocean waves on a silent beach. If one hadn't been paying attention they would have believed the owner of the sound had been fast asleep. Freya knew better.

Jareth from an early age had learned to control his breathing, an effective calming method. Also a very effective way to feign sleep. Owain and Jareth's siblings were always fooled so easily. None of them had yet to learn to keep quiet at all times around the boy when it pertained to secrets.

"Come in Mother, standing in the doorway does not become the High Queen." Freya slipped in allowing the heavy door to shut behind her.

"I was wondering how long you were going to allow me to stand there." Jareth chuckled softly though the sound held no mirth.

"Yes well, I was wondering when you would be coming. A little late, I was expecting you an hour ago." Sweeping the robe over her legs, Freya sat down across from the bed facing her son.

"I would have had your Father thought to tell me what you said when he returned. But you know the way he is, it took me inquiring about it before he thought to say anything." Jareth remained lying on his back staring up at the icy canopy of his bed. His hands were folded neatly across his chest, his thumbs slowly moving back and forth in the only visible display of unease.

"Jareth, what is going on?" She watched as her son took in a deep breath of the frigid air, his eyes still locked on the point above him.

"I wish I knew. Something is out of place. The last time I felt this way was when…was…" He trailed off, his arms moving to rest behind his head.

"Was when that girl bested you, you mean?" Jareth shot up from the bed, the boots that he still wore tapping along the hard floor as he paced before his mother.

"She didn't best me, she left me! I had prepared everything for her, all she had to do was stay. I could have stopped her speaking at any moment, but I wanted her to choose me!" He had so desperately wanted her to stay because she wanted to, because she choose him over the boy. He had planned on shutting her up, a well timed kiss would have silenced her until the clock chimed. But no he had been the sentimental fool believing she would actually choose him.

"Be that as it may, I am more concerned about the present. Do you know if anything has happened to this girl?" Jareth shook his head, the fine blonde strands fluttering around his face.

"The last time I checked in on her she was fine. She works in some old store and has a few friends. What does Sarah have to do with any of this?" Why was his mother bringing up old wounds? It had been years since he had lost his mortal girl, he had believed he had shut away all feelings for her long ago. He had stopped watching her last winter, stopped trying to influence her dreams. Was that not proof that he had moved on? If so then why did the mention of her name make his heart feel like it was being wrenched from his chest?

"It could be nothing Jareth, but the girl spent a good many hours in your Labyrinth. You let her into your heart, my Dear, surely you remember your lessons.

"You are a child of the old magic, a magic that unlike that of your father's is tied to your heart, irrevocably. By letting her in as you did you made her a piece of you." She had hoped when Jareth showed signs of being able to control the old magic that it would help to shape him into a better man. She regretted at times training him, as with all the old magic has a will of its own. Now what was suppose to be a blessing had become his curse. The old magic would never allow Jareth to forget Sarah or let her go.

"But I am not a piece of her. Such is my life." He leaned his head against one of the bed posts, the cold ice not even becoming slick from the warmth of his skin.

"Sadly no, she possess none of the magic which runs through your veins. Without it no matter how far she let you in she would hold not one grain of your being in her.

"Jareth I have to ask this. Is this feeling one of something of yourself dying?" Jareth shuddered at the thought. Sarah dead? He never wished to think on it.

"Not exactly. Nothing is missing per se, more displaced. Like it is just out of my reach, just beyond my sight." So the girl was at least not dead, but something was up. Whether it be her son's mortal or not.

"Mother?" Jareth had turned to watch as Freya stood and walked to the door.

"Get some sleep my Son, there is nothing I can do tonight. Be content with the knowledge that your Sarah is alive. Once this week is over I will return with you to the Goblin City and together we will figure this out. But now, we have a busy day tomorrow so rest and I will see you upon the morn.

"Goodnight my child."

----------

The night turned out to be anything but good for Jareth. It had not been the block of ice that the people of Blackmore considered an appropriate bed or the below freezing temperature of the room. These things could be fixed with the addition of a few more fur pelts and a heavy nightshirt. No, what had ended up causing distress were the nightmares that plagued his slumber.

Staring down at the plate of pastries he had been able to conjure for his morning meal he worked through his dreams. His mother had been teaching him since he was a small child the ways of the old magic. Those who used it lived, loved, thought, breathed and dreamed differently than other fae.

He placed a small cream biscuit in his mouth chewing slowly as he conjured the first image he could remember.

He had felt cold, not just cold physically but emotionally. Nothing he could think about made him happy, yet nothing could make him upset either. It was a strange feeling, almost like numbness.

In the light of morning that idea bothered him, but in the dream he seemed to welcome it, seek it out in fact.

The soft fragrant taste of the vanilla in the biscuit rolled around his tongue mixing with the chilly air which he breathed. He placed another at his lips as he picked apart the next scene.

White, everything around him had been white. The sky, the ground, the clothes which he wore. It was a comfort to him, this blankness. Now as he thought on it he realized how sad it had been, it was not the cleanliness of this non-color that had attracted him but the barren emptiness. In the dream he had wanted to wrap that nothing around him and remain in it until he died.

He wiped at the corners of his mouth and pushed his plate a few inches away. The more he thought on the dream the less he felt like eating. He was finally getting to the part where it had turned from simply bothersome to disturbing.

He could still remember the coldness seep into his skin replacing all the heat. It was a strange feeling and had little to do with the freezing of his flesh. It had seemed like he had been watching from a distance as he was slowly frozen. He had somewhere in the depths of his mind known that what was happening was wrong but outwardly he accepted it with open arms. He had allowed it to move into his heart and body slowly killing who he was.

The feeling of cold amusement at his own death was what had finally awoken him, a cold sweat covering his body.

He rested his head in his hands groaning. Even after going over it while he was awake he still couldn't understand it. Maybe it was just this place, there was definitely something disconcerting about Blackmore Isle.

-------

"Are you sure Your Majesty that this is the best idea?" Morana looked down her nose straight into the icy eyes of her Steward.

"Lord Rowan I fail to see why you believe you have even the smallest right to question me on these matters. You are Steward of Rosebourgh Palace yes, but I do believe that it is I who holds the crown. I would suggest that in the future you keep this in mind." Rowan's hands curled into fists behind his back. Morana was as cold in personality as her skin was. She had never been a particularly warm woman, even before the curse.

There had been a time when he had fancied himself in love with her, now whenever he looked upon her all he felt was disgust. She had a twisted heart frozen solid in a lump of opaque black ice. Even if one was able to melt it they would be left holding a sticky thick sludge.

"I am sorry Your Majesty. I meant no disrespect. I was only expressing concern about your daughter. It hasn't been that long since you brought her here. I am simply worried that the change has not been complete." The quick change from anger to haughtiness on the Queen's face was remarkable. The woman could go from murderous to the height of arrogance and back in a matter of seconds.

"Be assured nothing will go wrong. The change is complete, introducing her to the Court will just reinforce the false memories which I planted.

"Now go, you are dismissed." Rowan took a few steps back as he bowed before turning and exiting as quickly as he could without being rude. He just hoped she was right. If this girl were to remember anything Morana could be in even deeper trouble than she already was. The High King did not take too kindly to the abuse of mortals. And this definitely counted as abuse.

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Thick leather boots clicked against the cold marble, the chill of the floor easily penetrating the black hide. The owner of these boots took an uneasy step forward to stand beside the High King. The whole of the chamber quieted at the echoing of the Steward's cane against the floor. Eyes like ice mixed amongst the various hues in the room, all of them staring at the three figures before them.

"Their Majesties the High King Owain and his wife the High Queen Freya!" Lord Rowan's voice boomed, bouncing off the walls of the chamber like the heavy beat of a drum. Taking a step both Owain and his wife waited for the Steward to announce the presence of their son before descending.

"His Majesty King Jareth of the Goblins; Keeper of the Labyrinth; and Prince of the High Kingdom!" Jareth groaned under his breath. It seemed as though his title got longer with each of these exasperating balls. Though he supposed he should be grateful, his older sister Nesta had no less then ten titles. Not that he felt any pity for her, it was her own fault for seating herself on the religious throne of Ariane.

"I can't believe the nerve of this woman! You would think she was the one ruling the Underground." Jareth barely moved his mouth as he murmured to his parents. He knew Morana was disrespectful, but to disregard tradition so blatantly was insulting.

"I have never known Morana to observe tradition, mostly when ignoring it would bring her more attention." All eyes watched as the royal family as they descended the large marble stairs, the three working hard not to slip on the ice and topple to their deaths. No one noticed the slight movement of their mouths as they spoke, or the roll of the Goblin King's eyes. And even if they did no one would dare comment on it.

"To be expected of course, but to deliberately insult the High Kingdom by not following this tradition should be unforgivable." Freya bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing. Her son was intelligent to be sure, but being a Prince of the High Kingdom afforded him little understanding of the lower classes.

"Do not be affronted my Son, Morana is simply 'putting us in our place' so to speak. By disregarding custom and showing up after the High King she is asserting her position as Queen and ruler of Blackmore Isle.

"She wants the Underground to know who is in power here. Rest assured Jareth her little display is more comical than anything. Your father is High King and unless she wishes to try and contest this, tonight is little more than an amusing play.

"For my part I am looking forward to seeing how this act proceeds." Owain let out the slightest of laughs as they made their way to the last step and began to move towards the raised dais where five thrones sat for both the High and Blackmore Royal families.

"Of course you would think that way My Dear. You never could resist a good bit of gossip." Freya smirked towards her husband, nothing ever got past the man.

"That I do my Husband. I am reminded of a mortal saying, I am sure Jareth has heard it.

"All the world's a stage, and all the men and women are merely players." Gently taking her seat she nodded towards the landing above the stairs from which they had come.

"Ah and here comes our star for the evening." The whispers which had started buzzing through the chamber at the unusual disreguard of custom quickly silenced at the appearance of Queen Morana and a woman Jareth had figured was her daughter.

"Her Majesty; Queen Morana of Blackmore Isle and her daughter The Princess Gwyneira!" All eyes focused on the pair on the landing above the stairs. Morana looked much like every other inhabitant of Blackmore, skin like ocean water, eyes like sapphires. Her hair falling to the floor in a torrent of snow white tresses and body draped in fabric so thin nothing was left to the imagination.

Gwyneira on the other hand stood like an ice nymph, a lady of the frozen lake. Her skin was powder blue and shimmered with frost giving the illusion she had been painted with diamond dust. Her hair unlike the white and grays that surrounded her was a deep brown and cascaded down her back showing off shining ice crystals.

She wore a dress of thin white silk that had been wrapped in a style reminiscent of a stola, tied beneath her breasts with a ribbon of blue. Jareth let his eyes travel from the thin white sandles on her feet to her face. He was surprised when instead of finding the elegant face he had expected he found himself staring at the sharp edges of a mask.

The princess wore a half mask shaped like the eyes and beak of a bird. Looking over the crowd the young woman smirked, her lips turning just enough to show her amusment at the reaction to her appearance. No one spoke as the two descended the stairs making their way to the dais, all were too busy watching the new princess.

Jareth's attention never wavered, never moved from the form of Gwyneira. Something jerked within him, some small memory pulled for him to take notice. But as he reached for it he found it to far and was unable to hold onto it.

This woman who was confidently walking towards him seemed so familiar to him, but he could not place her. Two steps more and she was standing before him in a low curtsy waiting for him to acknowledge her. He cleared his throat setting his face in a look of kind indifference.

"Good evening Princess, it is pleasant to make your acquaintance at last." He bowed briefly and extended his hand. She eyed the proffered hand before gently slipping her smaller one within his and standing straight.

"Thank you, Your Majesty. It is a pleasure to meet you as well, I have heard much from my Mother and have long wished to know you." The smirk returned ten fold when she saw the furrowed brow that made its way past Jareth's notice.

Something was wrong, he could feel it. Or actually he could see it. He knew that all the people of Blackmore had eyes like blue ice, but when he looked into the deep azure orbs of Gwyneira he felt a stab of inappropriateness. This wasn't right, he knew for some strange reason that she wasn't suppose to have eyes this color. But he could not say why he knew this.

Before he could voice another word she had slid her hand from his and moved to take her seat beside him. He felt his father's hand come to rest on his shoulder and sat down as well. He had expected the evening to proceed much as every royal function did, at least like every other Debut Ball he had been to.

Instead Morana ignored every custom, opting to simply sit in her throne and let the festivities begin on their own.

For sometime Jareth sat back and watched as the nobles of the Underground danced, talked and laughed through the evening. He had spoken a few times with his father, even murmured a couple of sentences with his mother. He had not spoken to Gwyneira.

She made him uncomfortable, made the itch behind his eyes almost unbearable. He knew as the son of the High King he would at some point have to make an effort to be sociable with the woman, but until it was absolutely necessary he would sit there.

He tapped a finger on his cheek, his chin resting in the palm of his hand. Below him he could see a few of his youngest siblings dancing and having fun. He cursed his two older sisters and brother for claiming reasons for not being able to come.

"Jareth, I know this is far from the place you wish to be at the moment, but I think it is time you start pretending you are at least enjoying yourself." Owain's whisper was harsh as he spoke from the corner of his mouth. It had been a good hour or more and he had been having to put up with the inane conversation with Morana while his son sat there looking like he couldn't be any more bored. If he had to be unconfertable, so did his son.

Jareth plastered a large fake smile across his face, his sharp teeth showing brightly from his peach lips.

"That better Father?" Freya could be heard from Owain's side as she tried to stifle a laugh. Owain on the other hand just pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Not exactly, just stop that would you! You are scaring the children. No, what I meant was for you to ask the Princess to dance." The false smile fell instantly from his face.

"I would rather just sit here thank you." Silence fell before Owain set his hand on his son's.

"I wasn't asking. You don't have to dance with her all night, there are plenty of your cousins as well as your sisters to keep you company for the rest of the ball. But you need to make an effort. Come on Jareth, it's not like she isn't pretty. I think she is quite beautiful in fact." Jareth groaned before standing up mumbling under his breath, "I never said she wasn't beautiful…"

He shook his head slightly and cleared his throat.

"Princess Gwyneira, may I have this dance?" Eyes as blue as the deepest depths of the ocean looked unblinking through the white edges of a mask, they seemed to pierce straight through Jareth and he had a hard time keeping the gasping breath from escaping his throat.

He barely heard the soft voice that drifted past his ears or noticed the small hand that had curled itself in his own until the sharp cough behind him. He peeked back to find his parents with raised eyebrows and poorly hidden smiles. It was then he finally realized he had been standing there just staring.

"Shall we?" He motioned towards the floor and slowly descended down off the dais, princess in hand.

Her small body fit perfectly against his, as though the curves of her form had been carved just for him. He slid a hand down to rest against the small of her back, his hand splaying open to hold her tighter. Her flesh was cold as death and sent chills up through his arms and down his spine, but now that he had her in his arms he refused to let go.

Slowly they swayed to the soft music, their bodies floating across the iced marble floor so perfectly all who stopped to watch had to question if the two had always danced together.

Gwyneira slipped a hand up his shoulder to play with the ends of his hair that seemed to move to a dance all their own. He could almost see the hint of a smile grace her pale blue lips, but it was her eyes that kept him occupied.

Looking deeply within the azure he could only see the image of emeralds in water, wet with warm tears. Eyes that could capture him and hold him forever in their glowing orbs. This was why the blue was so out of place, this cold nymph resting so intimately against his chest was meant to have eyes so wet and green they would halt your breath.

His fingers itched to pull the mask from her face just gaze upon her unhindered, but as he reached up she clasped her hand around his own and brought it back behind her.

"Not yet Your Majesty, in time." No more was said, the two danced on as though they were the only ones in the room.

---------

"You are a magnificent dancer, Your Majesty. I want to thank you for entertaining me this evening. Most of the Blackmore Court are intimidated by me and had you not asked I would have been doomed to spend the evening sitting, or the Fates help me, dancing with Lord Rowan." Jareth chuckled under his breath. He remembered Rowan from when he was a boy, even before the curse he was dull. He wouldn't wish the man's company on his enemies.

"I am glad I could be of service Gwyneira." He leaned back against the railing of the balcony they were currently standing on. Despite his earlier protestations Jareth spent most of the ball dancing with the young princess. Her presence was still disconcerting, just one look into her eyes made the itch he had complained of earlier grow. Regardless of this he found himself loath to part with her company.

"Your Majesty, please call me Eira. Gwyneira is too formal I think for such an intimate setting." The small smile that graced her lips seemed familiar and yet so different at the same time.

"I do believe you are right. In that case I would ask you to call me Jareth, though I would warn against addressing me as such in front of anyone else. Most others of the Court are much more formal than myself." He lifted an arm so he could run one gloved finger over the edge of her mask.

"Why do you hide yourself?" Eira slid her hand around his wrist but did not make to move it away, instead held it firmly in place.

"It was an idea of my mother's. She has a love for the dramatic, she is always trying to come up with an idea that will shock others. This was her lastest, hide the identity of the princess at her own Debut Ball. She thought it would be funny." Never letting go of his wrist she stepped into his embrace keeping her eyes locked with his.

"Hilarious. You know as the Prince of the High Kingdom I could order you to remove it." She smirked and let go of his arm, placing both of her hands on his hips.

"Or I could just let you." His eyes glued to her's he placed his hands at the edges of her mask and slowly drew it up over her head letting it drop to the floor.

His heart felt like it had ceased to beat and his body grew even colder. Without the white leather to distract him from her features he could make out everything. He suddenly knew why she felt so familiar, why her eyes brought memories of wet emeralds.

"S-Sarah?"