Sorrow's Door
Part I
Chapter One
The owl flew silently over the craggy hills, his feathers shining snow-white in the ghosty moonlight. His head drooped, as though he were solemnly contemplating the world below him. He fluttered to land on an old, rusted gate and sat a while.
A sudden rush and a strange man replaced the bird. Even without his outlandish clothes and wild hair, one could easily tell that this was no ordinary man. His odd, mismatched gaze was that of a fey, immortal being who knew the world and expected it all to be his. He sat on the ancient gate, his knees drawn to his chest with one arm dangling across his thighs and the other playing with the crescent moon-shaped pendant that hung to his chest.
He stared blankly out at the lonely landscape and gave an bitter laugh, as if to defy the pain lancing through his soul. What did it matter, after all? What had he expected: that life would be "fair?" A lesson that he had practically beat into Her, and he couldn't even accept the idea himself!
And so it came to this: he'd broken the rules. His life was now forfeit to the Council. Worse: his kingdom was forfeit to Daerin! His eyes narrowed with hate at the mere thought of the arrogant fey. He'd be damned before he let Daerin have near one-tenth of his power! Which meant that...
He slid the pendant's chain from his neck and studied the beautiful medallion. He'd have to hide this, but where? He leaned to one side of the gate and stared down at the scrub-covered floor. This was a reasonably well-hidden spot. Not without a regretful look, he let the medallion fall into the bushes and stood up briskly. There was no sense in prolonging the inevitable; he returned to his owl form and left the world of man.
"You understand, Jareth, that your actions and their...results put us in a very precarious position." Council member Celbron nervously fiddled with the various rings adorning his fingers, "Therefore, it is the will of the Council that your kingdom be forfeit to your broth-"
"Half-brother." Jareth corrected sharply. He was already as deep as he was ever going to get, he might as well go a little deeper! The iron chains dug deeply into his skin and clanked noisly whenever he moved.
"Half-brother Daerin," affirmed Celbron, glaring at the bound fey, "Normally your deed would result in your death, however the Council will be merciful: you shall keep your life and will only be banished to the Between Lands for the -"
"Honorable members of the Council," Jareth's heart sank as the all-too-familiar personage came striding confidantly into the chamber. Daerin's face was flushed with victory and his overbright eyes seemed to glow of their own accord. His lusterous, midnight hair, so different from Jareth's pale crop, hung framing his pale face.
"I cannot have it that my dearest brother's life be spent wallowing in limbo for the rest of his days!" Jareth could barely contain his shock, Daerin could not be speaking on his behalf!
"What then do you propose, King Daerin?" Talbar asked, "Your half-brother has done a great crime in allowing that girl to go free, worse still; he offered her all the power that has been carefully preserved from humans for centuries! Had it simply been the foolish decision of a love-blinded monarch, we might have granted him clemency; but his actions afterward..."
Jareth flinched. His mother had always said that his wild temper would cause him to make a serious mistake! His feelings over the affair could not excuse what he had done to her.
"Of course, we must not overlook his misdeeds and also be sure that he never has the slightest chance of making the same mistakes again. That is why I propose that he becomes bound to me. I will keep a sharp eye on him and he will, I'm sure, see the error of his ways." Daerin winked rougishly at his silent and grim half-brother.
"So be it." Ganin, the eldest, waved his hand and the room was empty save for the two fey.
Daerin turned and seized Jareth roughly with no hint of the jovial facade he'd worn for the Council members. He twisted Jareth's chin at a painful angle with one hand while groping at Jareth's chest with the other.
"Where is it?" he hissed, finally releasing Jareth's chin only to grasp a handful of pale blond hair.
"What?" snarled Jareth in reply, "What do I have that you haven't already taken from me?"
"Your amulet, you fool!" Daerin backhanded his half-brother's face savagely, "The amulet that contains all that I need to rule! You hid it, you filthy bastard!"
"Did you expect any less from me?"
Daerin lifted his arm again and Jareth flinched in expectation, but the blow never fell. Instead, the room shimmered and warped to turn into a bedroom. A very familiar bedroom. Jareth's breath caught in his throat as he saw her sitting calmly by her bedside and brushing her long brown hair. She didn't notice either of the two fey watching her, but at the whir of another spell, whirled to confront another Jareth.
Jareth closed his eyes. He knew what was to happen next: the anger, the false accusations, and finally; the rape! He hadn't meant it to happen; he'd just been so out of control! He didn't have to watch, but nothing could block Sarah's sobs and his own grunting and heavy breathing.
"Tell me brother," Daerin hissed, "Did you enjoy that? Did you enjoy her pleadings, her moans, her muffled sobs? Didn't you just love how her body responded to yours in spite of her disgust?"
"Shut up..." whispered Jareth, trying in vain to block out both the sobbing and his brother's voice, "Please, just shut..."
"I never would've thought you the one to break in a mortal! You asked me whether I expected any less from you: well, I never expected something as low as this."
Daerin snapped his fingers and the bedroom with the tragic scene faded away. They were now in the castle's royal bedchamber. Daerin twisted the chains attatched to the manacles around Jareth's wrists so that his arms were wrenched painfully over his head and his wrists chained to the bedstead.
Another snap of the fingers and Jareth was stripped of his clothes. He flinched, he knew what was to come. Daerin smiled coyly as he slowly undid his breeches: there was to be no joy in this affair, merely a showing of dominance, but there was no reason as to why he shouldn't indulge himself a little. He leaned over his bound brother until their faces were just a few inches apart, enjoying his brother's masked fear and terrified stiffness.
"This will go a lot easier, if you just relax." He whispered, false sympathy dripping from his voice.
"What do you care?" Jareth muttered bitterly.
"Good point," Daerin smiled and with a snap of his fingers the candles were snuffed, leaving only moonlight to witness his triumph over his half-brother.
Amaryn downed the dregs of his coffee and leaned back against the plastic back of the cafe's chair. He had 24 hours to burn and no one to spend it with. He briefly considered calling up Jarin; no, Jarin had made it quite clear he wanted some space to himself now that he had a career, a new home...a new life. One that wouldn't involve his overprotective father. Amaryn grimaced as he blankly studied the newspaper in front of him without really absorbing any of its contents. It wasn't so much that he felt hurt: Jarin had a right to want self-reliance. No, something lingered at the edge of his mind, making him uneasy. He hadn't felt it in years, not since...he clamped down firmly on those memories. It was no good dwelling in the past.
"You want anything else?" The middle-aged waitress hovered in front of his table. Evidently, business was slow at around now which gave him the distinction of being the Customer of the Morning.
"No thanks." he smiled pleasantly as he dug out his wallet, "So I owe you how much?"
"Two dollars." She looked so disappointed that the sappy part of him made him draw out two one dollar bills and a fiver. Her eyes lit up at the tip and he couldn't help but feel a tiny bit better as he strolled out of the cafe and out onto the crowded sidewalk.
New England was a lovely place, in spite of the frostiness of some of its inhabitants. Hopefully, the kids he'd be teaching would reflect their parents; though he doubted it: America in these times had turned itself into a hive of diversity and self-discovery. No run-of-the-mill, white-collar angels here! And judging from the slightly-above-middle-class suburbs that he'd noticed on his way downtown, there'd be a good chance of stuck-up, spoiled brats.
Well, I wanted change, he admitted. Change was something to be dealt with every decade or so when the humans decided to tilt their precarious world yet again on its rickety axis. New styles, new inventions, new philosophies; new methods of sex for Pete's sake! Humans. He shook his head, smiling almost fondly as he thought of all the new changes they brought, both for better and for worse.
While waiting at a crowded intersection, he noticed a quiet, dark-haired girl leaning tiredly on the crosswalk sign. She couldn't have been more than fifteen or sixteen, yet looked as though the world was hanging on her shoulders. Teenage angst, or was it really something serious? You never really could tell. Normally he wouldn't have bothered trying to psychoanalyze random pedestrians, but this girl attracted him for some reason or the other.
Wait, what was she doing? She was walking into the street! The light hadn't even changed; was she insane?
"Hey, are you crazy?" he shouted. Not even a glance back, she was more focused on the red Corvette unknowingly streaking towards her at ramming speed. The blow would probably smash her ribs straight into her heart. Growling in frustration he sprinted towards the suicidal teen, pinned her arms to her sides, and half-carried, half-dragged her off the street and onto the curb at the other side.
"Easy, easy." he soothed, as he set her down, "You're gonna be alright, you - ow!" Small yet fierce hands began raining ineffectual blows on his chest and face, forcing him to back into the lightpole in retreat.
"Whoa! Hey, is that any way to - ow! For pete's sake, calm down!"
He heard several passerbys snicker as they watched the odd couple. Perfect, not only was his status as rescuer demoted to victim of teenage angst assalt, but now his manhood may as well have been stuck on placard with the label "Sucker for S&M, apply within!" Would it have been too much to ask that his damsel in distress have swooned gratefully into his arms or at least thanked him as custom dictated? The girl then stopped her pathetic beating and began to sob weakly. His inner chivalrous lord, still not suppressed by years of Equal Treatment bombardments, demanded that he wrap arms around the limp girl and speak to her soothingly.
"Easy now, it's okay. I don't know what you were thinking, but nothing is worth doing that, okay?"
"Sh-shut up," she sobbed, her voice muffled by his jacket front, "Just leave me alone!"
"Hey, that isn't going to happen." Her hair was damp, she'd just taken a shower. He smelled a fruity shampoo, probably a L'Oreal knockoff. She was thin, but definately curvy in the right places. He shook his head and tried to ignore his baser desires around this girl: he somehow doubted that having a hard-on would be the best way to win a suicidal girl's trust.
Finally, her sobs faded to sniffles and she lifted her red-rimmed eyes to face him. He smiled reassuringly and gently grasped her left hand. He led her away from the crosswalk and she followed resignedly.
"Y'know," he began, needing to fill the uncomfortable silence, "typically you'd owe me a lifedebt, but I'll trade that in for a decent lunch. You know any good restaurants?"
That ended her passiveness! She yanked her hand back and glared at him defiantly.
"I don't owe you anything, you jerk! I never asked for your help!"
Amaryn sighed and turned to face her. This really wasn't what he had in mind when he wanted some company. What had he been thinking, rescuing a spoiled, suicidal teenage drama queen?
"Maybe not, but you weren't exactly in a position to ask. Mentally speaking, that is. Now, either you can treat me to lunch, or I can take you to the police and put you on 24-hour suicide watch. I suggest you take the first choice as the second will probably involve calling your parents."
Those were the magic words! Her mouth snapped closed and she glaringly followed him down the street.
"So, what's your name?" Amaryn asked, stepping around an overturned garbage can.
"Sarah." she mumbled, keeping her eyes on the ground.
"Where to, Princess Sarah?" Wrong thing to say: she stopped and scowled at him venomously.
"Don't call me that!" she hissed, "My name's Sarah Williams, not Princess, not Lady!"
"Calm down, didn't mean any offense. It's just that "Sarah" means princess. Don't you know the story?"
"What story?" she asked curiously, starting to relax a bit.
"Uh, forgot it." He grinned sheepishly, "Just the old Biblical story that really isn't very complimentory toward old, infertile hags. Uh, not saying you are one...um, this really isn't helping, is it?"
To his surprise and immense relief, she actually grinned and giggled a little. Must be doing something right! His hand went to his wallet and felt its weight. It could do with a little bleeding. This girl could do with some food, maybe a warm drink, too.
"I could pay for the lunch, just show me a nice place."
"I'm not supposed to go with strangers," she replied, tensing up a bit.
Especially not strange men, I bet, he thought. Well, that's reasonable. If I was her dad, I'd polish my shotgun every time a guy asked her out. Amaryn smiled and bowed courteously.
"My name's Douglas Carson, at your service. I swear I'm completely harmless and at your complete disposal."
Every new name was difficult to get used to, you had to watch how you reacted when people called out to you and how you said it each time you introduced yourself. The worst part was signing it, as you signature should never match your previous one. He switched hands every decade or so, along with his aliases.
"You probably say that to all the girls," she replied dryly.
"Ah, you caught me. Guess I'm gonna have to treat to lunch to keep you quiet about it!" He playfully grabbed at her shoulder, and she froze like a doe in front of headlights. Oh, shit! So that's how it was. He felt like a complete dickhead now!
"Sorry," he muttered.
She was silent and pale now, a completely different person from that fiery girl that had been so rude to him a few minute ago. He almost wished that she was rude again, it was easier dealing with her when they were on equal footing.
"I don't know what happened to you, or why you would want to throw yourself in front of a moving car, but I want to help." He desperately wished that Niniane were here, or even Matwie or Viviane or Jarin - heck, anyone but him!
"I don't think you can." she replied softly.
"Give me the chance to try, and if I make things worse you can jump into moving traffic again."
She gave a muffled snort, and finally lifted her head to face him. He drew an inward sigh of relief and offered his arm to her. She hesitatingly took it, and they quietly walked down the cracked and gum-strewn sidewalk.
To be continued...
Feel free to write whatever you want. Lay on the criticism, but please be gentle. This is my first time you know! Is Amaryn okay, for an OC? I'm trying to make him as unlike a Gary Stu as I can.